Cold Case Part 11

"It's something my mother taught me. It distracts people from noticing one's face-especially the press. Your hat can never be too ugly." She gave him a smug smile. "I picked this stuff up at a resale shop."

Matt glanced again at her crowning glory. "I hope they-er-fumigated it before they put it out for sale."

Instantly Nikki tore off the knitted monstrosity. Her light-brown hair flew around her face, and the sungla.s.ses tumbled into her lap.

"Well, there was an honest reaction, at least," Matt said. "What do you need to speak to me about?"

"I met a friend of yours last night," the girl replied. "She said you were in trouble with my family. Something about a mystery-and an old family problem."

"Please understand, I didn't set out to get in trouble with your family," Matt began. "Nor did any of my friends. We were just playing a game. This fellow developed a new mystery sim, but he based it on an old case."

Nikki made a face. "I can guess. The situation in Haddington, all those years ago. I don't know why we didn't just close down the house there. Some adviser or other probably thought it would look bad. A tacit admission of responsibility."

The girl's delicate features froze into an even more bitter expression. "As children, we were coached to stay well away from poor, half-crazy Mrs. Hadding. The police and publie prosecutor won't talk to her anymore. If the media even discuss what happened, they call it a 'cold case.' More advisers at work. Public relations. No one can disgrace the Callivant name."

She shook her head. "Even with the a.s.sa.s.sinations, there are four generations of Callivants in our house. Maybe that's too many. It's made us-well, I don't know what it's made us."

"I know what some people would say," Matt said.

"People!" Nikki scoffed. "They say that public service is my family's business. But if it is, it's only true for the boys. I thought things might have changed when my father didn't run for office. But, of course, he went to work for the government."

"What does does your dad do?" your dad do?"

"National security," Nikki replied. "Threat a.n.a.lysis, covert this, international that-we never get to hear about it." never get to hear about it."

"He's a what-a spy?" Matt couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"According to my dad, he drives a desk and spends a lot of time worrying about budgets."

So did Captain Winters, Matt suddenly thought. Although sometimes his days got a bit more exciting.

"Whatever your father does, it sounds like another road to power," he finally said.

"Some power." Nikki's lips tightened. "Dad might have escaped some of the family traditions, but he expects me to follow right in line-making the perfect appearances at the right parties with a smile plastered on my face and lots of Callivant charm."

She thumped her chest. "I want to be the Callivant woman who runs for something instead of standing gracefully at somebody else's campaign kickoff. I've got girl cousins who could do just as good a job as the guys in the family. But you'll never hear about them. No public arguments. Family solidarity." She nearly spat the words. "n.o.body dares disgrace the Callivant name."

"Or gets away with it?" Matt asked.

She didn't reply to that comment, confusion all too evident in her blue eyes.

Matt went on to describe the strange deaths of Ed Saunders and Harry Knox.

Nikki Callivant shrank away from him in her seat, those strange blue eyes growing wider. "That's crazy," she said. "My family uses lawyers, P.R. people-sometimes strings are pulled. But you're suggesting-"

"I'm just asking if you don't think it's a strange coincidence that two people connected to a small sim based on your family scandal died within a week of each other," Matt cut in. He shook his head. "I'm not accusing your family of anything. But I don't know what's going on, and it makes me edgy. Maybe they were accidents. If so, I'm sorry I disturbed you with this. I suppose I should be glad you went out of your way to talk to me, even if I may be saying things you don't want to hear."

"I've been getting a bit of that lately," Nikki ruefully admitted. "Most of it from friends of yours. But it comes along at a time when I've been asking a lot of questions about my family-I guess I'll just have to add these questions in with my own."

She reached under the denim jacket. "I really wish you hadn't used that fumigation line. Now I'm itching like crazy." Still scratching, she pulled out of the parking place and headed back to the school.

At least, Matt thought, she didn't lose control of the car while she drove him back to school one-handed.

Matt was in his room, working on his homework, when the chimes of an incoming call rang out. He closed out his cla.s.swork file and ordered the computer to make the connection.

Captain James Winters's face appeared over the console. "Matt, something turned up in relation to those-ah-cases you mentioned to me."

"New information?" Matt eagerly leaned forward.

"More like old information." Winters ran a hand over his chin. "I decided to run a check on the names you gave me, to see if any of those people had a criminal record."

"And Harry Knox did?"

"A juvenile record. It seems back in 1999 Knox was a Script Baby."

Matt blinked. "A what?"

"He was seventeen at the time, exploring the early version of the Net, and found a crude set of hacking tools. They were called 'scripts,' developed by talented, or at least successful, crackers for use by less experienced-even inexperienced-would-be hackers."

"Was Harry Knox experienced?"

"No. That's probably why he got caught. His incompetence is probably what saved him. He wasn't able to do much damage, and the courts were disposed to be lenient with young people on a first offense."

"Anything else?" Matt asked.

"Nothing that we found out," Winters replied. "Maybe he was scared straight. On the other hand, once a hacker-"

"Always a hacker." Matt finished the saying.

"Among the things we recovered from the wreck of his truck was a laptop computer," Winters went on.

That would either put Knox way on the trailing edge of technology, or on a recent dead end. Leif's father had tried to revive the idea of portable, full-powered units, but people were happier with their home consoles and their little palm computers. People who liked playing with techno-toys went for the machines, however. A lot of kids from Net Force had picked up laptops at a deep discount-superbrains like David Gray. "Old or new?" Matt asked.

"It was a late-model unit, damaged in the crash and the dunking," Winters said. "A police technician noticed a certain amount of wear and tear on the input/output connections. Apparently when he was on the road. Knox plugged the laptop into motel systems rather than networking with his home computer."

"That would argue a certain amount of technical ability," Matt offered.

Winters nodded. "Which would seem to point to him as the hacker in your group of sim enthusiasts." He frowned. "But it only suggests his guilt. There's no hard proof."

And since there was no hard proof of hacking-not even a legal complaint-Net Force couldn't get officially involved. Winters had probably pushed the investigative envelope just by looking into the past of the late Harry Knox.

"Thanks for letting me know about this," Matt said.

"For whatever good it does." Winters gave a helpless shrug and signed off.

Seems like I'm collecting a lot of interesting but useless stuff. Matt thought. He filed the latest information in the same mental bin as his conversation with Nikki Callivant. Then he ordered his computer back to the trig problem he'd been trying to solve. Possible clues were always interesting, but right now, homework had to take first priority.

His homework was done and the house was filling with spicy smells when Matt came into the living room that evening. Dad was cooking chicken fajitas for dinner, judging from the scents of frying peppers, onion, and garlic-lots of garlic.

Matt's stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been a while since lunch, as he headed for the main computer console. It was time for the local news.

A holographic projection appeared-the HoloNews logo, clouds floating behind it, while urgent, staccato music came from the living room speakers. "News music," Matt's father had called it once.

"That's a little loud," Matt's mother said, coming in behind him. He told the computer to tone down the sound as she came to stand beside him, wrinkling her nose at the kitchen smells. "Another night at the garlic festival, I see."

Matt grinned and shrugged. "It goes better with his south of the border stuff than with other recipes he tries."

Mom had to agree with that.

A pair of anchorpeople busily went about the business of bringing their viewers up to date on events in the world and in Washington. It must have been a slow news day. Three items, and already they'd turned to the chopper-cam for a fire shot.

Matt's father remembered when the news wars had taken to the air, with the networks and news services hiring helicopters to carry their cameras. Sometimes these flying camera people turned in exciting footage-car chases, train wrecks, huge demonstrations. Most days, however, they wound up showing traffic jams, or on really dull days, the biggest fire in the metropolitan area.

Today was apparently a very very slow day. The eye in the sky hadn't even been able to find a large factory or apartment building burning away. Instead, they focused on flames roaring through a small wooden home surrounded by suburban houses. From the actions around the pumper trucks below, the local firefighters had given up any hopes of saving the place. Their hoses were aimed at keeping the blaze from spreading to any of the nearby houses. slow day. The eye in the sky hadn't even been able to find a large factory or apartment building burning away. Instead, they focused on flames roaring through a small wooden home surrounded by suburban houses. From the actions around the pumper trucks below, the local firefighters had given up any hopes of saving the place. Their hoses were aimed at keeping the blaze from spreading to any of the nearby houses.

"The structure dates back more than a hundred and fifty years, always in the same family," the chopper reporter's voice intoned against the faint whine of the engine. "The town of Travers Corners loses a little bit of history today."

Hearing the name of the town jarred Matt into paying more attention. He and Father Flannery had been there, not so long ago.

Matt frowned, trying to reorient himself from the overhead view. Yes. Illuminated in the glare of the inferno, he began to pick out familiar locations. That house over there, and that one...

The place being devoured by flame was Oswald Derbent's book-filled home.

12.

Some of what Matt was feeling must have shown on his face. "What's wrong?" his mother asked.

"That." Matt pointed to the HoloNews display. "That house. It belongs to Oswald Derbent-another of the players in the mystery sim. Father Flannery and I were visiting there just the other day."

"I see," Marissa Hunter said, clearly upset by the news. Then, "Where are you going?"

Matt turned back, halfway across the living room. "I think I need to call this in, don't you? To more than one person." He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. "But I'll be done before Dad starts serving supper." The previously savory aromas made his now-leaden stomach simply sink farther.

Stepping into his room, Matt snapped a command at his computer. The call went though, the display over the console swam into focus, and Captain James Winters looked out-still in his office, even at this hour.

The captain's expression went from surprise to concern when he saw Matt.

"That list I sent you-" Matt paused, trying to clear a suddenly hoa.r.s.e throat.

"Someone else had an-incident?" Winters finished for him. The Net Force agent did not look happy at all.

"Oswald Derbent. HoloNews was just showing pictures of his house-what's left of it-doing an amazing imitation of an open-pit barbecue."

Winters looked annoyed with himself. "I directed my computer to flag any police calls connected to those names," he said. "I'll have to amend that to include all emergency services."

"Can you find out what happened?"

The captain nodded cautiously. "I'll make some inquiries and get back to you. It probably won't be tonight," he warned. "Arson investigations need daylight. And there will be an arson investigation."

"You think there'll be anything by the time I get home from school?" Matt asked.

"Preliminary findings, though not a finished report. I'll call with whatever I can get," Winters promised. "Do me a favor, huh? Be careful! And tell your friends to watch their backs. I'll see what I can do from my end."

They cut their connection, and Matt gave a new series of commands to his computer. Soon he was composing a virtmail message to go out to the other sim partic.i.p.ants-proposing a meeting, same place as last time, for tomorrow at six P.M.

He'd just finished when his father's voice came floating back. "Dinner is served!"

I'm betting that my former rivals have Net agents out ready to pounce on any news mentions of our names, he thought, shutting the system down. But maybe by then I'll be able to tell them a little more than the official story. Free flow of information, after all But maybe by then I'll be able to tell them a little more than the official story. Free flow of information, after all.

Bradford Academy's cafeteria was crowded, so Matt decided to do a good deed. He carried David Gray's lunch tray as well as his own. David grimly stumped along on his cane through the mob scene.

"That leg has to he getting better soon," Matt tried to console him.

"The magnetic therapy helps the bones knit faster," David admitted with a grimace. "But it also leaves an itch where I can't scratch."

They reached the table that Andy Moore was holding for them. Matt looked at the two trays, both of which held a sandwich and a soda. "Do you remember which one is yours?"

David sighed. "Does it matter?"

He had a point. They might go to a better-than-average school, but the cafeteria menu was, to put it mildly, lame. Matt gave David his choice and began munching unenthusiastically on a mustard sandwich (at least that was all he he tasted) when Megan O'Malley plumped down in the seat beside him. A cup of soup slopped on the tray she carried-proof of her intrepid nature, Matt thought. Soup from that kitchen...he didn't want to think what was in it. tasted) when Megan O'Malley plumped down in the seat beside him. A cup of soup slopped on the tray she carried-proof of her intrepid nature, Matt thought. Soup from that kitchen...he didn't want to think what was in it.

"How's it going?" Megan asked.

"Not well." Matt took a sip from his gel-pack of soda. "Another name on the List of Ed Saunders has a red mark beside it."

Andy leaned across the table. "Sounds like a good t.i.tle for one of your dad's books, Megan," he suggested through a mouthful of potato salad.

"The line's been used," David Gray said, taking a taste of his sandwich and making a face. "Just without the name Ed Saunders."

"Forget that," Megan said. "What happened?"