Cold Case Part 8

9.

"You did what what?" The hologram image of P.J. Farris's handsome face twisted in distress. His words came out more like a yelp.

Leif aimed his best smile at his computer console. "I got you a date for that formal, buddy. Megan O'Malley."

P.J. grabbed at his head as if he feared it would explode. His fingers left his usually perfectly ordered brown hair standing up in spikes. "How could you-what made you think I wanted a date?" he finally sputtered. "I told you about those tickets because I was hoping to dump them on you, not because I wanted to be saddled with-"

"I don't think Megan is into saddling," Leif cut in. "And there was never any hope that I could use the tickets. I'm grounded because of my little collision with Nikki Callivant. But when I heard that she was going to be at this Junior League thing-"

Now it was P.J.'s turn to b.u.t.t in. "You sicced Megan on me."

"Hey, I felt sorry for her, knowing she had that nice gown going to waste."

P.J.'s expression moved from shock to horror. "Oh, Lord, that's right! She got dumped by that idiot in her homeroom." He shuddered. "And ever since he did that, he hasn't had a day's luck with his computer. Somehow, it manages to catch every virus, every known programming bug comes crawling in, and every piece of useful schoolwork he's done on it has crashed before he could turn it in." The young Texan's blue eyes clung to Leif's face. "Do you realize what you've done to me?"

"I've given you a chance to meet Nikki Callivant," Leif replied calmly. "Her family will probably be at this hoedown as well."

"You expect me to pick up Nikki Callivant with a date hanging on my arm?" P.J.'s gaze sharpened. "Besides, I always thought you kinda liked Megan."

Leif could feel his face getting warm. "This is not a date, Farris. It's an a.s.signment to help Matt. The two of you will be working as a team."

"Wonderful," P.J. groused. "So that's why you stuck me with Ms. Tact, 2025."

Leif couldn't help his grin. "If I'd really wanted to frack you over, I'd have brought Maj Greene into this little party."

P.J. shuddered at the mental image of their group's most outspoken member rampaging her way through a society ball. "Okay," he admitted. "This is slightly better. Slightly Slightly. And Matt's pulled my grits from the fire more than once. I owe him. What are you expecting us to do?"

"I want you to check out the family that's probably threatening to make Matt's life miserable. Get close and see what the traffic will bear in terms of questioning." Leif tried to keep his voice light, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. "Since Nikki Callivant is about our age, I think she's our easiest connection. Her father doesn't get out in society much. And somehow, I don't think her grandfather would put up with questions about whatever happened to Priscilla Hadding."

"Would Nikki Callivant even know about the Hadding case?" P.J. asked, his expression dubious.

"From what I've read about the Callivants, she seems to be the most decent person in the family-snotty or not," Leif replied. "The press likes her, gives her pretty sympathetic coverage. Lots of charity stuff, you know. Maybe, if she doesn't know about the Hadding case already, you and Megan can get her interested in it."

Leif spread his hands, putting on his most sincere expression. "I'd do it myself, but I've got three strikes against me-I'm grounded, my parents would kill me if I turned up around Nikki Callivant again-"

"And she might kill you the moment she spotted you." Shaking his head, P.J. gave Leif a wry smile. "So what do you think? I'm supposed to charm this girl while Megan hammers her with questions?"

"That sounds as though it might work," Leif said.

P.J.'s smile turned a bit more sour. "You know, once-just once-I'd like to be the bad cop in one of your good cop/bad cop productions."

"It's just that you're such a gentleman," Leif replied lightly. "You always get the plum role. Speaking of which, you'd better call Megan. With only got two days to get ready, she's got a lot to do-hair stuff, and makeup. The least you could do is take care of the other arrangements. You know-transportation, flowers, high-end restaurant reservation beforehand..."

P.J. gave Leif a dark look. "One day, Anderson...one day..."

The traffic thickened again as Father Flannery steered the car toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Across the Potomac was Virginia. Inside the car the silence was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Matt couldn't stand it any longer. "Father, I don't think you've said a word since I gave Jones that list," he said. "Is it really such a problem for you?"

The priest seemed to need a moment to unclench his fingers from the steering wheel. It was safe enough. They'd come to a dead stop somewhere near the middle of the span.

"I've been trying to figure out an answer to that question since we got back in this car," Flannery finally said. "Maybe things are just moving too fast for me. First I'm enjoying an entertaining sim in my all-too-rare free time, then I'm threatened with lawyers, and then a pair of teenagers pierce my privacy as though there's nothing to it. Then your friend gets his hands on a tracking program with an ease that I find somewhat disturbing. And, heaven help me, I end up helping you unmask the other partic.i.p.ants in the sim! Now we're trying to talk to them, but you're the only one who seems to be getting anywhere. I'm the grown-up here, but I seem to be following you-a teenage boy-around like a wet-behind-the-ears novice."

"Are you annoyed? Was I stepping on your toes?"

The priest shook his head in bemus.e.m.e.nt. "No. I'm just shaken up, and unprepared for this, and I think I'm a little envious at the easy way you're handling things."

"Believe me, Father, I'm just feeling my way. Leif and I-and several of our friends-have had a chance to see how the pros do it. We belong to the Net Force Explorers-"

Flannery's head swung toward him. "Net Force is involved in this?"

The blare of a car horn brought his attention back to the road. They rolled ahead for a car length, then stopped again.

"My friends and I are Net Force Explorers Explorers," Matt quickly explained. "We watch and learn from various professionals in Net Force. Sometimes we do public-service stuff. We don't have any police powers. But we've seen how cases were handled by Net Force Agents."

And sometimes stuck our noses in-when it seemed necessary, he silently added. But this was strictly personal. Right now Matt was just trying to spare himself, his parents, and the innocent sim partic.i.p.ants from the consequences of a hacker's actions. And when Leif or anybody else offered help, Matt would accept it gladly.

"My own experience with investigation comes from a lifetime of reading-and what little I managed to do in the sim," Father Flannery admitted ruefully.

"You felt I was giving away clues when I gave Jones that piece of paper?"

The priest hunched a little over the wheel. "Perhaps more like giving away an advantage," he admitted. "You'd found out those names, and Jones hadn't. Knowledge is power. When you pointed that the hacker would have the names already, I felt a little foolish. And when you talked about the free flow of information, I became ashamed of myself. Obviously, I'm not a good detective, Matt."

"I don't know that I am," Matt said, a little embarra.s.sed. "But I do think that all of us-all the innocent parties, at least-will have to work together to identify the bad sport among us, and hopefully get him or her stopped."

"And what happened to Ed Saunders-what you said to Jones-?" Father Flannery flashed Matt a worried look.

"Look, my dad and I found Saunders." Matt began rubbing his arms against a sudden chill. "It had to be an accident-a coincidence. What I said to Kerry Jones was more like a swift kick to his-um, smugness," he finished lamely.

"Tactics"-Flannery smiled-"mixed with a bit of irritation. In my trade, that's all too familiar."

Matt laughed. "Let's hope we do better with Oswald Derbent."

"Also known as Lucullus Marten." They were across the bridge now. Father Flannery gave the car a little gas and began steering a course away from the city.

In the quiet suburban neighborhood, the house stood out-both as the oldest structure in the area and, probably, as the local eyesore. Most towns would end up debating whether or not places like this should be declared historic landmarks. But Virginia had way too much history already. Unless a famous ancient general had been born in that gaunt-looking farmhouse-or died in there-n.o.body would be talking about preservation. They'd be more likely to discuss whether it should be bulldozed before it fell down on its own.

The wooden house desperately needed a fresh coat of paint, and several of the window shutters hung at odd angles. Floorboards creaked alarmingly as Matt and Father Flannery stepped onto the porch. But the structure took the weight, and the noise probably saved them the effort of reaching for the doorbell. Matt saw curtains twitch behind one of the windows.

Before Father Flannery managed to pull his finger from the cracked plastic bell b.u.t.ton, the front door swung open just a bit. Even the partial view that Matt got showed a man who'd been seriously shortchanged by life. The top of his head barely came up to the level of Matt's shoulder, and the man's flesh seemed to pull extra-tightly over his small, skinny bones. The man had gotten an extra helping of forehead, and his baldness gave the strange impression that his skull had simply outstretched his thinning hair.

Eyes like shiny brown b.u.t.tons took them in. When they focused on Matt, the pinched features on the man's face seemed to tighten even more.

"You," he said.

"Oswald Derbent?" Father Flannery asked.

"I am he," the man at the door answered. From the first time, Matt caught a connection to the Lucullus Marten he'd known from the sim. Derbent had a surprisingly deep voice for such a slight frame. And his diction was perfect.

"You might as well come in," Derbent growled after they'd introduced themselves. "I'd almost congratulate you, except that I imagine your success was due more to technology than deduction."

His glare shifted to examine Matt. "No doubt this is due to your ridiculous performance with that champagne bottle."

"Exactly." Matt nodded, surprised to find himself falling into Monty Newman's responses.

"Ah, well. If you've found me, I expect you've found the others. Perhaps now they'll see the advantages of joint action instead of sordid self-interest."

Derbent led them into what once had been the front parlor of the farmhouse. The furniture was old, the upholstery shabby, so the late-model computer-link couch stood out in almost shocking contrast. But Matt barely noticed that at first. What struck him were the walnut bookshelves that covered every wall.

They ran from floor to ceiling, pushing the few other furnishings into a cramped grouping in the center of the room. Even the s.p.a.ces over and under the windows had been pressed into service, so they seemed recessed in a foot-thick frame of dark wood. The light that came into the parlor had a strange quality, as if they were sitting in a shadow box.

The funereal scene took a moment to get used to. Matt noticed that a pair of floor lamps flanked what looked like the most comfortable armchair, but the dim glow they shed was barely enough to navigate by once the door was shut. The lights should have been using hundred-watt bulbs. Matt figured the output was more on the range of forty.

"Not exactly bright in here," Father Flannery commented, groping his way forward.

"It's sufficient for my needs," Derbent testily replied. "No need to enrich the local utilities." He gestured, a shadowy figure except for those fierce, shining eyes. "I enjoy an economical style of life. My parents pa.s.sed away, leaving me this house free and clear. Since then, I've been able to use their legacy and my savings to live as I choose."

Just like the housebound recluse he played in the sim, Matt thought. What does he raise on the upstairs floor instead of cactus? Dust bunnies? What does he raise on the upstairs floor instead of cactus? Dust bunnies?

Derbent stepped over to the bookshelves most illuminated by the lamps. "Of course, most of my time is taken up with my...collection."

That last word got a brief pause and an even deeper p.r.o.nunciation than usual-the sort of tone people usually reserve for love or religion.

Matt squinted, trying to make out the faded print on the books' spines. What a surprise-old mysteries.

He spotted a familiar t.i.tle on a paperback, Triple Jeopardy Triple Jeopardy. Beside it was a hardcover book, Too Many Killers Too Many Killers. These were all Lucullus Marten stories. Matt eagerly read on. "Wow! You even have Death of a Druid Death of a Druid! I never managed to find a library that had that one."

"It's been out of print since the 1970s," Derbent replied. A trace of pride crept into his voice. "Tracking that t.i.tle down took some effort, but I wanted all forty-seven of the Marten books. Of course, these are just for pleasure, my reading copies. I have a full set in hardcover-mint-safely stored away. Some of those have never even been opened."

So what are they safe from? Matt wondered in puzzlement. Matt wondered in puzzlement. Eye tracks? Eye tracks?

Derbent sat in his chair, a volume in his lap. His hand gently ran over the book's leather cover in the way others might have caressed a loved one.

"Looking back, I suppose it was a mistake to take part in Mr. Saunders's little mystery. But I was eager to put to use what I had learned from years of reading. I had tried my hand at writing some tales of deduction"-his lips pursed in disgust-"but publishers are no longer interested in that sort of story. Bah!"

The hand resting on the book clenched into a fist, then relaxed. "The chance to step into the skin of my hero was most seductive. I enjoyed the experience."

Derbent glanced at Matt. "Despite your youth, you showed a definite flair for extracting information. Quite...pa.s.sable."

Matt couldn't hide his smile at hearing Lucullus Marten's watchword when he praised Monty Newman's efforts.

Derbent's hand tightened again. "And then this nonsense."

"Yes," Father Flannery said. "It only seems to get worse." He hesitated. "Your suggestions about Mr. Saunders's death-"

Derbent smiled. "Were they a ploy to get you and the others to agree to my proposal, or were they motivated by a justified suspicion?" He shrugged. "It may just be the fear of a man who rarely leaves his house. On the other hand, even a paranoid could have enemies. How have the others reacted to being unmasked?"

"We haven't caught up with Milo Krantz," Matt said. "Apparently, he's a long-distance trucker."

"A trucker." Derbent shook his head mournfully.

"The Slimms turned out to be a pair of college students," Father Flannery reported.

"A fair match to the giddiness of the characters." Derbent nodded to the priest. "As Spike Spanner, Father, you personify the golden age principle of the least likely suspect."

"The students-at least the young man, he did the talking-refuse to take part in any effort to find the hacker." Matt took out the list of the sleuths and their alter egos. "I'll leave this with you, no matter what you decide. I already left it with the students."

Oswald Derbent reached for the paper. "I'll join you in your search, although I don't know how useful my support will be."

"It will mean half of us are interested in the truth," Father Flannery said.

"A fine sentiment," Derbent said, "as long as you don't examine the motives behind it. Mine are simple. The six of us will either be the investigators or the investigated." The little man shook his head. "We face a mystery, but no data-a word I prefer to the traditional clues clues. That means we-and perhaps our truck-driving a.s.sociate, if he throws in with us-will have to keep digging in one another's pasts until we turn up the telltale fact-or flaw."

Oswald Derbent's dark, shiny eyes had a bitter expression. "One thing I'm sure of-this mystery will be much less enjoyable than the one we signed up for."

"That Derbent really has a way of putting things," Father Flannery said as they drove deeper into the Virginia countryside.

Matt nodded. "For him to play a reclusive genius-maybe it was typecasting."

"What he said about the three of us having to dig-I don't know that I can do it," the priest said.

"Are you going over to Kerry Jones and Suze Kellerman's side-the one that favors ignoring trouble until it goes away?" Matt asked.

"About having someone else do the investigating? It's tempting," Flannery admitted. "But I don't know if anything will be done-or how. Derbent made it clear that he's not leaving his house to pound the pavement for clues. I'm frankly doubtful as to what I can do."

"I think I hear an and and coming," Matt said. coming," Matt said.

"That leaves you-and whatever your friends can do-to clear up this mess."

Matt shifted in his seat. "Do you think I'm up to the job?"

"I don't think you should be expected to do it alone," the priest replied. "Perhaps if this Knox fellow goes in with us-giving us a majority of the people involved-we could approach the lawyers, agree to cooperate in an investigation..."

Sounds like he thinks Kerry and Suze are the real hackers, Matt thought. If the real hacker is one of the others, will they agree? If the real hacker is one of the others, will they agree? He glanced over at the man driving the car. He glanced over at the man driving the car. How do I know I'm not riding with the hacker right now? I just don't buy it, though, and I have to trust my instincts. They're all I've got on this case How do I know I'm not riding with the hacker right now? I just don't buy it, though, and I have to trust my instincts. They're all I've got on this case.