Cyber Genius (32 page)

“It wasn’t a spyhole!” Stark insisted heatedly. “They were
test
programs. Everyone knows that.”

“Sure they were. And if even the NSA couldn’t detect the
flaw, you and your buddies could have installed those corrupted programs
anywhere and everywhere. Oh what fun that would be, reading and uploading
private data from the entire internet! I can just imagine the applications and
profits,” I said, patting his feet sympathetically through the covers. “I bet
you found lots of nice people who were interested. What a lucrative sideline!”

I was thinking of Senator Paul Rose’s rich and powerful
friends, but I didn’t want to lead the witness.

“Government regulations are destroying the free market,”
Stark agreed, without seeing the irony. “We were performing a patriotic service.
But then some idiot hacker, probably a pimple-faced Russian troll with nothing
better to do—” I winced at this description of Tudor. “—hacked a government
website through the hole and all hell broke loose.”

“And Stiles went ballistic,” I simplified pleasantly, as if
we were all in this together.

Of course, the minute his dead boss’s name came up, so did
Stark’s defenses. “We could have fixed the problem internally,” he insisted.
“But Stiles got all huffy about ethics and called outside security, which was
when Wyatt panicked. He said he needed time to change out the programs. I
figured there wasn’t time to exchange or repair all those systems before the
press got hold of the news. That’s when I bailed. So, I sold out. Sue me.”

“You didn’t know Wyatt was stupid enough to delay or try to stop
the program exchange entirely with fish poison?” I asked, not hiding my incredulity.
It made total, rational sense that Bob Starks and Henry Bates would hate to
give up their lovely little spyhole—and so would Top Hat and Goldrich. And he
was telling me he didn’t know about Wyatt’s plan to stop Stiles?

“Did you think I’d have eaten the damned soup if I’d known?”
Stark asked in genuine umbrage. “Wyatt was a fruitcake. If I’d known that, I
would never have involved him.”

“So you had him eliminated, nice.” I sat back and tried that
version on for size.

“I didn’t have anyone
eliminated
,”
Stark said in disgust. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

“But your family does,” Graham said, emerging from his
hiding place to hold up the phone. “I just sent your phone records to the
police. Want to place any wagers on which of the people you called will spill
first?”

I watched an aghast expression cross our patient’s face,
then fear. Gotcha. He’d warned his family that Wyatt was in panic mode,
shutting down MacroWare while trying to glom up emergency services until he’d
saved his nasty little hide. I could see where people who knew assassins might cut
off their losses by snuffing a wild card who’d lost his usefulness.

“I want a lawyer,” Stark replied intelligently, leaning into
his pillow and crossing his arms in defiance.

Predictable. People quit talking when attacked. I shot
Graham a scowl for his interference, then returned to my interrogation. “Will
we find Adolph and Wilhelm alive when the police arrive to pick them up?” I
asked, just because I wanted the chain of command spelled out.

He raised his graying eyebrows. “Why would anyone kill
Wilhelm? He’s a special snowflake who did whatever Hilda told him. I have no
idea what he was told.”

“I’m pretty sure
Hilda
didn’t tell Wilhelm to poison you. She was outraged, she knew about the
spyhole, and she suspected someone in the company—probably one of your friends,”
I explained cheerfully, although I had no evidence other than opportunity and
the feeling Goatee Boy had been lying. “Asking for puffer fish soup was
probably the inspiration for Wyatt’s murderous plot to cover his rear. Who asked
for the soup?”

“Stiles was bored easily. He had exotic tastes,” Stark said
with a shrug. “Tray had a pet cook who fixed the soup and who needed a job.
Adolph needed a restaurant. We worked it all out to make Stephen happy. People
think we’re nerds, but we can brag that we get high on poison fish. We’ve done
it before. It’s never made us sick. What does this have to do with anything?”

He really didn’t get it, did he? I tried not to sigh too
loudly at the testosterone-driven stupidity. “Except Stiles’ gourmet requests
and your need to get high gave Wyatt ideas. He or one of his compadres took the
poisoned fish guts and had Adolph dry them, then called them an aphrodisiac. Do
you remember the salt shaker?”

Stark actually seemed to be considering. “The salt shaker
Henry passed around telling us he had babes lined up in the hotel, and we’d all
get lucky? The shaker was poisoned? That makes no sense.”

But I could see that he was mulling over the possibility and
accepting it. He looked ready to murder, if he hadn’t already.

“Henry trusted his little brother, didn’t he? If Wyatt told
him the shaker contained an aphrodisiacal drug, he’d take him at his word,” I
suggested.

Stark shrugged. “Henry had a few problems in the bedroom. We
just played along. It’s not as if the soup really helps much, and it certainly
needed salt.”

“Dried and in enough quantity, the fish guts might have put
you out of commission for a day or two,” I explained. “Wyatt needed time to
keep Stiles from following up on the spyware problem and canning everyone
concerned.”

Stark grimaced. “Wyatt demanded time before we patched all
the holes. Stiles was refusing.”

Or Top Hat had demanded time. I had no proof. “Stiles would
have had entire departments producing patches and updating software immediately,”
I suggested, “but Wyatt wouldn’t want them all patched. He was probably paid
well to keep his more vital spyware open. That was a little tricky.”

“So Wyatt got Henry to poison us?” he asked, obviously
confused.

From his expression, it looked like Stark hadn’t done any
actual poisoning. He’d just helped create the situation that ended in
murder—especially if he’d had a hand in telling fruitcake Wyatt to stall. He
didn’t seem ready to admit that to me. I’d leave it for the judge. All I wanted
was to get Graham and Tudor off the hook.

“Adolph probably dried the fish guts,” I told him. “He
thought that’s all Wyatt wanted, a harmless drug that would at most kill your
taste buds, and if he was lucky, make all of you a little ill. He’s not fond of
any of you.”

“So the soup wasn’t poison but Henry’s damned drug was?”
Stark asked, finally catching on.

“Just as poor Kita told the cops, the soup was fine,” I said
shrugging. “And as I said, the dried fish guts would have done little more than
numb your mouths so you couldn’t taste the
pièce
de résistance
. That’s where the real poison comes in. And why someone
killed Kita. He knew too much and wasn’t loyal to the cause.”

Stark looked bleak. “We were drinking that night. Stiles was
furious and taking it out on us and we feared for our jobs. We wouldn’t have
noticed if they’d served cactus needles.”

“Exactly. But it was adulterated tomatoes in the risotto and
salsa, not cactus needles. You might have all shoved the veggies aside if they
tasted off, but you weren’t tasting anything.”

“Wyatt gave us spoiled tomatoes? That’s where the botulism
comes in? I’m glad the bastard’s dead,” he muttered viciously. “He could have
killed us all!”

“Probably not a bad idea in his wasted head, but Wyatt
wasn’t in the kitchen,” I reminded him. “Wilhelm, your aunt’s stooge, was. Someone
gave Wilhelm spoiled tomatoes to make good and certain the program problem was
covered up—which means someone really wanted you dead. Maybe Wilhelm didn’t
know what was in the tomatoes, maybe he did, but he used them in his vegetable
dish and lied about it. With Wyatt’s fish toxin weakening your systems and concealing
the botulism, the tomatoes could have killed all of you. Kita knew his soup was
good, so he may have guessed about the tomatoes and threatened to tell the cops
to prove his innocence.”

“You have no proof of any of this,” Stark argued, frowning
in puzzlement. “It makes no sense. We were all helping Wilhelm.”

“By telling stupid Wilhelm to listen to crazy Wyatt. Very
helpful, indeed,” I agreed with sarcasm. “Whose idea was that?”

“Hilda wanted us to find him a job,” he said with a shrug,
still frowning. “Adolph was eager to do anything to get his restaurant, so he
took him on, even without papers. Wyatt was supposed to know people in D.C. who
could help him become legal.”

“And there it is,” I said with disgust, seeing most of my
Top Hat conspiracy theories go up in flame. “Wilhelm did whatever Wyatt said so
he could be legal. Wilhelm had no way of knowing that Wyatt wasn’t your friend.
He was brought in at the last minute, not given what he needed for the recipe,
and took anything anyone offered. Wonder how Wyatt delivered those tomatoes?”

“But why?” he asked. “Why would he want to kill us?”

Since it was obvious Stark couldn’t provide answers, I spun
my ideas further. I didn’t want to totally give up on the banking conspiracy.

“Wyatt didn’t need you anymore. You and Hilda had
thoughtfully provided his big house, and he’d met some influential new friends
who really liked the spyholes and didn’t want them closed and were willing to
pay well to keep them open. Have you no understanding of human nature at all?”
I shook my head in despair. “Some men prefer to skip out rather than pay back
what they owe.”

Stark was a finance man. He got the reference, if not the analogy.
“Someone else offered to pay off Wyatt’s loan,” he suggested wearily. “Someone
else bought Wyatt, and he didn’t need MacroWare anymore.”

“Probably. Kill two birds with one stone,” I added cruelly.
“Wyatt could get rid of all the high muckety-mucks to whom he owed favors, the
brother who got all the accolades, dump his debt, and gain the favor of some
rather nasty folks who shoot fish chefs—although he was too dim to figure that
out.”

“Who?” Stark demanded. “Who helped Wyatt?”

Pity I didn’t have the evidence to convict Paul Rose and
Friends so Stark could send his loan sharks after them. I had to confess my
ignorance. “Besides you? I assume the same people who wanted the beta spyhole
installed in the first place. Have any good ideas?”

His eyes widened ever so slightly. He had a good idea. He
shook his head negatively, but I could tell he was making mental notes.

He wouldn’t tell me. Okay, we’d let that one play out.
Judgment day was coming. One of these days, I hoped to be on the jury.

“Make a list of suspects to hand to the police,” I
suggested. “Maybe they’ll give you a commendation for your helpfulness.”
Probably not. The police wouldn’t touch any execs in the Top Hat cabal with
whips, chains, and Uzis. They’d call Wyatt a serial killer, Wilhelm an
accomplice, and end it there. Poor Kita’s assassin would never be found.

Graham tapped his earbud and shoved the rack out of way of
the door. “Time to go.”

I trusted his early warning system and got up off the bed.

“Have a nice day,” I told Stark, who appeared as if he would
weep. “I’m sure you can afford a good lawyer. After all, all you did was have
your family kill a killer. Convenient that shooting Wyatt wiped out the
evidence of the rest of the conspiracy, but what the heck. After that, a little
insider trading is nothing.”

I knew in my heart and soul that the buck didn’t stop at
Stark. But Wyatt had been the key to the plot, and he was gone. I’d read the
police files later, but I was pretty certain they didn’t have the manpower to
find hired assassins.

Unless I called in Magda, I simply didn’t have the resources
to go after whoever had paid Wyatt—without endangering everyone in my family. I
could hope someone got stupid and spilled. In the meantime, I kept copious
files and held grudges.

I skedaddled after Graham, hiding behind the huge cart as
best as I could so anyone approaching wouldn’t see me. We used the racks at the
elevator as a wall between us and the corridor.

The elevator doors opened, and the police captain who had
come to our door looking for Graham stepped out. I nearly had a heart attack. The
cop looked grim and had a few rather determined men in blue with him.

Why did I think they were hoping to catch Graham and not our
guilty patient?

The cops brushed right past us without looking our way.

With more nerve than sense, we rolled the cart past them and
closed the elevator doors.

Once the door was shut, I held out my hand and pretended my
heart wasn’t jumping out of my chest. “You can have the SIM card, but I want
that pretty phone.”

“Buy your own,” he said grimly. “You’re worth millions.”

I glared at him in incredulity. “I just got you out of a
murder rap, and this is how you treat me?” I couldn’t smack him. He’d got me
into the hospital so I could interrogate my best witness. Without his aid, I’d
not have been able to confirm my suspicions. He was still an arrogant ass.

“You scared Wyatt into stopping the entire city,” he
countered. “I couldn’t do anything with emergency services shut down. What if
Wyatt really had set fire to MacroWare?” He leaned against the elevator wall
and looked more weary than angry. Beard stubble looked good on him.

“I didn’t stop the city!” I protested the unfairness of his
assessment. “I just stopped Adolph. How was I supposed to know Wyatt had
flipped over the edge? As far as I’m concerned, anyone who takes a human life
is subhuman and wasn’t rational to start with.”

“The gun used to kill Hilda and Kita will be traced to
Wyatt,” Graham informed me as we got off the elevator on the ground floor.

“The chances are pretty good that Wyatt
did
kill Hilda,” I pointed out, hurrying after him as he headed for
transportation—I hoped. I needed an express ride home. “Wyatt could have texted
the hotel manager to mess with the wiring and black out the room, and
Livingston wouldn’t even have questioned why with all chaos breaking loose. All
these guys knew each other through MacroWare, one way or another. The police
can talk to Tray and Adolph and Livingston and confirm everything. Wyatt was
the only one in that room who knew enough to want Hilda to shut up, except Mrs.
Stiles, of course.”