Game of Death (27 page)

The younger man nods and backs off. As we pass by, he gives me a venomous look. ‘You have no right,’ he says quietly. ‘You have no right.’

I ignore him and continue on with the group.

The parking lot out back is empty, and we hurry Gunta across the tarmac toward the awaiting squad car. For just a moment I think that we’ve gotten through the ordeal without any additional
drama, but just as one of the cops pushes Gunta’s head down to avoid him hitting it as he slides him into the back seat, the back door to the building opens and Josh Pinkerton hurries out,
with Tom Jackson chasing after him.

‘Nick!’ Pinkerton shouts. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

‘Josh, come back,’ Tom is pleading.

Killkenny steps up and holds his badge up. ‘We’re the police,’ he says.

‘No shit,’ Pinkerton says. He’s in a rage. ‘I can fuckin’ read!’ he shouts, pointing at the lettering on the squad car. ‘What the fuck are you doing to
Dr Gunta?’

‘We’re arresting him,’ Killkenny says.

‘What for?’

‘That’s police business.’

‘Nick!’ Pinkerton shouts at me. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

Killkenny shoots a look at me. ‘Keep your mouth shut, Nick!’ He turns back to Pinkerton. ‘This is a murder investigation, sir. I can’t share any additional information
with you at this time, is that clear?’

‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’ Pinkerton shouts at Killkenny. I know that’s a bad move by Josh. Killkenny isn’t the type to back down when
challenged. If anything, questioning his authority only hardens his resolve.

‘Josh,’ I say, ‘You need to go back inside. I’ll explain this all to you later.’

‘The hell you will,’ Killkenny says.

‘Tell me what’s going on, Nick,’ Pinkerton demands again. ‘Don’t worry about this asshole. I own people like him.’

Tom Jackson looks like he’s going to have a stroke. ‘Josh! We need to go inside!’

Killkenny takes a step toward Pinkerton. ‘Let me tell you exactly who I think I’m talking to,’ he says. ‘I think I’m talking to an asshole who doesn’t
understand that money doesn’t always buy you out of a jam. I think I’m talking to a guy who doesn’t know what is good for him. And I think I’m talking to a guy who’s
about three seconds from landing in jail for the night, on a charge of obstruction of justice.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’

‘Try me.’

Tom Jackson is pulling at Pinkerton’s arm, trying to get him back into the building. Josh allows himself to be pulled for a few steps, and Killkenny starts heading back to his car.
Suddenly, though, Pinkerton pulls out of Tom’s grip and squares himself at a distance from Killkenny. ‘You have no idea what real power is!’ he screams. ‘You can’t
even conceive of the kind of power that someone like me has. You’ll never understand the kind of power I have over others. Never!’

It comes out as a bit of an irrational screed, and Killkenny looks over to me with an expression of disbelief.

‘It’s not worth it,’ I say to him. ‘You clear out, we’ll catch up with you.’

Killkenny pulls out in his SS, the squad car following him. I’m left in the parking lot standing next to Yvette. Josh and Tom are standing about ten yards away. Pinkerton postures
defiantly as he watches the cars pull away. Once they’ve gone, he looks at me and points his finger in my direction. ‘This is your fault!’ he yells. ‘I trusted you, and you
do this to the company?’ He lets his hand drop. ‘You’ve made a bad mistake, Nick.’ He stares at me for another moment, and then turns and heads back into the building.

Tom is standing there, a look of disbelief on his face. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he says to me. ‘He’ll calm down. He’ll realize it’s not your fault,
eventually,’ he assures me. ‘He’ll forgive you. It’ll just take time.’

He walks back toward the door.

‘You think Pinkerton will understand in time?’ I ask Yvette.

She tilts her head to the side to look up at me. ‘I don’t think there’s enough time left in the universe for Pinkerton to forgive you,’ she says.

‘Thanks, that’s helpful.’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think anyone can help you at this point.’

I drive Yvette back to the bunker in Cambridge. I’m half expecting to be met by security guards at the door, carrying a cardboard box full of my personal possessions. I
wonder whether they will pick me up and physically throw me out of the building, just for effect.

Everything is quiet when we arrive, though. The floor is busy, with more than seventy GhostWalkers filling up their time cards, oblivious to the controversy that’s swirling around the
company. Yvette and I make our way around the workstations, back to my office.

‘What now?’ she asks.

‘Now, we let the police do their job. We go back to doing our job.’

‘I’m not sure I can just go back to what I was doing. It feels . . . ’ She’s searching for the words. ‘It feels wrong.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in traditional notions of morality.’

‘I don’t,’ she says. ‘I believe in personal morality.’

‘For all we know, so does Dr Gunta.’

‘Yeah, well, his morality is fucked-up. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do about people like that. And they exist in all religions and all moral traditions.’
She sighs heavily. ‘I don’t feel like doing any work at the moment. You want to go grab a bite at the Diner?’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Just give me a minute. I need to make a call.’

‘Who are you gonna call?’

‘I’ve just gotta . . . ’

‘Her. You’re gonna call her.’

I’m sitting at my desk, and I pick up a pen and drag it along a piece of paper, trying to decide whether to lie. I know it’s pointless, though. ‘I just want to tell her that
they’ve made an arrest.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she knows she was a potential victim. Wouldn’t you want to know?’

‘Yeah,’ Yvette concedes. ‘Okay, I’ll go over and get us a table.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll just be a minute.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

The phone rings four times before she picks up. ‘Hello?’

‘Is this Kendra?’

‘Yes. Who’s this?’

‘It’s Nick.’ It’s quiet on the line. ‘Nick Caldwell.’

‘I know which Nick it is,’ she says. I can’t tell whether there’s anger in the tone or just disappointment.

‘Did you make it home okay last night?’

‘You mean did I make it home alone last night?’

‘I didn’t ask that. It’s not any of my business.’

‘No, it’s not.’ Now I can hear the anger. But there’s something else there, too. Desire, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the need to take on the challenge of rejection.
‘I got home just fine. How about you?’

My heart is beating hard, and my ribs are giving me a constant reminder of my experience the night before. It occurs to me that I’m potentially risking my life just by having this
conversation. Somehow that doesn’t bother me. ‘I made it home fine, too,’ I say.

‘Good.’ She pauses, and then changes her tone. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I just felt lonely.’

‘It happens to all of us,’ I say. I want to tell her how much I want her – how much I need her – but I can’t. The desire is so strong it feels pathological.

‘I shouldn’t have put all that on you.’ My mouth is moving, trying to respond, but no sound is coming out. ‘Why did you call?’

‘I just wanted to let you know that they made an arrest this morning in the murders we spoke about. I thought you’d feel better knowing.’

‘They arrested Josh?’ She sounds almost ecstatic.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t look like it was Josh after all.’

‘Who did they arrest then?’ The ecstasy has turned to doubt.

‘They haven’t made an announcement, but it was Santar Gunta.’ She says nothing. ‘Are you still there? Did you hear what I sai—’

‘They’re wrong,’ she says emphatically.

‘What?’

‘They’re wrong,’ she says again. ‘It’s not Gunta. I’m sure of it. I spent enough time around him to know what he’s capable of, and what he’s not.
He’s not capable of this. He’s too much of a coward.’

‘We have the evidence,’ I say.

‘The evidence is wrong.’

I’m not sure what to say. ‘Well, it’s in the hands of the police now, so I suppose they’ll figure out whether they have the right person.’

‘No, they won’t,’ she laments. ‘They won’t, because that’s not the way the police work. Once they believe they have the right guy, they’ll stick with
that. It’s the easiest way to deal with things. Anything that comes up that doesn’t support their theory they will either ignore or they’ll jam into a box that they can say makes
sense.’

‘Why do you think that?’

I can almost see her eyes rolling. ‘I’ve dealt with the police before.’

‘I’m not sure what you want me to do,’ I say.

‘Please, just promise me you won’t let this drop. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe it’s not Josh, but I’m sure it’s not Gunta. It just doesn’t make sense.
Will you promise me you’ll keep looking into this?’

‘It’s not my job,’ I say. In fact I worry about interfering in the investigation in a way that will get me arrested.

‘I know it’s not your job, but it’s something you’re good at. You’re smart, and you’re stubborn, and you don’t like it when people get the better of
you. What better traits are there for an investigator?’

‘I’m not sure there’s much I can do.’

‘There has to be,’ she says. ‘There has to be, because whoever did this to those girls is still out there. And if he’s still out there, it means he will do it
again.’

I look at my watch and realize that Yvette has been waiting at the Diner for ten minutes. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Okay. Just please think about it?’

‘I will.’ I switch off the phone.

‘That took a while.’

Yvette is sitting in a booth near the Diner’s front door. The coffee on the table in front of her is half gone. She stirs what is left deliberately.

‘Sorry.’

‘Is she relieved?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘She doesn’t believe that Gunta killed the girls. She thinks it’s someone else.’

‘Pinkerton?’

I nod. ‘She admitted that it could be someone else, but she’s convinced that it’s not Gunta.’

‘Did she explain why?’

‘Not really.’ I flag down a waitress and order a coffee. Yvette orders another. I consider getting something to eat, but I’m not particularly hungry. ‘She doesn’t
think he has murder in him.’

Yvette takes a sip of her coffee contemplatively. ‘I can’t say I disagree with her on that. I’m not a fan of his personality, but the good doctor doesn’t strike me as a
killer. And he certainly doesn’t strike me as someone who would kill these girls in such a sexually ritualistic way. I just don’t see it.’

‘You think it’s Pinkerton too?’

‘Could be,’ Yvette says. ‘But that wouldn’t explain why the LifeScenes were created on a computer that was handed out to Gunta. And I don’t think he has the skills
to create the kind of graphics that are used in
De Sade
’s LifeScenes.’

Our coffees arrive, and Yvette pours a huge dollop from the creamer on the table and chases it with five sugars. I drink mine black while I think about what she’s said. ‘What if
it’s not just him?’ I ask idly. ‘What if there’s someone else who’s helping him?’

‘Like who?’

‘What’s your impression of Michael, the guy who works with him?’

‘He’s good-looking,’ Yvette says immediately. ‘He certainly wouldn’t need to tie a girl up to get laid.’

‘Maybe that’s how they get these girls in the first place, you know? I mean, getting someone to go home with you without a struggle isn’t necessarily the easiest thing in the
world.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘I’m talking about someone like Gunta. Older, awkward with women and a little severe, you know?’

‘A little?’

‘That’s my point. I haven’t heard anything from Killkenny about these women being drugged, and it doesn’t sound like they were attacked before they were killed – it
sounds like they put themselves in these positions voluntarily. I have a hard time seeing Gunta being able to accomplish that on nothing but his own charm.’

Yvette tilts her head. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But then, what does Gunta get out of it? What’s he in it for?’

I shrug. ‘Who knows? Maybe he just likes to watch.’ I take another sip of my coffee and look around the place. It’s midafternoon and the Diner is half full, mainly with college
students and people in their twenties taking a break from whatever work they have. I notice that nearly every single one of them is tapping away at some sort of device: tablets, iPhones,
BlackBerrys, iPads, smartphones . . . Everyone is sending out information about themselves over the Internet. Personal, intimate messages to secret lovers; sensitive business plans; credit-card
information; missives to arch enemies. Few of them even look up to interact with the people sitting there in front of them. At that moment it strikes me how sad and lonely technology has made us. I
think about the people on NextLife, passing their time in fantasies, unable to engage with the real world. ‘We’ve become a nation of voyeurs, after all. Gunta was the one who created
the NextLife LifeScenes in the first place.’

‘Maybe. You think his assistant, Michael, is involved?’

‘He gave me a look like he wanted to kill me as they took Gunta away today. He certainly seems like a guy who might be capable of murder.’

‘How do you know, really? Do we know anything about his background?’

‘No, we don’t,’ I admit. ‘But I know a way we can find out.’

We’re back in my office, sitting in front of my computer screen. ‘I have an administrator’s access to the company’s employment records,’ I
explain. ‘HR decided it was necessary because of the sensitive nature of what this department does. I need to be able to check on my employees to make sure there is no one who is a security
risk.’

‘Has anyone ever come up on the system as a legitimate concern?’

‘Yes,’ I answer honestly.

‘Who?’

I look over at her. ‘You.’

She laughs. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. You have a history of hacking and at least one arrest for computer-related offenses. Remember, you hacked the WorldCom system and shut down all their financial records for three
hours.’