Parts Unknown (33 page)

“What’s there to steal?”

That was another puzzle, because most of the units that came into receiving were in sealed canisters: large electronics components from the East Coast plant shipped here to be assembled with the components that came in from the West Coast. He explained that to Devlin.

Kirk was silent. He jotted a few words down in a small notebook. The woman pushed her folded arms off the glass top of the glowing rental shelf and came back to find out if they would like a refill. When she left again, Kirk asked Chris, “Any names?”

“Just the first names. Off their shirts: Eddie, Scott, and Johnny.” He didn’t have last names because it was hard to ask fellow workers a lot of questions about who this guy was or that one. Most of them would ask why the hell he wanted to know. Or else they’d shrug suspiciously and tell him to ask them himself. Unfriendly, yes, but more than that. Chris knew a lot of it was because he looked so young, and even more was the result of a clannishness the workers felt toward anyone who hadn’t been there awhile. A lot of them, even if they weren’t into pilfering or dealing, didn’t like the idea of a company fink. “I got their locker numbers, though.” He slid a scrap of paper down the bar and Devlin covered it with his elbow. “You want me to try and get close to them?”

“No. You just hang loose. You’ve been doing fine, Chris. Really good work. I’ll get to Reznick with this and see how far he wants us to go. Check in tomorrow.” Kirk folded the scrap into his jacket pocket and drank deeply. “Anything you need?”

“No.” But he had to ask. “How much longer you want me on this?”

Kirk studied the light brown eyes behind the rimless glasses. The lenses were clear glass, he knew, another cosmetic touch to emphasize Newman’s youth and apparent innocence. “It could be another three or four weeks. It’s hard to say. But listen, if you want out, just tell me.”

“No, no—nothing like that. I was just curious, you know.”

And, Kirk thought, perhaps getting a little lonely, too. Even the experienced agents hit those times when the assumed life seemed to isolate them more and more from the world they were familiar with. Then a hunger for old normalities rose like an ache in the chest. “You’re doing a fine job, Chris. Just don’t take any chances, hear me?”

“Yeah. Hey, don’t worry about me. There’s nothing to this.”

“And don’t get too cocky,” said Kirk. “That’s when mistakes are made.”

Chris sobered quickly. “All right, Dev. I hear you. I’ll play it cool.”

“Okay. Any hint of trouble, bail out and call me right away.”

“Will do.”

In the bar mirror, Kirk watched the young man drain his glass and, still apparently ignoring the two large men on the stools, stroll out the door.

Bunch asked, “How’s he holding up?”

“He’s a little nervous. But trying hard.”

“Think he’ll do?”

“Sure.”

They spent another five minutes at the bar and then followed Chris out. Kirk didn’t expect Newman to have a tail, but he didn’t want to be too careless about the possibility either.

After a while in this business, Kirk knew, you discovered there really were people who lived by only one rule: what’s in it for them. Any other rule, or person, that got in their way was expendable. It was something Bunch had known all his life, he told Devlin once. The only thing that surprised him was Devlin’s not discovering it sooner. But then Bunch believed Kirk had led a sheltered life.

Crammed into the Healey and back in the flow of traffic, Bunch asked, “So what did he tell you?”

Kirk explained it and Bunch shifted restlessly on the narrow seat of the car. One of his shoulders and an arm hung over the door’s padded lip. The other shoulder jammed against Kirk’s and made it hard for him to shift. “If the only dope around is pot, Chris should be able to smell it,” Bunch said.

“Unless they’re smoking it outside in their cars or at the motor pool.”

“I don’t know, Dev. That crap sticks like a whore’s perfume. You can smell it in people’s clothes and hair.” He added, “I still think I should have been the one to go in.”

“Let’s give him a chance, Bunch. He has to learn sooner or later.”

“Sure, sure. I’m willing if Reznick is. He’s the one paying the bill.”

Which, Kirk knew, might be a problem. The regional manager for Advantage Corp. had urged haste in the investigation and hadn’t been especially pleased to learn it might take four to six weeks. Now he had to be told it might take longer if there was an extensive network in the plant. Reznick was a decisive executive. He wanted things done and he wanted them done yesterday, by God. And, he made it clear, he didn’t tolerate screw-ups. But in the long run, Kirk believed, it would be cheapest to do the job right, and that was what he intended to advise the man.

M
R.
H
UMPHRIES HAD
been told nine o’clock. He was on time. Kirk wasn’t. Humphries waited restlessly, feeling awkward and embarrassed to have everyone who passed on the second-floor landing glance at him and guess his business. The darkened glass of the door said only “Kirk and Associates,” but Humphries felt people knew it was the office of a private investigator. And they knew he was in trouble. Probably scorned him for needing help, just as he had secretly scorned others for their weaknesses or illnesses. He glanced at his Rolex and promised himself three minutes more, max. Then he was out of here. This had been Mitsuko’s idea in the first place, not his. She was the one who kept bringing up those worrisome what-ifs. She even seemed to enjoy it. It was a cultural thing, he knew—the Chrysanthemum and the Sword view of the world. At least he had to view it that way, because in other ways—so many of them—she was the woman who fulfilled his every dream. In fact, he could feel—just standing here and thinking about her— a gentle tightening between his legs, that strange clenching she knew so well how to stimulate. And then equally well how to relieve. Still, she wasn’t standing here in public making a fool of herself.

Hurrying shoes ran up the iron stairway and echoed in the atrium that formed the center of the remodeled warehouse. Mr. Humphries saw a tall man, younger than himself, take the stairs two at a time. It was, he guessed, the dilatory Mr. Kirk, and Humphries wasn’t all that impressed with what he saw.

A bit late from the morning workout, Devlin sprinted up the stairs toward the man who stood tensely beside the office door. Bunch was still jogging on the Cherry Creek bike path and would reach the office in half an hour or so. With the kind of business Kirk and Associates catered to—industrial security was supposed to be their specialty—few clients came to the office. Most of the contacts came in over the telephone, and then either Bunch or Devlin would follow up with a visit to the prospective customer’s office. Moreover, the phone answerer and fax machine stood watch twenty-four hours a day, so their sense of opening and closing was fairly casual. Which, Kirk supposed, had irritated the slender man in the expensive gray suit, because he let Kirk see him glance at his gold watch as he unlocked the door.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Humphries.” He motioned to the only visitor’s chair in the room and opened panels in the window to air out the overnight stuffiness. The red message light blinked on the recorder, and Kirk rewound the tape and turned it off as he sat down. “You say you need a bodyguard?”

Humphries was somewhere in his mid-thirties, possibly nearing forty. But he had one of those faces that aged well and appeared healthily free of wrinkles. Sandy, straight hair fell from a part designed to cover a thinning spot on his crown. He had blue eyes that bulged slightly, hinting of a possible thyroid problem. “First, I’d like to know a little about your qualifications. What guarantees can you offer for such work, Mr.—ah— Kirk?”

Kirk smiled. His face lost some of its lean wariness and made him look even younger than Humphries had assumed.

“As I mentioned yesterday, we don’t often do such work. But if we can’t help you, I’ll recommend several agencies who might.”

“If you can’t do it, why did you tell me to come down here?” Humphries almost added, “And then make me stand waiting at your door.”

“I said we don’t often do it. It depends.”

“On what?”

The young man ticked off the points on three fingers. “On the reasons you need protection. On the nature of the protection you need. On the range of commitment you’re asking for.” He leaned back and placed his fingers together just in front of his chin. Humphries had an intimation that despite his youthfulness, the man might be very capable indeed. Certainly he spoke like a gentleman and not out of the side of his mouth as he’d assumed private detectives usually did.

“Do you want to give me a little background?” Kirk watched Humphries think it over for a few seconds. The long fingers of the man’s left hand twisted a ring on his right. The large wad of ornately carved gold bore Greek letters on its red stone. That, the suit, the supple leather of his shoes, all breathed money, and Kirk was glad the building’s cleaning crew had made its rounds last night.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll need—ah—protection. I’m not even sure I should be here. But my wife insisted.” Kirk said nothing to help out and Humphries took a deep breath. “I think I’m being followed.”

“Why, Mr. Humphries?”

“Well, I’ve seen this car repeatedly. A brown one. And I’m also sure there have been prowlers around my house.”

Kirk was more specific. “Why would someone want to follow you?”

“I don’t know. That’s one of the things I want you to find out. But someone’s watching me, and I’m worried. My wife and I are both worried.”

“Have you gone to the police? It would save a lot of money and probably be very effective.”

“I’ve talked to a policeman. An Officer Fredericks. He said there was nothing they could do. He said no crime had been committed yet.” Humphries snorted angrily. “I guess I’m supposed to wait until after I’ve been attacked to file a complaint.”

Devlin studied the man’s pale eyes and wondered what he was hiding from him and why. It wouldn’t be the first time a client held back the real reason he needed a private detective. “If we do take the assignment, Mr. Humphries, we’ll need to know as much as you do about why someone might want to follow you.”

“I just told you I don’t know! I came here for help, not to be insulted.” The man drew his feet under the chair as if to stand. Kirk said nothing. The moment teetered until Humphries sighed again and the stiffness went out of his shoulders. “If I knew—if I had any inkling—I would tell you.” He added, “After all, I do have more than a passing interest in the matter.”

“You say your wife insisted that you come here?”

“That I get protection.” Humphries liked precision. “I was the one who selected your firm, based on the recommendation of someone you worked for previously.”

“Oh? Who’s that?”

“Owen McAllister.” The name had weight, Humphries knew, and he borrowed some of it. “We were having drinks the other day and he happened to mention you.”

“I’m grateful. What do you do, Mr. Humphries? Tell me about yourself.”

The implied answer was that Humphries was rich enough to do nothing if he chose to. But since the men in his family had engaged in business or the professions for six generations, he had studied electrical engineering and moved from that into the proprietorship of a firm that had been bought by Sanyo for, as he said without modesty, an impressive sum. Now he was engaged in starting a new company to explore and develop the artificial-intelligence components that the next generation of computers would need. “Robotics is the new frontier in computer work. A-I is the road to that frontier.”

His office was in the Meridian Office Park south of Denver. His home was farther south just across the line in Douglas County. It was, Kirk knew, a semi rural area of large lots and homes to match, scattered over broken prairie and pine-dotted foothills. A lot of professional and business people who commute up I1-25 to the metro area had settled there because of its isolation and beauty.

“Did the problem start before or after you began the new company?”

Humphries stared at Devlin. “I never thought of that.”

“Is it possible?”

The man twisted the signet ring and frowned at the rug that covered part of the office’s shiny wooden floor. “It’s possible, I suppose. It’s a highly competitive business, of course. But I can’t believe that any of the people familiar with what I’m doing would stoop to … .” He ended with a shrug.

“Names?”

“I can’t make accusations like that, Mr. Kirk!”

“It’s not an accusation. It’s merely hypothetical.”

“Still, this is very embarrassing. I mean, you will please keep this confidential, won’t you? These people are my friends as well as competitors. In fact, ‘competitors’ is too harsh a word for—”

“We keep our mouths shut, Mr. Humphries.” Kirk held a pencil ready. “Who might profit from a knowledge of your activities?”

“Well … Gunter. Gunter Schmidt—he’s working in the same area. In fact, we exchange information occasionally. But it’s a friendly rivalry.”

“He’s an engineer too?”

“Yes. He was recently promoted to head the A-I project at Reliable Electronics. I can’t imagine him doing what you suggest. In fact, I’ve asked him more than once to work for me.”

“But he hasn’t.”

“Not yet.”

“Anyone else?”

“Michael Stratford. He’s a vice president for research at Memory Technology. They’re very active in A-I.”

“And interested in what you’re doing?”

“Of course. I’m interested in them, too.”

“Do you think he could be the one?”

Humphries weighed that. “I don’t like to think so. I really don’t know the man that well, but …”

Devlin jotted the name down. “Anyone else who might possibly be interested?”

“Ned Liles. He was one of my research engineers in the old company. He elected not to stay on with Sanyo. He didn’t want to work for the Japanese, he said.”

“But he’s now working in A-I?”

“Yes. His own company. Essentially a one-man, one-lab outfit. He doesn’t have the capital to develop very far, or the patents to attract it.”