Smart House (8 page)

“A duct leads to outside. In case of a leak, you know. Carbon dioxide is heavier than air, so it wouldn’t go out the door at the top of the stairs, but it could flow into the dumbwaiter. If the dumbwaiter gets up here with any carbon dioxide inside it, it’s automatically vented out before the door will open. At least, that’s how it works when the computer’s controlling it.” He pointed to what looked like a thermometer without mercury on the side of the up and down buttons. “A safety backup sensor,” he said. “It determines if there’s carbon dioxide in the cage.”

Charlie nodded and pushed the up button. Nothing happened.

“It won’t work with the door open.”

Charlie closed the door and tried again. The mechanism was soundless. In a moment the box had arrived; the door opened.

Chapter 7

Neither Charlie nor Constance
objected when Alexander began to hurry to finish the rest of the tour. He showed them how each doorway had been under observation during the game, and where the sensors in the floor were concealed under the carpeting so that no one could enter any of the rooms without being registered.

“It’s sure to revolutionize security systems,” the earnest young man said.

“Big Brother is alive and well,” Charlie said sourly.

“If you have to have security, you might as well have good systems. Gary’s room was upstairs. You want to see that?” He sounded defensive and a little belligerent.

“Is it stripped?” Charlie asked.

“You mean his personal things? Yes, but the furnishings are just like they were, and the computers he used are still there. It’s not locked or anything.”

“We’ll manage by ourselves, but before you vanish, tell me something about the gadget Bruce was talking about, the control computer. He said as big as a cigarette pack. Is that about right? Exactly what could he do with such a small device?”

Alexander brightened again. “There were several of them, actually, each a dedicated computer.” He looked from Constance to Charlie, as if testing if they could follow, then looked despairing again. “You know garage door openers? The hand-held signaling device that opens and closes them? That’s a dedicated machine. Made to do one thing only. That’s sort of like the hand-held computers for Smart House. Suppose someone fell down in one of the bedrooms and couldn’t get to the door, or there was a fire, or any number of emergencies arose. One of the hand-held computers worked sort of like a master key, a skeleton key. It could open doors. Any of them. Another one could intercept, alter, or add to some of the basic functions of Smart House, like if the lights were timed to go off at eleven and you wanted them to stay on until later, you could do that. The basic instructions would still be functional, and the program would revert back to them, but temporarily you could control some things.”

“What besides the lights?” Charlie asked patiently when Alexander’s voice trailed off.

With a vague gesture Alexander indicated the entire house. “Just basic things like lights and the climate-control system, bathwater temperatures, things like that.”

“Swimming pool temperature? Jacuzzi temperature?” Charlie asked softly.

Alexander fidgeted, his glance darting all around them. They were standing at the foot of the stairs, the glass wall behind him, Charlie and Constance facing it. Nervously he glanced over his shoulder. When he spoke again, his voice was nearly a whisper. “Mr. Meiklejohn, I honestly don’t know what all he programmed into them. There were three of them, and I haven’t been able to find a single one. They were always kept in the office downstairs, but after Gary decided to play the game, he kept them in his bedroom, and I haven’t even seen them since last spring sometime. He could have added features, macros, I don’t know anything about, or he could have put them somewhere and forgot about them. I just don’t know. But no one else could have used them, sir. I mean, our program is unique, and each of them was programmed in a language that is brand-new. No one else here could have used them.”

Charlie studied him with great curiosity. He could not decide yet whether this young man was simply ingenuous or extremely clever. “We’ll talk more later, Alexander,” he said then. “Right now I don’t know enough to ask many questions. I’m sure I’ll think of some.”

“One question,” Constance said, as the young man turned away in evident relief. “First, you said he could have programmed in features or macros. Would you explain those terms?”

Alexander shifted as if in agony. After a pause he said, “Let me describe one of the things we programmed in, to give you an idea. Suppose someone in room number three is a smoker. In each room there’s a smoke alarm, of course, but they’re all set to register minute amounts of smoke—cigarette smoke or pipes, whatever. We put in a conditional macro that says in effect that if the smoke detector is activated at a certain minimum level, then certain other steps are taken. I mean the air conditioner is re-programmed to exhaust smoke, and change the air more often, things like that. That’s a feature activated by a macro—it’s a string of commands in a permanent file that is started by a signal, in this case the smoke detector. Of course, smoke from a real fire would cause other things to happen—the fire alarm, sprinkler system to start, things of that sort. But any string of commands can be activated by a key, or combination of keys, or any signal you program in.

That’s what the hand-held computers could do, send the signal.”

Constance nodded thoughtfully. “I see. So the little computer could have been used to erase someone playing the game, just as Bruce suggested?”

He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Sure. That’s the point. Gary could have programmed that in, or a number of other things. I don’t know if he did, but he could have.”

“Thanks for being our guide,” Charlie said, taking Constance’s arm. “Onward and upward. See you later.”

Alexander darted away, and they went upstairs without speaking. At the top Constance said, “Charlie, you know carbon dioxide poisoning isn’t the same as anoxia.”

He grinned. “I thought I would have to explain that to you.”

“But why did you go on about it down there?”

He put his finger on her lips. “I want them all to talk as freely as possible. If our killer needed inside info, who’s a better bet than Alexander? Good God, he must have chips instead of gray matter in that skull of his. Look, there’s someone new. More than one, in fact.”

He was looking down into the atrium. Constance joined him and saw Milton with three people they had not met, two men and a woman. The woman was very beautiful.

“Let’s take a quick look at Gary’s room, and a quick look at the roof, and then go meet the newcomers.”

Gary’s suite was a disappointment. Without his possessions it was just another luxurious hotel suite. There were two rooms: a small office with two computers, and his bedroom. There was a walk-in closet, and a bathroom twice the size of the one in the room Charlie and Constance had. Charlie gazed around with dissatisfaction. “We’ll get back to it,” he said. “Now the roof.”

This was a disappointment also. The mist had grown so dense that the ocean had vanished into it. Little of the grounds was visible. The dome was glass, the flooring plastic, and, Charlie realized, it was constructed of solar collectors. A small redwood building housed the elevator and held many outdoor collapsible chairs and several small tables. It was cold and wet up there; they did not linger.

They took the elevator back to the ground floor and entered the atrium where a small group had gathered and was having drinks at the bar. The odor of chlorine and gardenias and blooming orange and lemon trees made the room stifling to Constance. As they approached the bar, she realized that she hated Smart House. As beautiful as it was, as modern and comfortable and convenient, it was also too inhuman in scale, in expertly selected furnishings and colors, and in spy eyes everywhere that might or might not be watching.

“Constance, Charlie,” Milton Sweetwater greeted them. “Laura and Harry Westerman, and Jake Kluge, and now you’ve met us all.”

It used to be, Charlie thought almost aggrievedly as they all shook hands and made quick, mutual assessments, that businessmen going into middle age had certain similarities, a bit of a paunch for example, or a receding hairline, or something. Here were two more healthy specimens—Jake Kluge was gangly and strong, with straight brown hair that could stand cutting and was a bit limp. His eyes were pale blue behind contact lenses. Harry Westerman was a mountain climber, according to Milton, and he looked it. He was rock hard all over, wiry, with the sort of muscularity that never turned to flab because there was absolutely no fat coating the muscles and underlying the skin. His eyes were piercing and dark, and now looked irritable and impatient. And Laura Westerman was a knockout. She kept his hand less than a second too long, but he knew it and she knew it. He had seen her, or women who could pass for her, for years in New York, usually carrying hat-boxes, makeup bags, hurrying to meet this photographer, or make that modeling event, denying themselves any calories more than an allotted number carefully arrived at with the aid of a nutritionist. And he had seen the husbands, he thought soberly; either they were eaten alive by jealousy, or they were so involved in their own endless affairs that they were oblivious to the fact that their wives were saying yes to every man they met.

“You aren’t afraid of the house, I hope,” Jake Kluge said to Constance. “We agreed at our last meeting that except for basic systems that we’re all familiar with, nothing would be turned on this weekend. There’s no more to worry about than the elevator in any building in Manhattan.”

Before Constance could reassure him, Charlie said, “That’s a damn shame, in a way. I’d love to see this joint in operation.”

Harry Westerman turned abruptly and went behind the bar. “We’re having martinis. What would you like?”

“That sounds fine,” Charlie said, after glancing at Constance who nodded. He looked about the garden and waved at it all. “How about the lights in here? On a timer, or do you have to go around and flick them on and off?”

“There’s a light switching board,” Milton Sweetwater said, glancing uneasily at Harry who was shaking the drinks. “Or you could do them individually.”

Harry poured two more drinks and put them on the bar counter. “Usually they’re under the control of Smart House,” he said. “Like everything else.” Charlie handed a glass to Constance, lifted his own, and sipped, and Harry asked in a voice as hard as everything else about him, “Exactly what do you think you can learn in a weekend, Mr. Meiklejohn? The police held us here for days, and they’ve been coming around ever since. I voted against bringing you in, you should know.”

“I already know some things the police weren’t told,” Charlie said easily. “I know about the game, and I know about the hand-held computers that could override the main system. And now I know that the decision wasn’t unanimous to open yet another investigation. I’d say I’m making a certain amount of progress.”

Harry’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowed, and Laura laughed softly. “Harry did come around,” she said. “By the time we thrashed it all out, he agreed along with everyone else.”

Harry motioned for her to stop, and Charlie filed away the fact that in spite of her feigned disregard for him, she seemed uncommonly aware of his gestures, his frowns.

“What hand-held computer are you talking about?” Harry demanded.

Charlie looked from him to Jake, who shook his head. “Gary didn’t demonstrate one for either of you?” He looked at Laura. “Or you?”

Her laughter was brittle this time. She moved to stand by Harry behind the bar and began to look over bottles there. “You might as well add something else to what you know that we didn’t mention to the police. Gary loved secrecy more than anything else in life. If he had such a toy, he would have guarded it very jealously, at least until he was ready for the big production, which was to take place on Monday. Isn’t that about right, darling?” she said to Harry mockingly.

“All I know is that he didn’t tell me about it.”

“I’ll be damned,” Jake Kluge murmured. “Of course he would have had such a thing, a number of them. Where are they? Have you seen them? Does Alexander have them?”

Charlie shook his head. “ ’Fraid not. Alexander says he can’t find them. Why do you say, of course?”

“We should have figured it out,” Jake said. “Obviously you’d have an override control. Another ace in the hole for Gary. But they must be around somewhere. Did Alexander search for them?”

“He said he couldn’t find them. Why are they important, Mr. Kluge?”

Jake started, then grinned. “Jake,” he said. “And you’re Charlie, and she’s Constance. Okay? You’ve brought us something already, Charlie. You see, some things the damn house was doing we haven’t been able to figure out, and this could explain why. If he was overriding the main system, he could have made it perform in certain ways. Harry, let’s go find Alexander. Thanks, Charlie.”

Harry came out from the bar and they started to walk out together.

“Before you take off,” Charlie said. “Just one thing. You weren’t eager to open this can of worms, I take it. Either of you. Why did you change your minds?”

Jake shrugged. “I never said I was against it.”

“But weren’t you?”

He regarded Charlie curiously for a moment, then nodded. “I think we just want to put it behind us, get on with company business. And, as Harry said, we have little faith in anything coming of a new investigation.”

“Did the house do it?” Charlie asked very softly.

“For Christ’s sake!” Harry snapped. He started to move again, but Jake caught his arm.

“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “We hired him. The company hired him to ask questions, and we agreed to answer them. No, Charlie, not in the way you imply by your question. The house couldn’t have intended to kill anyone.”

“I didn’t bring up intentions,” Charlie murmured. “But, Jake, Harry, if the house didn’t do it, then a person did. You want to put that behind you, too? Leave it alone if we determine that a person killed two men?”

Harry looked murderously at Milton Sweetwater, as if the lawyer had been responsible for making him change his mind. “Bellringer could go under,” he said sharply. “I don’t give a damn who did it. I just want it settled for once and for all so we can get on with things. Does that satisfy you?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes indeed. Jake?”

“You didn’t bring up intentions, but neither did you bring up accidental deaths. That is the third alternative.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Charlie said agreeably. “And if we decide it was a person? What will that do to the company’s outlook?”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t know. None of us knows. We could all be ruined one way or the other, but we do know that if we don’t clear up this mess, we’ll certainly be ruined. We’ll cooperate, Charlie. Is that the real question?”