Whiplash (12 page)

Sherlock said, "He knows exactly what the woman copied, he's afraid of it getting out, and so he's not cooperating, murder or no murder. The file or files she copied, that's got to be the key. And there were enough pages zipped into her jacket that she looked a bit bulky, Mr. Tallman said.

"Whatever she took, I'll bet my sneakers it shows something Schiffer Hartwin very much wants to keep quiet. I'll bet whatever it is, it's pretty big. I wonder what she's planning on doing with the file?"

Bowie said, "I was wondering that myself. It could be anything from extortion to espionage to someone trying to be a Good Samaritan."

Savich said, "Question is, what does she do with the files now that Blauvelt got himself murdered right out back at about the same time? Even if she didn't have anything to do with Blauvelt's murder herself, she's got to be scared. She's got to be praying we'll find the murderer soon so she'll be free to act."

Bowie said, "Or maybe she murdered Blauvelt, before or after she copied some files."

Savich said slowly, "She knew what she wanted, that's for sure. She wouldn't risk breaking in on a fishing expedition. I'll bet the German bosses are very well aware of what she copied by now, but without a direct link to the murder, we don't have a chance of talking anyone into a warrant." He swished the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, and looked thoughtful.

Sherlock knew that look and smiled. "We've got to find her, see what's she's got before we arrest her for breaking and entering. I'm thinking once we know that, we'll know why Blauvelt was here."

Bowie looked out the window to see an ancient pink Cadillac cruise down High Street. "I'm not so sure about that. There doesn't necessarily have to be a tie-in."

"Maybe not," Sherlock said, "but somehow, it just feels right, like it's all part of the whole." She looked down at her watch. "Bowie, what about that German policeman? Andreas Kesselring of the German intelligence agency? Isn't he due in at JFK about now?"

Bowie grinned. "Yep, he surely is. I sent Special Agent Dolores Cliff to pick him up. She's got quite a talent for prying information out of people. Give her an oyster and she'll come away with the pearl. By the time she gets him back here, he'll have told her the color of his underwear and what he bought his wife for her birthday."

When they pulled into the parking lot of the Stone Bridge Police Department five minutes later, Bowie was rubbing his hands together with anticipation. "Caskie Royal's got to be scared spitless at this official invitation to cop central."

"Particularly since that woman has material that could fry his butt as well as the collective butts of the higher-ups in Schiffer Hartwin," Sherlock said. "But you know, it's Blauvelt who's the key. It all comes back to him and why he was here."

STONE BRIDGE, CONNECTICUT

Tuesday morning

Savich watched Caskie Royal come into the conference room, two Schiffer Hartwin lawyers following close on his heels. If the older man had worn a robe and sported a beard, he'd have looked like some medieval alchemist. His eyes were intense, his look resolute, ready to take on the devil himself. It had to be Bender the Elder, Savich thought. As for the younger lawyer, he was an interesting mix of apprentice and hip professional in his electric yellow tie and conservative suit. Royal looked like the successful CEO he was, in a lightweight gray suit, pristine white shirt, and sharp Italian loafers, the look both understated and expensive, sure to impress those lower on the food chain. He looked both angry and harried.

The alchemist took a pair of aviator glasses from his breast pocket and put them on his long narrow nose, adding at least fifty IQ points to the package. Savich watched him lightly touch a white hand to Royal's shoulder, lean close to whisper something in his ear. Royal jerked, gave the lawyer a searching look, then nodded slowly.

There was no hand-shaking, only curt nods to accompany the introductions, the barest sheen of civility. Both Harold Bender and Andrew Toms settled in, each withdrawing a yellow pad from their leather briefcases, expensive pens at the ready.

Bowie took papers out of his own briefcase, ignoring them for a good minute. He smiled when he finally looked up at Caskie Royal and his lawyers. "We appreciate you gentlemen coming in on this fine day." He leaned forward, and the smile fell off his face. "We are, as you all know, investigating the murder Sunday night of Helmut Blauvelt, an employee of your company. We are making the reasonable assumption, for the moment, that his murder may be tied to a break-in at your office that same night. We have reason to believe that if we can find the woman who broke into your office, Mr. Royal, we might find out who killed Mr. Blauvelt, and why.

"It seems, sir, that she intended to copy one or more of your sensitive passworded files. That means either someone in your office managed to find out your password, or you used a password that could be easily guessed. What is your password, Mr. Royal?"

"My dog, Adler, but no one knows what my password was, not even my executive assistant."

Bowie said patiently, "Anyone who knows what they're doing has a list of most common words or dates people use for passwords. Any dog in the household usually makes the list."

Royal said, "Look, I'll admit that was sloppy on my part, but I've since changed the password. As I've already told you people, Ms. Alvarez and I interrupted the thief before anything on my computer was even accessed. Maybe the thief tried, but didn't have time to work through the list of passwords."

Bender the Elder said, "The fact that Mr. Royal used a password a thief could guess means nothing. Mr. Toms personally examined Mr. Royal's computer before the hard drive was removed by the IT department. There was no attempt to access anything of value."

Andrew Toms's electric yellow tie blasted back the sharp sunlight pouring through the conference room window, making him either a sartorial masterpiece, or color-blind, Bowie couldn't make up his mind. "That is correct," Toms said, his pen on the table. Tap, tap, tap.

Bowie said easily, "I'm only pointing out that given the simplicity of your password, Mr. Royal, we can't assume your thief necessarily works inside your company or has everyday access to your office. I'm thinking of a possible whistleblower."

"Whistleblower, Agent Richards?" Bender the Elder arched one of his eyebrows a good inch. "Do you have any evidence of that?"

Bowie leaned forward. "Tell us, Mr. Royal, who do you think broke into your office Sunday night?"

"I have given this a lot of thought, naturally," Royal said, voice dripping sincerity, "and I can think of no one at all, either working for me or outside my business. It makes little sense, as I have already told Agent Savich. And I will say it again, there was nothing all that sensitive on my desktop computer. There is far more valuable information on our servers, but that is highly restricted."

Bowie said, "It's really past time for you to turn away from your lawyers' script and step into the light, Mr. Royal. Your computer was accessed, you know it, we know it. Now, what was in the file or files that were copied?"

Apprentice Toms said, "Mr. Royal has told you the truth, Agent Richards. He has also told you it doesn't matter to your murder investigation."

Toms, young though he was, was blessed with the mellifluous voice of a seasoned vicar. Maybe that was why he'd become the alchemist's apprentice. Bowie mowed right over that beautiful vibrant voice. "Surely you realize that your problems are just beginning, Mr. Royal. The thief, this woman, she's got copies of files you obviously shouldn't have had on your computer, given that they could be accessed by anyone who could type in your dog's name. I don't imagine your masters in Germany are very pleased with you, Mr. Royal, just as I have no doubt Mr. Bender here is keeping them fully informed about what's happening across the pond."

"Agent Richards," Toms said, "Mr. Royal isn't here to be insulted. As for calling our corporate executives in Germany his 'masters,' you are merely baiting him, and, I might add, showing your jingoistic prejudices."

Bowie never took his eyes of Royal. "Any prejudices on my part are the least of your problems. The fact is, Mr. Royal, regardless of what that woman took, no matter if it is related to Mr. Blauvelt's murder, your future is in this woman's hands. If these two crimes are connected, and you impede our investigation, you can be indicted for murder as an accessory after the fact."

Royal shot a look at Bender the Elder, but kept his mouth shut. Bowie wanted to smack him.

Bender the Elder cleared his throat. This aristocrat of lawyers had worked for Schiffer Hartwin over a decade, five years longer than Caskie Royal had been CEO. He cleared his throat again to draw all attention to him, even making Savich look up finally from MAX. He straightened his aviator glasses. "I will say this once, Agent Richards. Mr. Royal has no idea who the thief was or what the thief was after. What was on Mr. Royal's computer that night is irrelevant, and we cannot help you tie this break-in to the unfortunate murder of Mr. Blauvelt, as you persist in trying to do, with no proof whatsoever.

"Now, Agent, is there anything else you would like to ask Mr. Royal to justify your asking him here, to the local police department?" He looked around the spare conference room with its functional table and dozen uncomfortable chairs, as if expecting a roach or two to scuttle across the floor.

Sherlock spoke for the first time, her eyes locked on Royal's face. "Actually, we're close to locating your thief, Mr. Royal. You see, we found a witness who saw her. And once we have her, we may not need you or your company's help any longer. That would not be in your best interest, Mr. Royal.

"I do not believe either you or Ms. Alvarez murdered Helmut Blauvelt. You don't seem to me to be murderers. But he is dead nonetheless, and he had an appointment to see you yesterday."

"No! I told you, I didn't even know Mr. Blauvelt was in the U.S.!"

"Mr. Royal, a waiter at Chez Pierre overheard Mr. Blauvelt speaking on his cell phone Sunday evening. He spoke of you, seeing you on Monday morning. Come now, Mr. Royal, as I said, I don't believe you killed him, so why not tell us the truth? Don't you want to help us catch Mr. Blauvelt's murderer?"

Bowie went still at her smoothly delivered lie.

Bender the Elder opened his mouth, but Royal shouted over him, "All right! It doesn't matter anyway. So I knew Blauvelt was coming, but only the day before he arrived, and it was he who called me, not the directors in Germany. Mr. Blauvelt gave me no indication why he was here, and I did ask him, but he said it would wait for our meeting. I was mildly alarmed because I know his reputation. I did not see him before his murder and that's the truth. That's all I know. It doesn't help you at all because he's dead."

"Whatever it was that led to the break-in, could it be that Mr. Blauvelt was here to deal with the situation, or the person responsible?"

"I don't know."

"His death could mean someone was desperate, about to be exposed. Have you thought about the fact you might be next?"

Apprentice Toms and Bender the Elder talked over each other, Bender winning out with his booming cauldron-stirring voice. To Sherlock's delight, he actually smacked his fist on the tabletop and lost it, his breath coming harsh and fast. "You baited Mr. Royal into saying this. I don't like your unnecessary scare tactics, Agent Sherlock, that insult both Mr. Royal and Schiffer Hartwin! And your name-Sherlock!-it's absurd, you made it up, right? It is meant to be funny?"

Sherlock gave him a sweet smile. "Maybe it is funny. I'll tell you, though, it gives some people pause, Mr. Bender. Does it give you pause, sir?"

"I am not the bad guy in your silly plot, Agent Sherlock!"

"No sir, I'm sure you're a fine, honorable man. However, Mr. Royal did, finally, admit he'd been lying. He knew Mr. Blauvelt was here, knew he was coming to see him. We're past that lie, aren't we, Mr. Royal?"

Royal didn't say anything, only nodded.

Sherlock looked over at Dillon, who had his head down, working on MAX. She knew he'd heard her questions, knew he'd heard her lie that pushed Royal into some truth about Blauvelt. The small smile on his mouth gave him away.

She looked back at Bender the Elder to see him shooting his cuffs in a practiced movement. He was regaining his control. He eased back his querulous voice, filling it again with authority, and hints of sarcasm. "I apologize, Agent Sherlock. It was not right of me to insult your name, no matter how-unusual."

Savich looked up now at Bender, whose jaw was still so tense Savich was surprised it didn't crack. Sherlock had pushed a major leaguer nearly to blows. He looked over at Caskie Royal, sprawled back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed and indifferent, but not quite managing it. Was he still not telling the whole truth? Had he also known why Blauvelt wanted to see him? Why Blauvelt was murdered?

Savich hit a final key on MAX's keyboard, read silently for a moment, then looked up at each of them impartially, shaking his head. "Maybe this is easy, so very easy."

"What's so easy?" Andrew Toms frowned, his pen tapping against the table in double time.

Savich said, "It's on the Internet, for all to see, right up front in articles in
The
Wall Street Journal
and
The New York Times
."