About Face (27 page)

I reacted instinctively and threw my elbow into his nose. He let out a yelp and swung at my head. I ducked, but he caught the top of it. I hit him in the chest. He staggered backward. We circled each other in the dark.

“Who are you?” I said.

“Who are
you
?” he said.

I faked a couple of punches at him. He flinched, then announced, “I don't want to hurt you. Just leave Kim alone.”

I straightened. “You're with Kim?”

“I'm watching out for her. It's dangerous around here. Maybe you didn't know that.”

I shook my head. “Okay, calm down.” I backed my way toward the Scout, keeping an eye on him. He stayed by the gate.

I had a little too much to think about as I drove back up 101 to San Francisco. Alissa. Rod. Connie. Kim. She'd been so convincing. I'd been ready to believe her story, hook, line, and sinker. Now I remembered how she'd claimed to be at my mercy, knowing all the while a guy was waiting outside to jump me.

Thursday morning dawned cold.
Long red fingers reached across the icy waters of the bay. I'd woken before light, brewed some coffee, and then walked down to the water-front. I think best when I walk. Rod once told me that the mathematician al-Khwarizmi, in his calculation of reduction and restoration, called the unknown for which he was solving
shai
, “the thing.” For me, the thing was who killed Rod. I tried to devise an algorithm of motives and opportunities, means and inferences, to solve for that unknown.

Motives to kill Rod were plentiful. The clearest belonged to Rupert and Trisha—especially Trisha, if she was the real power behind Sylvain. Rupert's talents leaned more to the daily operation of SG. My theory was that Sylvain provided a secret outlet for SG's profits. Trisha had used Alissa and Sylvain to lure Rod into the alliance with Plush. Eliminating Rod had opened the way for her to get her hands on Algoplex and Rod's brilliant software at a cheap price. Trisha used the SG associates for espionage and Larsen and Terry for muscle.

I'd crossed the 20th Street bridge. Now I turned left down Illinois, toward China Basin. The rain had stopped sometime during the night and the high pressure that usually followed a
storm had moved in. The air was chilly enough that I needed to wear a hat and gloves.

Wendy and Brendon also had motives, less calculated but still strong. Both, for their own reasons, felt Rod had stolen Alissa from them—perhaps literally, or perhaps by winning her heart. Wendy also blamed Rod for conspiring to keep Eternaderm from her. The only problem was, she and Brendon didn't strike me as competent enough to carry off a murder. Not only that, killing Rod would deprive them of what they presumed was their lead to Alissa.

I couldn't rule out Mike Riley, either. A new picture of him was coming into focus. The story arc of this picture was that he would throw up his arms on Algoplex, cash out while the cashing was good, waltz off with Kim, and move on to the next target. His heartfelt words about Rod were window dressing. Or, even if he felt them at the time, they wouldn't get in the way of his doing what today's executive needed to do. Nor was it impossible that he and Kim had planned the whole thing from the start. Mike's competitive streak might have given him delight in stealing his boss's girlfriend, even if it was a setup all along.

After the way last night ended, I didn't know what to think of Kim. I'd believed her up until then; her emotions seemed so genuine. But I'd witnessed enough spells cast over the past week to doubt my own perceptions. Mike's allegedly new infatuation with her could be a ruse. The fact that Connie Plush was helping both of them meant she could be in on it, too.

Trucks rumbled down Third Street and rowers cut along the Central Basin inlet. I walked out on the Agua Vista pier, where a few fishermen were making their morning casts. The sky was a pale, endlessly receding blue now, the bay placid. I leaned over the railing and gazed at the water's changing face.

The next operation in solving the equation would be to nail down means and opportunities. Wendy was the one who'd set up Rod for the Cheshire Cat that night. That could mean everything or nothing. I'd seen her at the club, which gave her an alibi, but she might have sent Brendon to Rod's house. He was strong enough to overpower Rod. Brendon had said Larsen and Terry were in Vegas. Gary had claimed that he, Rupert, and Trisha were at a hospital charity dinner. That could be checked out. The whereabouts of the rest were an open question.

Detective Coharie might know the answers. It was unlikely he'd give them to me, though. Being COO of only my camera, I didn't rate on his chart. I'd ask Mike what he'd said and what the lab discovered about the knife. That might help pin Trisha and Rupert. I still wondered how the killer got into Rod's house. Knowing Rod, he'd just opened the door when the bell rang.

I labored back up 20th Street. The sun had risen. My head swam with too many variables. I needed to solve them soon, before Algoplex was lost to Sylvain. If Rod was here and the victim had been otherwise, he'd probably be able to reduce the terms and hand me a clean answer. He had his own form of magic, one of switches and operations, repeated recursively until a revelation was reached. He'd told me once that he believed nothing occurred after death: It was blank, the ultimate null. This, he'd admitted, squinting and blinking, was only a conjecture. But that was what made life interesting: the unknown.

Perhaps my answers could be found in more coffee. It was always worth a try. I went into Scoby's. No sooner had I sat down with a roll and a tall new cup than my cell phone rang. I fumbled it open and made for the door. People did use their phones in Scoby's, but we regulars looked down on them.

“So what happened last night?” Wes demanded.

I told him the Kim story in the order it had occurred. I had him and myself believing everything she'd said, right up to the moment the guy pinned me to the fence. Wes expressed a desire to run a scan on him.

“I need to find out who he is first,” I said. “I'll call you back when I know.”

I'd been pacing on the sidewalk as I talked, dodging passersby. It was not much better than using your phone in the café. I'd just clicked off with Wes when the thing rang again.

“Are you up?”

It was Kim. I said I was. She launched into an apology for last night. I told her to save it. If she wanted to talk to me, she should be at my flat at three o'clock this afternoon. She promised she would. I didn't add that it was a test to see whether she came alone.

I went back to my table to discover my roll had disappeared from my plate. No one in the café appeared to have it. Then I saw the dog sitting on the stoop, licking his lips. Usually dogs stayed outside, but this one had snuck in. He gave me a mixed look of guilt and hope. Guilty as he was, he hoped I'd provide more. A few crumbs remained on the plate. I set it at his feet, and went home.

» » » » »

I showed up at Mike Riley's office at ten o'clock. His shirt was untucked and his hair mussed as if he'd already put in a full day. “You should have called first,” he complained as he closed his door behind me. “I'm very busy.”

“I wanted to hear what you've learned from the police.” I didn't add that I also wanted to watch him face-to-face while he answered.

He sat in his swivel chair and rattled if off to me. “They're convinced now that the knife is the actual murder weapon. Whoever did it must have put the other knife in Rod's hand to try to make it look like suicide. But here's the really weird thing: The blood is not Rod's. It came from a cow.”

I sat down, trying to take the news in stride. “Both the blood on the knife and the drips on the floor?”

“All of it.” He stopped his swiveling, opened his mouth, and made me wait for the next words. “Detective Coharie traced the anonymous tip to your cell phone. He's asking questions about you.”

I tried not to show my consternation. I should've used a pay phone. “Were there prints on the knife?”

“Smeared and fragmentary. Nothing positive.”

“Has he said anything to you about suspects? Has he asked people where they were last Wednesday night?”

“He's finally given up the suicide idea, thank God. He thinks it was a crankhead, maybe two, trying to burgle the place. The only other person he wonders about is you. I mention this to you as a favor.”

“He needs to zero in on Trisha Evans,” I said. “She has two guys working for her, maybe from Vegas, named Larsen and Terry. They're the ones who hit me in the mouth.”

“Did you file a report on that?”

“No. But I can. It'll give me a good reason to see Coharie.”

“I would proceed with caution if I were you, Bill,” Mike said. I noticed his wording: He was talking about me separately from the job. “It already looks bad enough with the call about the knife.”

“I gave him the murder weapon. He could at least say thank you.”

Mike leaned his elbows on the armrests and again made me wait for his words. “I'm sorry to have to do this, Bill. But I think it's time for Algoplex to part ways with you. Give me an invoice and we'll settle up.” His manner was brisk, his eyes averted. He wasn't sorry at all.

“I thought you were going to rename the company.” It was all I could think of to say.

Mike turned his head slowly to scowl at me. “It's no longer your concern, Bill. We appreciate your services, but we find they no longer benefit the company. We don't feel you're playing on the same team.”

“Do you mean the Algoplex team or the Mike team?”

“That's a low blow, Bill. You're not welcome here anymore.”

I stood up. “I'll leave. But I'm watching you, Mike. I'm watching what you do with this Sylvain offer. I'm watching the outcome of the key-man clause, which you put in the contract.”

“That was for Rod's protection!” Mike exploded from his chair. He stood, fists clenched, steam building inside like in a stout little teapot. I knew he wasn't responsible for the key-man clause, but I wanted him to come at me. I wanted to find out how strong he was and how combustible: whether he could have killed Rod.

But the steam ebbed. He shook his head and sat back down. “I warned you. And yet you keep pushing.”

I opened the door and turned before I left. “You won't get that invoice, Mike. I don't want anything from you.”

» » » » »

I've been told that when one door closes in life, another opens. I'd closed the door on Mike, but found Connie's open to me when I arrived at Plush Biologics. Kim must have spoken to her.

I wouldn't have known Connie had a warm side, but she greeted me as if I were her favorite nephew. This was a point in her favor, and also in Kim's.

We danced around the subject of Kim for a few minutes. I asked Connie if she'd heard anything more about Mike and the Sylvain offer. She said no, but she'd let me know if she did. I said I appreciated her help. She said she was glad to oblige. When finally I blurted Kim's name and said her secret was safe, Connie replied with a conspiratorial shush. “Certain things are better not spoken aloud, Bill. We know what we know.”

I hadn't focused on it before, but Connie had a small over-bite. That and the look in her eyes yesterday when I'd first mentioned Kim made her seem more human. I pushed my luck a little farther and said I didn't realize Plush's melanin research was so far along. Connie didn't seem to mind explaining it to me. Melanocytes were one of the easier skin cells to manipulate. They'd been working on genes expressing tyrosinase and endothelin-1, factors regulating the production of melanin, which determined skin pigmentation. The program had taken a back seat to Eternaderm in part because other companies were farther ahead. An Australian firm had plans to release an implant drug called melanotan that would induce a suntan and guard skin from UV damage. In high doses, the drug turned green frogs jet black.

I told Connie I was impressed with the work. That pleased her. I felt ready to take the next leap and tell her about Wendy. I asked if I could get some help using Eternaderm as bait.

Connie thought about it for a minute and then said, “It can be arranged. Temporarily, you understand. She'll never receive the full course.”

“Can you tell me what it was that Wendy did wrong?”

“It's not related to Rod. She did some modeling work for us, as you know, and then tried to take advantage of it. She's the kind of person who's constantly grasping for more. She always wants what someone else has.”

Given our new diplomacy, I didn't push Connie for details. “Should I bring her over to the clinic?”

Connie folded her arms. “Wendy will not enter this building. You and Ellen can administer it together. I'll leave the mechanics to her.”

“Fine. I'll go talk to Ellen in a minute, if that's all right with you.”

“Very good.” She hesitated, then played with the glasses on the end of her necklace. “I hope you understand, Bill, about our first few meetings. I was in a protective mode. Odd that it should be evoked now—Ronald and I never had children. The business, the employees, they were our offspring. But now I find myself . . .” She shook her head as her words trailed off.

“I think I understand. Rod brought a protectiveness out in me. Some people just get to you. You're not even sure why.”

“Yes.” Again our eyes met as they had outside Mike's office. I had a feeling she understood why I wanted to find Rod's killer so badly.

“One more thing before I go,” I said. “Are you going to this Wings of Silicon Charity Ball tomorrow night? Wendy says Trisha and Rupert will be there, along with the Sylvain honchos.”

Connie raised her eyebrows. “Trisha's getting uppity, isn't she? It's one of the most prestigious events of the year. The money's used to put software in schools. She must be planning to raise her profile. Pretty soon she'll be applying to the polo clubs and denying any connection with Silicon Glamour. Not bad for a woman who started as a Las Vegas escort.”