The Administration Series (14 page)

Yang almost smiled. "A bit, at first. But it's . . . well, it's completely voluntary, of course. No one has to do any trials at all. But you know how it is — people who volunteer are doing more for SimTech than people who don't. Anya wants me to do well here, for both of us."

Toreth nodded, knowing very well how that sort of thing worked. People always knew what was expected, what their superiors wanted to hear. All the sensitivity in the world to the possibility of exploitation couldn't stop those kinds of insidious pressures.

"When is the selection done?" Toreth asked.

"Oh, when the experiment is designed, usually. To give everyone a chance to arrange their schedules." He shrugged. "It's very tight, usually, because everyone's so busy. The selection program picks a randomised pool of volunteers from the appropriate list, depending on the experiment."

Explaining a well-understood topic had had the desired effect, so Toreth decided to risk a more direct question. "How far ahead did you know you'd be there yesterday?"

"Only in the afternoon. A slot came free on the sim and Kelly —" He paused, blinking again, then pressed on determinedly. "Kelly was next on the list. She needed someone who could manage a two-hour time course. I think she tried a couple of people before she got to me."

"Are the sessions recorded? In —" It suddenly occurred to Toreth that he had no idea what a sim session would look like from outside the system. "I mean, is it possible to see what went on?"

Yang nodded. "Everything's recorded, at least short term. It can be, er . . . put back together to make a kind of recording, as if there was a camera in the sim room itself. The hypothetical observer viewpoint, it's called."

Toreth nodded at Mistry, and she made a note on her hand screen for the data retrieval team.

"You said 'short term'."

He nodded. "Until the raw data is analysed — up to a few days, usually. The volumes involved are huge. After analysis, the data is summarised and the important results are compressed."

"Now, did you notice anything unusual about Kelly's behaviour yesterday?"

Yang stared down at his hands, fingers twisting together in his lap, and eventually shook his head. "No. If she was ill, I couldn't tell. She looked fine — in the real world, I mean. We arrived at the same time, and the session before overran by ten minutes, so we — " He shook his head again." We stood outside and talked."

"About?"

Yang frowned. "I think . . . I think it was her report. Or was that what we talked about in the sim? She had a progress report coming up. She wanted to do a last experiment before it was due in, because she had the chance with the free sim slot. She'd okayed it with Doctor Warrick."

"Did anyone come into the room while you were in the sim?"

"Yes. Tara Scrivin, at least — quite early on. She's another graduate student — a friend of Kelly's."

Another nod to Mistry. "She came, er . . . into the sim?"

"No. But she spoke to Kelly over the link. She asked if Kelly wanted to go . . . oh, shopping, or something. Shopping for clothes, tomorrow lunchtime. Today lunchtime, I mean, of course. Sorry."

"No problem. Take your time. Did she say anything else?"

"Not that I heard. There could have been a private conversation, but I don't remember Kelly cutting out. Sorry — I mean, she didn't take her attention away from me to talk to someone I couldn't hear."

"Anyone else?"

"Not that spoke to us. But the rooms are secure access, so there should be a record of anyone who came in later."

"Thanks. How did Ms Jarvis seem to you, during the time you were together?"

"She was . . . fine."

"There was nothing at all about her behaviour in the sim that struck you as unusual?"

"No. She was fine. When I left her she was fine."

Toreth sighed, and gave up. "Why did she stay on in the sim?"

"I don't know. It'll be on the booking system, though — everything's booked. I think it was personal time. All the trial volunteers have some — up to an hour every six months, depending on how much you do. If you can find a free slot, of course."

"Can't carry it over?"

Yang shook his head. "Against the rules. Use it or lose it. Before and after official hours are about the only times you get a chance."

Toreth recalled the Justice forensic officer's suggestion. "Do you know if Ms Jarvis ever took drugs when she used the sim for personal time?"

"Drugs? You mean, did she get sim sickness?"

The problem Warrick had mentioned yesterday. "No. Something recreational."

His eyes widened. "Oh,
no
. I shouldn't think so. That's completely against the rules. A serious disciplinary offense. Anyone caught doing it would be banned from the sim at once. I would've reported even a suspicion — anyone would."

Toreth shook his head slightly. What a place to work — fucking coworkers on billable time but getting bent out of shape over recreational pharmaceuticals.

Toreth left Mistry to finish the interview with Yang, in case her famed gentle touch might pull something useful out of him. He didn't hold out much hope, though. As a suspect, Yang was already eliminated — he'd left the building five minutes after the end of his sim session, while Jarvis was still an hour, give or take, away from death.

Outside the room, he looked at the list of names on his hand screen — long, and growing by the minute as his team picked out more key people to talk to. Already there were far too many to deal with personally today. He ran down the list, dividing up the names, until it became more manageable.

He'd done the most immediate and important interviews — now he could return to I&I and begin on the no doubt monstrous piles of paperwork that would have arrived by now, if Belqola had done his job.

Back at I&I, he decided to give Tillotson an update in person. The head of section liked to feel he was in touch with ongoing cases, even though, in Toreth's opinion, the only reason he'd been promoted so far was because he was an appalling investigator. He certainly wasn't para material — there was a widespread and persistent rumour that he'd thrown up and fainted in the only high-level interrogation he'd ever witnessed.

When he reached Tillotson's office someone was already in there with him, so Toreth had to wait.

Raised voices came indistinctly from Tillotson's office. He couldn't make out the words, but the meeting sounded heated. Someone who'd forgotten to complete his timesheet in ten-minute increments, no doubt. After a couple of minutes, curiosity piqued, he changed seats to one closer to the closed door. Tillotson's admin, Jenny, studiously ignored his eavesdropping.

From the little he could hear, it sounded as if Tillotson was getting the worst of it, for once. Unfortunately, before he'd had time to catch any detail, the voices died down to a low murmur of discussion. Toreth leaned on the arm of the chair, trying to hear, but got nothing. Go back to his office or wait? He pulled out his hand screen, deciding that he had enough work to occupy himself with here — it wouldn't hurt to look keen to talk to Tillotson.

Finally, twenty minutes later, the door opened. He leaned back in his seat quickly, staring at the ceiling, and then lowered his gaze to check out the exiting visitor. He needn't have bothered with the show of boredom, because the man didn't even glance at him.

For a moment, he thought it was Tillotson himself — the stranger shared his ginger hair and sharp features, although not quite Tillotson's infamous and apt resemblance to a weasel. However, he had a purposeful air quite at odds with Tillotson's habitual strategic defensiveness, and he was in his late twenties rather than early fifties.

Surprisingly young, in fact, to have been giving Tillotson grief. If the man was an admin for an I&I higher-up, then Toreth didn't recognise him, and he had a good memory for faces. Could it be someone from Internal Investigations? If so, Toreth hoped fervently it had nothing to do with his new case.

"Senior Para Toreth?" The admin's voice cut the speculation short. "The head of section will see you now."

"What do you want?" Tillotson asked, before Toreth had even closed the door.

Toreth didn't bother to sit down. "To let you know I've been to SimTech and chased Justice off. It's all ours — they didn't put up much of a fight. And SimTech seem willing to cooperate."

Tillotson nodded sharply. "Good, good." He pursed his lips, staring past Toreth at the door.

"Sir?" Toreth prompted, after a moment.

"What?" Tillotson actually startled, his left hand jumping to grip the edge of the desk. "Ah. Is there anything else?"

"Not really. Just wanted to keep you informed."

"Thank you. Put it all in the IIP."

Toreth took the implicit dismissal, and left without further comment. First time he could ever remember Tillotson not having
some
useless advice to give. In the outer office, he stopped to talk to Tillotson's admin.

"Jenny, who was that in with Tillotson when I arrived?"

"No idea." She sounded rather put out. "He called the head of section directly and made his own appointment. I had to reschedule everything."

Toreth thanked her and left. Internal Investigations, he'd lay any money on it. In which case he could hardly blame Tillotson for getting sweaty over it. The appearance of the Int-Sec internal watchdogs — with their sweeping powers to question and punish, and famous incorruptibility — was about as welcome at I&I as the arrival of I&I was to citizens outside.

In his office, Asher Linton's list of potential threats to SimTech had already arrived, marked for his personal attention. His first thought was that, despite her apparent cooperation, the speedy arrival meant it would be a whitewash. Far from it.

SimTech had clearly prepared the file previously, for closely guarded internal consumption. Either Linton was clinically paranoid, or SimTech had more potential enemies than a corporation of its size had any right to possess. Every name had a detailed threat assessment, and Toreth suspected there was a wealth of supporting information he hadn't been sent. Even so, he paged through the document with growing dismay — even a cursory check into these names would require a fresh batch of investigators from the pool. A second file contained a similar evaluation on those corporations that had secured deals with SimTech and so were theoretically friends.

No way could his team handle this efficiently. A call to Chean in Corporate Fraud and the collection of a favour owed secured him the loan of two finance specialists — Tillotson could sort out the official paperwork later.

Just as he'd finished a more detailed reading, Sara called through to say the specialists had arrived. When the door opened, he recognised Elizabeth Carey at once — tall, heavily built, and with an uncontrolled tangle of unnaturally vivid red hair — but not the slight, sallow young man lurking half hidden behind her. He had white-blond hair, his brows and lashes so pale as to be invisible.

Toreth waved them in. "How're things going, Carey?"

"Great. Got something good for me?" Her voice had a rich, rough edge that Toreth had forgotten. Sexy, he'd always thought, although she was no beauty.

"You'll love it," he said.

She took a seat and then, without looking round, she snapped, "Don't
hover
, Phil. Sit!"

A dog-commanding tone of voice, and the pale shadow certainly jumped to obey. Toreth studied him with mild curiosity, wondering if he'd started out that nervous, or if it were due to Carey's soothing influence.

Carey gestured in the man's general direction. "Phil Verstraeten."

Verstraeten bobbed his head at Toreth and mumbled, "Pleased to meet you."

"Just qualified," Carey continued. "I'm whipping him into shape."

Toreth raised an eyebrow. "Literally?"

Carey laughed. "They changed the rules since we were new graduates — can't even use shock sticks on 'em now. But he's very good.
Very
good. To get the two of us, Chean must've owed you a chunk. So, what's the case?"

Toreth outlined what he knew so far. Not surprisingly, as a corporate finance specialist, Carey already knew about Teffera's death.

"You think sabotage?" she said when he finished. She frowned, obviously doubtful. "LiveCorp play clean — mostly, for a corporation their size — but hard. I wouldn't tangle with them. Phil?"

Visibly startled, Verstraeten glanced at his boss. "Clean but hard, yes," he muttered after a moment.

"I'm not sure what it is," Toreth said. He offered Carey his hand screen. "I've got a list of suspects for a death at a second corporation, and I want to know if any of them have reason to go after LiveCorp."

To his surprise, Carey glanced through the lists of SimTech's enemies and friends quickly, then handed the screen to Verstraeten and sat back, leaving him to study it. He took his time, the tip of his tongue peeping out from between his thin lips as he read.

"Maybe," he said when he was done. He didn't look up from the screen. "Some LiveCorp rivals, but I don't remember any recent rumours of anything flaring up to killing levels. I'd need to check, though."