The Administration Series (11 page)

"Thanks." He turned to the leader of the I&I forensics team, hovering near the door. Backed up by Tillotson's priority order, Sara had found him the woman he'd wanted. Fifteen years older than Toreth, O'Reilly had worked with Toreth on his first case as a junior para-investigator and hers as a senior forensics specialist. That time, she'd stopped him from making at least three mistakes which would've fucked up the case beyond saving.

A single brown curl peeked out from under the hood of her close-fitting protective suit, and Toreth reached out to tuck it away. She batted his hand away and smiled absently, as usual looking eager to get on with her job.

"Have everything you need, O'Reilly?" he asked.

She nodded, stepping back as the Justice team filed out. "Yes, Para. Luckily, there seems to be minimal disturbance after the body was found."

"Great. Send the preliminary results along as soon as you can. Just the basics, before you start work on the fancy version."

Then, finally, on to Warrick.

Outside the director's office he found an I&I security officer watching three admins, a middle-aged woman and two younger men. One of the men sat behind the largest desk, nearest the two doors at the back of the room, so Toreth addressed his question to him.

"Is Doctor Warrick in his office?"

The man nodded and pointed to the right-hand door. "He left instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed." Clearly he didn't expect the request to be honoured — he was simply carrying out his job.

Toreth nodded. "Don't bother calling through." He rather liked the idea of seeing Warrick's first, unprepared reaction to his arrival.

Knocking on the door produced no response. Since the door was closed but not locked, he opened it and went in.

The first thing he noticed was the surprising amount of mess in the large room. It was primarily composed of paper-copy files and printed journals, which had originally occupied the extensive shelving but had spilled over some time ago and were now arranged in piles around the room. In addition to that, pieces of hardware littered the place. Not how he'd imagined the territory of the man he'd met before.

Warrick sat at his desk, eyes fixed on a large screen. Two more screens kept it company on the wide desk. He didn't look up at the intrusion.

"I said I didn't want to be disturbed until those idiots have finished — "

Toreth closed the door. "Good morning, Warrick."

Warrick's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. Then he took in the uniform and made the connection. His expression smoothed into wary politeness.

"Ah. An official visit. Part of the general disruption to the Centre?"

"Yes."

"I thought I saw Justice Department uniforms in the building," Warrick said.

"You did. We're taking over their investigation."

"I see." Now Warrick's expression was as unreadable as it had been at any time during the game at dinner the night before. "May I ask what it's all about?"

"There's been a death here."

Warrick frowned. "Who?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, not just yet."

The frown deepened and he could see Warrick beginning to run through the list of people he had seen this morning, trying to work out who might be missing. Despite the lack of an invitation, Toreth shifted a pile of hardware components from a chair and sat down.

"We have to speak to everyone individually," Toreth added.

"Before people start confusing each other with gossip. Of course." The explanation seemed to diminish his irritation slightly. "Hence why I was escorted straight to my office on arrival and politely ordered to stay inside."

"It's standard procedure for I&I and Justice," Toreth replied, using his best nothing-I-can-do voice.

"So I merit the attentions of a senior para-investigator? Am I a suspect?" Warrick sounded more intrigued than concerned.

"No, actually not."

"Oh?"

"You have a very good alibi."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "I don't think anyone has even asked me for one."

"That's because the alibi is me. The girl died somewhere about ten o'clock, give or take a certain margin. That was about — "

"Coffee," Warrick finished for him. Actually, it hadn't been, but Toreth didn't feel like splitting hairs. Apart from anything else, the image of Warrick stripped and shivering wasn't conducive to professional concentration. For the first time, he noticed the faint bruises on Warrick's mouth.

"The girl?" Warrick added after a moment.

Toreth shook his head slightly, which Warrick misinterpreted as a negative rather than an attempt to clear his mind.

"Of course, you can't tell me."

Toreth weighed it up; he had to start somewhere. He set up the camera again, glancing at Warrick, who nodded, smiling slightly as he understood the implication. No mention of the night before.

"Her name was Kelly Jarvis," Toreth said, watching for the reaction.

"
Kelly
?"

Genuine-looking shock, Toreth thought, perhaps a little more than news of the death of an employee usually provoked.

"Did you know her well?"

"Yes, I . . . she's . . . she's one of the students. University students. I — " Warrick wiped his palms together, repeating the gesture as he spoke. "No. Not very well, I suppose. God."

"When did you see her last?"

"I, er . . ." Warrick swallowed, pulled together a semblance of composure. "Yesterday evening. Just before I left, in fact, which was around seven pm."

So much for 'rushed over as soon as I could get away'.

"I was due to review some of her work this morning," Warrick added.

Lucky early hit, Toreth thought. "Did she say or do anything unusual?"

"Nothing," Warrick said automatically, then, before Toreth could repeat the question, he held up his hand. "Sorry. Let me think about it."

Toreth waited, content to give him the time. A helpful, cooperative witness was a rare enough find.

"There was nothing that struck me at the time," Warrick said at length. A smile ghosted briefly across his face. "Although I must say that I was thinking about other things. She asked if we could postpone the meeting for a few days to give her a chance to do another experiment or two. I said yes."

"That was all?"

"Yes. No, wait. I offered her a lift home."

Toreth raised an eyebrow and Warrick looked at him sharply. "When I said 'lift home', that is precisely what I meant. A lift for her, to her home, where I would leave her. She lives off the campus, as you no doubt already know."

Address in the file, presumably, although Toreth couldn't recall it without checking. "Sorry. Why did you offer?"

"I was on my way out and I assumed she would be too. I don't encourage the students to stay late."

"Why not?"

"I measure people's effectiveness by results, not hours worked — in my experience an expectation of long hours tends to encourage time-wasting. Commercial security is another reason — predictable working patterns make it easier to spot aberrations. And the streets around the campus aren't the safest places for women — or anyone — to wander alone. Even the corporate-sponsored students at the AERC tend not to be able to afford accommodation in the more salubrious areas."

A comprehensive selection of reasons. Toreth made a mental note to return to the topic later.

"Did she accept the lift?" he asked.

"No. She said . . ." He frowned. "She said she had something to do, but I don't remember what. Damn."

"Don't force it," Toreth said. "Can anyone else confirm the details of this conversation?"

The implication didn't produce even a flicker of emotion. "Probably not. Although I'd just left Marian's office. She may have heard us talking, but I doubt she would have been able to hear the exact words. Oh, yes, sorry. Dr Marian Tanit — she's the senior psychologist here."

"And you didn't see or speak to Jarvis after that?"

"No." Warrick looked down at the desk, his palms stroking over each other again. Unconscious nervous habit, Toreth decided. "And won't, now."

"Do you have any idea why anyone would select Kelly particularly as a corporate target?" Toreth asked.

"Mm . . . no. I couldn't even venture a guess. Nothing she worked on was of great immediate commercial interest."

"I have to ask a standard question — nothing personal. Did you have any relationship with the victim, other than a professional one?"

"Meaning?"

He abandoned subtlety. "Have you ever had sex with her?"

Warrick frowned slightly — annoyance, was Toreth's first guess, but then he realised it was a genuine effort to remember.

"Not that I recall," Warrick said at length, "but I'd have to check the logs to be sure. If you mean outside the sim, the answer is definitely no."

The first sentence had riveted Toreth's attention to the extent that he barely heard the second. "The
logs
?"

Warrick smiled again, a fleeting glimpse of teeth before his expression sobered. "SimTech is a corporation, albeit a small one, but we aim to become a great deal larger and for that we need products — practical implementations of sim technology. Sex sells, Para-investigator. It is a historical truism than any technology that can be used for pornography or other applications in the sex industry will succeed."

"So what are the logs?"

"We test our hardware and software on as many volunteers as we can. Most of them are in-house, because of confidentiality issues. So it's possible that, during some test or piece of research, I might've had sex — in the sim — with Kelly. I don't think so, but I can't guarantee I would remember. However, everything is recorded, so it would be in the session logs."

"You get to fuck enough twenty-two-year-old students that you can't
remember
?" Toreth's professional control deserted him. "Jesus fucking Christ. Nice work if you can get it."

This time Warrick didn't smile. "It is not a free-for-all orgy. We're sensitive to the emotional dangers involved and the possibility of exploitation. All activities are covered by strict protocols and closely supervised. It is just a job, you might say." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, making Toreth feel like a specimen under examination. "Tell me, Para-investigator, do you take pleasure in inflicting pain during interrogations?"

"I —" Toreth blinked. "Not in the way you mean, no. I like to do my work well, whatever it is."

"Mm." Warrick flexed his right shoulder, rubbing the wrist on the same arm, the implication clear: last night you hurt me, and enjoyed it.

When the hell did Warrick start running the interview, Toreth thought with a touch of irritation? Still, better that than hiding behind corporate lawyers. He was all in favour of interviewees who were willing to talk enough rope to hang themselves.

Toreth nodded. "Point taken."

"Is it?" Warrick shrugged. "Perhaps I forget how strange some aspects of SimTech must seem to outsiders. I apologise if I was a little sharp. I recommend talking to Doctor Tanit if you have any questions about the psychology of the situation here. That's her speciality."

Attack and retreat — the same game as last night. Toreth decided to change the subject.

"You said you didn't encourage the students to stay late. What about other people?"

Warrick grimaced. "Ideally the same rule would apply. However, I long ago surrendered to the impossibility of imposing order on creativity. Besides, as I am amongst the worst offenders it would be hypocritical in the extreme. Provided that the work is done, employees have as much latitude as is practical in how and when."

"How much of the interior of the building is covered by cameras?" A question Barret-Connor would be discussing in detail with the head of security, but an idea would be helpful.

"Reception," Warrick said, and then stopped.

"And?"

"That's it. Reception. It's corporate policy. Elsewhere we have security logs which record entry and exit of people from secure areas and use of equipment, but no visual surveillance."

Toreth couldn't keep the dismay from his face, and Warrick smiled slightly. "Unfortunate, from your point of view, I realise. However, security of that kind is a risk in itself — a greater risk than not having it, in our view. It's an easily transportable and saleable record of what goes on here. An open invitation to corporate espionage. We prefer to trust our staff, rather than spy on them."

Toreth would have preferred a little of the more normal corporate paranoia. He'd visited places that insisted on ID chip implants for their employees and monitored every inch of the buildings, right down to the toilets. "What about protecting the equipment?"

"Access to all areas of the building is controlled by security doors. ID cards are the baseline security. More authentication is required in some areas. All equipment is tagged — any attempt to take it out of the building will trigger the sensors you may have noticed on the way in."

Which meant no helpful footage of Kelly dying in the sim — or of any hypothetical murderer. "Kelly's body was found on a sim couch, with the straps and visor in place. No obvious cause of death."