Philip Kerr - Gridiron

and out-trays, clock, TV set, radio, answering machine were all computer icons. There was even a desk drawer, rubber stamp, filing cabinet and a picture window with a pleasant view of Griffith Park as seen from the Gridiron roof.

'Bob,' said Mitch advancing into the centre of the circle, 'you remember Detective Sergeant Curtis.'

'Sure.'

'You've heard what happened this morning?'

Beech shrugged and nodded.

Curtis took the man in: the fisherman's gilet stuffed with discs, tapes, keys, chewing gum and pens; the sensible brown Oxfords in need of a polish; the fingernails bitten to the quick; and, underneath the lugubrious-looking moustache, the polite smile flicking as he feigned interest in what had happened. Curtis was an old hand at spotting when he was being tolerated. It was obvious that Beech just wanted to get back to whatever it was that he had been doing before being disturbed.

'Poor old Sam,' said Beech. 'Do you have any idea who did it yet?'

'Not yet, sir. But I was hoping to see his personnel file. There might be something there that will help. Also, I wondered if there was a way the computer had of knowing exactly who was in the building after ten o'clock last night.' He knew there was. But he wanted to prolong his stay in the computer room.

'Of course.' Beech fingered the filing cabinet on his screen and then said, 'Abraham. Can you locate Sam Gleig's personnel file please?'

'On screen or on disc?'

Beech glanced at Curtis and decided that he wanted him out of the computer room as quickly as possible. Seeing him standing there reminded him of Hideki. 'Better make it hard copy,' he said. 'So you can examine it at your leisure, Sergeant.'

'There's not a lot of that in Homicide, sir,' said Curtis, smiling affably. Glancing down at Beech's desktop he watched as a disembodied hand appeared on screen and moved towards the filing cabinet.

'Belshazzar's feast,' he murmured.

The hand lifted a file out of the desk drawer and then disappeared with it screen left.

'What's that?' said Beech.

'I said, that's a hell of a personal organizer you have there.'

'It's kind of childish, but I'm a guy who needs friendly software to bring cyberspace down to earth. That's why I have a room with a view, so to speak. Without it I'd find it difficult working in here. Now then, what was the other thing? Who was still here after ten o'clock last night?'

Curtis nodded.

Beech touched the screen several times with his forefinger, like a man playing speed chess. Finally he found what was he looking for.

'Here we are. The electrical foreman left at seven-thirty. I left at sevenforty-three. Aidan Kenny left at seven-forty-four. Helen Hussey left at eight-fifteen. Warren Aikman left at eight-thirty-five. At which point Sam Gleig was the only person on site until Officers Cooney and Hernandez arrived this morning.'

'I see. Thank you.'

Beech pointed out of the door. 'We'll have to go along to the print room to fetch your copy,' he said and led the way across the bridge. They entered a room where an enormous laser printer was already spewing out the file. Beech collected the print-out.

'This is strange,' he said, surprised. 'Abraham's not supposed to be able to do this.'

'Do what?' asked Mitch.

Beech handed over the print-out. Attached to the personnel information was a colour photocopy of Sam Gleig greeting a Chinese man in the atrium.

'It's not part of Abraham's original program to take still photographs like this,' frowned Beech. 'At least, not until the CD-ROM recorder is installed.'

For the moment Curtis was more interested in the young Chinese man in the picture than the means by which it had been taken.

'Do you recognize him?'

'I think I do,' said Mitch. 'I think it might be one of our friends from outside the building.'

'Unless Abraham managed…' Beech was still considering the puzzle of how the picture had been taken. 'Of course…'

'You mean he's one of the demonstrators?'

Mitch looked at the picture again.

'I'm sure he is.'

'Of course,' repeated Beech. 'The link-up with Richardson's computer. Mitch, Abraham must have held the picture digitally and then used your Intergraph software to generate this. That's the only way he could have done it. It's Abraham's way of letting us know that Sam Gleig brought an unauthorized person into the building last night.'

Curtis pulled a face. 'Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the only witness to Sam Gleig's murder might be your computer?'

'It certainly looks that way. I can't imagine why he would have put this picture in Sam Gleig's file otherwise.' He shrugged. 'At the very least this picture gives you an unauthorized visitor to the Gridiron, doesn't it?

There's even a time on the picture: 1.05 a.m.'

'Is that a bottle of Scotch he's holding?' said Mitch. 'Looks like they were planning a party.'

'But why take this picture and not one of the actual murder as it happened?' said Curtis.

'Because there are no cameras inside the elevators,' said Mitch. Beech nodded in agreement. 'This picture connects the Chinese guy with the murder. No doubt about it.'

'Let me be the judge of that, please,' said Curtis.

'Maybe I should have mentioned it before,' said Mitch, 'but there have been a couple of incidents involving these kids.'

He told Curtis about the orange thrown at his car and the tyre wrench.

'Did you report either of these incidents?'

'No, I didn't,' admitted Mitch. He took out his wallet. 'But I've still got the paperwork for the replacement shield.'

Curtis flicked his eyes over the receipt.

'How did you know it was one of them who did it?'

'After the first time? I was in a Chinese restaurant, just a few blocks from here. One of them must have recognized me.'

'You still got the wrench?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact I have. It's in the trunk of my car. Want me to go get it?'

'No, I'd just as soon have one of the SID boys pick it. In case there are any prints on it.' Curtis folded the photograph and was about to put it inside his coat pocket when he had an idea. 'There are cameras mounted on the outside of this building, aren't there?'

'Several,' said Mitch.

'Can you have one close in on those kids outside right now?'

'Nothing easier,' said Beech.

They trooped back into the computer room. Beech sat down and touched a picture of a video camera at the bottom of his screen. The camera was soon scanning the faces of no more than a dozen Chinese men and women.

'Beats me why they bother,' said Beech.

'It's a free country,' said Curtis, 'although you'd hardly know it inside this place.'

Beech shot Curtis a quizzical look, as if wondering why someone as liberal as him should be working for the LAPD.

'That guy there,' said Mitch. 'The one will the bullhorn. That's the guy in the picture, isn't it?'

Curtis compared the hard copy with the young Chinese on the screen.

'Yeah. That's him all right.'

'Kind of weird him coming back, isn't it?' said Mitch. 'Assuming he did have something to do with it.'

'Not as weird as you might suppose,' said Curtis. 'Besides, that's still a hell of an assumption.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Talk to the guy. See what he's got to say. Who knows? Maybe he'll put up his hands.'

The cop patrolling the demo already looked tired, although it was only just eleven o'clock. Curtis showed him his badge and then, taking him by the elbow, led him a few yards away.

'You heard about what happened inside?'

'Guy with his head stove in? I heard.'

'How long have you had this duty?'

'On and off, a couple of weeks. 'Bout a four-hour shift.' He shrugged.

'It's not so bad. They don't give me any trouble. I've spoken to a few of them. Most are pretty OK.'

'Would you say they were the types to get involved in a homicide?'

The cop grinned and shook his head. 'Naw. They're students with rich daddies back home in Hong Kong and places like that. I think they'd run a mile from any real trouble.'

Curtis walked back towards them.

'Who's in charge here?'

Behind the barrier, the little band of Chinese protesters stayed quiet, but Curtis noticed that their eyes moved from his badge to the man with the bullhorn. His own eyes took in the slogans on their placards: REMEMBER TIANANMEN SQUARE; and, Yu CORP SANCTIONS

STATE MURDER; and, Yu CORP PROFITS FROM SLAVERY; and, YUMAN RIGHTS ABUSE.

'Come on,' he urged. 'There must be someone.'

'Well,' said the man with the bullhorn, 'I guess you could say I am, kind of.'

'I'm Detective Sergeant Curtis, LAPD Homicide Bureau. Could I talk to you a minute? Let's step out of the sun.' He pointed across the piazza to the edge of Hope Street.

'Hot day,' he said. And then, 'It's about an incident in the Yu Corporation building last night.'

'Another one?' Cheng Peng Fei smiled thinly.

'Someone was killed.'

'That's too bad. Nobody junior, I hope.'

'You approve?'

'If it was Yu himself then that would be good news. The man is a gangster.'

'I was wondering what time you and your people left the piazza last night. Maybe you saw something.'

'About five o'clock. Same as usual.'

'I'm sorry, you are — '

'My name is Cheng Peng Fei.'

'Where are you from, son?'

'Hong Kong. I'm a visa student at UCLA.'

'And your friends? Are they mostly students?'

'Mostly, yes.'

'Did you ever run across the security guard at the Yu building? Big guy. Black.'

'Is that the man who's dead?'

'Yes, it is.'

Cheng Peng Fei shook his head.

'We've seen him. That's all. There's another guard too, isn't there?

Mean looking whitey. We've seen rather more of him.'

'You ever go inside the building?'

'We have thought about it, but we'd probably get busted. So we just stay beside our fountain handing out leaflets, that kind of thing.'

'It was sure different in my day,' said Curtis as they neared the corner of Fifth.

A bum pushing a shopping cart paused briefly to collect a cigarette butt off the sidewalk before continuing in the direction of Wilshire. A tall black man wearing grimy Nike Air Jordans, track-suit pants and a baseball cap coming the opposite way was forced to side-step the cart and stopped to curse the bum before continuing on his way.

'When I was a kid a protest really was a protest.'

'What were you protesting about?'

'There was only one thing people protested about back in those days: Vietnam.'

'Better than going there, I guess.'

'Oh, I went. It was when I came back I got involved. What exactly is your beef with the Yu Corp?'

Cheng Peng Fei handed over a leaflet.

'Here, this'll explain everything.'

Curtis stopped, glanced over the bill and put it in his coat pocket. Then he nodded towards an advertising boarding on a shelter for the DASH, the Downtown Area Short Hop bus service. The ad showed a handshake between two disembodied arms, one of them wearing the uniform of the LAPD. The headline read:

As partners

LAPD

AND YOU

CAN BE A

LETHAL WEAPON

2

FIGHT CRIME

Cheng Peng Fei was bright enough to understand what Curtis was suggesting. He shrugged and shook his head.

'Really, if I knew something I'd tell you, Sergeant, but I can't help you.'

He was shorter than Curtis by a head and, at a hundred and twelve pounds, just over half as heavy. Curtis placed himself in front of Cheng, close enough to have kissed him, and regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and contempt.