'Am I supposed to have heard of you?' said the guard, a mite more cautiously.
'I'm glad you asked the question. You'd better give some thought to the answer.' Diamond peered at the man's identity disc. 'Officer William Pinkowitz.'
Anyone who has played the power game knows that you put a man on the defensive by using his name. 'Are you something in Safe Haven Security?'
Diamond repeated in a scandalized tone, 'Something in it?'
'Do you work for us?'
'I wouldn't put it that way, but you're getting there.' All this was an exercise in psyching out that he had used in various guises many times before.
'But you're not American.'
'Didn't I just make that clear?' He left the wretched man dangling a moment longer before saying, 'Safe Haven is just a subsidiary of Diamond Sharp International.'
'Diamond Sharp…'
'International. Do you want to check with your superior?'
There was a certain amount of hesitation before Officer William Pinkowitz apparently decided that to cast any more doubt on the word of Peter Diamond was a risk he'd rather not take. 'I'll just take a look at that passport, sir.'
'Certainly.'
After an interval came the inevitable, awed, 'You're a Detective Superintendent?”
'You're doing a good job, Pinkowitz. Keep it up.' He walked into the building. Behind him, he heard Pinkowitz's heels click in salute.
He got out of the elevator at the twenty-first floor, from which, he'd been told, Manny Flexner had jumped to his death. A woman was coming along the corridor and wasn't the sort to walk shyly past Thirtyish, with dark hair, brilliant makeup and, of all things, a kiss-curl in the center of her forehead, she couldn't wait to find out what he was doing there with his black eye and battered face. She called out when she was still fully fifteen yards away, 'Can I help you?'
'Personnel records?' he said.
'They're all on computer now.'
'Where could I, em…?'
'Are you Australian?'
'English.'
'Oh, you can't be!' She checked the position of her curl. 'I have some very dear friends in England. Which part of England?'
'London.'
'Really? My friends are in Welwyn Garden City. Is that near London?'
'Tolerably near.'
'Tolerably near-I love it! But what's happened to you? I hope you haven't had a bad experience in our country.'
'No, just a fall. I'm fine.'
'I wouldn't have said so! Are you here on vacation?'
'Research,' he said, divining a way to get back on course. He wasn't sure how long he could rely on Officer Pinkowitz to keep his privileged knowledge to himself. 'Family history. Mr., er, Leapman suggested I consult the records for information about a distant member of the family.'
'Michael Leapman? He isn't here today. Isn't that just too bad?'
'It doesn't trouble me in the least But if I could be shown how to use a computer…'
'I don't know if there's a spare desk. Hold on-I'll think of something.'
'Mr. Leapman's desk?'
'Why, yes-of course!'
Neat and simple, satisfyingly simple. At least, he told himself, I'm functioning again.
She showed him into Leapman's office, a place with signs of long occupation. A comfortable reclining chair, worn at the arms. A desk with cup stains apparently impervious to cleaning. Some far-from-new executive toys, including a Newton's cradle that Diamond couldn't resist disturbing. A poster of Stockholm, curling at the corners. Even the computer keyboard at a separate desk had the glaze chipped off some of the main keys.
He sat in front of it, and his latest helpmate pressed a switch. While the machine was booting up, she had a spasm of uncertainty. 'Are you quite sure Michael said you could inspect the personnel files? Only a few of us have the password to get into them.'
'That's all right,' he assured her. 'I'm not out to discover how much you people earn or what age you are. I just want to look up a research scientist, someone who is sponsored by Manflex.'
'That's no problem,' she said, with obvious relief. 'It's much easier to access researchers man permanent staff. What name are you hoping to find?'
'Masuda. Dr. Yuko Masuda.'
'That doesn't sound English.'
'It isn't I have a cousin who went to Japan.'
'Let's try, then. Masuda. Would you spell mat?'
When the name appeared on the screen, Diamond's hopes of new information were dashed. It was a thin account of twelve years of research.
To: Continues.
'It isn't much,' he complained. 'Hasn't she published anything since 1983? I thought research scientists were constantly publishing.'
The woman gave a shrug. 'Maybe the file hasn't been updated.'
At least the file confirmed that David Hexner had been entirely frank about Yuko Masuda. This was all familiar stuff from the interview at the station house.
'Is there any way of telling when this file was put together?'
'Oh, sure. There's a checklist of all the dates when entries or deletions were made.' She pressed two keys and a window was displayed on the right of the screen. 'Just two entries. As you see, the file was created on September 10, 1987, and the latest entry was only three months back.'
He hesitated. Something was wrong. 'But the last entry on file refers to a conference in 1983. Which piece of this data is new? What did anyone find to enter three months ago when all I can see here relates to work published up to 1983?'
'I'm sorry, I can't answer that. I have no idea.'
'The computer can't tell us?'
'No.'
He sighed. Three months ago would have been shortly before Naomi was brought to London. Possibly there was a connection. Apparently there was no way of finding out.
He had another thought 'Can
'If they can get into them, sure, but only a few of us have the password.'
'That would include the Chairman…?'
'The Vice Chairman, Personnel Director, Research Director, Senior Systems Analyst and some secretaries,
