“Lot of crazy people in the world,” Paul noted, thinking that whoever was after Torie ranked right up there on the crazy scale.
“God’s truth,” was Tibbet’s pithy rejoinder. “Back to this deal, though,” he continued. “Looks like this is going deeper and deeper. You got any more ideas you’re willing to share about who might be behind it? Got some skills with a computer, seems like.”
“Damn straight,” Detective Johnson commented. She glanced up long enough to say, “I’m Johnson, pleased to meet you, and all that.” She then went back to hammering at the keyboard.
“I’ve told you everything I can think of, Detective,” Paul said, watching the code fill the oversize screen the programmers used. It was like watching someone knit, each row following closely along to the next.
“No new ideas? No one you know who has outstanding computer skills?”
“I know a lot of people with computer skills. I have good skills, my assistant should have been a hacker, and I have two friends who run software companies. But neither Martha nor my geek pals want to hurt Torie.”
“You sure about that?” Tibbet lowered his voice. “Your secretary doesn’t like Ms. Hagen. Not one bit.”
“Assistant. She’s my executive assistant,” Paul corrected, thinking furiously. He shook his head. “It doesn’t play, Detective. You’re right, she doesn’t like Torie, but she adored Todd. She really, really thought the world of him.”
“Not a far stretch to hate, though.”
Paul couldn’t fathom how someone lived each day, worked each day, seeing the worst of society. “I still don’t think so.”
“Where were you last night?” Tibbet opened his little book. “Just to clear that up, ’cause I’m gonna get asked.”
“I was with Torie, helping her get some clothes. We met her friend Pam and her cousin for a—” he stopped, shifting mental gears. “Drink. We stayed at another of their friend’s house for a while. Someone she and Pam know. I didn’t know him.”
Tibbet was looking at him, and had obviously noted the hesitation. Damn.
“Uh huh. So, what time was this, uh, drink, you all had?”
“Around eight-thirty or nine. We’d been out shopping.” He rolled his eyes for form. “Then met Pam, Dev, and Carlos. When we finally left there, Torie and I were starving. We picked up burgers and fries from Ted’s Burgers over off Maple, on the way to my house. I think I have the receipt somewhere. We were nearly too tired to eat, but we managed it, then went to bed.”
“Together?”
Paul’s temper flared immediately, but he strapped it down. Tibbet was trying to get a reaction. Paul wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“No, Detective. She’s my client and she slept in my guest room. She didn’t want to endanger her friend Pam, but since it appears that hotel rooms aren’t safe or secure, I put her in my guest room.” He finished by putting his hands on the table between them and leaning in. “Satisfied?”
Tibbet grinned. “For now.” When Johnson made a noise, he whipped around.
“Whatcha got, Johnson?”
“Trace. Not much. Hang on,” Johnson muttered.
“What the hell?” A new voice joined the conversation and Paul turned to see the head of the computer department for the firm, Kathryn Tryon, hurrying in. “What’s going on? Who authorized this? What are you doing here?” She turned the last question to Paul. She was fired up and mad, mad enough to get up in his face.
“Pratt authorized it,” Paul said calmly. “We got hacked. I’m here because it focused on my files from a particular client. Some others were damaged, but Detective Tibbet indicated that Detective Johnson—” he pointed at the madly typing woman—“felt they were decoys. My files were the only ones totally wiped.”
“Oh, my God.” Her face blanched. “I hope like hell the backups work.”
Paul felt his stomach churn. His antacids were in his desk. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve had trouble with the backups in the last few months. Some disruptions. This is exactly what we were afraid might happen, but the partners…” she trailed off, realizing to whom she was speaking. The firm protected its own, especially the partners, and evidently Kathryn realized that she had been about to diss them to a detective.
“Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat. “The partners have been reviewing all my requests and fail-safe plans, and were budgeting for the options we would need.”
“Does that mean we’re shit out of luck in recovering my files?” Paul demanded, not really caring that Tibbet was there.
“No, no. We have backup, it’ll work.” Kathryn shot a look at Johnson and Tibbet, then faced Paul. “It’ll work.”
“Don’t try and boot it any time soon,” Johnson said without turning around. “You got some serious cleaning up to do before you can clear and reboot with the backup.” With a last lightning sequence on the keyboard, she turned around and looked at them. “In fact, if your firm can afford it, you may want to start fresh with new drives, load the backup on them. I can’t guarantee you’ll ever be able to get these clean.”
“Really? What kind of virus are we talking about?”
“You’ve got a three-pronged attack,” Johnson began. The two women began speaking what Paul considered to be a deeply foreign language. He could figure out a lot of things, dig down into the code to a limited degree, but it wasn’t his first love. The larger databases, like the ones designed especially for the firm, weren’t the poison he’d pick.
