“No dice,“ read the notation beside the Iron Maiden. “Can't even get time of day.“
Made sense.
And what about Eugene Mason's claims that someone had stolen his copy of the agreement? What if someone had? What if Ted had stolen it, and Mason had found out, and Ted's murder was the result?
Next time Liz spotted Mason lurking outside, I'd have to go out and interrogate him, I decided. And I should study his personnel file, to see if perhaps he seemed to match any of the names on Ted's blackmail list.
The front door opened and the chief walked in, accompanied by several uniformed officers.
“That was fast,“ I said.
“We were already on our way over,“ the chief said.
I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that.
“Anything we can do for you?“ I said.
“You've done a great deal for us already, thank you,“ the chief said.
I frowned and looked more closely at him. Usually when people said something like that to me, they were being sarcastic. The chief seemed serious.
“How?“ I asked.
“That computer printout you gave us,“ the chief said. “That proved to be very useful. So what seems to be the trouble here?“
“We caught her trying to break in,“ I said, indicating the intruder.
I could tell Frankie really wanted to hang around, but now that I didn't need him for guard duty, I didn't think Jack would appreciate my keeping him from work, so I shooed him off. The chief took a short statement from me and then dispatched two of the uniformed officers to take her down to the station.
“Anything else we can do for you?“ the chief asked.
“That's about it,“ I said.
“Then we'd like to go back and talk to one of your staff, if you don't mind.“
“Of course not,“ I said.
Actually I minded plenty, but asking my permission was obviously only a formality. The chief nodded pleasantly and went through the opening to the main part of the office, followed by a very young officer in a uniform that looked brand new.
What the devil, I thought, and flipped the phone to night mode so I could see what they were up to. The chief didn't look as if he wanted my company, but he didn't actually order me away, so I followed them into the main part of the office.
And all the way to the back corner, to Jack's cube.
“John Ransom,“ the chief said.
Jack looked up, saw the chief, and frowned. Then he saw me and removed the glasses he only wore when staring at a monitor.
“What can I do for you?“ he said.
“You're under arrest for the murder of Theodore Corrigan,“ the chief said. “Read him his rights, Sammy.“
“Yes, sir,“ the young officer said, reaching into his pocket.
“You've got to be kidding,“ I said. “What makes you think Jack is the killer?“
“like I said, that computer printout you brought us,“ the chief said. “We figured out from the date column that the day before his murder, Mr. Corrigan made an approach to his most recent potential blackmailing target – code named the Ninja.“
“And you think Jack's the Ninja?“ I said. I looked at Jack, who shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and lifted one eyebrow as he watched the young officer. Perhaps Sammy had never arrested anyone before – at least not for murder. He was still nervously patting and fumbling with his uniform pockets, apparently searching for his Miranda cue card.
“It all added up, once we determined he was the only really accomplished martial artist among our suspects,“ the chief said.
“Apart from me,“ I said. “Are you really discounting me as a suspect purely on the strength of a few broken bones?“
“You don't have the same kind of motivation Mr. Ransom has,“ the chief said.
“And what motivation is that?“ I asked.
The chief smiled. “Let me use your computer for a minute,“ he said to Jack.
Jack hesitated.
“Okay if I save what I'm doing first?“ he asked.
The chief nodded magnanimously, and Jack's fingers rattled the keyboard rapidly for a few seconds.
“Be my guest,“ Jack said, standing up and taking a seat on the countertop at the back of the cube.
The chief sat down and hitched his chair up to the computer. He bobbed his head up and down several times, looking like one of those toy dogs with the nodding heads, until he found an angle that let him see the screen, and then he picked up the mouse and began laboriously moving it around the screen. We all leaned over to see what he was doing, except for Sammy, who was removing stray bits of paper from his wallet and staring at them, apparently hoping that one of them would turn out to be bis Miranda card.
“I could probably do that faster if you tell me what you want done,“ Jack suggested as the chief continued pecking keys and peering at the monitor. Faster, and no doubt with less danger to Jack's computer, I thought.
“No, our computer guy showed me how to do this,“ the chief said. “Aha! That's got it!“
A familiar, colorful graphic appeared on the screen: a cartoon gavel smashing down on a surface.
“You've started Lawyers from Hell,“ I said.
“No,“ the chief said. “I've started Nude Lawyers from Hell.“
“I stand corrected,“ I said, watching as tiny naked cartoon figures began inarching across the screen. “What does either of them have to do with Ted's murder?“
“Watch this,“ the chief said.
He peered at the keyboard and pressed several keys.
The picture on screen changed. Strings sprouted from the wrists and ankles of the cartoon figures, as if they were puppets. The scene shifted, the way it does in a movie when the camera pulls back for a long shot. Now we could see the wooden frames from which the puppet strings hung, and a pair of hands moving the frames.
“What is this?“ I asked. I thought I'd seen every possible sequence in the game, more times than I wanted to imagine – but I'd never seen this.
“It's an Easter egg,“ Jack said.
“What's that?“
“That's what they call it when one of these programmer fellows sticks in a little something extra that isn't supposed to be there,“ the chief said. “You can see it only if you know what keys to press.“
He was preening himself as if he'd figured it out himself. “Now watch this,“ he said, pointing back at the screen.
Jack sighed.
The view widened again. I could see the rail on which the puppeteer was leaning, stacked with little discarded garments – tiny cartoon suit jackets and trousers, crumpled doll-size judges' robes and minuscule loud ties. Then the face of the puppeteer came into view.
Jack.
It was a cartoon version of his face, but larger and more detailed and realistic than the Lawyers from Hell characters, and instantly recognizable. He winked at us, and a curtain began closing over the picture. In a few seconds the game reappeared.
“You programmed Nude Lawyers from Hell?“ I said, looking up at the real Jack.
