“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his eyes to me. “I suppose you know it was me who broke into your place? Is that why you’re here? Why did you save me down there?”
I studied his face. He had the inward looking self-sufficiency of someone who thought of himself as smarter than other people—who had decided early on that other people’s ideas were not to be trusted. His eyes were green and sunken like he had been sleeping poorly for a while. His brown hair was in need of a trim. “Yes, I figured out it was you,” I answered.
“How?”
“First, tell me if Wolhardt’s notes were in your backpack.”
“Yes.”
“The only copy?”
“Of course. Now, how did you find me?”
“A little detective work, some illicit accessing of computer systems.”
“The rental car company?”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of that. Sorry I broke in. It was useless anyway.”
“Yes, it was. I think I’ve worked out what you’ve been up to. You stole the notes from Wolhardt. You’re trying to solve the enigma so you can collect the reward from Jutting. You used to work for Jutting.”
“That bastard.” Bathmore had what the British would call a posh accent. He said the word bastard with a truly bitter inflection.
“How did you end up working for him anyway? You studied music and mathematics in college, not finance or business.”
Bathmore looked surprised for an instant, then winced again, shifting on the couch. “My aunt got me the job. She’s in finance. Used to work for him too. Didn’t like me being a music teacher. Not fancy enough. What are you anyway? A private investigator of some kind?”
“Something like that,” I said, then stopped speaking for a moment. Something had just struck me. There was another person with whom I had come into contact recently in a similar situation to Bathmore’s—another person who had turned to criminal activity and who lived in a city Bathmore had visited just ten days before. “One more question,” I said. “Are you working with Molly?”
“Molly? You mean James Ringold?”
“Yes.”
“That’s his stupid nickname I guess. Yes, I was working with him. I should have never trusted that asshole.”
“So you two met on that forum and hatched a plan to steal the notes after Wolhardt made his announcement?”
“Pretty much. Although I ended up doing all the work. I went to Los Angeles and stole the notes from Wolhardt. Ringold said he would meet me there but he kept delaying. Finally I just did it myself. Then after you hacked his BBS…”
“How did he know about that?” I interrupted.
“He’s an asshole but he’s not an idiot. And he’s very paranoid. He knew the hacker was in the Bay Area somehow. He asked me to send him the notes again. I refused, again. He tried to convince me to come to San Francisco so we could work on it together and I wouldn’t have to turn over the notes.”
“But you didn’t give him the notes, or a scan or copy?”
“Already told you, no copies. He wanted me to send them to him but I refused. He said he would pay for my plane tickets, the rentals, everything. But he wouldn’t give me the money. Told him I’d send him the notes when he gave me the money. I don’t think he has it.”
“So you’ve been trying to work it out yourself?”
“No good. I’m no cryptographer.” He squeezed his eyes closed and laid his head back in frustration.
“So who were those guys down there? Who knew you had the notes and wanted them badly enough to ambush you?”
“Jutting’s boys undoubtedly. He must have sent them. I contacted him earlier today. Told him I had something that could help solve the enigma. I offered to sell it to him. I need the money. I’m broke. I wanted to solve it myself but I couldn’t wait anymore.”
“So he told you he’d think about it and get back to you?”
“Yes.”
“But instead he sent some rough people to take the notes from you. Nice guy.”
“Not nice. A real cold bastard. Psychopath. I should have known better.”
“Well, you’ve made my job more difficult. Now I have to steal the notes back from him, not you. He has better security. One thing that’s been bothering me is how you knew I was helping Wolhardt. How did you find out? There are only two possibilities I can think of. One, you were still in Los Angeles when I met with him. Or two, Johann Benderick told you.”
Bathmore nodded, appraising me. “Bender thirty-nine. That must be who you mean. He posted in the forum. Said you visited him. Said if anyone in the forum knew anything about the burglary they should tell Wolhardt or you. I didn’t know he was fucking Johann Benderick. That puts a different spin on some things he’s posted. Wolhardt responded and explained that you were helping him search for the stolen notes. By that time I knew what I stole from Wolhardt was old. The guy puts dates on everything. He seems really organized. Maybe he wants to be able to file things chronologically. Anyway, the dates were all from a few months ago before he posted that he was close to a solution. The method is pretty good but it needs tweaking. The solution is wrong. I went back to Los
