Cold Case

niggling fear that this was actually a setup by the Callivant lawyers. But this felt like a hacker’s work — an amateur hacker pushed to the limit.

Matt finally arrived at a big, dim box, apparently no different from the ones on either side of it. But this was the address on the virtmail invitation. Let’s hope whoever sent it doesn’t suffer from typos, Matt told himself as he went inside.

This was the place. The interior had been programmed into a shadowy warehouse. Which, Matt suddenly thought, is really what these places are. But it was also just the sort of meeting place a fan of 1930s mysteries would create. The echoing space was almost pitch-black, with a few pools of light from single bulbs in tin shades like flattened cones.

You could hide an army out in the darkness, but Matt figured there were only five other people out there. He could even hear them breathing. Problem was, nobody wanted to announce him- or herself, because the others would then think that person had called the meeting. And then that person would be accused as the hacker who’d gotten the names for this meeting — and probably gotten everyone into trouble in the first place.

Looks like it’s amateur night all around, Matt thought. Lucky thing I talked this over with Leif and Martin Gray.

Matt reached into the satchel dangling from his shoulder and drew out a flashlight. Switching it on, he speared the blackness with a fan of brilliance. “Anybody here?” he called.

The flash immediately caught two figures — the Slimms. “See, Mick?” Maura said to her husband. “I told you we should have brought one of those.”

Now that Matt had initiated things, Marten, Krantz, and Spanner also stepped into the light.

“I won’t express any surprise that we’re all here,” Marten said, leaning his weight on his cane. “Certainly, I didn’t hesitate to clear my desk and plan to come when I got an anonymous invitation this morning. Self-protection is a strong incentive for appearing.”

“You mean from the lawyers?” Krantz asked.

“I mean protection of our lives,” Marten replied. “The circumstances of Mr. Saunders’s death—”

“Oh, come on!” Matt burst out. “He slipped on the ice in front of his house and cracked his skull. I was there — and how do you know so much about it?”

Marten glared at him. “I have my methods. I’m sure we are all sufficiently aware of cases where cracked skulls were not the result of falls, but rather, the cause. We must consider the probability that the recent storm merely offered a convenient opportunity for someone to conceal a murder.”

“M-murder?” Maura Slimm echoed in an uneasy voice.

Mick Slimm took her arm. “All right, Marten, or whoever you are. Sure, we’re aware of cases like you’ve described — but most, if not all, took place in books…as fiction.”

“You offer Saunders’s murder as a probability,” Krantz horned in. “Shouldn’t you say ‘possibility?’ According to what I’ve found out, even the police think it was probably an accident.”

“And when will the probability of accident shift into the possibility of murder?” Marten demanded. “When another of us suffers an unexpected ‘accident’? Or a third?”

“You’re raving. We’re all here, aren’t we? I think you are borrowing trouble here — and we have enough trouble with just the lawyers going after Ed’s sim. So what do you want to do?” Spike Spanner looked uncomfortable. Or rather, Matt suspected, Father Flannery was wrestling with some unpleasant prospects. “Do you intend to go to the cops and rile them up about a possible murder case? Who are you going to give them as a suspect?”

“Those lawyers who were badgering him?” Maura Slimm offered hopefully.

Milo Krantz gave Marten a squinty-eyed look. “Or do you propose to give them one of us, killing to keep the lawyers away?”

Matt said nothing, aware that the police were aware of the game-players and this motive. Detective Martin Gray wasn’t questioning anyone because the case was still officially an accident, and would remain so unless the medical examiner found some evidence to the contrary.

In holo-dramas, the coroner’s report always seemed ready within minutes of the victim’s death. From what David and his father had to say, however, even speedy results took days.

“What I propose,” Marten said, “is a defensive alliance. Each of us needs someone to guard our backs. As it stands now, if one of us is threatened, how will the others know?”

Krantz got icy. “You expect us to reveal our true identities?”

“Of course. How else would we know of further ‘accidents’?” Marten leaned his bulk forward. “I will reveal myself, but not unilaterally. It must be all or nothing.”

“You know, for somebody who claims he was just invited here this morning, you’ve wound up running the meeting,” Spanner said suspiciously.

“Right.” Mick Slimm gave Marten a long stare. “All or nothing means one person can veto the deal. Since the hacker already knows our names, that person benefits if everybody else remains suspicious — and ignorant. What better way to drive a wedge between us all than to try stampeding us into dropping our masks immediately?”

Marten glared at him. “What better way to invite suspicion than to vote against my idea?”

“This is the part I hate in every mystery story!” Maura burst out. “The bad guy knows that we can only guess who he is. But we know that he knows, or at least we guess that he knows, or he guesses that we’re guessing —”

“Bah, madam,” Marten interrupted, “what you’re doing is called attempting a deduction without facts.” He looked around at the other sleuths. “If all agree to my suggestion, we’ll have a few facts to work with. If only one person objects, that becomes a fact in itself.”

“I think two people are going to object,” Mick Slimm said. “Maura and I know each other in real life. We can guard each other’s backs.”

“It may be all over, now that Saunders is—” Maura broke off. “We don’t even know he sent anything to those lawyers.”

“You don’t think that law firm could get access to the late Mr. Saunders’ computer?” Marten rumbled. “The police certainly could.”

“Only if they think there was a crime involved,” Milo Krantz coolly pointed out. “From the news reports, it’s being treated as an accident. As the situation stands, one irresponsible hacker has our identities. Your plan opens the possibility of other irresponsible parties using that information. I fear I’d have to reject that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Spanner growled.

Marten merely nodded — a tiny shift of his great head. “Just for the record, what is your opinion, Mr. Spanner? Mr. Newman?”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m with the big man,” Spanner said. “All, or nothing at all.”

Matt shrugged. “You all saw me without my mask on, but I’m not giving out a name and address without getting everyone else’s in return.” He reached into his satchel again. “But there’s no reason for everybody to go away mad. I’m betting that whoever brought us here will arrange for regular meetings. Call it the sleuth’s club.”

He came out with a bottle of champagne and some glasses. “What do you say? If we can’t have an alliance, let’s go for friendly suspicion.”

Matt sat the glasses from his satchel down and popped the cork on the bottle. Champagne gushed out to spatter on Marten’s shoes.

“Must you act like a jackass, Monty?” the big man angrily demanded.

“Sorry, boss,” Matt said with a grin. “Care for a bit of the bubbly?”

“You know my preferences,” Marten snapped. “I don’t like the stuff.”

Matt shrugged. “I know hard cider is your drink of choice, but I figured I’d be just about as successful at convincing you to try it as you were with your proposal.”

The Slimms each took a glass. So did a squinty-eyed Spike Spanner. He also handed one to Krantz, who shook his head. “I, too, must decline. It reduces the faculties.”

“Don’t be a party poo — whoops!” The glass Spanner held out tipped, dribbling champagne down the front of the man-about-town’s exquisite vest.

Krantz whipped the fluted handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket, dabbing at the stain. “Another reason why I don’t care to indulge. And you’ve barely had a sip!”