Cold Case

his classwork file and ordered the computer to make the connection.

Captain James Winters’s face appeared over the console. “Matt, something turned up in relation to those — ah — cases you mentioned to me.”

“New information?” Matt eagerly leaned forward.

“More like old information.” Winters ran a hand over his chin. “I decided to run a check on the names you gave me, to see if any of those people had a criminal record.”

“And Harry Knox did?”

“A juvenile record. It seems back in 1999 Knox was a Script Baby.”

Matt blinked. “A what?”

“He was seventeen at the time, exploring the early version of the Net, and found a crude set of hacking tools. They were called ‘scripts,’ developed by talented, or at least successful, crackers for use by less experienced — even inexperienced — would-be hackers.”

“Was Harry Knox experienced?”

“No. That’s probably why he got caught. His incompetence is probably what saved him. He wasn’t able to do much damage, and the courts were disposed to be lenient with young people on a first offense.”

“Anything else?” Matt asked.

“Nothing that we found out,” Winters replied. “Maybe he was scared straight. On the other hand, once a hacker—”

“Always a hacker.” Matt finished the saying.

“Among the things we recovered from the wreck of his truck was a laptop computer,” Winters went on.

That would either put Knox way on the trailing edge of technology, or on a recent dead end. Leif’s father had tried to revive the idea of portable, full-powered units, but people were happier with their home consoles and their little palm computers. People who liked playing with techno-toys went for the machines, however. A lot of kids from Net Force had picked up laptops at a deep discount — superbrains like David Gray. “Old or new?” Matt asked.

“It was a late-model unit, damaged in the crash and the dunking,” Winters said. “A police technician noticed a certain amount of wear and tear on the input/output connections. Apparently when he was on the road. Knox plugged the laptop into motel systems rather than networking with his home computer.”

“That would argue a certain amount of technical ability,” Matt offered.

Winters nodded. “Which would seem to point to him as the hacker in your group of sim enthusiasts.” He frowned. “But it only suggests his guilt. There’s no hard proof.”

And since there was no hard proof of hacking — not even a legal complaint — Net Force couldn’t get officially involved. Winters had probably pushed the investigative envelope just by looking into the past of the late Harry Knox.

“Thanks for letting me know about this,” Matt said.

“For whatever good it does.” Winters gave a helpless shrug and signed off.

Seems like I’m collecting a lot of interesting but useless stuff. Matt thought. He filed the latest information in the same mental bin as his conversation with Nikki Callivant. Then he ordered his computer back to the trig problem he’d been trying to solve. Possible clues were always interesting, but right now, homework had to take first priority.

His homework was done and the house was filling with spicy smells when Matt came into the living room that evening. Dad was cooking chicken fajitas for dinner, judging from the scents of frying peppers, onion, and garlic — lots of garlic.

Matt’s stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been a while since lunch, as he headed for the main computer console. It was time for the local news.

A holographic projection appeared — the HoloNews logo, clouds floating behind it, while urgent, staccato music came from the living room speakers. “News music,” Matt’s father had called it once.

“That’s a little loud,” Matt’s mother said, coming in behind him. He told the computer to tone down the sound as she came to stand beside him, wrinkling her nose at the kitchen smells. “Another night at the garlic festival, I see.”

Matt grinned and shrugged. “It goes better with his south of the border stuff than with other recipes he tries.”

Mom had to agree with that.

A pair of anchorpeople busily went about the business of bringing their viewers up to date on events in the world and in Washington. It must have been a slow news day. Three items, and already they’d turned to the chopper-cam for a fire shot.

Matt’s father remembered when the news wars had taken to the air, with the networks and news services hiring helicopters to carry their cameras. Sometimes these flying camera people turned in exciting footage — car chases, train wrecks, huge demonstrations. Most days, however, they wound up showing traffic jams, or on really dull days, the biggest fire in the metropolitan area.

Today was apparently a very slow day. The eye in the sky hadn’t even been able to find a large factory or apartment building burning away. Instead, they focused on flames roaring through a small wooden home surrounded by suburban houses. From the actions around the pumper trucks below, the local firefighters had given up any hopes of saving the place. Their hoses were aimed at keeping the blaze from spreading to any of the nearby houses.

“The structure dates back more than a hundred and fifty years, always in the same family,” the chopper reporter’s voice intoned against the faint whine of the engine. “The town of Travers Corners loses a little bit of history today.”

Hearing the name of the town jarred Matt into paying more attention. He and Father Flannery had been there, not so long ago.

Matt frowned, trying to reorient himself from the overhead view. Yes. Illuminated in the glare of the inferno, he began to pick out familiar locations. That house over there, and that one…

The place being devoured by flame was Oswald Derbent’s book-filled home.

12

Some of what Matt was feeling must have shown on his face. “What’s wrong?” his mother asked.

“That.” Matt pointed to the HoloNews display. “That house. It belongs to Oswald Derbent — another of the players in the mystery sim. Father Flannery and I were visiting there just the other day.”

“I see,” Marissa Hunter said, clearly upset by the news. Then, “Where are you going?”

Matt turned back, halfway across the living room. “I think I need to call this in, don’t you? To more than one person.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “But I’ll be done before Dad starts serving supper.” The previously savory aromas made his now-leaden stomach simply sink farther.

Stepping into his room, Matt snapped a command at his computer. The call went though, the display over the console swam into focus, and Captain James Winters looked out — still in his office, even at this hour.

The captain’s expression went from surprise to concern when he saw Matt.

“That list I sent you—” Matt paused, trying to clear a suddenly hoarse throat.

“Someone else had an — incident?” Winters finished for him. The Net Force agent did not look happy at all.

“Oswald Derbent. HoloNews was just showing pictures of his house — what’s left of it — doing an amazing imitation of an open-pit barbecue.”

Winters looked annoyed with himself. “I directed my computer to flag any police calls connected to those names,” he said. “I’ll have to amend that to include all emergency services.”

“Can you find out what happened?”

The captain nodded cautiously. “I’ll make some inquiries and get back to you. It probably won’t be tonight,” he warned. “Arson investigations need daylight. And there will be an arson investigation.”

“You think there’ll be anything by the time I get home from school?” Matt asked.

“Preliminary findings, though not a finished report. I’ll call with whatever I can get,” Winters promised. “Do