Programmed for Peril

stay handy, too? I’ll want to ask him some questions.”
    “What about?” Trish was getting more frustrated. Or was >t more nervous?
    After Leftover was gone Stanley turned to her. He took a deep breath. He was going to give her bad news! He wasn’t enjoying it. She leaned forward, nails sinking into her Palms. He said, “Last night at two in the morning the computer PC-Pros serviced exploded.”
    "What? Computers don’t explode! The worst they do is sometimes short and catch fire.”
    “The explosion blew out all the windows in the law firm’s library. The fire destroyed two thirds of the books.”
    Trish sank back in her chair, dread icing her arms and legs. “That’s... impossible.”
    Stanley flashed a humorless grin. “No, it isn’t. Not when we’re certain the machine held a stick of dynamite and a small incendiary device.”
    Trish was speechless. She was aware her eyes were widening.
    Stanley scanned notes. “Both wired into the computer’s clock. Piece of cake: built-in timer. Long way from the old alarm clock, huh?”
    “I cannot believe this....”
    He had plenty of questions then. All were asked in a polite, well-measured voice. He was most noncommittal. And a careful note taker. He asked about the business relationship between PC-Pros and Kandinsky Klein and Corman. Did any of her employees have a connection with the law firm? Any nasty divorces handled by Kandinsky lawyers? What she couldn’t tell him, he promised to find out when he questioned her staff. He hoped she wouldn’t mind his taking their time. He sat back and spread his short arms questioningly. “Now, off the record, Ms. Morley, I’d be glad to hear what you think is going on.”
    She stood up, hesitant, and began to pace. Her old habits of keeping unpleasant information to herself reared up with familiar strength. Yet since she had left the coast, little by little she was modifying that behavior, too. She was learning to have more confidence in others. She asked her intuition whom to trust. This morning it told her this roundish cop was okay.
    In the middle of her tale of threatening messages and spying microphones Michelle put through a call. It was Ephraim Kandinsky, Esq. He was going to sue PC-Pros for “negligence,” which showed how much he knew about PCs. The suit itself, though, was sure to be no joke. That meant big legal expenses that her business could scarcely support. Unless she could prove that PC-Pros had been a criminal’s victim. As Kandinsky droned on, her spirits sank lower. When he finished she was on the verge of tears.
    Now badly distracted, she finished her story by explaining to Lieutenant Stanley that Nicholas Smith-Patton was going to further investigate the bugging. He checked his notes. “Well, well, it looks like there’s more to it all than I thought,” he said almost cheerily. He gave her a business card and a comforting smile. “Keep me up to date on what your man finds out. We’ll be going at it from the bomb end.”
    Trish shook her head. She felt put-upon, threatened.
    “You better warm up your smile a little,” Stanley said.
    “Why?”
    “The press will want to talk to you.”
    The reporters showed up that afternoon. A woman and two men, one of them with a videocam. Trish thought of not talking to them, refusing to comment. That seemed a bad idea when PC-Pros couldn’t really have been responsible for the explosion. She told the trio that someone had wired the dynamite and incendiary into the PC. She had no idea who had done it. She wondered later if she had really expected the reporters to be satisfied with her statement and leave. Instead they began to ask questions reflecting their belief that PC-Pros was indeed responsible for the disaster. Clearly they thought one of her employees was a saboteur.
    The woman reporter was the most offensive. She had the strained look of the ill-fitting contact lens wearer and the harsh voice of an auctioneer. She shoved her tape recorder toward Trish’s face with a straight arm that would be the envy of an NFL running back. What began as an interview Trish allowed to become a cross-examination. She fought hard for self-control but eventually lost the battle. She found herself shouting, “You people are hyenas!” so she knew it was time to end the session.
    She had no idea how to do it.
    Sensing her weakness, the reporters gathered strength and hayed ruder questions at her. She begged them to leave, but they ignored her. Tears of