The Blue Nowhere

teeth were brushed and his homework was in his book bag. He kissed his son good night, powered down the computer and shut out the overhead light, leaving a Star Wars spaceship night-light as the only source of illumination in the room.
    He said to Gillette, “Come on. I’ll show you the back forty.”
    “The what?”
    “Follow me.”
    Bishop led Gillette through the kitchen, where Jennie was making sandwiches, and out the back door.
    The hacker stopped abruptly on the back porch, surprised at what he saw in front of him. He gave a laugh.
    “Yep, I’m a farmer,” Bishop announced.
    Rows of fruit trees—probably fifty altogether—filled the backyard.
    “We moved in eighteen years ago—just when the Valley was starting to take off. I borrowed enough to buy two lots. This one had some of the original farm on it. These’re apricot and cherry.”
    “What do you do, sell it?”
    “Give it away mostly. At Christmas, if you know the Bishops, you’re going to get preserves or dried fruit. People we really like get brandied cherries.”
    Gillette examined the sprinklers and smudge pots. “You take it pretty seriously,” the hacker observed.
    “Keeps me sane. I come home and Jennie and I come out here and tend to the crop. It kind of shuts out all the bad stuff I deal with during the day.”
    They walked through the rows of trees. The backyard was filled with plastic pipes and hoses, the cop’s irrigation system. Gillette nodded at them. “You know, you could make a computer that ran on water.”
    “You could? Oh, you mean a waterfall’d run a turbine for the electricity.”
    “No, I mean instead of current going through wires you could use water running through pipes, with valves to shut the flow on or off. That’s all computers do, you know. Turn a flow of current on or off.”
    “Is that right?” Bishop asked. He seemed genuinely interested.
    “Computer processors are just little switches that let bits of electricity through or don’t let them through. All the pictures you see on a computer, all the music, movies, word processors, spreadsheets, browsers, search engines, the Internet, math calculations, viruses . . . everything a computer does can be boiled down to that. It’s not magic at all. It’s just turning little switches on or off.”
    The cop nodded then he gave Gillette a knowing look. “Except that you don’t believe that, do you?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “You think computers’re pure magic.”
    After a pause Gillette laughed. “Yeah, I do.”
    They remained standing on the porch for a few minutes, looking out over the glistening branches of the trees. Then Jennie Bishop summoned them to dinner. They walked into the kitchen.
    Jennie said, “I’m going to bed. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Wyatt.” She shook his hand firmly.
    “Thanks for letting me stay. I appreciate it.”
    To her husband she said, “My appointment’s at eleven tomorrow.”
    “You want me to go with you? I will. Bob can take over the case for a few hours.”
    “No. You’ve got your hands full. I’ll be fine. If Dr. Williston sees anything funny I’ll call you from the hospital. But that’s not going to happen.”
    “I’ll have my cell phone with me.”
    She started to leave but then she turned back with a grave look. “Oh, but there is something you have to do tomorrow.”
    “What’s that, honey?” the detective asked, concerned.
    “The Hoover.” She nodded toward a vacuum cleaner sitting in the corner, the front panel off and a dusty hose hanging from the side. Several other components lay nearby on a newspaper. “Take it in.”
    “I’ll fix it,” Bishop said. “There’s just some dirt in the motor or something.”
    She chided, “You’ve had a month. Now it’s time for the experts.”
    Bishop turned toward Gillette. “You know anything about vacuum cleaners?”
    “Nope. Sorry.”
    The detective glanced at his wife. “I’ll get to it tomorrow. Or the next day.”
    A knowing smile. “The address of the repair place is on that yellow sticky tab there. See it?”
    He kissed her. “’Night, love.” Jennie vanished down a corridor.
    Bishop rose and walked to the refrigerator. “I guess I can’t get into any more trouble than I’m already in if I offer a prisoner a beer.”
    Gillette shook his head. “Thanks but I don’t drink.”
    “No?”
    “That’s one thing about hackers: We never drink anything that’ll make us sleepy. Go to a hacking