The Broken Window

name, he blinked and looked her way. For an instant his eyes flickered with uncertainty. It was almost like a slap in the face.
    Yes, she was right. John Rollins was—what else?—an assumed identity. In reality he was Peter Gordon, the famous data scrounger who’d died . . . who’d pretended to die when SSD took over the company he worked for in Colorado some years ago.
    “We were curious about the faked death. The DNA? How’d you manage that?”
    He stopped typing, staring up at the painting. Finally he said, “Isn’t it funny about data? How we believe them without question.” He turned to her. “If it’s in a computer, we know it has to be true. If it involves the DNA deity then it definitely has to be right. Ask no more. End of story.”
    Sachs said, “So you—Peter Gordon—go missing. The police find your bike and a decomposed body wearing your clothes. Not much left after the animals, right? And they take hair and saliva samples from your house. Yep, the DNA matches. No doubt in the world. You’re dead. But it wasn’t your hair or saliva in your bathroom, was it? The man you killed, you took some hair from him and left it in your bathroom. And brushed his teeth, right?”
    “And a little blood on the Gillette. You police do love your blood, don’t you?”
    “Who was the man you killed?”
    “Some kid from California. Hitchhiker on I-70.”
    Keep him uneasy—information’s your only weapon. Use it! “We never knew why you did it, though, Peter. Was it to sabotage the SSD takeover of Rocky Mountain Data? Or was it more?”
    “Sabotage?” he whispered in astonishment. “You just don’t get it, do you? When Andrew Sterling and his folks from SSD came to Rocky Mountain and wanted to acquire it, I scrounged every bit of data I could find on him and the company. And what I saw was breathtaking! Andrew Sterling is God. He’s the future of data, which means he’s the future of society. He could find data that I couldn’t even imagine existed, and use it like a gun, or like medicine, or like holy water. I needed to be part of what he was doing.”
    “But you couldn’t be a data scrounger for SSD. Not for what you had planned, right? For your . . . other collecting? And the way you lived.” She nodded at the filled rooms.
    His face grew dark, his eyes wide. “I wanted to be part of SSD. Do you think I didn’t? Oh, the places I could have gone! But that’s not the card I was dealt.” He fell silent, then he waved a hand around him, indicating his collections. “You think living this way is what I’d choose? Do you think I like it?” He voice came close to cracking. Breathing hard, he gave a faint smile. “No, my life has to be off the grid. That’s the only way I can survive. Off. The. Grid.”
    “So you faked your death and stole an identity. Got yourself a new name and Social Security number, somebody who’d died.”
    The emotion was gone now. “A child, yeah. Jonathan Rollins, three, from Colorado Springs. It’s easy to get a new identity. Survivalists do it every day. You can buy books on the subject. . . .” A faint smile. “Just remember to pay cash for them.”
    “And you got a job as a security guard. But wouldn’t somebody from SSD recognize you?”
    “I never met anybody at the company in person. That’s the wonder of the data-mining business. You can collect data and never leave the privacy of your own Closet.”
    Then his voice faded. He seemed uneasy, considering what she’d told him. Were they in fact getting close to matching Rollins with Peter Gordon? Would someone else come to the town house to check things out further? He apparently decided he couldn’t take the chance. Gordon snatched up the key to Pam’s car. He’d want to hide it. The killer examined the fob. “Cheap. No RFIDs. But everybody ’s scanning the license plates now. Where’d you park?”
    “You think I’d tell you?”
    He shrugged and left.
    Her strategy had worked, grabbing a bit of knowledge and using it as a weapon. Not much, of course, but at least she’d bought a little time.
    Was it, however, enough to do what she planned: get to the handcuff key stuffed deep in her slacks pocket?

Chapter Forty-five
    “Listen to me. My partner’s missing. And I need to look at some files.”
    Rhyme was speaking to Andrew Sterling via a high-definition video link.
    The head of SSD was back in his austere office in the Gray Rock. He sat completely upright in what seemed to be a