The Broken Window

andwouldn’t do them any good. What they want is our analysis of the data. Customers log on to Watchtower—that’s our proprietary database management system—and other programs like Xpectation or FORT. The programs themselves search through innerCircle, find the relevant data and put them into usable form. If you want to think of the mining analogy, Watchtower sifts through tons of dirt and rock and finds gold nuggets.”
    She said in response, “But if a client bought a number of mailing lists, say, they could come up with enough data about one of our victims to commit the crimes, couldn’t they?” She nodded at the evidence list she’d shown Sterling earlier. “For instance, our perp could get lists of everyone who bought that kind of shave cream and condoms and duct tape and running shoes and so on.”
    Sterling lifted an eyebrow. “Hm. It would be a huge amount of work but it’s theoretically possible. . . . All right. I’ll get a list of all our customers who’ve bought any data that included your victims’ names—in the past, say, three months? No, maybe six.”
    “That should do it.” She dug through her briefcase—considerably less organized than Sterling’s desktop—and handed him a list of the victims and fall guys.
    “Our client agreement gives us the right to share information about them. There won’t be a problem legally but it will take a few hours to put together.”
    “Thanks. Now, one final question about employees. . . . Even if they’re not allowed in the pens, could they download a dossier in their office?”
    He was nodding, impressed by her question, it seemed, even though it suggested an SSD worker might be the killer. “Most employees can’t—again, we have to protect our data. But a few of us have what’s called ‘all-access permission.’ ”
    Whitcomb gave a smile. “Well, but look who that is, Andrew.”
    “If there’s a problem here, we need to explore all possible solutions.”
    Whitcomb said to Sachs and Pulaski, “The thing is, the all-access employees are senior people here. They’ve been with the company for years. We’re like a family. We have parties together, we have our inspirational retreats—”
    Sterling held up a hand, cutting him off, and said, “We have to follow up on it, Mark. I want this rooted out, whatever it takes. I want answers.”
    “Who has all-access rights?” Sachs asked.
    Sterling shrugged. “I’m authorized. Our head of Sales, the head of Technical Operations. Our Human Resources director could put together a dossier, I suppose, though I’m sure he never has. And Mark’s boss, our Compliance Department director.” He gave her the names.
    Sachs glanced at Whitcomb, who shook his head. “I don’t have access.”
    O’Day didn’t either.
    “Your assistants?” Sachs asked Sterling, referring to Jeremy and Martin.
    “No . . . Now, as for the repair folks—the techies—the line people couldn’t assemble a dossier but we have two service managers who could. One on the day shift, one at night.” He gave her their names too.
    Sachs looked over the list. “There’s one easy way to tell whether or not they’re innocent.”
    “How?”
    “We know where the killer was on Sunday afternoon. If they have alibis, they’ll be off the hook. Let me interview them. Right now, if we can.”
    “Good,” Sterling said and gave an approving look at her suggestion: a simple “solution” to one of his “problems.” Then she realized something: Every time he’d looked at her this morning his gaze had met her eyes. Unlike many, if not most, men Sachs met, Sterling hadn’t once glanced over her body, hadn’t offered a bit of flirt. She wondered what the bedroom story was. She asked, “Could I see the security in the data pens for myself?”
    “Sure. Just leave your pager, phone and PDA outside. And any thumbdrives. If you don’t, all the data will be erased. And you’ll be searched when you leave.”
    “Okay.”
    Sterling nodded to O’Day, who stepped into the hall and returned with the stern security guard who’d walked Sachs and Pulaski here from the massive lobby downstairs.
    Sterling printed out a pass for her, signed it and handed it to the guard, who led her out into the halls.
    Sachs was pleased that Sterling hadn’t resisted her request. She had an ulterior motive for seeing the pens for herself. Not only could she make yet more people aware of the investigation—in the hope they’d go for the