The Broken Window

personal data collected daily, the intrusions, the danger of EduServe, the immortality of data, the metadata records of computer files.
    “Anything useful to us ?” he asked acerbically.
    “Two things. First, he’s not convinced Sterling’s innocent.”
    “You said he’s got an alibi,” Sellitto pointed out, taking another sandwich.
    “Maybe not him personally. He might be using somebody else.”
    “Why? He’s a CEO of a big company. What’s in it for him?”
    “The more crime, the more society needs SSD to protect them. Geddes says he wants power. Described him as the Napoléon of data.”
    “So he’s got a hired gun breaking windows so he can step in and fix them.” Rhyme nodded, somewhat impressed with the idea. “Only it backfired. He neverthought we’d tip to the fact the SSD database was behind the crimes. Okay. Put it on the list of suspects. An UNSUB working for Sterling.”
    “Now, Geddes also told me that a few years ago SSD acquired a Colorado data company. Their main scrounger—that’s a data collector—was killed.”
    “Any link between Sterling and the death?”
    “No idea. But it’s worth checking out. I’ll make some calls.”
    The doorbell rang and Thom answered. Ron Pulaski entered. He was grim-faced and sweaty. Rhyme sometimes had an urge to tell him to take it easier but since the criminalist himself didn’t, he figured the suggestion would be hypocritical.
    The rookie explained that most of the alibis for Sunday checked out. “I checked with the E-ZPass people and they confirmed Sterling went through the Midtown Tunnel when he said. I tried his son to see if his dad called from Long Island just to double-check. But he was out.”
    Pulaski continued, “Something else—the Human Resources director? His only alibi was his wife. She backed him up but she was acting like a scared mouse. And she was like her husband: ‘SSD is the greatest place in the world. Blah, blah, blah . . .’ ”
    Rhyme, distrustful of witnesses in any event, didn’t make much of this; one thing he’d learned from Kathryn Dance, the body language and kinesics expert with the California Bureau of Investigation, was that even when people are telling the God’s truth to police they often look guilty.
    Sachs went to their suspect list and updated it.
    Andrew Sterling, President, Chief Executive Officer
    Alibi—on Long Island, verified. Awaiting son’s confirmation
    Sean Cassel, Director of Sales and Marketing
    No alibi
    Wayne Gillespie, Director of Technical Operations
    No alibi
    Samuel Brockton, Director, Compliance Department
    Alibi—hotel records confirm presence in Washington
    Peter Arlonzo-Kemper, Director of Human Resources
    Alibi—with wife, verified by her (biased?)
    Steven Shraeder, Technical Service and Support Manager, day shift
    To be interviewed
    Faruk Mameda, Technical Service and Support Manager, night shift
    To be interviewed
    Client of SSD (?)
    Awaiting list from Sterling
    UNSUB recruited by Andrew Sterling (?)
    Sachs looked at her watch. “Ron, Mameda should be in by now. Could you go back and talk to him and Shraeder? See where they were yesterday at the time of the Weinburg murder. And Sterling’s assistant should have the client list ready. If not, perch in his office until he gets it. Look important. Better yet, look impatient.”
    “Go back to SSD?”
    “Right.”
    For some reason, he didn’t want to, Rhyme could see.
    “Sure. Just let me call Jenny and check up on things at home.” He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
    Rhyme deduced from part of the conversation that he was talking to his young son, and then, sounding even more childish, presumably the baby girl. The criminalist tuned it out.
    It was then that his own phone rang; 44 was the first number on caller ID.
    Ah, good.
    “Command, answer phone.”
    “Detective Rhyme?”
    “Inspector Longhurst.”
    “I know you’re working on that other case of yours but I thought you might like an update.”
    “Of course. Please, go ahead. How’s the Reverend Goodlight?”
    “He’s fine, if a bit scared. He’s insisting that no new security people or officers come into the safe house. He only trusts the ones who’ve been with him for weeks.”
    “Hardly blame him.”
    “I have a man screening everyone who gets close. Former SAS chap. They’re the best in the business. . . . Now, we went through the Oldham safe house from top to bottom. Wanted to share with you what we found. Traces of copper