Trust Me

you are, I’m leaving this where I know you will be sure to find it. You’re always fooling around with this computer. Price of my silence is fifty thousand. Same arrangements as last time.
    Stark recalled Desdemona’s euphoric relief when she believed that they had discovered evidence that Tony was definitely not the person who had attempted to steal ARCANE.
    He wondered how she would react when he told her the bad news. The evidence was starting to indicate that her stepbrother was in this mess up to his ears. He might well have been the mysterious client who had hired Vernon Tate to steal the encryption program.
    Desdemona had been mistaken earlier when she had assured Stark that she was the only person who ever used her computer. Good old Tony had not only used it, he had installed the software and modified the original programs. The Wainwright family screwup knew his way around a computer. And the computer he liked to fool around with the most was Desdemona’s.
    It had no doubt been difficult for Tate to identify his client. To do it he would have had to backtrack through the anonymous server’s files, a complex task, even for a skilled hacker. But once he knew Tony’s true identity, things would have gotten much easier. It would have been no great trick to trace Tony to the Right Touch computer.
    After a long while, Stark picked up the phone and dialed the Right Touch number.
    “She’s not here, Stark,” Juliet sounded a little breathless, as if she had run into the office to answer the phone. “She went down the street to Exotica Erotica. By the way, as long as I’ve got you on the line, I want to invite you to dinner tonight.”
    “Dinner?”
    “To celebrate Uncle Benedick and Aunt Celia being back in town. Everyone will be there. Bring Jason and Kyle.”
    “Where is this dinner being held?”
    “Same restaurant we used for Desdemona’s birthday. We’ll be in a private room at the back. When you arrive, just tell the hostess that you’re with the Wainwright party. See you.”
    Stark hung up the phone and dialed a second number.
    Kirsten answered on the first ring, the energetic enthusiasm of a shopkeeper having a good business day vibrating in her voice. “Exotica Erotica.”
    “This is Stark. I’m looking for Desdemona.”
    “She’s right here.”
    Desdemona came on the line. “Hi, Stark. What’s up? Did you decode the message?”
    “Yes.” He gazed at the glowing screen and wondered how to tell her that her precious stepbrother was looking more guilty than ever. “It’s a blackmail note.”
    “Blackmail?”
    Stark read it to her. “My hunch is that the note was left by Vernon Tate for his client. He had learned the client’s identity and wanted fifty thousand dollars to guarantee his silence. He was probably killed immediately after he’d typed and encrypted this note.”
    “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would Vernon have left the message on my machine?”
    Stark let the silence grow heavy. But if he entertained any hope that Desdemona’s famed Wainwright intuition would do his dirty work for him by providing the obvious conclusion, he was doomed to disappointment.
    “Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” Desdemona’s voice was suddenly brimming with excitement. “Tate never intended the client to read the blackmail note on my computer.”
    “What makes you think that?” Stark asked gently.
    “Don’t you see? Vernon simply used my machine to type out the note and to encrypt it.”
    “On that, we agree.”
    “He probably intended to print out the encrypted message on my printer and mail it to his so-called client, whoever that is.”
    “Uh, Desdemona…”
    “But he got interrupted by the killer before he could finish,” she concluded triumphantly.
    “You think he used your computer as a typewriter to produce a note he then intended to put into the mail?” Stark closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his chair. “The famed Wainwright intuition in action, I assume?”
    “You’ve got to admit it makes perfect sense.” Desdemona chuckled. “Even you can’t argue with my logic on this, Stark.”
    Argue with it? He could crush her weak, absurd, faulty logic in two seconds flat.
    All he had to do was point out to her that there had been no need for Tate to use the Right Touch computer and printer. Tate had his own hardware at home. And the blackmail note clearly stated that the message had been deliberately left where Tate knew his client