MIND FIELDS (19 page)

Chapter sixteen

“Well, where’ve
you
been, Detective?” 

Richie hadn’t gotten around to telling Lara about his suspension yet.  He didn’t want to worry her, and he figured he’d be so busy investigating on his own that she wouldn’t notice anyway.  He was wrong.

Richie Kincade was exhausted.  “I took in a ballgame with Hank.  The O’s won, five to four.”

“Well, I’m sure glad you told me the score.  I’d have been up all night worrying about it.”

Lara always rooted for the hometown teams, but she was hardly what you would call a sports fan.  She’d rather see the home team win than lose, but if it were all the same to her, she would just as soon not see them at all.

Richie laughed.  “Well, I wouldn’t want you losing any sleep, now.”

“Really, Richie, where you been all day?”  The smile on her face had melted into concern.

“You called the office, huh?”

“I didn’t have to.  Daisy told me.”

“Daisy?  But how could …”

“I went to get a recipe off the computer, and there she was.  She told me that she was too busy working on some kind of records search for you to allow me to waste any valuable computer time looking up a recipe.”

“Oops.”  Richie looked flushed.  He really didn’t feel like getting into this now.  It had been a long day.  “I guess I’d better have a talk with that computer.”

“Good idea, but talk to me first.”  She could see the strain on Richie’s face. “I’m worried, hon.” 

For many wives, the first thought that a husband AWOL from work might elicit would be that he was having an affair, but that thought never even crossed Lara’s mind.  She knew this had to concern work. 

Richie took a deep breath. “Sorry.  I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

He filled her in on his confrontation with JT Anderson at BNI and how it had led to his suspension.  He attributed it to stepping on a rich man’s toes; he thought it better not to mention the agents in the black suits who had confronted his boss.  He also left out the part about James O’Grady.  He hadn’t quite figured that part out himself.  What was an NSA agent like O’Grady doing involving himself with something like this?  Richie didn’t have a clue, but it scared the hell out of him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to worry Lara any more than he had to.

“You look exhausted.  Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

Richie waved her off.  “Thanks, but I grabbed something at the game.”

“Health food, I’m sure.”

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.  “Crab cakes,” he said proudly.  It wasn’t exactly a well-balanced meal, but it was healthier than the hotdogs he usually had at the park, even if he had washed it down with a couple of beers.

“Good for you,” she smiled.  “Sit down anyway.  I’ll fix some tea.”

Richie acquiesced and settled into one of the kitchen chairs.  Lara took his jacket and hung it on the hallway coat rack.  It was comforting to sit and have tea with his wife; she brought order to his chaotic life.

“Daisy said the search wouldn’t be ready until morning,” Lara said as she placed two cups of tea on the table and sat down across from her husband, “so you might as well relax.”  She reached her right hand toward him and placed it palm up, resting on the table.  He smiled and gently took it into his own hand.  She knew Richie wasn’t telling her everything, but that was OK.  She also knew why, and was not going to press him on the issue.  She looked into his eyes and smiled.  His face started to relax.

__

Richie was up at the crack of dawn.  Thanks to Lara, he had managed to put his worries behind him for the night and woke up well rested.  He allowed her to sleep in, and for the first time in as long as he could remember,
he
put the coffee up for
her
.

“Computer on.”

The hard drive whirred.  “Good morning, Detective Kincade.”

“Good morning, Daisy.”  Kincade cleared his throat.  “I know that I told you to make that phone log search top priority, but around here my wife has even higher priority.  If she needs the computer, take a break and let her borrow some computing time, OK?”

“Understood.”

He marveled at the personality that Daisy’s programming had taken on.  He almost thought he heard a pout in that last response.

“So how’s it going, anyway?”

“Excuse me, Detective?”

“The search.  How’s it going?”

“It was completed at four AM.  Would you like me to display the results, or shall I print them out?”

“Printer’s on the fritz.  Just extrapolate the data and display any repetitive phone or Net contacts between Dr. Fletcher’s lab or home and Dr. Hingston’s lab or home.”  Paul Hingston seemed the obvious place to start.

Richie poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and then returned to the table. He sat back in the chair facing the monitor, left hand tucked deeply in the pocket of his flannel robe and right hand gripping the mug.

As he started to bring the mug back up to his mouth, Daisy interrupted.  “Extrapolation complete.  Sorry for the delay detective, but you really do need to get me that memory I asked for.”

“Yeah, yeah.  All right.  Just display the data, Daisy, would you?”

The data came up on the screen.  Richie sipped his coffee as he scanned down the list, eyes widening in disbelief.

“You sure about these numbers, Daisy.”

“Numbers don’t lie, Detective.”

Kincade couldn’t believe what he saw.  When he had instructed Daisy to do this search, he doubted that any useful information would really come from it.  He figured that if someone were going to all the effort to steal Dr. Fletcher’s data, they would probably be more discreet than to use Net access or phone lines; even protected lines can be traced with the right knowledge.  He was wrong.

The data was as clear as day, but now Kincade was more confused than ever.  Every Saturday morning at two AM for the past two years an Internet connection had been initiated with BNI from the same source – the home of Dr. Sandra Fletcher. 
What kind of game is the good doctor playing with me? 
The only way this could be done was for someone to have access to her personal computer, using her personal codes and accessing her personal data from her own home in the middle of the night…every Saturday for nearly two years without her knowing about it.  “What are the odds of that?”

“Of what, Detective?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Uh, just thinking, Daisy.  Ignore request.”

“Consider yourself ignored.”

Kincade shot a dirty glance at Daisy, but knew she couldn’t see it.  He could swear he heard a giggle from the computer.

“Nah.” He shook his head.

Why would Dr. Fletcher be giving all her information to BNI?  Maybe she was trying to help her old boyfriend, Dr. Hingston, and then got pissed off at him when he left her out of the patents and stole all the glory for himself.

“Man, I hope I’m not in the middle of some lover’s quarrel.  I hate that.”  He sat back in his chair and stretched.

The only other explanation seemed even more far-fetched. 
How could someone be using her codes and her computer inside her own home for two years without her knowing about it? Unless …

“Daisy, see what you can find out about Dr. Sandra Fletcher.  See if there is anyone else living at her home address.”

That had to be the answer, but for someone to be living there with her and doing something like this for two years without her knowing it...  “Man, this must be one trustful woman.  Sure knows how to pick ’em, eh Daisy?”

“Excuse me, Detective?”

He forgot for a second that Daisy was only a program after all.

“Man, I’ve gotta get some air.  Print that data up on a disc for me, Daisy, would you?”  He slipped a microdisc into the drive slot.

“Uploading data to disc.”

The disc popped out in a few seconds and Richie slipped it into the right front pocket of his robe.

“See you later, Daisy.  Computer off.”

Richie stood and tightened the cloth belt around his waist, grabbed his mug and walked to the front door.  The morning paper would be on the front porch by now.  He needed a distraction to clear his head.

Chapter seventeen

Friday mornings were always hectic at the lab.  Sandi would have to plan her day carefully in order to have time to meet with each of her grad students to review their progress for the week.  Unless she was ready to give up her weekend, something that she would often do, she had to make sure that no current experiments were left at a stage that required daily monitoring.  This had been a long week, and she looked forward to spending a quiet weekend at home with Guy.

“Sam,” she said, “why don’t you meet with Randi and go over the spinal growth stimulation hormone work.  I’ll meet with Robert and check out his progress with oligodendrocyte stimulator sequencing.”

“Gotcha.”  Sam Collier had been nearly as disappointed as Sandi that BNI had stolen their work on the brain nanobots, but he had decided to stay on to work on nanobots designed to repair a damaged spinal cord.  Although the work was similar to what they had done before, it was still in the early stages and the details were tedious.  It was tough to put in the hours when there was still no end in sight.

Sam was going over Randi’s schematics for sequencing the DNA that would allow nanobots to produce a hormone necessary for the growth of new spinal neurons when the phone rang.

“Can you get that, Sam?” Sandi was on the computer going over her student’s gene sequencing work and did not want to break her concentration.

“Sorry, Randi,” Sam said.  He put down his work pad and walked over to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi.  This is Detective Richard Kincade.  Is Dr. Sandra Fletcher there?”

He glanced over at Sandi.   “Uh, I’m sorry, Detective …?”

“Kincade.”

“… Kincade, but she’s tied up at the moment.  Can I take a message?”

Sandi looked up from the monitor.  “Did you say Kincade?”

Sam was jotting down the number as Kincade gave it to him, and didn’t hear her.  She got up from her chair and walked quickly across the room.

“Right,” Sam said into the phone, “got it. I’ll be sure to …”

“Gimme that thing!” She grabbed the phone out of his hand, and Sam looked up, startled.

“Detective Kincade?” she said into the receiver.

“Right.  Is that you, Doc?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  What have you got?”

“C’mon, you know better than that; not on the phone.  Can you meet me sometime today?”

“How about back at the market.  It’s kind of hectic around here, but a girl’s got to eat.”

“The sooner the better.  Same place as before?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you there at noon.”

“Great.  Oh, by the way, Doc, do you have a pocket computer with a microdisc reader?”

“Sure.”

“Good.  Bring it with you.”

“No problem.  See you at the Market.”

“See you then.”

__

As soon as he hung up the phone, Richie thought twice about bringing an unencrypted disc to the meeting.  Daisy had already completed her search, and Kincade now knew about Guy Andrews; he was sure that Guy had something to do with stealing Sandi’s data.  It was the only explanation that made any sense. If Guy were to get hold of the microdisc with the phone log, Sandi’s life would be in danger.  The best bet would be to encrypt the file, but then he would have to have a computer with decryption software to show it to Sandi.

Richie picked up the phone again, and dialed Hank Holiday.

“Hank, listen.  I need for you to check Unit Five out of the garage and pick me up at my place around eleven-thirty.  I’ll spring for lunch at Pedro’s.”

Hank agreed without any questions.  It wasn’t hard to talk Hank into anything that involved eating.

__

Agent Trace McKnight was a sports car kind of guy.  He loved his little red Porsche.  It was great for picking up women, but it was a little too obvious for stakeout work.  That’s what the gray Buick LeSabre was for. 

Trace sat patiently in his Buick, a half block down the road and across the street from the Kincades’ row home.  Uncle Jimmy had told him to forget about the cop.  He said a beat cop like Kincade was harmless, but Trace thought that his Uncle was a little too soft when it came to taking care of ‘problems’ like Kincade.  Trace had worked too hard on this project to let anyone get in the way, and Kincade had gotten a little too close for comfort when he came snooping around at BNI.  Uncle Jimmy didn’t have to know about everything.  Trace decided that he would handle this by himself.

Hank Holiday drove up in Unit Five at eleven-thirty sharp and parked in front of Kincade’s home.  He knocked on the door and Richie opened it, already dressed in his Orioles jacket.

“Ahh, paydirt,” Trace muttered to himself.

Hank tossed the keys to Richie.  “I’m not supposed to do this, you know.”

“Thanks,” Richie smiled. Hank knew how Richie felt about Unit Five.

“So what’s this all about, buddy?”

“We’ve gotta meet that doctor from Hopkins.”

“That Fletcher chick?”

Richie shook his head. “You’re the kind of guy that gives guys a bad name.”

“What?  What’d I say?”

“Just do me a favor.  Don’t call the doctor a ‘chick’ when we meet her.”

Hank’s not so slim belly jiggled a bit as he laughed.  “Don’t worry, I won’t call the babe a chick.”

“Thanks...I think.”

Richie started the car and they headed for Lexington Market.  Neither of them noticed the late model LeSabre following a half block behind.

  “So what’s all this about anyway, Richie?”

  “I told you the doc said BNI had been stealing her data, right?”

  Hank nodded.

  Richie had his eyes on the road and didn’t notice the subtle nod, but continued on.  “Well, I had Daisy do a search of all the phone and broadband connections between the doc’s place and BNI.  It turns out there’s been a Net uplink initiated from the doc’s house to a computer at BNI every Saturday morning around two AM for the past couple of years.”

  Hank whistled.  “Whew.  You mean the doc’s been sending the data over to BNI herself?  That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about that.  See, any discoveries she makes in the lab over at Hopkins belong to the university.  She gets the credit, but not the cash.  That could certainly be enough of a motive to make someone look for a way to cash in on their own work.”

  “Ahh, I get it.  She’s selling her own work to BNI on the sly.  That way, it looks like BNI made the discovery, but she shares in the dough.  Did you check her bank records?”

  “Yeah.  Nothing. Besides, she’s clean as a whistle.  Dr. Sandra Fletcher is as altruistic as they come from what I can tell.  I had Daisy search her activities all the way back to grade school.  On paper, she looks like a saint.  Dr. Fletcher committing data theft would be about as out of character as you fasting for a week.”