Death Benefits_ A Novel Part 24

"I know one way that might do it," said Stillman. "Another burglary."

"On what?"

"The pharmacy. The old guy said it was the only drugstore in town. That makes it the only place you can fill a prescription. There are federal record-keeping requirements. Paper, not computers. Over the years, just about everybody needs a prescription once."

"So our guy would be in the records. How do we know which he is?"

"Same way: the process of elimination. Some are women. The ones who work for New Mill Systems will all have the same health insurance. The ones who work for the city will have another. Some would be paid by Medicare, and that would mean they're over sixty-five." Stillman paused. "There may be other things that I haven't thought of yet that will eliminate others. I'll let you think of those."

Walker glared at Stillman for a moment. "It's a lousy idea. Let's go do it."

Stillman immediately began packing his lock picks and video camera and flashlights into his leather bag. "Get that jacket I bought you in Nashua, the navy blue one. And put on a different s.h.i.+rt. Green would be good. And dark shoes. I'll meet you in the car."

When they were on the road again, Stillman stopped sorting his equipment. "You didn't happen to look closely at the door locks in that place, did you?"

"I don't remember very clearly," said Walker. "The ones on the front door were old bra.s.s. There was a long handle with a thumb latch." He squinted. "I think there was a dead bolt above it."

"What did the keyhole look like-the regular kind, or a weird shape, like a circle?"

"Regular, I think," Walker answered. "Why this uncharacteristic concern?"

"I told you about security systems," said Stillman. "Some are simple and easy."

"I take it this won't be one of them."

"I doubt it. Even in small towns, the drugstores are full of drugs. In some circles, money is a second choice. Having cash just puts a middle man between them and what they really want. We might run into some features we can't easily defeat."

"If we can't get in, what are we doing?"

"Oh, we can get in," said Stillman. "The only thing that's at issue is how we get out."

When they reached the COULTER COULTER sign, Walker made the turn. He was getting comfortable with the road now, and soon they were in the open between the two fields. Stillman said, "Slow down and watch this side." sign, Walker made the turn. He was getting comfortable with the road now, and soon they were in the open between the two fields. Stillman said, "Slow down and watch this side."

"For what?"

"There's a dirt road up here. There ... stop."

Walker stopped, and Stillman got out. He lifted a section of fence rail that served as a gate and walked with it, then waved Walker in. Walker drove off the road and found himself on a dirt surface. Stillman closed the gate and got in again.

"Turn off your lights."

Walker obeyed. He looked at Stillman, who was watching him impatiently. "It's a dirt road," said Stillman. "Follow it."

Walker sighed. "I think the term 'dirt' is accurate. I'd hardly call this a road." He cautiously moved forward.

"Keep going. I have a theory I want to check."

"Does your theory tow stuck cars?"

"Just do it."

Walker b.u.mped along over the rutted, uneven ground, and then the ride became smoother. The road was so narrow that at times he could tell both front tires were pa.s.sing over gra.s.s at once.

"See the barn ahead?" asked Stillman.

"Yeah." In the dark field, it was a high rectangle of deeper darkness. Walker drove on slowly. He found that he could see much better than he had expected, and soon he was approaching the black shadow of the barn.

"I got this idea when you said there were no cows," said Stillman. "Stop." He got out and ran ahead. In a few seconds, Walker saw his flashlight go on, then sweep the floor of the barn, then go out. When he returned, he said, "It's empty. Pull inside, and turn around so you're facing out. Then kill the engine."

When Walker had done it, he joined Stillman. They began to walk across the field. After a few minutes, Stillman spoke again. "Here's how we do it: we go up the back of Main Street. There's a pa.s.sage. I don't know if it counts as an alley, because it's empty ground and unpaved. But it runs behind the row of businesses. Anyway, we walk it without going up Main."

"Okay," said Walker.

"When we get to the drugstore, we take a few minutes to see what we're up against. If we can't get in, we'll leave. If we do get in, we'll do just what we did before. We'll videotape the records."

They crossed the second bridge into town and hurried off Main Street before they reached the first street lamp. They made their way up the pa.s.sage behind the long row of buildings. When they reached the back of the drugstore, Stillman stopped. He examined the windows, and Walker's heart sank. They all had bars on them.

He saw Stillman's flashlight go on, then saw the beam of light inside the gla.s.s. It moved slowly, then went out. A moment later, it went on again at the next window. Walker went to join Stillman at the back door.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

"It's a dummy."

"What?"

"The alarm. It's not turned on. Maybe it's not even hooked up. Anyway, there's no power going to the panel. The indicator light's not on." He quickly picked the lock and opened the door. "Come on in."

Walker stepped inside and closed the door, then ducked low and began to search the back counter. He flicked his flashlight on to confirm his impression, then let it play along each of the walls slowly. He stood up. "It's not a pharmacy. It's just a storeroom. There aren't any prescription drugs."

"Yeah," said Stillman. "I've been trying to remember that conversation since I looked in the window. I asked the old boy if it was the only drugstore in town. He said yes."

"There's nothing here but over-the-counter stuff. There's not even a locked cabinet."

"He said drugstore. He didn't say there was a licensed pharmacist around who could fill prescriptions. People must do that in Keene." He touched Walker's arm. "Let's go."

They made their way back to the barn, then drove out to the highway. The silence seemed to have settled on Stillman, and he didn't speak again until they were back in Keene. "I'm going to try working with the phone book. Go think about this some more. If you come up with another way of finding out who the cousin was, I'll be in my room."

When Walker opened the door to his room, he looked inside. There, asleep on the bed, was Serena. She heard him, opened her eyes, and said, "Boy, I'm glad that's only you."

"So am I," he said.

"I mean I'm glad you're alone."

"Yeah. That's what I meant too."

31.

Walker awoke, not remembering when he had fallen into a dreamless sleep. He had somehow drifted off with Mary Catherine Casey in his arms, and now she had wriggled out, leaving him feeling cold and alone. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to see her sitting cross-legged beside him, still naked, staring down at him with unblinking catlike patience. He rolled toward her, but she remained motionless, so he propped himself on his elbow. "What?" he said. "Was I snoring or something?"

"I was wondering about you," she said, "so I decided to see if I could read your mind. Don't worry: I couldn't."

"Want to try again?" he asked.

She gauged the angle of his eyes. "Not necessary."

"Why are you here?"

"Because when I give somebody my word, I do whatever is necessary to keep it." Her green eyes remained on his with unwavering intensity.

"Who did you give your word to?"

"You," she said in mild surprise. "I told you yesterday I was going to drop everything I was doing to find out what you needed to know."

He frowned. "Look, I'm glad to see you-"

"I noticed that," she said.

He persisted. "But it never occurred to me that you were going to quit your job."

She gave a deprecatory toss of her head so slight that Walker saw it as a dismissal. "It wasn't really a job," she said. "It was just an arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?"

She sighed, as though it were all such old history that he should already have known it. "Constantine's not IBM. He's like a pirate s.h.i.+p. You sign on as long as the take is good and you feel like staying aboard. You get a cut of the money. If you stop in a port you want to visit, you get off and Constantine sails on."

He stared into her eyes for a moment, then decided to ask. "How did you get involved in that, anyway?"

"You don't approve," she said. "Tough."

"You're not going to tell me?"

She shrugged. "I'm a bad girl."

"Maybe I'm asking why you're a bad girl."

She looked at him as though appraising him, then sighed. "I'm acceptable looking, and I'm very smart. People always noticed the one, but they never noticed the other. They also had all kinds of rules for how I was supposed to behave, and the rules didn't seem to give me any benefit."

"I'm not sure I understand," he said.

"I went to college in engineering. The same men who hit on me-complete with a.s.surances of their love and respect-also a.s.sumed that the reason I was getting good grades was that I was sleeping with professors. Since I didn't sleep with professors, the ones who would have liked me to were resentful. The professors who didn't like the field filling up with women weren't glad to see me sitting in the front row. The others just treated everybody equally, which was lousy." She looked at him closely. "You see? No advantage."

"You seem to have learned a lot about computers."

"I liked them. When I got a diploma, I went to work for a company in Irvine that sells computer security. I b.u.mped into Constantine."

"Did he work there too?"

"Hardly. I was always hearing about the enemy: people who spent their time moving in and out of systems they had no business knowing about. Most of them are kids. It's always been a cheap thrill for teenaged boys killing time, waiting for their skin to clear up so they can get laid. They don't want anything, so it's actually no big deal, although n.o.body admits it. Sometimes companies even hire a few to test the locks and barriers. But everybody talks about the other ones, who aren't kids. They're theoretical, mostly: James Bond villains who want to launch a missile, or crash a plane, or shut down regional power grids and all that. Or robbers who are going to divert billions of dollars from banks. I heard stories, and went hunting. One night after a few months, I trapped Constantine Gochay."

"What do you mean, 'trapped' him?"

"What he was doing was pretty harmless. He was reading bank statements in a big system in New York. The bank was one of our customers, so I was in there snooping, and noticed. I traced him backward and found out where he was. I went to see him."

Walker frowned. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"Huh?" Her brows knitted.

He tried again. "Why didn't you just call the authorities and get him arrested?"

She smiled. "Selfishness."

"I don't understand," said Walker. "What did you want?"

"Reverse it," she said. "What would I get by turning him in? He wasn't in there stealing money. He was snooping, just as I was. He was probably just three boys from the chess team at Antelope Valley High School. But he was in a place that was very, very difficult to get into. I wanted to know what he knew that I didn't."

"You just went to that house and rang the doorbell?"

"Well, no," she said. "I sent him a snappy message that appeared on his screen to tell him when I was coming. I figured that would make these three boys' little hearts go pitty-pat. Then I drove up there. We talked."

"What did he say?"

She looked at the pillow critically. "It was better than I expected. He had discovered a few technical things I didn't know. Everything comes out fast-programs, chips, hardware. Often even the manufacturer doesn't know all the capabilities or the vulnerabilities or the implications of something that's on the market until it's been used for a couple of years. He had all the technology, and all the techniques. But what he had that was most useful wasn't machinery."

"What was it?"

"Sneakiness. A lot of the useful stuff-how money moves through banks and credit companies, reservations for planes and hotels, personal customer profiles, personnel files-is in the big proprietary systems that are operated by giant corporations. They're heavily protected. You can't get in by brute force. Code breaking is not easy, and failing is dangerous. So what would Gochay do? He knows that these same giant corporations are heartless about layoffs. When two giant banks merge, and ten thousand people are dumped, how closely is the new management looking at each of them? Gochay would cruise the Internet looking for people posting their resumes. Once in a while he would find somebody fired from a big company who knew something-pa.s.swords, systems weaknesses-and had just been convinced for all time that his loyalty to the company was a joke. So he'd pay them."

"And that's all?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes they didn't know much, but just getting something like the name of the systems controller was enough. Gochay had programs for that. They would generate every variant of their names, the birth dates of all members of their families, house numbers, phone numbers, and so on, and try them all as pa.s.swords in a millisecond. That kind of thing."

"Did he hire you-make an arrangement with you-because of the company you left?"

She shook her head indulgently. "No. I knew some things that he didn't, but the company didn't know them either. And I wasn't a disgruntled employee. I was doing fine."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Why did I start a life of crime? You had to be there. At six one evening, I walked out of this absolutely sterile building filled with people just like the ones in engineering school. An hour and a half later, I was in that weird house, talking to this huge, bizarre man with wild black hair and crazy black eyes. He was doing something exciting and dangerous, and he wasn't interested in me at all."

"He wasn't interested in you?"

"He was interested in money."