"Why are there two of these?"
She peered at the screen. "I don't . . . oh, wait, yes I do. The system produced two records with the same ident number. Probably a mix-up with the name, although you wouldn't think there would be two Marian Tanits with PhDs in psychology. I shoved them in the case database and then I didn't get back to working out which is the right Tanit. Sorry."
"No, don't be. They're both the right Tanit. Look at the papers cited and tell me what you think."
Obediently she scrolled down the lists, then frowned and did it again more slowly.
"This one is a truncated version of the other," she said. "Except not quite. It looks like the shorter one is an older version — the last citation on the list is twenty-five years old. Same year as the last time the short file was modified. But there are citations on the short one that aren't on the longer one."
"And if you look, the extra citations are for papers not on her publication list."
Sara checked the list again and nodded. "Maybe it got cross-indexed with someone else's record. That happens sometimes."
"Or . . . how did you do the search?"
Sara kept her eyes fixed on the screen, guilt stamped plainly on her face. "I, er . . . what do you mean?"
Toreth sighed. "Don't forget what I do for a living. Whose code?"
"Well, I . . . I'm not sure." She straightened up, and then sat on the edge of his desk. "I wouldn't have done it, except that there was so much going on and it takes forever to do the need-to-know justifications for the restricted stuff. There's a high security level code I got from — " She stopped.
Toreth raised his eyebrows and waited.
"Kel." She put her hand on his arm. "Don't bust him, Toreth, please."
Chevril's admin. "Of course I won't. But you could've shared the goodies, you know."
She grinned with relief. "Sorry. I'll add it to your collection."
"Good. Now do the search again, using your own code."
Toreth watched while Sara did it. The screen displayed only one file — the longer, up-to-date one, with a few restricted-access papers now marked as unavailable.
"You're right," Sara said. "Someone frigged the files. I wonder why?"
Toreth considered the papers cited — the titles of those missing from the start of the longer list meant nothing to him. He recognised the names of the three journals, though:
The Journal of Re-education Research
,
Neuromanipulation
, and
Social Pathology and Psychology
. All restricted circulation.
If this file had been modified, others belonging to Tanit could have been tampered with as well.
"Give me that code," he said.
Sara stood behind him and watched as he used Kel's stolen code to call up all Tanit's files. Only the citations file came up with two versions. He tried a couple of other high-security codes he kept for emergencies, with the same result.
When he'd finished, there was an expectant silence.
"Well?" Sara asked eventually.
"No idea. Could be a glitch in the system. Could be someone rewrote her files and took her name off those papers, but missed this version of the citation file when they were tidying up the databases. A full-clearance citation record is fairly obscure, so if they were going to miss something, it's a good candidate. This is the first time I've ever asked for one."
"So why did you this time?"
Mostly to annoy you. "It was Chev's idea." He studied the screen again. "If the date of the last entry is any guide the alterations are twenty-five years old, so it's probably not important. Still . . ."
She sighed. "Someone needs to waste time finding out who did it. Any ideas before I get my lamp and helmet and start delving in the archives? Or can I ask one of the investigators to do it if I don't tell them about Kel's code? Wrenn's good with the systems."
Toreth didn't answer. He was thinking about a restaurant.
'The files are
always
supposed to be secure'.
Warrick smiling, boasting a little without admitting anything directly.
Time to get over to SimTech.
When the admin showed Toreth into Warrick's office, Toreth thought Warrick looked surprisingly calm. He wondered whether he even knew about Yang. However, as he neared the desk he noted the tight lines in Warrick's face. Warrick watched coldly as he sat down and placed the camera on the desk.
"Can I assume that you've heard the news?" Toreth asked.
Warrick nodded sharply. "And to answer your next question, I spent yesterday evening at home. Alone — except for the SimTech security guard outside my flat door, that is. The building security will confirm that."
"Thanks. Sit down and let me tell you the details."
Halfway through the reiteration of last night's events — just after he'd steeled himself and said 'in the river' — Warrick stood up abruptly. "He committed suicide?"
Toreth couldn't help noting how damn fuckable he looked, pale with anger, his eyes bright and intent. "If you'd sit down and listen, Doctor —"
"I don't believe it. Not for a moment. If you're trying to say that the sim was responsible for this, somehow, then you're a fool."
Warrick's hands clenched, his body taut with tension — easy to translate the image to a bedroom, and ascribe the slight baring of his teeth to a different emotion.
Then Toreth banished that unprofessional line of thought. "I know he didn't kill himself. He was murdered."
First reactions always interested him. Colour flushed back into Warrick's face, and he leaned on the desk. "Oh, thank God." Then, as he realised what he'd said, he paled again and sat down.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean . . . I told you all along it wasn't the sim, that's all. I
knew
it couldn't be and I'm — God. Have you told his wife?"
"I sent Mistry round last night. We're keeping the details of the murder quiet for now."
Warrick nodded. "What did happen? I won't tell anyone else."
Warrick had held to a previous promise to keep quiet. "We're not sure yet. There was no sign of violence, no drugs. Your first guess was suicide — maybe the perpetrators hoped that's how it would look, if the body was ever found."
"Corporate sabotage," Warrick said. "It has to be. A professional team."
"That's one alternative."
"There are others?"
Ironically, Warrick's reaction to the news of Yang's death, with his relief that Toreth was treating it as murder, not suicide, meshed nicely with Tillotson's improbable suggestion that the directors were behind the killing. Toreth still didn't believe it. "That's where I was hoping you might be able to help."
"I wish I could." Warrick stared past him, palms stroking together. "He hasn't been at work since Monday."
"Why?"
"Well . . . after the Legislator's death, we tightened sim security and instituted a policy that anyone who felt uneasy was free to refuse to work in the sim, no questions asked, no stigma attached." His mouth twisted, half smile, half grimace. "The kinder, gentler corporation, as you would say. Most people elected to keep working, but Yang wanted to take some time off."
Interesting that Warrick would tell him about a senior employee's misgivings — either for once he hadn't thought through the implication or he was banking on Toreth discovering the programmer's doubts and taking the chance to put the best spin on it. "He thought the sim was dangerous?"
"He didn't want to take a risk." Another grimace. "He was thinking of his family."
"You don't think he had any proof, then, that the sim caused the other deaths?"
Warrick frowned at him, uncomprehending, until his expression cleared. "And he was killed to suppress that information? By whom? Am I top of the list, or are you going to accuse the directors in order?" His tone was mildly amused, but Toreth could hear the undercurrent of anger. "Do you really think I make a habit of killing my staff and friends?"
Genuine anger, or evasion? "That's not the question I asked."
His eyes narrowed. "No. I don't think he had any such evidence, because it doesn't exist. The sim doesn't kill. It
can't
kill."
"So you've said."
Warrick leaned back, mask firmly back in place. "And if
you
have any evidence to the contrary, then I would love to hear it."
Back to stalemate because, as Warrick damn well knew, he had nothing. "I'll let you know if I find any. Now, I have another question. You used to work in the Data Division?"
Warrick nodded. "That's right." His face showed only curiosity, slight wariness, but nothing that looked like guilt. Not that reading Warrick was an easy task.
"Doing what, precisely?"
"Security and encryption. It was my first job — I had a part sponsorship at university."
"Did you ever work on citizens' security files?"
"Int-Sec or Central Records?"
Interesting distinction — the fact that Warrick mentioned the Int-Sec records at all told Toreth that he must have had access to sensitive areas. "Either."
He half expected Warrick to ask, 'isn't it in
my
file'? Instead he merely said, "Central Records, primarily, although some of the same encryption and transfer systems were adopted for the Int-Sec files. Or so I understand."
"I have a question about security files. Are they often lost? Or rather, is it possible for someone to lose that kind of information?"
Warrick studied him carefully. Toreth waited, saying nothing. Warrick must know that the ins and outs of security files were hardly a mystery to a senior para-investigator, and so he must also suspect why Toreth was asking.
"Accidentally lose . . . perhaps," Warrick said at length. "Mistakes are made all the time; it's inevitable with so many records. In the vast majority of cases, something as major as losing an entire file would be caught by the cross-checks. The system is quite robust. If you mean the kind of losing that takes a great deal of effort, then also 'perhaps'. With skill and time. Is there a reason for asking me this?"
"It's possible that someone has altered Marian Tanit's security file."
A pause, before Warrick made the obvious connection. He smiled slightly. "If someone has, it wasn't me. And however you ask the question, the answer will be the same."
Toreth sat and scrutinised Warrick's face, letting the silence stretch out. Lying, or not?
After a while, Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Well?"
"When you gave Tanit the job, how far back did you take the background checks?"
Warrick didn't react to the implicit acceptance of his denial. "The actual checks would have been made by Personnel and the Security department. However, I spoke to her previous employer myself — I always do for senior appointments."
"And?"
"And everything was fine. If not, she wouldn't be here now."
Toreth nodded. "Thanks. I won't take up any more of your time, Doctor."
He switched off the camera, but didn't stand up. Warrick waited.
Dare he risk this? Toreth wondered. He looked at the desk, close enough to touch, thinking of the fuck they'd had there. It would be stupid, when he'd already compromised his relationship with Warrick so badly, to risk anything more.
Warrick was still watching him, slowly spinning a pencil round on the desk. He appeared willing to give Toreth however long he needed to make up his mind, and the thought came again — when did Warrick start running the interview?
Any time Toreth gave the bastard a chance, like all the other corporate fuckers who thought that the world ran on their time.
"If her file had been changed," Toreth said, "could you retrieve the original version?"
Warrick's right eyebrow twitched very slightly. "I think you are rather better placed to access security files than I."
"Hypothetically then, if for whatever reason I couldn't manage it at I&I, do you think that y . . . that someone else with more experience of Central Records security systems could . . . ?" Toreth wasn't sure how best to put it, so he left the question dangling.
Warrick sat, head bowed, apparently intent on the pencil.
"Hypothetically, then," he said at length, every syllable distinct, "perhaps. There are extensive archives and backups. It would depend on how thorough the initial, ah, losing had been. For an ordinary civilian file it may be possible, at least for someone who understood the system on, shall we say, a fundamental level. Someone who knew how to examine files without leaving traces that they had done so." He glanced up, eyes hooded, expression giving nothing away. "Would you think that was a good thing?"
"A good thing? In what sense?" Toreth asked.
Warrick looked back down. "If someone could do that, would you want them to? Considering that such an action would be manifestly illegal, I would imagine that you'd be very much opposed to it."
"I wouldn't care, frankly, as long as I saw the file. I certainly wouldn't ask any questions about where it came from — hypothetically or actually."
"Mm." Warrick smiled, rather distant. "I do so admire flexibility." He picked the pencil up, examined it for a moment, and then dropped it into a drawer and smiled. "Was there anything else you wanted?"
That was, apparently, that. Had he agreed to look, or hadn't he? Trying to crack Warrick was like trying to get a purchase on polished marble — an impervious, reflecting surface.
"I —" Toreth stood. "No. I've got lots to do. You'll be seeing me again, I expect."
Warrick nodded, half-smile still in place. "Good luck, Para-investigator," he said as Toreth crossed the office.
With the door open, Toreth stopped and turned, leaning on the frame.
"One more question, if you have time."
"Of course."
Letting the door swing closed, Toreth strolled back across the office and leaned against Warrick's desk. "Do you deep throat?"
The pure surprise on Warrick's face was a gratifyingly immediate payback. After a few seconds he said, "When the occasion demands."
"In the sim?"
A short nod.
"And out of it?"
One corner of Warrick's mouth quirked as he recovered his poise. "Is this an official enquiry, Para-investigator?"