I asked, “Hey, were you able to get a copy of the original crime report that Lycaon filed with Santa Clara SO?”
Gregg replied, “No, and we didn’t even get a chance to talk to the detectives assigned to the case.”
Aafedt leaned forward and added, “Yeah, they told us that the detectives were in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed under any circumstances.”
Gregg nodded. “So, we asked them to fax us the report. They said they’d do it right away, but that was almost two hours ago. Hopefully, it’ll have arrived by the time we get back.”
I said, “Who’s your point of contact at Lycaon?”
Gregg answered, “The security director. Some guy named Victor Newton. He thinks we’re coming down to talk about how the murder might be connected with their grand theft case against Vandenbosch.”
“And you’ll spring the subject of the Dodge Avenger on him later.”
“Once we’re all buddies.”
“What did he sound like?”
“A pompous ass. The first thing he told me was that he used to be a captain with some PD down in So Cal and then he ran this brotherhood of the badge crap at me.”
“Coming from a guy who works for a company that sells a cop killer computer game? I can’t wait to meet Newt.”
We continued down the peninsula and once we got to Sunnyvale, Gregg took the North Mathilda Avenue off-ramp and turned left. A couple of minutes later, we were driving along a road that ran parallel to the east perimeter of Moffett Field Naval Air Station. We passed a golf course on our left and then, ahead and on our right I saw the headquarters of Lycaon Software and Entertainment.
The complex was big, and its stark gray cement walls, dark tinted windows, and tall chain-link security fences topped with loops of evil-looking razor wire possessed all the charm of a medium security penitentiary. There was an armed guard at the gated entrance and he wasn’t satisfied with merely looking at Gregg and Aafedt’s badges. He insisted on copying down the information from their police IDs and my driver’s license before letting us proceed into the facility.
Gregg drove through the parking lot slowly while we looked for the Avenger, but came up dry. Finally, we parked and we went inside. The lobby was as quiet as a crypt and about as cheery. Obviously, the business of making computer games wasn’t nearly as much fun as playing them. The gloomy receptionist had already received instructions to usher us into an empty conference room. We sat down at a large table and waited.
Finally, Victor Newton breezed into the room. Gregg made the introductions and Newton gave a regal wave to show that he didn’t object to me being present for the interview. I disliked the guy immediately. He was the very model of a modern police captain: slick, condescending, and so particular about his clothing, hair, and features that you could take it to the bank that he’d never been in a knock-down, drag-’em-out brawl with a criminal. I had no doubts that he’d fled the streets as quickly as possible, seeking safety and career advancement in an office assignment. Then, he’d moved on to a cushy and well-paying job with a company of filthmongers.
Newton sat down across from us and said in a hearty voice, “So, how can I help you, boys?”
Gregg said, “First, I’d like to get an idea of your duties. I understand that you’re the director of security, but what exactly does that entail?”
“I oversee a variety of functions,” Newton said in a modest voice that oozed with self-importance. “There’s plant security, combating industrial espionage, background investigations into new hires, risk management, and advising the board of directors on security issues.”
“What about preventing and investigating employee in-house theft?”
“Well, of course . . . we do that, too.”
“Which brings us to the reason why we’ve come down here. As I told you over the phone, Mr. Newton, we’re investigating a robbery and murder that happened on Saturday night and we’re pretty certain those events are a direct outgrowth of the charges you filed against Kyle Vandenbosch.”
“We’d like to learn more about the crimes you believe he committed,” Aafedt added.
“Well, actually that’s a closed issue now.” Newton gave us a tight-lipped smile.
Gregg sat back in his chair. “Really? As of this morning there was a million-dollar warrant for Vandenbosch’s arrest.”
“That’s been resolved. We . . . uh . . . contacted the sheriff’s department this morning and advised them that we no longer wish prosecution against Mr. Vandenbosch.”
I shot Gregg a glance that said:
And now we know why
the sheriff’s detectives weren’t available to take your call.
At the same time, I was trying to figure out what might have provoked Lycaon to withdraw its criminal complaint. Maybe management was worried that a real homicide wasn’t the best publicity for a software company that produces games glorifying mass murder.
Gregg asked, “Why did you that?”
“That information is confidential.” Newton studied his nails.
“Fine, but there’s nothing to prevent you from telling us about the circumstances that caused you to file the crime report in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s quite impossible. We don’t discuss personnel issues with anyone.”
“That’s good, because I’m not interested in personnel issues. Grand theft isn’t a personnel issue. What did Kyle steal from Lycaon?”
“Unfortunately, we’ve deemed that it
is
a personnel issue.” Newton’s tone was almost haughty.
“Yeah, but murder isn’t and I’d just like a little information from you.”
“I really wish I could help,” Newton said and started to rise from his chair. “So, if we’re finished . . .”
“As a matter of fact, we aren’t.” Gregg opened his briefcase and removed a manila folder. He pulled some papers from the folder and slid them across the table. “I’d suggest you sit down, Mr. Newton, and take a good long look at this document before trying to give us the bum’s rush.”
Newton slowly lowered himself back into the chair. Squinting at the paperwork, he said, “It’s an affidavit for a search warrant.”
Gregg nodded encouragingly. “Good, you got that on the first guess. Now check out the address of the place we’re going to ask for permission to search.”
The security director’s face began to go pale. “You can’t . . . The entire plant? No judge will issue this.”
“Actually, I think a judge will, especially if we track down the one whose time was wasted issuing Kyle’s arrest warrant,” Gregg said merrily. “But I’m certain that whoever reviews this affidavit will see that I’ve drawn a clear chain of events that began here on Wednesday afternoon and culminated with a man being executed on Saturday night in San Francisco.”
“And after we get the warrant, we’ll come back here and shut this place down until we find the information you’re hiding,” said Aafedt.
“So, what’ll it be?” asked Gregg.
“I need to talk to my supervisor first.”
“Nope. You’ll leave and never come back. You either agree to talk now, or we’re going to the Santa Clara County Courthouse to find a judge.”
Newton swallowed nervously. “You don’t understand. I could lose my job if I answer your questions.”
“Better the unemployment line than the chow hall line at Folsom,” I said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re willfully withholding and concealing information about a murderer. That makes you an accessory-after-the-fact, which means you could potentially receive the same punishment as the killer,” Gregg explained.
“But I’m just following my supervisor’s instructions.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t put too much hope in the Nuremberg I-was-only-following-orders defense,” I said the last part in a bad German accent. “You know why?”
Newton looked down at the tabletop and didn’t answer.
I continued, “You’re the throw-down. When this all unravels, your bosses are going to disavow any knowledge of your activities. They’ll perjure themselves, paint you as a loose cannon, and let you go to state prison to save their own miserable hides. You work with them. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Newton glanced up at me and then his gaze dropped back to the table. He sighed and said, “What do you want to know?”
Gregg opened his spiral notepad and clicked his pen briskly. “Thank you for your voluntary cooperation, which is how I’m going to write it in my report, Mr. Newton. Now, tell us all about Patrick the talking polar bear.”
Nineteen
“Did you find it?” Newton’s tone was pitifully eager.
Gregg gave him a faux indulgent smile. “I know you’ve been away from cop work for a while, so here’s a quick refresher on police interrogations: I ask the questions and you answer them. Not the other way around.”
“But there isn’t much I can tell you.”
Aafedt checked his watch. “Wow. You went from helpful witness back to being a codefendant in less than ten seconds. That’s a new world’s record. Let’s go get the search warrant, Gregg.”
The security director held his hands out imploringly. “Look, you’ve got to understand that I don’t know one-quarter of what they’re working on at any given time in this place. So, the first time I ever heard about the cyber teddy bear project was on Wednesday afternoon, when it all got dumped into my lap.”
“What happened?” Gregg asked.
“It started with someone activating two fire alarms in the robotics facility. Per our normal policies and procedures, we evacuated the building.”
“Something tells me you didn’t find a fire.”
“No, and when we checked the security videos, we saw that Vandenbosch had tripped both alarms.”
“Why did he do that?”
“As we later discovered, it was to create a diversion, so that he could steal the prototype bear. He had it inside a canvas bag and walked right out the front door with it. It was a complete breakdown in our security procedures.” Newton’s voice was bleak.
“Which your bosses blamed on you, right?”
“It took almost a half hour for the airhead who runs the robotics facility to even notice that Vandenbosch had disappeared with the bear. But, yes, I was held responsible.”
“What happened after that?”
“We locked down the plant, but by that time, Vandenbosch was long gone.”
“So, Patrick was created here?” I asked.
“Of course. Why would you ask that?”
I glanced at Gregg, who gave a tiny nod signaling me to continue with the questioning. I said, “Vandenbosch has been telling people that he used his own money to create the bear in his home.”
Newton gaped at me as if I’d just suggested that he’d enjoy being back in a black-and-white and patrolling a gang-ridden neighborhood. “That’s ludicrous. The company has spent millions of dollars developing that toy.”
“And you can prove that?”
“Absolutely. Vandenbosch tried to cover his tracks, but we’ve still got the hard copies of the schematics, a photo log of the project, and the testimony of all the other people working in the robotics lab.”
“How did he try to cover his tracks?”
“One of the first things I did when we began our investigation was have my best IT person secure Vandenbosch’s computer. I figured it would contain valuable evidence.”
“Wise move.”
“Unfortunately, that’s when we found out that Vandenbosch had loaded extremely sophisticated logic bombs into all of the computers in the robotics facility’s network.”
“Sorry, but I’m not familiar with that term. What’s a logic bomb?” I asked.
Newton looked miserable. “Basically, it’s a program that sits in a computer until an execute command is given. Then it destroys all the data on the hard drive. Vandenbosch activated them right about the same time he pulled the fire alarms.”
“Does that mean the software programs that Kyle designed for Patrick are gone?”
“The experts have told me that, given enough time, they might recover some of it.” Newton didn’t sound hopeful.
“So, he wasn’t just covering his tracks. He went into scorched-earth mode. Had Kyle been having any problems with anyone at Lycaon?”
“None that we were aware of.”
“But you admit that up until Wednesday you weren’t in the information loop. For all you know, there might have been trouble brewing for months,” I said.
“What are you getting at?” Newton was interested and leaned forward.
“We’ve been told that Lycaon basically tried to steal the bear from Vandenbosch and refused to offer him any compensation.”
“Whoever said that was either lying or badly misinformed. I’ve since heard through the corporate grapevine that Vandenbosch and his project partner were going to receive six-figure bonuses once the cyber bear went into production.”
Although I already knew the answer, I asked, “And who was his project partner?”
“Rhiannon Otero. She’s a robotics expert.”
“Is she here today?” Gregg asked, reinforcing the pretense that we hadn’t already interviewed Rhiannon.
“No, she called in sick this morning.”
“That’s a shame. It would have been useful to talk to her.” Gregg wrote something in his notebook. “Was she here on Wednesday?
“No, she called in sick that day, too.”
“Suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” Newton bristled a little.
“What kind of relationship did they have?”
“I understand they were dating.”
“Even more suspicious,” said Gregg. “Have you talked to her?”
“Late Wednesday afternoon. She was at home in her pajamas. Our assessment of her was that she didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“And she couldn’t tell you where Vandenbosch was?”
“No. She even called his cell while we were there, but he wouldn’t answer.”
Gregg leaned forward to rest his chin on his fist. “Okay, let’s go back to earlier that afternoon. The crap has hit the fan and you’re standing there in front of your bosses, right?”
“Yes.” Newton sighed and I could tell he was reliving an unpleasant scene.
“And I’m assuming they gave you the mission of recovering the bear. I’ll bet your bosses stressed how important it was to get the bear back quickly, before Vandenbosch could sell it to one of your competitors, right?”
“We assumed that’s why he’d stolen the prototype robot. The board made it clear that the clock was ticking and they wanted fast results.”