The hot apple pie—à la mode — had gone down very easily, Matt had to admit. Less satisfying was the reason for the fast exit Harry Knox had pulled. “He must have caught sight of me coming across the parking lot,” Matt said.
“In that case, it doesn’t speak very well for ‘Hard Knocks Harry,’” the priest said. “As the basic manual of my profession says, ‘The guilty flee where no man pursueth.’”
“I guess it’s just as well we didn’t try to pursue,” Matt said, gesturing to the slow-moving traffic all around them. “A high-speed chase would have been out of the question in this mess.”
They crawled along the road until they reached the Francis Scott Key Bridge, where police officers haloed by the glowing lights of emergency vehicles diverted the traffic to one lane.
“Must have been an accident,” Matt said, peering into the glare. “I think a whole section of the retaining wall is gone—”
Then, cocked at a drunken angle, he saw the rear end of a truck trailer sticking up from the water beyond. The cab and engine were completely submerged. But Matt couldn’t miss the big red stripe running around under the roof of the rig. Wherever Harry Knox was headed, he obviously wasn’t in a hurry now.
10
Matt couldn’t eat supper when he got home that evening — and it had nothing to do with ruining his appetite with pie. He tossed and turned all through the night, and the next morning, even though it was Saturday, he tried Captain Winters’s office number at Net Force.
Actually, Matt wasn’t surprised when the captain answered. Winters often put in extra hours to clear the week’s paperwork off his desk. It was a little weird to see him in a sweater instead of business wear, but the maintenance staff tended to skimp on the Pentagon’s heat during the winter weekends.
“What’s up, Matt?” The captain’s gaze sharpened as he took in the expression on his caller’s face. “Or should I say ‘what’s the matter?’”
Matt tried to tell his whole story — not very coherently, he feared. Words poured from his lips. Winters had to calm him down and asked several questions before he’d finished.
“So, at least two people involved with this sim have died?”
Matt could only nod.
The captain turned away, barking orders to his computer. He continued to stare past Matt’s right ear, actually reading a data display that didn’t show from the captain’s desk pickup.
“I’ve got the D.C. police report on what happened to Edward Saunders,” Winters said. “According to this, the medical examiner found nothing that wasn’t consistent with accidental death.”
So, Matt thought, David’s dad is going to close the book on that case.
Another couple of commands, and Winters read silently for another moment. “And it looks as if the police are leaning toward accident to explain what happened on the bridge as well. Driving conditions were bad — ice doesn’t melt as easily on bridges as it does on roads.”
He looked a little disgusted as he read on. “And among the debris they found in the cab of that truck were several empty beer cans. Mr. Knox apparently had elevated levels of alcohol in his bloodstream. He shouldn’t have been behind the wheel.”
A sudden image of the beery trucker slamming past him flashed into Matt’s mental view. No shape to drive, an accusing voice whispered in the back of his head. And he was running away from you!
Matt didn’t know how he looked, but obviously something of his thoughts showed on his face.
“Are you okay?” Winters asked.
“We had gone down to that truck stop, Father Flannery and I, to try and talk to Knox. He knew what I looked like — I’d showed up for Saunders’s virtual meeting without a proxy. What if Knox was sitting there, drinking beer, and saw me coming? Trying to ditch me got him killed!”
Captain Winters shook his head. “There’s one thing I learned in combat — never blame yourself for what other people do.” Again, he read the invisible report. “In this case, you shouldn’t blame yourself at all. One of the other truckers at that diner heard Knox on his wallet-phone. Some sort of rush job had come up. That’s why he hurried off.”
Matt took a long, shaky breath. “That’s a relief,” he said. Then he frowned. “I don’t suppose we know where he was rushing off to?”
“The police haven’t found that out yet,” Winters admitted. “But—”
“Doesn’t it seem a little funny to you that Saunders and Knox died within just a few days of each other?”
“Between the Marines and this job, some days all I seem to see are coincidences and conspiracy theories. I’ve seen guys go through complete combat hitches without a scratch — until their last day. I’ve seen unlucky helicopters whose gunners always got killed. I’ve had a string of apparent suicides turn out to be murders.” He shook his head. “And I’ve had thirty-seven people named Smith die within three days — and they had all synched in to the same Net site. Our computers popped that one up. We hit it from every direction we could think of.”
“And?” Matt asked.
“No family connection, no geographic connection, they didn’t even know one another. No record of anything like that happening before, and it hasn’t happened since. So far as we were able to conclude, it was just dumb luck. A whole bunch of Smiths had their number come up in the big computer in the sky.” Winters leaned toward his pickup, his eyes going for contact with Matt’s. “You see what I’m saying?”
Matt nodded. “A pair of people makes for a pretty small sample.” He sighed. “I just wish—”
“There’s nothing we can do, Matt,” Winters said gently. “No evidence of Net crime…” His voice trailed off, and he gave another command. “I think I’ll just take a look into the hacking complaint regarding those court records, though.”
Matt stifled a laugh at that one. Getting Net Force involved in such a small-potatoes case would be like using a shotgun to silence a buzzing fly — overkill to the nth degree.
Now Winters was frowning, staring at his invisible data screen again. “Could you repeat the name of the girl who died?”
“Priscilla Hadding,” Matt said. “It happened in Haddington — it’s a suburb of Wilmington.”
“I’m checking the town, the county, Wilmington city government, and now the state — that’s odd…there seems to be no mention of intrusion into any court records involving the case — nor of any investigation.”
“Shouldn’t some cops somewhere in Delaware be doing something?” Matt asked.
The captain shrugged. “When it comes to families like the Callivants, local law enforcement tends to walk softly.” His eyebrows rose. “The same probably goes for federal agencies.”
“Then I guess the best I can do is hope that nothing else happens to the people from Saunders’s sim,” Matt said gloomily. Then he sat up straighter. “I’d like to send a copy of my files on the sim and the names and addresses of the people involved to you, though.”
He gave a command, and Winters glanced past him again, taking in the new reading matter.
“Who helped you get these — Leif Anderson?” the captain waved a hand. “…On second thought, I don’t want to know. I suppose I don’t want to know what you used to get the names, either.”
“Um — probably not,” Matt said, silently thanking heaven for such things as small potatoes. “But I know I feel better that you have it.”
That evening Megan did her best to make an entrance as she came into the living room. Tonight, P.J. Farris would be taking her to a formal dance. He’d sat talking with her parents while she made her last-minute preparations and rose as she walked in.