Gridiron

He slid the door open and went down a couple of levels to get a better view of the atrium. Leaning over the balcony he saw an attractive woman emerge from the elevators on to the ground level. Her bright red hair looked like a drop of blood moving across the dazzling white. She looked up at him and smiled.

'Are you Sergeant Curtis, by any chance?'

Curtis grasped the handrail with both hands and nodded back at her.

'That's right. But, you know, I bet I could do a good Mussolini impression from up here.'

'What?'

Curtis shrugged, wondering if she was too young to have heard of Mussolini. He wanted to say something about Fascist architecture, then thought better of it. She was too good-looking to upset without reasonable cause.

'Well, it's that kind of building, ma'am. It's kind of inspiring, I guess.'

He grinned. 'Stay there. I'll be right down.'

-###-

The security office at the Gridiron was a gleaming white room with an electrically-operated Venetian blind screening a window that ran the length and height of the corridor. There was a large desk made of glass and aluminium and which was dominated by a 28-inch computer monitor and keyboard. Next to this were a videophone, a telephone, Sam Gleig's Thermos flask and, in an open Tupperware box, the dead man's uneaten sandwiches. Behind the desk was a tall glass cabinet containing what looked like another computer case still wrapped in plastic film. Curtis inspected the contents of one of the sandwiches.

'Cheese and tomato,' he said and started to eat. 'Want one?'

'No. No thanks.' Helen Hussey frowned. 'Should you be doing that? I mean, isn't that evidence you're eating?'

'Gleig wasn't hit over the head with a sandwich, ma'am.' Curtis inspected the glass cabinet and the unassuming white box in its protective wrapping. 'What's this?' he said.

Helen Hussey drew a breath and smiled uncomfortably. 'I was hoping you weren't going to ask.'

Curtis grinned back at her. 'Why's that?'

'It's a recordable multi-session CD-ROM,' she explained.

'A game? In here?'

Helen Hussey gave him a withering look. 'Not exactly, no,' she said.

'It's connected via an SCSI interface to the computer, with a date and an archive number. Each disc contains up to 700 megabytes. It's supposed to record what takes place on all the security cameras inside and outside the building. Our cameras work by cellular transmission. They're all supposed to feed into the back of that thing.' She shrugged. 'I think.'

Curtis smiled. 'Supposed to, huh?'

She gave an embarrassed sort of laugh.

'You're not going to believe this,' she said with a shrug, 'but the unit hasn't been connected yet. As far as I know it's only just been delivered.'

'Well, it looks very nice. Very nice indeed. Too bad it's not working, because then we might know exactly what happened here last night.'

'We've had a problem with our supplier.'

'What kind of problem?' Curtis sat on the edge of the desk and took another sandwich. 'These are good.'

'Well,' sighed Helen, 'they sent the wrong kind of unit. The first one wasn't what we ordered. The Yamaha records at quadruple speed. The previous one didn't. So it got returned.'

'Yours must be a tough job for a woman.' Helen bristled. 'Why do you say that?'

'Construction workers aren't exactly known for their polite language and good manners.'

'Well, neither is the LAPD.'

'You've got a point there.' Curtis looked at the sandwich and laid it down. 'Pardon me. You're right. You probably knew the guy. And I'm sitting here eating his dinner. I'm not being very sensitive am I?'

She shrugged again, as if she hardly cared.

'You know, some people, some cops, when they see a dead body, they get nauseous and lose their appetites. Me, I don't know why, but I feel hungry. Really hungry. Maybe it's because I'm just so glad I'm still alive that I want to celebrate the fact by eating something.'

Helen nodded. 'I won't have to identify him, will I?' she said.

'No, ma'am, that won't be necessary.'

'Thanks. I don't think I — ' She returned to their previous subject, feeling she owed him something more about her job.

'My job's about management and planning, not about shouting at people,' she said. 'I leave that kind of thing to my foremen. My concern is to initiate each particular operation, coordinate it with the other trades and make sure that it gets supplied with the appropriate materials. Like CD-ROM recorders. But I can cuss with the worst of them when I have to.'

'Well, if you say so, ma'am. How did you get on with Sam Gleig?'

'Well enough. He seemed like a very sweet man.'

'Did you ever have to cuss him for anything?'

'No, not ever. He was reliable and honest.'

Curtis pushed himself off the desk and opened a locker. Finding a nubuck leather jacket in there, and presuming it belonged to Sam Gleig, he took it out and started to search the pockets.

'Sam Gleig came on shift at what time last night?'

'Eight o'clock, as usual. He relieved the other guard, Dukes.'

'Someone mention me?'

It was the security guard, Dukes.

'Oh, Sergeant,' said Helen. This is — '

'We've met,' said Curtis. 'From the last time. Mr Yojo's death.'

Instinctively he looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock.

Dukes was looking bewildered. 'What's going on?'

'Irving, it's Sam,' said Helen. 'He's dead.'

'Jesus. Poor Sam.' Dukes looked at Curtis. 'What happened?'

'We think someone bashed his head in.'

'What was it, robbery or something?'

Curtis did not answer.

'When he came on duty did either of you see him?'

Dukes shrugged. 'Very briefly. I was in a hurry. I don't think we exchanged more than a couple of words. God, what a thing to happen.'

'He came up to the site office on the seventh floor,' said Helen. 'Just to say hello, really. Find out if anyone was going to be working late. The computer could have told him more easily than we could, but he liked to be sociable. Anyway, I was just finishing for the day so he came down in the elevator with me.'

'You said we.'

'Yes, I left Warren still working, Warren Aikman. He's the clerk of works. He took a phone call just as I was leaving.'

'The clerk of works. What does he do exactly?'

'He's like a site agent; only he's employed by the client as a kind of inspector.'

'You mean like a cop?'

'Kind of, I guess.'

'Would he have spoken to Sam before leaving?'

She shrugged.

'You'd have to ask him. But, frankly, it's unlikely. There's no reason at all why he would have felt obliged to call in here and inform Sam he was leaving the building. As I said, it's the computer's job to know who's still here. Sam would only have needed to tell the computer to run a check to have found out in a couple of seconds.'

Dukes sat down at the desk.

'I'll show you, if you like,' he said.

Pocketing a set of car keys and a wallet, Curtis laid the dead man's jacket on the desk and stood behind Dukes's shoulder as he clicked on an icon with the mouse and started to choose some menu options.

SECURITY SYSTEMS — YES

FULL CAMERAS AND SENSORS? — YES