"Accessible from any terminal?"
"No, the terminals deal with donors only by donor number. The personal information requires an access code. Only I have the access code, and only two terminals share the complete database: reception and mine. But there are the hard copies, as I mentioned, though they are locked up in a vault at night. We don't take our situation lightly, Lieutenant." "Sergeant," he corrected. "No, I'm sure you don't."
"We take client confidentiality quite seriously." Miles stirred. Boldt asked, "What if I entered a particular blood type into the computer. Would it be able to give me back the names of all those donors with that particular blood type? Can it sort that way?"
"You should talk to our data processing about that."
He hated these kinds of answers. "Back to your employees. How many of them do you know well?"
"Depends what you mean. I know them all. I hired them. I don't know about how well I know them."
"How long have you been with Bloodlines?" he asked.
"Me? Going' on nine years now."
"And your employees? Have any of them been with you, say, two or three years?"
She considered this. "Three or four, maybe. I could check for you if I had the home office's permission."
"And that would be up to me to obtain," he reasoned. "Yes, it would."
Miles was awake and quickly losing control. Boldt resigned himself to leaving. He tried a long shot. "Of those three or four long-time employees, one of them has shown a particular interest in your computer system. Which one would that be? Maybe he or she helps you out with the system now and then."
She appeared both surprised and impressed by what he'd said.
"You never did show me any identification," she reminded. "No, I didn't." He paused. "Which employee?" he repeated, sensing she had the name on the tip of her tongue. "I need that name."
Her phone rang, sparing her from answering. When she hung up, she faced him with a dazed expression. "That was your call.
The three names you gave me? They're all on our list. They were all clients of this office. Seattle. Were they kidnapped, too?"
Boldt repeated softly but severely, "I need the name of that employee. The one who helps you with the computer."
Ms. Dundee nodded ever so slightly, muttered, "I hate computers." She picked up her pen and wrote out the name: Connie Chi.
By five-thirty that afternoon, over one hundred cars had filled the lower parking area of the Broadmoor Golf Club. Mercedes, BMWS, Acuras, the occasional Cadillac and Olds. A spectacular turnout. in one corner of the enormous walled party tent, high-spirited kids dressed in Ralph Lauren's finest took turns, blindfolded, swinging a Louisville Slugger at a yellowand-black phiata in the shape of a toucan. Heaters hummed softly, the champagne flowed, and the conversation reached a feverish pitch that all but drowned out the announcer's running commentary on the dog show taking place just off the practice putting green. A string quartet was all set up on a small platform stage at the far end of the tent, the musicians, in their formal wear, sampling the buffet as they awaited the "special guest" and a cue from their hostess.
Dr. Elden Tegg moved through his guests agreeably, if not comfortably, taking their hands, making small talk-charming, flattering. He wore a navy blue cashmere sport coat, a turquoise Polo shirt, khakis, and brand new leather deck shoes. He glanced over at his wife, Peggy, and offered a soft, appreciative smile-everything was going well. Two weeks earlier, Peggy had turned forty; to look at her, you might have guessed thirty. She was in her element here, mingling with the top of the heap, rubbing elbows with the real power of the city.
The banner behind the buffet read: 3rd Annual Friends of Animals Benefit Tegg mentally ran down the list of the day's events: the dog trials, a small wine auction, an awards presentation, and then the special entertainment Peggy had arranged. A few of the members of the opera's board of directors were already here.
All of them had been invited. Tegg spotted James Hall and his wife, Julie, and crossed over to them. "This is a better turnout than even last year," Jim Hall said, shaking Tegg's hand. "You'll raise a fortune."
"You must stay for the entertainment, James." To his wife the man said, "The mystery musical guest. I've been hearing about this all week."
"Peggy's trying awfully hard to curry favor with the board, Elden. Don't you think?" Julie asked. She had a way of speaking her mind, of speaking the truth, that put you on the spot. "How's the art world?" Tegg asked her, attempting to steer her clear of his wife's ambitions. "Dodging the question, are we?" she replied.
One of the kids broke open the pfflata right then, sparing Tegg an embarrassing moment. Peggy most certainly was trying to win favor with the board. Julie knew it. Everyone knew it. But it wasn't the type of thing you talked about! He had personally paid to fly in the winner of the Milano Festival to sing two arias here today. The string quartet, also brought in specially, had wowed Aspen last August. It had cost him a fortune! If this didn't impress the board, nothing would, except perhaps the donation he was planning to make.
With the prospect of the heart harvest now on the immediate horizon, Tegg faced the difficult decision of what to do with the enormous sum of money it would generate. He could "buy" his wife a seat on the opera board, or he could "buy" himself a transplant practice in Brazil. He knew whom to pay off; he knew which wheels to grease. Elden Tegg, M.D., F.A.C.S. Her dream or his? Could he leave all this behind?
He excused himself and hurried over to the children who were collecting the candy that had spilled. His son, Albert, and his daughter, Britany, ran up to show him their take, offering it like pirates' treasure. A bunch of the children gathered at his feet, excited eyes sparkling. They wanted another pihata, another game. It gave him great pleasure to bring the children this kind of joy, to include them in the event this way. How could you possibly benefit animals without involving children? The two seemed fundamentally linked.
Tegg signaled his veterinary assistant, the plump d officious Pamela Chase, and turned the children over to her. Pin the Tail on the Zebra was next. Last Year some Democrats had complained about using a donkey.
Everywhere he went people called out softly, "Wonderful party!"
"Terrific event!"
"Having a great time, Elden!" He felt like Santa Claus, pleasing so many people at once.
He glanced out the door in time to see a collieelsie was her name-paraded on leash around the circle. As Dr. Elden Tegg, he had healed a gunshot wound to Elsie's humerus. Scanning the field of contestants, he recognized several animals as patients of his. He knew each by name, knew each case history in detail; in a way, he regarded them as members of his own family. He hoped that Elsie won something-if for no other reason than to prove his own expertise with a scalpel. In another vet's hands, she would have been a three-legged dog today.
His wife's nervous voice came from behind him. "It's going beautifully, don't you think?" He turned and kissed her. "Splendidly. The food is excellent. You've done a wonderful job."
"We might consider using these same caterers at our party next week. If we could get them. What do you think?"
I/Itts a great idea." This, he knew from the hopeful glint in her eye, was what she wanted to hear, so this was what he told her.
She kissed him lightly, as an excuse to whisper into his ear.
"Be nice to the Feldsteins. He's had prostate cancer, you know?"
"Alan has?" He relied on Peggy to keep him up on such things. How she kept it all straight was anybody's guess.
She reminded, "Alan is very close with Byron. He has his ear."
The aging Byron Endicott, who ran a multinational shipping company, was City Opera's chairman and someone Peggy would have to win over in order to be invited onto the board. "So, basically, what you're saying," he teased, "is I should avoid asking Alan what it feels like to be reamed with something slightly larger than a penlight."