Cathy lifted a hand. “Only as part of a group. Sometimes we would get a bunch of tickets to a Blue Jays game, too, and go down for that. You know — tickets given to the company by suppliers.” She covered her mouth. “Oh! That’s not illegal, is it?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Sandra, smiling again. “Not really my department. When you saw Hans and his wife together, did they seem happy?”
“I can’t really say. I suppose so. I mean, who can tell, looking at a marriage from the outside, what’s really going on?”
Sandra nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“She seemed happy enough.”
“Who?”
“You know — Hans’s wife.”
“Whose name is …?”
Cathy looked confused. “Why, D … Donna-Lee.”
“Donna-Lee, yes.”
“You said it earlier,” said Cathy, a bit defensively.
“Oh, yes. So I did.” Sandra tapped the cursor keys on her palmtop computer, consulting her list of questions. “On another matter, a couple of the other people I’ve interviewed here said that Hans had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
Cathy said nothing.
“Is that true, Mrs. Hobson?” For the first time, Sandra had said “Mrs.,” not “Ms.”
“Uh, well, yes, I suppose it is.”
“Someone told me he had slept with a number of the women here at this company. Had you heard similar things about him?”
Cathy picked some invisible lint off her skirt. “I guess so.”
“But you didn’t feel it worth mentioning?”
“I didn’t want…” She trailed off.
“Didn’t want to speak ill of the dead. Of course, of course.” Sandra smiled warmly. “Forgive me for asking this, but, ah, did you ever have a relationship with him?”
Cathy looked up. “Certainly not. I’m a—”
“A married woman,” said Sandra. “Of course.” She smiled again. “I do apologize for having to ask.”
Cathy opened her mouth to object further, then, after a moment, closed it. Sandra recognized the drama playing over Cathy’s face. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
“Do you know of anyone he did have a relationship with?” asked Sandra.
“Not for certain.”
“Surely, if he had that reputation, word must have gotten around?”
“There have been rumors. But I don’t believe in repeating gossip, Inspector, and” — Cathy rallied some strength here — “I don’t believe you have the authority to compel me to do so.”
Sandra nodded, as if this was completely reasonable. She closed the lid on her palmtop. “Thank you for your candor,” she said, her tone so neutral as to make characterizing the remark as either sincere or sarcastic impossible. “Just one more question. Again, I apologize, but I have to ask this. Where were you on November fourteenth between eight A.M. and nine A.M.? That’s when Hans died.”
Cathy tilted her head. “Let’s see. That was the day before we all heard about it. Well, I would have been on my way to work, of course. In fact, now that you mention it, that would have been the day I picked up Carla and gave her a lift to where she works.”
“Carla? Who’s that?”
“Carla Wishinski, a friend of mine. She lives a couple of blocks from where Peter and I do. Her car was in the shop, so I agreed to give her a lift.”
“I see. Well, thank you very much, Ms. Hobson.” She glanced down the list of names. “When you go back out, could you ask Mr. Stephen Jessup to come in please?”
CHAPTER 29
Getting rid of Hans Larsen had been easy. After all, why worry about covering one’s tracks? Yes, the police would certainly investigate the crime, but they’d soon find that there were dozens of people who might have wanted to see the philandering Hans dead in the same poetic-justice fashion.
For the second elimination, though, the sim knew he would have to be more subtle. Something untraceable was called for — something that didn’t even look like murder.
With health-care costs spiraling ever upward, most developed countries were turning toward inexpensive prevention rather than catastrophic treatment. That required identifying risks particular to each patient, and for that a detailed knowledge of family history was invaluable. But originally not everyone had had access to such information.
In 2004, a group of adults who had been adopted as children successfully lobbied Canada’s provincial and federal governments to establish the nationwide Confidential Medical Records Database, or “MedBase.” The rationale was simple: all health records should be centralized so that any doctor could access information, with the names removed to protect privacy, about relatives of any of their patients — even if, as was frequently true in the case of adoption, the individuals in question didn’t know they were related.
The sim had to try more than twenty times, but it did eventually manage to find a way into MedBase — and, from there, a roundabout way to get the information it wanted:
Login: jdesalle
Password: ellased
Welcome! Bienvenu!
Health and Welfare Canada
Sante et Bien-e’tre social Canada
MEDBASE
[1] for English [2] pour Frangais
> 1
Enter patient’s province or territory of residence (L for list):
> Ontario
Enter patient’s name or Health Card number:
> 33 1834 22 149
Hobson, Catherine R. Correct? (Y/N)
> Y
What would you like to do?
[1] Display patient’s record?
[2] Search patient’s family history?
> 2
Search for? (H for help)
The sim selected H, read the help screens, then formulated his query:
> Familial Risk, Heart Disease
There was a pause while the system searched.
Correlations found.
The computer proceeded to list records for six different relatives of Cathy who had had heart problems over the years. Although no names were given, the sim had no trouble figuring out which one belonged to Rod Churchill, based on the age at which the coronary trouble had first occurred.
The sim asked for the full record for that patient. The computer provided it, again without listing the patient’s name. He studied the medical history minutely. Rod was currently taking heart medication and something called phenelzine. The sim logged onto MedLine, a general medical-information database, and began searching the literature for information on those drugs.
It took some digging, and the sim had to access an online medical dictionary continually to be able to wade through it all, but at last he had what he wanted.
Finally, the long day of interviews at Doowap Advertising was over. Detective Sandra Philo drove slowly back to her empty apartment. On the way, she took advantage of the car’s phone to check a few things. “Carla Wishinski?” she said into the dashboard mike.
“Yes?” said the voice through the speaker.
“This is Inspector Alexandria Philo of the Metro Police. I’ve got a quick question for you.”
Wishinski sounded flustered. “Uh, yes. Yes, of course.”
“Were you by any chance with Catherine Hobson on the morning of November tenth?”
“With Cathy? Let me bring up my scheduler.” The sound of keyclicks. “On the tenth? No, I’m afraid not. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
Sandra turned the car onto Lawrence West. “Did I say the tenth?” she said. “My mistake. I meant the fourteenth.”