"Paul Levinson - The Copyright Notice Case (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levinson Paul)

scientist to call in when something inexplicable seemed to have
happened. Well, I knew the reason -- I'd been involved in my
fair share of weirdo cases in my time, some of them public. And
my popular writings in fields ranging from physics to genetics
were pretty well known. "This guy have a name?"
"Glen Chaleff," Dave replied. "Some kind of computer
programmer."
Chaleff's apartment was nothing out of the ordinary. Bland
furniture arranged unsurprisingly around off-white painted
walls. The computer was the only thing that caught my eye. It
was a sophisticated machine, lean and very powerful, it seemed
to me, something well beyond the latest commercial chip. The
screen had two words on it.
"Copyright Notice"
I put on my gloves before touching the keyboard -- never
mind the standard precaution of not doing anything to disturb
possible fingerprints and evidence, I was thinking more about
not getting electrocuted on the outside chance that's what had
happened to Chaleff. I pressed the up and down arrow keys to see
if there was any other text above or below on the screen.
Nada. Just a bunch of hash above, three quarters faded to
nothing, like I had come in on the end game of some kind of
program that self-destructed after use. I arrowed back to
"Copyright Notice."
It was fading away now too.
***
Jenna Katen was the girlfriend. There's almost always a
girlfriend in these sorts of cases. Lieutenant in charge asked
me if I wanted to come in and interview her. She was the reason
Chaleff was considered a possible homicide.
"She discovered the body, she says he was working on some
kind of genetic project that seems on cloud nine to me, I
thought you might have a better chance of understanding what
she's talking about, you're a real hound for that stuff, right?"
That was the Lieutenant's briefing.
"Right." I said.
Jenna was really striking. Looked a lot better than
girlfriends of the deceased usually do, except on television.
Soft green eyes and soft brown hair falling around her
shoulders just the way I like it. Keep your mind on business,
D'Amato.
I could see she'd been crying. "You look too smart for me
to offer you a smoke," I said. "How about some caffeine?"
"Sure," she looked up.
"Hot or cold?"
"Diet soda would be nice."
I went outside and coaxed a can from the machine.
"Why don't you tell me your story from the beginning," I
said, trying to pour the soda into a cup so that it didn't fizz
over the top. Never worked. "Pretend I'm an ignoramus about