Free The Victim in Victoria Station by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

countries, and they’re the ones Multilinks came over here to woo. Apparently they’re not impressed. At any rate, they’re not buying.”
    â€œMaybe they just can’t afford it.”
    â€œMaybe. The third world is poor; it’s a truism.”
    â€œBut they would have known the price before they looked into it,” said Lynn. “So why would they express interest and then go away?”
    â€œHmmm. Is it—the software, I mean—not as good as its reputation? Maybe these customers tried it and didn’t like it.”
    â€œNo. I know myself that it’s all it’s cracked up to be. My company uses it; I’ve used it. It’s saved us megabucks already, in time saved, mistakes averted, you name it.”
    â€œThen why—?”
    â€œYou got me.”
    We puzzled over it the whole evening, and for the rest of the weekend. I probably should have gone home, but I was genuinely weary and in need of a break, and I truly enjoy the company of the Andersons, who pamper me shamefully. By Sunday evening, nevertheless, I was counting the hours till I could get home and talk to Nigel.

7
    S o what did you find out?”
    â€œSod-all, I’m afraid. Oh, I got into their computer, it was dead easy. A six-year-old could have done it. But all I could find was boring official bumf. Sales records, expense accounts, personnel files, accounts payable.”
    It was late Monday afternoon, the first chance I’d had to sit down with Nigel at his computer. This time the Computer Centre was busy, but the students were working hard at various projects. Nigel’s cubicle was somewhat set apart from the others. As long as we kept our voices low, we had reasonable privacy, though at this rate it looked as if we didn’t need any.
    I was crestfallen. It was at about this spot in the movie that someone who had been sitting for hours at the monitor should gasp and say, “Hey! Look at
this!
” And everyone would come running and watch, appalled, as the secret plans for the interstellar rocket appeared in detail on the screen. This was not working out according to script.
    â€œNothing? You’re sure?”
    â€œNothing you want. I’m sure.” Nigel took a swig from his bottle of designer water.
    I sighed. “All right, then. Can you call up the sales records for me? I’ve been hearing rumors that sales aren’t living up to expectations, especially sales in the countries that ought to be their best customers. Maybe if I looked at the records, I could figure out why.”
    Nigel raised his eyebrows in one of those you-asked-for-it looks, shook his head sadly, and began punching keys. After a time a list appeared in front of me. It was perfectly clear, listing customer name, date of sale, item description, and cost. It told me absolutely nothing, except that Multilinks had in fact not been making a lot of sales. The total amount of money collected (or billed, I couldn’t tell which) looked staggering to me, but I’m used to dealing with figures no higher than my modest checking account, so I’m no judge. Even I could see, however, that the dates of sales were widely spaced.
    â€œSatisfied?”
    â€œNo. But I see what you mean.”
    Nigel moved more or less at random through a few more Multilinks files. Accounts payable: suppliers, a cleaning service, a temporary help agency—nothing useful. The salary record was of interest only for the wide range represented.
    â€œThey’d have a fit if they knew we were looking at this,” I commented idly.
    â€œYou’ve got that right. Everybody wants their salary kept confidential.” He was about to move on, but suddenly I stayed his hand on the mouse.
    â€œWait, Nigel! Let me look at that again, from the beginning.”
    He shrugged and moved the cursor to the top of the file.
    â€œDo you have a pad and pencil?” I asked, elevating my chin to peer at the screen through