Free Raising Cain by Gallatin Warfield Page A

there. She’d seen some
     of it through the window, but not all this. There were keyboards, mainframes, modems, printers, scanners, copiers, and fax
     machines.
    Sallie hurried to a console and threw the power switch. The computer vibrated as it prepped for operation. Finally the electronics
     had sorted out, and the blinking cursor came to rest. “PASSWORD?” the screen asked.
    Sallie keyed in “CAIN.” It was as good a guess as any.
    “INVALID COMMAND,” the screen replied.
    Sallie typed in “RUTH.”
    “INVALID COMMAND.”
    Sallie tried “THOMAS.”
    “INVALID” again.
    Sallie didn’t have much time. If she got caught, they’d throw her in with the snakes. She shuddered and tried another variation:
     “T. RUTH.” The letters faded for a moment, then began to blink. It had worked.
    Sallie keyed “dir/p” on the console, a command that would display the files in memory. The screen responded with a list of
     phrases.
    “STRIKE ANY KEY TO CONTINUE,” the prompt said.
    Sallie hit a key, and more file names rolled into view. She scanned hurriedly, looking for buzzwords.
    “STRIKE ANY KEY TO CONTINUE,” the prompt reminded.
    Sallie hit another key. Suddenly there was a sound down the hall: footsteps approaching.
    Sallie glanced at the screen as another set of files was revealed. Then she shut off the power and ran to the window, opening
     it and squeezing through as fast as she could.
    Sallie hit the ground running and didn’t look back until she turned the corner. By now she was at a walk, and she casually
     approached the storage room. Her heart was beating wildly, but it wasn’t just fear. She was pumped up because she’d seen something:
     several file names in the mix. The computer was Thomas Ruth’s alter ego, a visual insight into his complex mind. And now something
     on his mind had come to light, reflected by two of his files. “CONTINGENCIES,” the first one read. And that was followed by
     a subdirectory: “ DEATH .”

five
    At midnight, Gardner sat in his town house kitchen staring at a glass of iced tea. He sloshed the tea and took a halfhearted
     sip. Storm clouds were building, and he was worried.
    Jennifer descended the stairs and entered the room. She was dressed in blue silk pajamas; her face was scrubbed, her hair
     pulled back and tied.
    “You’re brooding,” she said.
    “I’m not brooding.” Gardner didn’t look up. “I’m thinking.”
    “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
    “What?”
    “You don’t
think, you agonize
.” Jennifer sat down at the table.
    Gardner finally raised his head. “Today was a first-class bitch.”
    “The funeral.”
    “If you can call it that.”
    “Reverend Taylor certainly electrified the crowd.”
    “Yeah.” Gardner drank another sip. “Amazing what a person can do with a well-turned phrase.”
    “You’re concerned about the Brown case.”
    “Yes, I
am
. Who the hell told Taylor about the investigation in the first place? It was supposed to be confidential.”
    Jennifer went to the refrigerator, poured some tea for herself, then returned to the table. “Brownie, maybe?”
    “Maybe. But that’s not important now. The cat’s out of the bag, and Blocktown’s mobilizing for paybacks, thanks to Taylor.
     This is how it starts, Jen. Rumors fly, innocent people get hurt. And for what?”
    “Joseph Brown’s murder.”
    “What
murder
? You read the reports. It was a heart attack. That has
never
been disputed. Natural causes do
not
equal murder.”
    “What about the scratches on his arms?”
    Gardner brushed back a stray hair. “God, Jen, the man was drinking and carousing just before he died. You know what Davis
     uncovered. Maybe the shantyville woman, Jackie Frey, tied him up. Maybe they were into some kinky stuff. Maybe
that’s
what killed him.”
    “Brownie doesn’t think so.”
    “No, he doesn’t. But we have to deal with reality here. We have to stay objective, keep our heads cool, even if no one else