Part 35 (2/2)

”So I lied. Sup with your true love.”

I hung up, talked to Robin.

She said, ”Like there's a choice? Grill's still cold, anyway. Go.”

By six forty, Milo and I were sifting through GHC's download history and every bit of e-mail generated during the architectural firm's brief life.

Bettina Sanfelice and Sheryl Pa.s.sant had spent most of their screen time searching eBay and discount fas.h.i.+on sites and gossip blogs. Both of them loved Johnny Depp.

Judah Cohen hadn't logged on once.

Marjorie Holman had used her keyboard sparingly: researching green architecture sites, news outlets, checking her finances, which were as conservative and modest as John Nguyen had reported.

Using a separate screen name, she'd arranged regular trysts with six different men, among them ”mannyforbush” at forbushziskin-shapiro.net.

Helga Gemein and Desmond Backer conducted infrequent but telling exchanges. Cyber pen pals during working hours, they typed away as they sat in the communal office.

The correspondence was focused: coolly exchanged information about explosives, incendiary devices, the goals and techniques of eco-terrorism, nostalgic reflections about ugly days gone by.

Milo had cited the Baader-Meinhof gang while spinning for Judge LaVigne, but the reference was prophetic: One week prior to the killings of Desmond Backer and Doreen Fredd, Helga Gemein had invoked the murderous German band eight times. Describing them, without a trace of irony, as ”refres.h.i.+ngly nihilistic and efficient.”

Helga: the wonder years. my regret is having been born too late.

Backer: for me it was the weathermen. if only, huh?

Helga: knowing which way the wind blows.

Backer: bill and bernadette and now they're mainstream sell-outs.

Helga: inevitable. blood thins.

Backer: good old days blood was thick and hot the wind was gonna blow hard and hot. emphasis on blow. lol.

Helga: again, that? with you, it's always carnality.

Backer: got something better lol too bad it's not with u.

Helga: from what I see you've got your hands full.

Backer: hands and other body parts. lol.

Helga: enough i don't lol about stupidity.

Backer: meant to talk to you about that.

Helga: about what?

Backer: ur state of mind.

Helga: my mind is fine.

Backer: ur never Helga: what's to about?

Backer: hmmmm ... how about big go-boom?

Helga: that? one small step.

Backer: for the elimination of mankind?

Helga: wish I believed in G.o.d.

Backer: why?

Helga: i could say G.o.d-willing.

Milo put the pile aside, squared the corners. ”Creepy.”

I said, ”There's a flirtatious quality to it. Initiated by Backer, but she went along with it.”

”Guy never stopped trying. Guess his batting average proved it was a good strategy.”

”Except with Helga.”

”The one who got away,” he said. ”She's a cold one, Alex.”

”She'd contemplated becoming a nun. Maybe she's one of those people with a low libido. Or she decided to suppress her urges.”

”Or she's doing it with another guy and decided to be loyal.”

”Helga and Hoodie?” I said. ”It's possible, but I'll bet s.e.x is low priority for her.”

He smiled. ”I could tell you about nuns.”

”The joys of parochial school?”

”Some of them were angels, greatest women I ever met. A few were monsters, about as warm and cuddly as Helga. Can you imagine her with a metal-edged ruler? Guess she found her own religion. First commandment: Lose the hair.”

”In a lot of cultures, hair's a symbol of sensuality. Fundamentalists tend to cover their women and keep their own hair short. Buddhist monks shave their heads. It's all about pruning vanity and focusing on nirvana.”

”Sista Skinhead aiming for a no-people nirvana. She finds common ground with Mr. Happy-face horndog. Poor fool had no idea Helga was using him.”

He flicked the transcripts. ”I think I finally get Backer doing Doreen at Borodi. There never was any distinction between business and pleasure, for ol' Des it was all about fun.” Shaking his head. ”In flagrante destructo.”

He locked up, we took the stairs down, pa.s.sed the clerk out front, and were at the door when a shout brought us to a halt.

The clerk stood and brandished the phone. ”Call for you, Lieutenant Sturgis.”

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