“Definitely,” I said. “And just maybe a little more than trespassing.”
I went back to my desk, rummaged in my carryall, and pulled out the computer gaming magazine I’d found in Ted’s cache. I opened it to the article he’d marked and studied the pictures briefly.
“Take a look,” I said, holding out the magazine to Jack. “That’s her in the middle picture. Read the caption.”
“What’s up?” Frankie asked.
“She’s not a fan,” Jack said, looking up from the magazine. “She’s a spy.”
“Let me see that,” Frankie said, reaching for the magazine.
“She works for The Four Gamers of the Apocalypse,” I said.
“Those sleazy copycats,” Frankie growled, which was mild compared to what some of the programmers said about Mutant Wizards’ biggest and most hated competitor.
“Hang on to her while I call the police,” I said.
“I’ll leave quietly,” she said.
“No, you’ll stay here till the police arrive,” I said, from the switchboard, where I was dialing. “I think they’ll want to hear why the vice president of one of Mutant Wizards’ major business rivals has been hanging around here in disguise for several weeks. And I bet they’ll be fascinated when they hear that the first person to see through her disguise turned up dead shortly afterward.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” she said quickly.
“Yeah, right,” I said. I was mentally congratulating myself. I’d identified another of the code names on Ted’s blackmail list. Our rabid fan turned corporate spy had to be Mata Hari.
As I expected, the police were very interested to hear about a case of trespassing on the scene of the murder. The chief, they promised, would be right over. I hung up feeling quite cheerful. Surely Mata Hari would draw some of the heat away from Rob.
“What’s the problem?” We looked up to see Liz standing a few feet away, looking anxious.
“It’s that fan again,” Frankie said.
“She was attempting to enter the building, disguised as a cleaning woman,” I said. “Do you think we can charge her with trespassing?”
“We can’t possibly charge all the persistent fans with trespassing,” Liz said.
“I don’t see why not, but never mind,” I said. “This one’s more than a fan.”
I handed Liz exhibit A in the case against Mata Hari. She studied the photo and our captive.
“I’m not a prosecutor, but I suggest we call the police and see what they can do,” she said finally.
“I already did,” I said.
“Wait a minute,” the intruder protested. “You don’t understand. I was just - “
“And someone be sure to jot down anything she says,” Liz added. “Some of it may prove useful in court.”
The intruder stopped protesting.
“By the way,” Liz said, motioning for me to follow her out into the hall. “While the chief is here, do you think you could find out if he’s learned anything about our other unwanted visitor?”
“Other unwanted visitor?” I said, drawing a blank. “Oh, you mean Eugene, the disgruntled employee.”
“Eugene Mason,” she said, glancing over to make sure the door was closed. “Yes.”
“I meant to ask - what’s he so disgruntled about, anyway?”
“It’s completely ridiculous,” Liz said. “He signed a noncom-pete agreement when he came on board. Standard practice; all the staff do. And part of the exit interview is that he’s supposed to initial the agreement to confirm that he understands the terms and will abide by them. And he won’t.”
“Why not?”
“He claims that the agreement is too onerous, and the copy we have on file isn’t what he signed.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “He’s phoning in threats and lurking around just because we asked him to initial something he doesn’t want to initial?”
“He doesn’t get his final paycheck until he initials the form,” Liz said.
“Okay, now I get it,” I said, frowning. “Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“Not really,” she said. “He knows a great deal about the software architecture, not to mention our plans for future releases. We need to make absolutely sure he isn’t going to peddle what he knows to one of our competitors - or if he does, that we’ve got the documentation we need to sue them. Or defend ourselves if he tries to sue us.”