Read Online Waiting by Frank M. Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frank M. Robinson
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on the screen.
Artie looked over the desk, picked up a small box of floppies, flipped through them, and pulled out one with the same directory name. The diskette had a dozen filenames penciled on the label, starting with Austin and ending with Talbot.
He handed it to Mitch. “Try this—probably the backup. See if you can access ‘Talbot.’”
Mitch inserted the diskette in the B drive, then clicked on the name of the directory. The screen read: No files found.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Artie murmured. “He wouldn’t have made a backup if there was nothing to back up.”
“Maybe somebody erased both it and the hard drive.”
“So where does that leave us? We’ve no idea what Larry was working on or who he was seeing or what happened. We’re back to square one.”
Mitch shook his head. “Check out the desk.”
Artie squatted down and inspected the desktop. A small clock radio by some shelving had been moved several inches, and Artie could see a light ridge of dust where it had been. Most likely Cathy and the boys had stayed out of the room and Larry hadn’t been the type to do much in the way of cleaning—the desktop clutter was a sure indication of that. Why would anybody move the radio now? he wondered.
Then he saw the row of small boxes behind it, several of them out of alignment with the others. Somebody had checked out all the boxes of backup floppies, not just the one he’d picked up. They had been neat about it, but not too neat.
There was a lined yellow pad on the desk, a corner of it jutting over the ridge of dust where the radio had been. Somebody had moved it, too. He picked it up and squinted along the edge. The paper was smooth, no impressions at all. But there were sheets missing; he could see where they had been ripped out. Larry had probably written on it, but somebody had taken his notes and the few pages beneath.
Mitch clicked off the computer and leaned back in the chair, his face blank of expression. “You put it together yet?”
“You tell me.”
“Cathy knew what Larry was working on—no way he wouldn’t have talked to her about it. Whatever it was, it worried her. More than that, it frightened her—a lot. When the police called, she grabbed the kids and split. Right in the middle of the meal—no time to pack. She was out of here. Sometime later—maybe within minutes—she had a visitor who was looking for something. The house was empty, so her visitor went right to the office. He knew exactly what to look for, and it wasn’t the family silver.”
“Why a visitor?” Artie asked. “Why not several?”
“Just a hunch. Maybe there were more than one, but nothing indicates it. House is too clean—they would have left more traces.”
“So what do we do now? We’ve no idea what Larry was doing or who he saw or what happened.”
“You’re right. Let’s pack it in.”
Mitch stood up and started for the door, Artie following. Then Artie snapped his fingers and headed back to the kitchen. “If you were married and you were looking for an appointment, you’d know the first place to check is the fridge.”
The yellow Post-it was stuck to the front of the refrigerator, nestled between episodes of Doonesbury torn from the Sunday paper. A brief reminder to see a Dr. Paschelke of East Bay Medical Center, dated the day before the meeting. There were two numbers listed, followed by an H and an O. At the top of the tiny sheet were three red-inked stars. Important.
Mitch studied it for a moment. “You pick it, Artie—home or office?”
Artie glanced at his watch. It was still early in the evening.
“It’s the Christmas season; he’s probably working short hours—try home. Set up an appointment for tomorrow.”
Mitch looked through the windows at the darkening shadows outside. “Whatever’s going on, I have a hunch there’s a time frame involved. Cathy ran the moment the police called her with the bad news. I’d feel better if we could see the doctor
Artie looked over the desk, picked up a small box of floppies, flipped through them, and pulled out one with the same directory name. The diskette had a dozen filenames penciled on the label, starting with Austin and ending with Talbot.
He handed it to Mitch. “Try this—probably the backup. See if you can access ‘Talbot.’”
Mitch inserted the diskette in the B drive, then clicked on the name of the directory. The screen read: No files found.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Artie murmured. “He wouldn’t have made a backup if there was nothing to back up.”
“Maybe somebody erased both it and the hard drive.”
“So where does that leave us? We’ve no idea what Larry was working on or who he was seeing or what happened. We’re back to square one.”
Mitch shook his head. “Check out the desk.”
Artie squatted down and inspected the desktop. A small clock radio by some shelving had been moved several inches, and Artie could see a light ridge of dust where it had been. Most likely Cathy and the boys had stayed out of the room and Larry hadn’t been the type to do much in the way of cleaning—the desktop clutter was a sure indication of that. Why would anybody move the radio now? he wondered.
Then he saw the row of small boxes behind it, several of them out of alignment with the others. Somebody had checked out all the boxes of backup floppies, not just the one he’d picked up. They had been neat about it, but not too neat.
There was a lined yellow pad on the desk, a corner of it jutting over the ridge of dust where the radio had been. Somebody had moved it, too. He picked it up and squinted along the edge. The paper was smooth, no impressions at all. But there were sheets missing; he could see where they had been ripped out. Larry had probably written on it, but somebody had taken his notes and the few pages beneath.
Mitch clicked off the computer and leaned back in the chair, his face blank of expression. “You put it together yet?”
“You tell me.”
“Cathy knew what Larry was working on—no way he wouldn’t have talked to her about it. Whatever it was, it worried her. More than that, it frightened her—a lot. When the police called, she grabbed the kids and split. Right in the middle of the meal—no time to pack. She was out of here. Sometime later—maybe within minutes—she had a visitor who was looking for something. The house was empty, so her visitor went right to the office. He knew exactly what to look for, and it wasn’t the family silver.”
“Why a visitor?” Artie asked. “Why not several?”
“Just a hunch. Maybe there were more than one, but nothing indicates it. House is too clean—they would have left more traces.”
“So what do we do now? We’ve no idea what Larry was doing or who he saw or what happened.”
“You’re right. Let’s pack it in.”
Mitch stood up and started for the door, Artie following. Then Artie snapped his fingers and headed back to the kitchen. “If you were married and you were looking for an appointment, you’d know the first place to check is the fridge.”
The yellow Post-it was stuck to the front of the refrigerator, nestled between episodes of Doonesbury torn from the Sunday paper. A brief reminder to see a Dr. Paschelke of East Bay Medical Center, dated the day before the meeting. There were two numbers listed, followed by an H and an O. At the top of the tiny sheet were three red-inked stars. Important.
Mitch studied it for a moment. “You pick it, Artie—home or office?”
Artie glanced at his watch. It was still early in the evening.
“It’s the Christmas season; he’s probably working short hours—try home. Set up an appointment for tomorrow.”
Mitch looked through the windows at the darkening shadows outside. “Whatever’s going on, I have a hunch there’s a time frame involved. Cathy ran the moment the police called her with the bad news. I’d feel better if we could see the doctor
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