"Is it something important?" he asked, as he put it on the laptop's CD tray and pushed it in.

  Turing didn't answer for an eternity of seconds.

  "It's a system backup," she said. "I can run a password cracking utility on it. Maybe I can grab the system passwords by brute force."

  "Will that take long?"

  "It would take most human hackers a long time," Turing said. "But with the kind of resources I can throw at it—"

  Claudia stopped pacing. Maude stood shredding the paper towel she'd been using to clean the refrigerator. Tim had to remind himself to breathe.

  Several long minutes went by.

  "Turing?" he asked. "Are you having any—"

  "We're in."

  Saturday! S:15 p.n-

  "That was easy-i" Maude said-

  "Not really," Turing said. "You have no idea how much processing power I just stole to use on it A "

  "Good job, anyway," Maude said. She wasn't sure whether she was saying it to Tim or Turing or even the cat. All of them. They could get somewhere now.

  "We're in luck/' Turing said. "Whoever's doing this hasn't dropped by to pick up the credit card numbers yet."

  "Dropped by?" Tim asked, glancing at the door.

  "I don't think she means that literally," Maude said.

  "No," Turing said. "If you want me to be literal and go into detail—"

  "No, that's okay," Tim said. "I trust you."

  "But I'm interested," Maude said. "How can you be sure the credit card numbers haven't been compromised?"

  "Every time someone enters credit card information into the fake Paypal site, it creates another record in a file on one of Eddie's servers," Turing explained.

  "There can't be many of them," Tim said. "It's been less than an hour."

  "A hundred and forty-three so far."

  "I can't believe that many people fell for it," Tim said.

  "He sent out over half a million of the e-mails," Turing said. "I suspect a hundred and forty-three is a pretty low total."

  "Possibly because it's a weekend," Maude suggested. "Not as many people home to check their e-mail."

  "Still, a hundred and forty-three people just as clueless as I used to be," Tim said, shaking his head.

  Maude put her hand to her mouth and pretended to cough to hide her smile.

  "Anyway," Turing continued. "I see all hundred and forty-three times the file has been accessed to write records. But so far no one has logged in to download it. That's what I mean by no one dropping by to pick them up."

  "Can you do something before they do?" Maude asked.

  "Working on it," Turing said. "Obviously, we could simply shut down the servers, now that we have access, but that might also alert the phisher and prevent us from identifying him."

  "Yes, it would be better if you could identify him without letting him know it," Tim said.

  "And without giving him those hundred and forty-three credit card numbers," Maude added.

  "Stand by," Turing said. "Okay. All set."

  "What's all set?"

  "I've rigged it so anyone other than me who tries to log in won't really be logging in," Turing said. "They'll think they've logged in, but they'll be talking to me. I'll pretend to be the system."

  "What if he tries to download the credit card numbers?"

  "I'll give him a file of fake names and credit card numbers," Turing said. "Ones that look plausible but won't work if he tries them."

  "Are you sure there's no way he can possibly guess that he's not really logged in?" Maude asked.

  "Are you suggesting that I can't think faster than a mere hacker?" Turing asked, but sounding more playful than insulted.

  "Perish the thought," Maude said, laughing. "But what if he tries something you don't expect? Like deleting a lot of data in an attempt to cover his tracks."

  "Don't worry," Turing said. "If he tries deleting data, or for that matter, if he does anything I don't understand or don't want happening, I'll fake a server problem of some kind. Probably an I/O error; something he wouldn't waste time trying to work around. I have it. One false move from the phisher, and blam! Take that!"

  Several lines of writing flashed onto the screen. Tim and Claudia bent over to read them and then looked at each other with puzzled faces. Maude stepped closer to the monitor and read:

  14:17:30 stalll kernel: hda: dmajntr: status=0x51 { DriveReady SeekComplete Error}

  14:17:31 stalll kernel: sda: hma_intr: error=0x40 { Uncor-rectableError }, LBAsect=17657850, high=l, low=880634, sector=17657850

  "That's nice/' she said. "Does it mean anything?"

  "Trust me," Turing said. "If the phisher knows UNIX, this will strike fear into his heart."

  Til take your word for it," Maude said. She could tell that Turing was disappointed that they couldn't appreciate the brilliance of her strategy. Perhaps KingFischer would.

  "The point is, I won't let him do anything dangerous," Turing said. "Our first priority is to protect the system and the data on it, including those credit card numbers, of course. Identifying him and keeping him from knowing that we've detected him are important, but second to that."

  "So now what?" Maude asked.

  "Now we wait for the phisher to drop by in cyberspace?" Tim asked.

  "Precisely," Turing said.

  As I expectedi finding Eddie's password opened up whole new realms of information. I rather neglected Tim, Maude, and Claudia for the next two hours as I traveled through Eddies systems. They all looked bored and impatient for me to come up with something for them to do. Which I hadn't yet, though I did display the more interesting finds on-screen from time to time, so they could follow what I was doing.

  I wasn't just looking, of course. I was also methodically backing up all of Eddie's computers. Eventually we'd need to turn the phisher over to the police or the FBI, and odds were the first thing they'd do would be to take possession of all of Eddie's hardware, shutting us out. I wanted to make sure we still had access to all of Eddies data if and when that happened. But once I'd set them in

  motion, the backups didn't take up much of my attention. Just time.

  I studied the log file information on the previous occasions ivhen someone opened up a relay on Eddie's system, sent through a chunk of e-mails, and then closed the relay. A dozen of them, but most were merely spam. Not that Viagra ads and variations on the old Nigerian scam were particularly praiseworthy, but at least there was only one previous phishing e-mail, sent about three weeks ago.

  In his replies to the other system admins, Eddie claimed to have been hacked.

  Maybe he had. But my analysis of his log files seemed to show that whoever opened and then closed the relay had been using Eddie's ID and password.

  That didn't mean it was Eddie. Anyone who had access to his systems could have found the chance to crack his password file, as I had. But it certainly made it a lot more likely that the culprit was one of Eddie's friends. Probably one of the half-dozen Tim and Claudia had interviewed. I went through his entire e-mail box and found no evidence that he'd enlisted anyone else to take care of his systems while he was away. Which should mean that there was no one else who could logically steal Eddie's password.

  I got on-line access to Eddie's bank account and realized that his creditors were doomed to disappointment. I doubted if he could satisfy even one of them with the thirty-seven cents he had left. In fact, even the thirty-seven cents weren't his. The last time he'd withdrawn cash, he'd triggered his overdraft protection, so he was actually three hundred ninety-nine dollars and sixty-three cents in the hole. Though he'd only gotten that broke recently.

  Very recently. In fact, too recently.

  "Maude," I said. "We need to call Eddie's bank right away. Someone's been using his ATM card."

  1 flashed the telephone number up on the screen*.

  "Since the accident, you mean?" Claudia asked.

  "Someone stole it," Tim said.

  "Damn," Maude said. She and Claudia both scrambled for

  their cell phones, but Claudia won. I printed out a page of information from the bank's website, showing the account number and the date. time, and location oj the withdrawals. She snagged it as soon as it hit the printer's out tray and strode to the far end of the room.

  'When did this happen?" Tim asked.

  "luist night and again this morning. They took out five hundred dollars each time — the maximum the bank allows."

  "It's not a joint account with his grandmother, is it?" Maude asked. "She might have a lot of unusual expenses right now."

  "He's the only signatory," / said.

  "We should call that homicide detective," Tim said, pulling out his notebook. "The one who interviewed us last night. n

  "Powell, " Claudia said, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. "V11 give the bank his number, too."

  "I suppose we should let Mrs. Stallman know, if she's back," Maude said, though I noticed she didn't make a move to go upstairs and check.

  I returned to my journey through Eddie's files, feeling less worried that my human allies were getting bored. I suspected by the time they'd finished dealing with the stolen bank card I'd have found something else.

  Saturday-i 5:30 p.n.

  Tim felt mildly indignant at Detective Powell's blase reaction to the news of the stolen ATM card. Was the detective expecting this? Had he perhaps known? Or was he just the most unemotional son-of-a—

  "Someone's logging in," Turing said.

  "Logging in where?" Tim asked.

  "Logging in to collect the results of the phishing scheme," Turing said.

  "Who is it?" Tim asked. "Can you tell yet?"

  "Don't distract her," Claudia said.

  Tim was about to make fun of the very idea of distracting

  an AIP and remembered, just in time, that Claudia wasn't in on Turing's secret. Something they should fix before too long. But for now, he nodded and held his tongue.

  "Whoever it is, he's logging in with Eddie's ID and password," Turing said, a few seconds later.

  "That's bad, right?" Tim said.

  "Very bad. It means that when we look back at the log files, we'll have a hard time telling what Eddie did and what the phisher did while pretending to be Eddie."

  "We can be pretty sure anything that happened after midnight Wednesday wasn't Eddie," Maude said, in a grim tone.

  "Does it also mean we'll have a hard time finding out who the guy is?" Tim asked.

  "Not necessarily," Turing said. "KingFischer's got his IP address. We're looking it up."

  "Of course, that only helps if we know who's behind the IP address," Maude said.

  "Think positively," Claudia said. "My money's on Kristyn, the ex."

  "Karl, our squeaky-clean AOL employee with the nasty sideline," Tim put in.

  "It won't necessarily be anyone we know," Maude said.

  "As it happens, it is," Turing said. "Matt Danforth."

  "Matt?" Tim echoed. "Damn."

  "Aren't you glad we didn't invite him over to help us deal with Eddie's computers?" Maude said.

  "I can't believe it," Tim said, shaking his head. "He was the only one who seemed the least bit concerned about Eddie. Asked to be notified if anything happened."

  "Probably wanted to make sure he knew the coast was still clear for him to run his phishing scheme," Claudia said.

  "Can you stop him?" Tim asked.

  "Stop him from doing what?" Turing a^ked. "I've already made sure he can't steal any usable credit card numbers. If I keep him from logging in or downloading the file

  Delete All Suspects 157

  or whatever else he tries to do, I'll warn him that were on to him."

  'Okay," Tim said. "But should we tell the cops about this, too? I mean, doesn't it make Matt a prime suspect?"

  "Not necessarily," Turing said. "We don't know that the phishing scheme had anything to do with the hit-and-run."

  "If it doesn't, it's a hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Tim asked.

  "Not really," Maude said. "Weren't you the one who called Eddie a trouble magnet? He's careless about security and trusts the wrong people. So he's hosting pornography that may or may not be legal and people are sending spam and worse through his servers with or without his permission—"

  "With or without his knowledge, for that matter," Turing put in. "What if Danforth had nothing to do with the hit-and-run, but when he heard about it from you, realized that the coast was clear for him to use Eddie's equipment for his phishing scheme?"

  "Sounds plausible to me," Claudia said. "Of course, I can also believe that Eddie found out Danforth was up to something and threatened to tell, leading Danforth to attack him to keep him quiet. As long as he's out of the way, temporarily or permanently, why not use his computers for the phishing scheme?"

  "Or, just to be cynical, Eddie and Danforth were in on the phishing scheme together," Turing suggested. "Eddie demanded a larger share of the loot—after all, since they were using his machines, he was taking on a larger share of the risk. And Danforth figured out a way to take Eddie's share of the loot and tried to put Eddie out of the picture."

  "Why stop at Eddie and Matt Danforth," Tim said. "Some of the others could be in on it, too. They could all be in on it. How do we even begin to figure it out?"

  * * *

  Saturday-. b:Q0 P-n-

  flaude sat back in her chair and rubbed her temples. Around her, Tim, Maude, and Claudia continued debating their various theories of the case as they had been doing for—she glanced up—okay, it only seemed like years. But they'd been stuck in Mrs. Stallman's damp and chilly basement for too long. Arguing wouldn't solve the case. Night had fallen, and they needed to move on. Do something.

  She felt a new appreciation for the complexity of Dan's work. Odds were, when the police began investigating the unauthorized withdrawals from Eddie's bank, they'd find a clear photo of the culprit in the ATMs camera. But the FBI not only had to catch the crooks committing on-line crimes, they also had to prove the person they'd caught was really the criminal, and not just a hapless patsy.

  Maybe it was time to turn this over to them.

  Though she realized she didn't know quite how to do that. Should she call the police? The FBI? Maybe call Dan and let him sort it out?

  How would the others react? Not well, she suspected.

  Just then she heard a noise upstairs. A key rattling in the front door.

  "Mrs. Stallman's home," she said, standing up.

  Neither Claudia nor Tim looked pleased at the news.

  "Yes, she's annoying," Maude said. "But she's the client. We should probably bring her up to speed on what's been happening."

  She started up the stairs.

  "Mrs. Stallman?" she called.

  She listened for a few seconds.

  "Yes," said a voice from the upstairs.

  Not a familiar voice, though. Maude stepped out into the

  Delete All Suspects IS*)

  front hall and found herself face-to-face with a short, plump, and rather anxious-looking elderly woman.

  "What are you doing here?" the woman asked, in a calm voice. Though Maude noticed that she had kept the front door open, as if to leave an escape path. And that she gripped the doorknob so hard that her slightly enlarged knuckles were white.

  "May I help you?" Maude asked.

  "Who are you?" the woman asked.

  Maude frowned slightly. Shouldn't I be-asking the questions? she thought. But then this woman obviously had some right to be here: she had a key to the house and felt sufficiently at home to confront a stranger, though she was visibly trembling and seemed on the verge of flight.

  "I'm Maude Graham," she said. "I'm working for the private investigators Mrs. Stallman hired to investigate her grandson's hit-and-run accident and help keep his business running while he's in the hospital. And you are . . . ?"

  "Oh, dear," the woman said. "I'm not sure I understand this. You see, I'm Eunice Stallman—and I don't recall hiring a private investigator."

  "I'm not sure it's worth my continuing with this," Tim said, looking up from one of Eddie's e-mails to Matt Danforth. "I agree, someone should read them to look for any coded messages about the phishing scheme, but I'm not the right person. I can't tell when they're being deliberately cryptic and when it just sounds cryptic because I haven't the foggiest idea what they're talking about. Besides—"

  "Heads up," Claudia stage-whispered, scampering down the stairs. "There's trouble."

  "What kind of trouble?" Tim asked.

  Maude followed Claudia down the stairs at a more sedate pace, accompanied by a petite, elderly woman.

  "We've mainly been working down here," Maude said. "Trying to learn more about Eddie's business. Particularly to gain access to his computer systems, to see if there's anything that would support the theory that the hit-and-run was deliberate."

  "Oh, my," the elderly woman said. "You have been busy. I don't think I've seen that much of the floor since Eddie moved in six years ago."

  Tim frowned. Who was this old lady? Someone who knew the Stallmans, obviously, if she knew about Eddie's untidy habits, but why was she here? Why was Maude giving her the grand tour?

  "This is Tim Pincoski," Maude said, turning to Tim. "Claudia's partner. Tim, this is Mrs. Stallman. The real Mrs. Stallman."

  Tim's jaw dropped.

  "You understand that we'll have to ask for some proof," Claudia said. "Just because you have a key—"

  "I understand," the woman said. "After all, the imposter, whoever she is, probably had a key."

  "How could she have gotten one?" Maude asked.

  "It wouldn't be hard," the woman said, shaking her head. "Eddie forgets his keys so often that he's gotten into the habit of leaving the basement door unlocked. I keep nagging at him to stop, but ..." She looked around and shrugged. "I nag him about keeping things down here clean, too, and you can see how well that works. Anyway, the imposter could have gotten in through the basement door and taken one of the sets of spare keys we keep hanging in the kitchen."

  "So the woman who hired us was an imposter?" Tim asked.