gloves and slipped them over her hands.
She flipped the power switch of Lisa's computer. Molly knew the machine. It was a Leading Edge, an IBM clone, hard disk , fairly inexpensive. It hummed to life. At the C prompt, she typed in the access to Lisa's word processing software. The words . . . GENERAL FAILURE ... ap peared on the screen . She lifted the monitor and placed it to one side, then, carefully she raised the front end of the computer. Underneath, in the dust, many months of it, she saw what she was looking for. A pattern of marks and scuffs where there should have been none. Someone had moved the computer, roughly, probably banged it up and down until the hard disk crashed and everything on it was destroyed.
Molly turned to the bookcase. She'd noticed several computer manuals there. She looked through them, hoping to find that Lisa had owned and used a backup system that guarded against such a crash. There was none. Months of work, all gone. Personal records, correspondence . . . everything. Molly could not believe that a graduate student would risk so devastating a loss. She searched through the drawers of the desk, looking for files of disks. She found two sets. One, in a plastic case, contained a variety of utility programs and games but no duplicate files. The other, in a Maxell box, contained eighteen disks, each numbered in sequence. She took the first one, locked it into the computer, and booted it on the A prompt. The screen filled with symbols. They were scrambled. Hopelessly. She tried several more at ran dom with the same result.
“ What's wrong ?” Car l a asked. “ What did you find ?”
Molly shrugged. “ I'm not sure .” She tried to hide her concern. No use setting Carla off just when she'd calmed her down. But someone, for some reason, had deliberately destroyed all of Lisa's records and the contents of her disk fil e—w hich might or might not have been her backup disk s—a s well. Sh e tried to imagine what it could have meant. That Lisa had known the killer? That she had writ ten something about him on her computer? Stranger things had happened. Yet it hardly seemed likely.
“ Molly ?”
”Uh-huh ?”
“ Don't jerk me around ,” she said evenly. ”I know what a crash looks like. And I know this place has been picked over .”
Molly hesitated. “ It could still have been the police. Or the FBI .”
“ Bullshit .”
Then who else, she wanted to ask, but didn't. “ Can you think of anything else that's missing ?” she asked instead .
“ She kept one of those month-at-a-g l a n ce calendars right here .” Carla pointed to a nail hole in the wall by the desk. Even the nail was gone.
“ How about a n address book? Diaries, tape recorders, anything like that .”
Carla scanned the room. Then, slowly, silently, she began opening drawers and closets. She moved into the living room. Molly could hear her. More drawers and now the hall closet. Molly waited, the Maxell box in her hand, thoughtfully tapping it against her chin. The light from the window caught some scratchings on the box's lid. Initials. Marked with a ballpoint pen. They read DF/FB.
Their possible meaning struck her at once. She was reaching for Lisa's telephone directory when she heard a sound coming from the front door. It was being opened. By someone who had a key. She sat still, listening. The hinges squeaked. Whoever it was, was hesitating. Now she heard feet, more than two, moving slowly over the thin carpet. Where was Ca rl a? She took a pen from the desk, removed the top, and concealed it in her hand.
A man's face flicked into the doorway, then withdrew. Almost instantly, it returned, this time behind a revolver held in outstretched hands. A second man, also armed, stepped from behind the first. Both men, wearing suits, filled the doorway.
“ Do you mind ?” Molly asked quietly, nodding toward their weapons.
“ On your feet ,” the older of the two ordered. “ Slowly .”
Molly made a face. “
She flipped the power switch of Lisa's computer. Molly knew the machine. It was a Leading Edge, an IBM clone, hard disk , fairly inexpensive. It hummed to life. At the C prompt, she typed in the access to Lisa's word processing software. The words . . . GENERAL FAILURE ... ap peared on the screen . She lifted the monitor and placed it to one side, then, carefully she raised the front end of the computer. Underneath, in the dust, many months of it, she saw what she was looking for. A pattern of marks and scuffs where there should have been none. Someone had moved the computer, roughly, probably banged it up and down until the hard disk crashed and everything on it was destroyed.
Molly turned to the bookcase. She'd noticed several computer manuals there. She looked through them, hoping to find that Lisa had owned and used a backup system that guarded against such a crash. There was none. Months of work, all gone. Personal records, correspondence . . . everything. Molly could not believe that a graduate student would risk so devastating a loss. She searched through the drawers of the desk, looking for files of disks. She found two sets. One, in a plastic case, contained a variety of utility programs and games but no duplicate files. The other, in a Maxell box, contained eighteen disks, each numbered in sequence. She took the first one, locked it into the computer, and booted it on the A prompt. The screen filled with symbols. They were scrambled. Hopelessly. She tried several more at ran dom with the same result.
“ What's wrong ?” Car l a asked. “ What did you find ?”
Molly shrugged. “ I'm not sure .” She tried to hide her concern. No use setting Carla off just when she'd calmed her down. But someone, for some reason, had deliberately destroyed all of Lisa's records and the contents of her disk fil e—w hich might or might not have been her backup disk s—a s well. Sh e tried to imagine what it could have meant. That Lisa had known the killer? That she had writ ten something about him on her computer? Stranger things had happened. Yet it hardly seemed likely.
“ Molly ?”
”Uh-huh ?”
“ Don't jerk me around ,” she said evenly. ”I know what a crash looks like. And I know this place has been picked over .”
Molly hesitated. “ It could still have been the police. Or the FBI .”
“ Bullshit .”
Then who else, she wanted to ask, but didn't. “ Can you think of anything else that's missing ?” she asked instead .
“ She kept one of those month-at-a-g l a n ce calendars right here .” Carla pointed to a nail hole in the wall by the desk. Even the nail was gone.
“ How about a n address book? Diaries, tape recorders, anything like that .”
Carla scanned the room. Then, slowly, silently, she began opening drawers and closets. She moved into the living room. Molly could hear her. More drawers and now the hall closet. Molly waited, the Maxell box in her hand, thoughtfully tapping it against her chin. The light from the window caught some scratchings on the box's lid. Initials. Marked with a ballpoint pen. They read DF/FB.
Their possible meaning struck her at once. She was reaching for Lisa's telephone directory when she heard a sound coming from the front door. It was being opened. By someone who had a key. She sat still, listening. The hinges squeaked. Whoever it was, was hesitating. Now she heard feet, more than two, moving slowly over the thin carpet. Where was Ca rl a? She took a pen from the desk, removed the top, and concealed it in her hand.
A man's face flicked into the doorway, then withdrew. Almost instantly, it returned, this time behind a revolver held in outstretched hands. A second man, also armed, stepped from behind the first. Both men, wearing suits, filled the doorway.
“ Do you mind ?” Molly asked quietly, nodding toward their weapons.
“ On your feet ,” the older of the two ordered. “ Slowly .”
Molly made a face. “
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