Page 8 of Justice for Francesca

“Fast work,” Livingston observed.

Tripoli replied, “When we have a private party like last night’s, we scan IDs at the door and make sure they match the invites. Every invited guest gets a wristband, and that wristband is scanned at every door they go through—entrance, exit, restroom, what have you—and each wristband is connected to their credit card of choice, tracking all purchases and tips. Members have a badge they swipe instead of a wristband, as do the employees. Their entries to the building, movements through doors, and exits from the building are also recorded, twenty-four seven.”

“Including you?” Livingston asked.

“Including me,” he acknowledged.

“That must be annoying.”

“I’d rather be annoyed than leave my workers and guests unprotected, at least as much as I can protect them. Security cameras can’t see everything, and at least this way, we can trace people’s last known movements.”

Livingston asked, “Members don’t find that invasive?”

Tripoli shrugged. “It’s in their contract, and we review it with them verbally when they sign in front of us. Guests… If they don’t like it, they don’t get in.”

“What if people enter or exit in groups? I hate to stereotype, but women have a tendency to use the restrooms in groups.”

“Honor system. We push the concept of everyone swiping their card, and we’re very clear why we do it. Are there people who don’t follow through? Yes. We can’t possibly have guards at every door inside. There are several security staff monitoring the club at all times, and if they notice infractions, they work toidentify the individual, and we issue warnings. In addition, we have two staff at all outer doors, with the exception of emergency exits, requiring a scan. An exit there triggers an alarm, and our security staff proceed as if it’s a nonscan or a true emergency. Also, if it's an employee-only door, those are coded to only open for employee IDs, and they know the penalty for entering a room without complying.”

“Is this the same system used in all of your clubs?”

“Yes, we figured it was best since sometimes employees travel to different locations. It helps if the systems are all the same.” He added, “It also prevents guests from wandering into areas they shouldn’t.”

“I’m impressed. Not all businesses are so thorough,” Livingston said. “About that or the speed you can get information. You’re also more accommodating than most. I usually have to argue over search warrants.”

“Trust me when I say that I want this cleared up as quickly and quietly as possible. That means cooperating without fuss. I trust my staff implicitly and know that none of them would be connected to this.” He held up a hand and qualified his statement to the agent, who was opening his mouth to speak. “I also know that you don’t know them and cannot take my word for it, so it’s better to just give you what you need and let you have at it. However, I hope you understand that while I’m handing over names and dates without fuss, I cannot let our clients’ personal files leave our premises. Special Agent McCabe”—he caught himself—“or whomever you designate is welcome to look at the files here. I have to protect our patrons.”

Livingston’s eyes narrowed. “I can get a warrant for those files.”

From his chair, Tripoli returned his stare. “Yes, you could. But why? I’m offering you full and unlimited access as long as the materials don’t leave our building.”

“Ease of access is the reason.” Livingston flashed a quick look at Francesca before continuing, “I’ll allow it… for now. If a higher-up asks, though, I’ll have to get that warrant.”

“Understood,” Tripoli replied.

“We do have a few questions for right now.”

“I’m at your disposal.”

Livingston began. “I understand you were not here yesterday or today. Can you tell us where you were?”

He watched Francesca remove a notebook and pencil from her pocket. “Certainly. Yesterday, I was at The Library in Los Angeles starting around eight a.m. until the club closed at two a.m. this morning. We had a private party that I needed to be present for, so my bar manager was in charge here. By two thirty, we closed down, my staff left, and I went to my apartment above the club. Michael, Elysium’s bar manager, called me at around five a.m., Los Angeles time, to tell me about the body that was found, and then he had Triumph call the police as soon as he got off the phone with me.”

“The staff who are present in the building now. Can you give us each their full legal names and what they do for you?”

“First, you should know Cosmos, given name Christopher Reynolds, is on his way here from Chicago and should arrive this evening. Owner of twenty-four percent of the club, he is the head of security across all of our clubs. In his everyday life, he owns Reynolds Protection, a security company that specializes in bodyguards for politicians, celebrities, whomever. I asked him to come down in case you had questions about our systems.

“Triumph is considered the third true owner of the club at twenty percent, and he’s our technology expert. He does everything from background checks of members to hiring the staff to programming electrical equipment. If it’s connected to a computer, it’s him. His real name is Mason Zelinski.” Tripoli drummed his fingers, a clear look of consideration on his face.“I’m sure you’ll figure out quickly that Triumph is missing from most databases. The NSA turned him into a contractor for them as a gray hat, and when he decided to leave, he came to work for me.”

Livingston looked to Francesca.

“A type of hacker,” she explained. Her voice was quiet and smooth, like honey or a good bourbon, just like he remembered. All the time they’d been apart, he’d hear that voice in his head, and he hadn’t lost its flavor. “White hats work within an organization to test its systems, whether they work for a company itself or they are a contractor hired from outside the company to test its systems. Black hats are outsiders who work for financial gain or with criminal intent. Gray hats do not have permission to hack into systems but often do just to see if they can. They rarely cause damage. When we catch them, sometimes we offer a select few jobs and pay them incredible salaries to be white hackers. Although,” she admitted, “some are hired as contractors to keep at their gray skills. Like Zelinski.”

Tripoli nodded at her explanation, then moved on. “Tilly is our… girl Friday. Real name is Matilda Moll.”

Livingston asked, “Daughter of Nathan Moll, correct? The Silicon Valley space guy?”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t call him the ‘space guy,’ but his technology is used in space, yes. Made his fortune and never looked back.”

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