Page 57 of Girl, Empty
Ripley said, ‘Shut up.The nameplate.That’s fake too?’
‘Yes.I have a virtual agent that runs a script for me.It took me years to make it.It scours news stories online and finds items that I can forge.Yesterday morning, it mentioned the murder of Michael Rankin, but I didn’t know it was the Morrison guy.’
‘And you made this nameplate?In a day?’
Sinclair nodded frantically.‘It’s just a push of a button.I approve what the virtual agent finds, then it sends it straight to a 3D printer.I actually made ten of them.They’re in my garage.’
The adrenaline crash must have hit Ripley hard, because she crumpled into the chair beside Ella and planted her palms on the table.Silence descended, and it reminded Ella of the silence that follows a huge explosion when everyone is waiting to see what was left standing.
She stared a hole through Sinclair.She’d wanted this greasy little asshole to be her killer so bad she could taste it.This pathetic, weaselly con artist with his ridiculous hair and fake murder museum.He was supposed to be her guy.Case closed, drinks all round, another sick freak off the streets.
It hadn’t gone that way, and if professional courtesy permitted her to scream, she would have.
Ten nameplates.If he really had ten identical nameplates sitting in his garage, then he hadn’t taken any of them off Rankin’s desk.You couldn’t 3D print a perfect replica.
Ripley rubbed her temples.'So you're telling us you just happened to make a fake nameplate of a murder victim the day after he died?'
'The virtual agent works fast.It's designed to capitalize on breaking news while the story's still hot.True crime collectors pay premium prices for items connected to current cases.'
Ella's mind was already working, trying to salvage something from this mess.Sinclair could still be lying.Killers lied all the time.Maybe he'd made the extras after the fact, to cover his tracks.‘Did Rankin even have a nameplate in his office?I didn’t see one.’
‘Me either,’ Ripley said.
‘I don’t think Alexander here cares about historical accuracy.Aileen Wuornos was a meth addict.Her teeth certainly weren’t gleaming white.’
‘Weren’t they?I’m not really a true crime buff.Just…’
‘A scumbag who’ll sell his pride for a buck,’ Ripley said.There was a knock at the door, Ella turned and saw Riggs peer his head.He didn’t say anything.He just waved his hand across his throat.The gesture said;cut it loose.
Sinclair wasn’t their guy.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Amanda Pierce was still at the office gone 8 PM, because the code was always broken somewhere.That’s what she told herself on these late nights anyway, even though she wasn’t a coder and had no pressing tasks that demanded her attention.She was hiding from something, and that something was an empty house, loathe as she was to admit.
The humans had cleared out hours ago, replacing one screen with another at home, and Amanda should probably do the same.But this was her company, and because she’d built it, she sometimes felt obligated to stay here, to make all the love she’d given to it worth the effort.It was like when you decorated the spare room.You found any excuse to spend more time in there.
Amanda had founded Blackglass herself ten years ago, and had luckily joined the tech software game at just the right time.It had been that magic window when companies realized they could slap apps on things like refrigerators and toasters and convince the world it was the pinnacle of innovation.Once even household appliances were shackled to phone apps, it meant every new product then needed an app to go with it, and that’s what Blackglass specialized in.
Amanda closed down the news article on her screen.Apparently, there’d been another murder in downtown Indianapolis, the second in two days, but details of the second one were minimal.She’d like to say she was surprised, but murders here were more regular than people thought.One downside of working in tech was that you built a digital cage and you had to live in it, so you were always a little too informed for comfort.
Enough for tonight.
She had to go home sometime.It might as well be early enough to catch some trash television before bed.
A minute later, Amanda had shut everything down, collected her things and left her office in darkness.Out in the corridor, she saw a rectangle of light seeping out one of the office windows.Apparently there was still another human being here.Ten dollars said it was Noah, the man who thought he could code his way to immortality.That was another thing about tech boys.They didn’t realize that empires could fall if someone just unplugged the power cable.
Amanda popped her head around the door.There he sat.He’d come to Blackglass from rural Maine, and he’d brought his country skills with him.He was the only man Amanda knew who could hotwire a tractor, not that it ever came in use.‘Oi, why are you still here?’
Noah wheeled his chair back then spun around in a 360.‘Because there’s nothing out there for me.This is my life now.Working.’
She stepped into the office and saw he was playing a video game on his computer.‘Looks like it.Video games on our network?Are you mad?’
‘Relax.It’s as secure as a chastity belt.No one is hacking us through this.’
Amanda wanted to be upset, and as the CTO around here, she should probably put a stop to this right now.Installation of any external programs had to go through her, but of course, Noah found a way around that.But she couldn't be mad at him, because Noah was irritatingly appealing, especially with that floppy hair and those stupid glasses.'You should have asked me.'
‘Asked you?Do you want to play too?’Noah spun back to his keyboard.He was playing some fantasy game, with a cluttered interface full tiny icons and red health bars.It hurt her head just trying to make sense of it.
