Philip Kerr - Gridiron

'Drink much Scotch, do you?'

'Ever share a bottle with a friend?'

'I'm not that kind of drinker.'

'What about Sam Gleig? Did you ever share a bottle with him?'

'Sounds to me like you're the ones who have been sharing a bottle of Scotch. I have never shared anything with him. Not even the time of day.' Cheng sighed and leaned forward on the table. 'Look, I admit to breaking the windshield. I'm really sorry about that. It was stupid. I'd had a few drinks. I'll pay for the damage. But you have to believe me, I never met this guy. I'm sorry he's dead, but I had nothing to do with — '

Curtis had unfolded a colour photocopy of the computer-generated picture and spread it on the table next to the tyre wrench. Cheng stared at it.

'I am showing the subject a picture of himself and the dead man taken in the lobby of the Gridiron building.'

'What the hell is this?'

'Do you deny that's you?'

'Deny it? Of course I deny it. This must be a fake. Some kind of photocomposite. Look, what are you trying to pull here?'

'I'm not trying to pull anything,' replied Curtis. 'Just find out the truth. So why don't you admit it, Cheng?'

'I admit nothing. This is a lie.'

'You went to the Gridiron with a fifth of Scotch for Sam Gleig. I figure you must have already met once before. You had some kind of deal going. What was it? Dope? A little Chinese heroin from back home?'

'Bullshit.'

'Or maybe you wanted a favour. A blind eye while you went ahead and got rid of another tyre wrench. Smashed something. You paid him for his trouble, of course. Maybe you were going to hit Sam just to make things look convincing for him. Only you hit him too hard. Then you panicked and took off. Isn't that what happened?'

Cheng was shaking his head. He was on the edge of tears. 'Someone is trying to frame me,' he said.

'You're not such a good picture, China,' sneered Coleman. 'Who would want to frame you?'

'Isn't that obvious? The Yu Corporation, that's who. Believe me, they're quite capable of it. They get rid of me, maybe they can get rid of the protest. It's bad publicity for them.'

'And I suppose having someone murdered in your office building counts as good publicity, does it?' said Curtis. 'Besides, you and your friends are old news. You'll have to do better than that, college boy.'

'Come on, Cheng,' argued Nathan Coleman. 'Admit it. It was you who brained him. We don't figure you did it on purpose. You're not the type. An accident. We'll speak to the DA and get the charge reduced to seconddegree murder. Your daddy pays for a fancy lawyer who tells the court you'd been studying too hard and you'll probably get two to five max. Maybe you can get transferred to a private gaol and finish your studies before you get deported home again.'

Cheng Peng Fei studied the photograph and shook his head. 'This isn't happening,' he said, and then added, 'Perhaps I'd better have that attorney after all.'

Suspending the interrogation the two detectives stepped into the busy corridor outside the video room.

'What do you think, Frank? Do we have the perp?'

'I don't know, Nat. I thought he'd fold when he saw the picture.' Curtis stretched wearily and looked at his watch. 'I reckon I'd better have SID look at it.'

'Do you think it might be a fake?'

'The little fucker's bluffing, I'm sure of it. But it wouldn't do any harm to have it checked before we go to the DA. Besides I've got to pick up the results of the preliminary p.m.'

'You want me to keep working on him?'

Curtis nodded.

'Give him some coffee and try to calm him down. Then come at him with the southpaw.' Curtis punched Coleman playfully on the shoulder with his left.

'What about that attorney?'

'You heard him waive that right, didn't you? This is no homeboy, Nat. This guy's an MBA. There's no one going to say he didn't understand his Miranda.'

The Scientific Investigation Division was in the basement of New Parker Center. Curtis found Charlie Seidler and Janet Bragg in the cafeteria fetching coffees from the machine.

'Want one, Frank?' asked Bragg.

'Thanks. Cream, two sugars.'

'That's a sweet tooth you've got there,' observed Seidler as Bragg pressed the buttons on the machine. 'Man your age ought to be more careful about what he eats and drinks.'

'Gee, thanks, Charlie. Man your age yourself. Besides, I need the energy.'

They went into the lab.

'Well, Frank, the team went all round your suspect's apartment,' said Seidler. 'Found nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a bottle of Scotch.'

Curtis sighed wearily and then looked at Dr Bragg. She handed him a file containing three sheets of paper and a sheaf of photographs.

'He was hit — and hit hard mind — by a very strong man,' she said, without consulting her notes. The impact caused a depressed fracture of the skull and broke his neck for good measure. It even broke one of his teeth. I can't give you much idea of the kind of weapon used except to say that it wasn't a club or a bat or anything cylindrical. Something flat, more like. As if someone dropped an object on his head. Or hit him with a piece of the sidewalk.

'And here's another thing. I've had a look at your suspect's passport and it says he's only five-eight. Weighs around one-ten. Unless Gleig was kneeling down in that elevator car, there's just no way he couid have hit him. Or unless your man was standing on a box. Like Alan Ladd.'

Bragg noticed the look of disappointment on Curtis's face.

'If he was involved then he must have had someone else with him. Someone taller and stronger. A man of your build, perhaps. A man who likes cream and two sugars in his coffee.'

Curtis showed them the picture. 'So why have I got a picture of just one suspect?'

'You're the detective, Frank,' said Bragg.

'My suspect reckons this is a fake, Charlie.'

'Did a computer generate this?' asked Seidler.

Curtis nodded.

'Not my bag I'm afraid,' shrugged Seidler, 'but I can try someone.' He picked up the telephone and punched out a number. 'Bill? It's me, Charlie. Listen, I'm in the lab with someone from Homicide. Could you come in a minute and give us your head on something? Thanks a lot.'

Seidler replaced the receiver.

'Bill Durham. He's our photographic expert.'

A little man with a dark beard came bustling through the door. Seidler made the introductions and then Curtis showed him the picture. Durham produced a magnifying glass from the pocket of his white coat and examined the picture carefully.

'A traditional photograph is easy to test, and easy to prove,' he said.

'You've got exposed films, negatives, prints, all very physical stuff. But something generated by a computer — well, that's a very different story. You're dealing with digital images.' Durham looked up. 'I couldn't say whether this is a fake or not.'

'But it's possible?' said Curtis.

'Oh sure, it's possible all right. You get two base digitized images…'

'Wait, wait,' said Curtis.

'They're numbers. A computer can store anything as a series of binary numbers. You have one image of the black guy and another of the Chinese guy, right? You silhouette the Chinese guy out of whatever background he's in and then place it on top of the picture that includes the other guy. Then you mask the two figures out of the surrounding area so that the background can be evened out without affecting them. If you're clever you alter the shadows to make them consistent and maybe add a few random pixels to help degrade the image of the black guy, maybe match the grain of the other picture. Not much more to it than that. You could store it on disc, on computer tape, whatever, indefinitely. Hard copy it whenever you liked.'

Curtis pulled a face.