Rhyme was already online. He found a digital version of the magazine Holbrook had mentioned and scrolled to the pages cited. It was an advertisement for a product made by a company called CIR Microsystems. Much of the copy was technical, none of which he understood at first glance. Featured was a gray box with wires protruding. According to a caption, it was a DataWise5000.
"The hell is it?" Rhyme asked.
Archer shook her head and went online. A few seconds of Google and she had an answer. "Well. Listen to this. It's a smart controller."
"I believe I've heard the term. Tell me more."
She read for a few minutes then explained: "A lot of products have them built in. Conveyance systems--escalators, elevators--and cars, trains, industrial machinery, medical equipment, construction equipment. Hundreds of consumer appliances: stoves, heating systems, lighting in your house, security, door locks. You can send and receive data to and from machinery with your phone or tablet or computer, wherever you are. And control the products remotely."
"So maybe a maintenance worker sent a signal by mistake and the access panel opened? Or stray radio waves triggered it."
"It's possible. I'm on Wikipedia. And... oh. My."
"What?"
"I'm just reading about CIR Micro, the maker of the controller."
"And?"
"The head of the place, Vinay Parth Chaudhary, is being called the new Bill Gates." She looked over at Rhyme. "And the company's worth eight hundred billion. Let's call Evers Whitmore. I think we're back in the game."
CHAPTER 17
No help from CSU headquarters on the brand of varnish or cosmetics found at the earlier Unsub 40 scenes, or the type of sawdust. Nor had there been any more insights into trace or DNA on the White Castle napkins.
But at least the car service lead blossomed.
"Got it." Ron Pulaski held up a pad to Sachs, sitting across from him in their war room at One PP. The young officer read from his notes. "Driver, Eduardo. He remembers the unsub, picked him up across the street from the White Castle, had a bag full of burgers. Ate them while they drove. A dozen. Maybe more. He talked to himself some. And spoke in a weird monotone. Skinny, looked down all the time. Scary. And it was the day of the murder."
"The driver got a good look at him?"
"Not really. Just: lanky, skinny, tall. The green jacket and Atlanta baseball cap."
Sachs asked, "How could he not get a look at him?"
"Dirty glass. The partition, you know. Plexiglas."
He added that the driver had dropped their unsub in downtown Manhattan, about four blocks from the murder site.
"What time?"
"About six p.m."
Hours before the murder. What had he done during the intervening time? she wondered.
Pulaski added, "The driver stayed at the corner where he dropped him off--had some calls to make--and watched him for a minute. The unsub didn't go to any of the buildings at the intersection near where they stopped; he walked a block away to another one. The driver could have dropped him there, but maybe our boy didn't want to be seen going into a particular place." The young officer went online, she could see, and called up a map of the city.
He tapped a satellite image, overhead, of a building. "Here it is. This has to be it, from what he described."
The picture view revealed a small building, terra-cotta in color. "Small factory, offices, warehouse?"
"Doesn't seem residential."
Sachs said, "Let's go take a look."
They left One PP and headed downstairs to her car. In ten minutes they were cruising through congested downtown traffic, Sachs pumping the accelerator in low gears when she could, cutting in and out of the lanes as aggressively as ever.
Wondering, as she often did, what would they learn?