The Broken Window (Lincoln Rhyme 8)

Pulaski was grinning, though he didn't want to.

"Come on, guys."

"Chill, Whitcomb," Cassel said. "We're joking around. Jesus. Don't be so uptight."

"What're you doing down here, Mark?" Gillespie asked. "Shouldn't you be looking for more laws we're breaking?"

Whitcomb rolled his eyes and gave a sour grin, though Pulaski saw he too was embarrassed--and hurt.

The officer said, "You mind if I look it over here? In case I have some questions?"

"You go right ahead." Cassel walked him to the computer in the corner and logged on. He put the CD in the tray, loaded it and stepped back, as Pulaski sat. The message on the screen asked what he wanted to do. Flustered, he found himself with a number of choices; he didn't recognize any of them.

Cassel stood over his shoulder. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Sure. Just wondering what program's best?"

"You don't have many options," Cassel said, laughing, as if this were obvious. "Excel."

"X-L?" Pulaski asked. He knew his ears were red. Hated it. Just hated it.

"The spreadsheet," Whitcomb offered helpfully, though to Pulaski that was no help whatsoever.

"You don't know Excel?" Gillespie leaned forward and typed so fast his fingers were a blur.

The program loaded and a grid popped up, containing names, addresses, dates and times.

"You've read spreadsheets before, right?"

"Sure."

"But not Excel?" Gillespie's eyebrows were lifted in surprise.

"No. Some others." Pulaski hated himself for playing right into their hands. Just shut up and get to work.

"Some others? Really?" Cassel asked. "Interesting."

"It's all yours, Sergeant Friday. Good luck."

"Oh, that's E-X-C-E-L," Gillespie spelled. "Well, you can see it on the screen. You might want to check it out. It's easy to learn. I mean, a high school kid could do it."

"I'll look into that."

The two men left the room.

Whitcomb said, "Like I said earlier--nobody around here likes them very much. But the company couldn't function without them. They're geniuses."

"Which I'm sure they'll let you know."

"You've got that right. Okay, I'll let you get to work. You all right here?"

"I'll figure things out."

Whitcomb said, "If you get back here to the snake pit, come by and say hi."

"Will do."

"Or let's meet in Astoria. Get some coffee. You like Greek food?"