Midnight by Dean R. Koontz

During the San Francisco office’s investigation of the Sanchez Bustamante case, one of the Bureau’s better agents, Morrie Stein, had been in a patrol car with one of Watkins’s officers, Reese Dorn, when Dorn accessed the central computer for information in departmental files. By then Morrie had suspected that the computer was even more sophisticated than Watkins or his men had revealed, serving them in some way that exceeded the legal limits of police authority and that they were not willing to discuss, so he had memorized the code number with which Reese had tapped into the system. When he had flown to the Los Angeles office to brief Sam, Morrie had said, “I think every cop in that twisted little town has his own computer-access number, but Dorn’s ought to work as well as any. Sam, you’ve got to get into their computer and let it throw some menus at you, see what it offers, play around with it when Watkins and his men aren’t looking over your shoulder. Yeah, I sound paranoid, but there’s too much high-tech for their size and needs, unless they’re up to something dirty. At first it seems like any town, even more pleasant than most, rather pretty … but, dammit, after a while you get the feeling the whole burg is wired, that you’re watched everywhere you go, that Big Brother is looking over your shoulder every damn minute. Honest to God, after a few days you’re gut-sure you’re in a miniature police state, where the control is so subtle you can hardly see it but still complete, iron-fisted. Those cops are bent, Sam; they’re deep into something—maybe drug traffic, who knows—and the computer is part of it.”

Reese Dorn’s number was 262699, and Sam tapped it out on the VDT keyboard. The New Wave logo disappeared. The screen was blank for a second. Then a menu appeared.

CHOOSE ONE A. DISPATCHER B. CENTRAL FILES C. BULLETIN BOARD D. OUTSYSTEM MODEM

To Sam, the first item on the menu indicated that a cruising officer could communicate with the dispatcher at headquarters not only by means of the police-band radio with which the car was equipped but also through the computer link. But why would he want to go to all the trouble of typing in questions to the dispatcher and reading the transmitted replies off the VDT when the information could be gotten so much easier and quicker on the radio? Unless … there were some things that these cops did not want to talk about on radio frequencies that could be monitored by anyone with a police-band receiver.

He did not open the link to the dispatcher because then he would have to begin a dialogue, posing as Reese Dorn, and that would be like shouting, Hey, I’m out here in one of your cruisers, poking my nose in just where you don’t want, so why don’t you come and chop it off.

Instead, he tapped B and entered it. Another menu appeared.

CHOOSE ONE A. STATUS – CURRENT ARRESTEES B. STATUS – CURRENT COURT CASES C. STATUS – RENDING COURT CASES D. PAST ARREST RECORDS – COUNTY E. PAST ARREST RECORDS – CITY F. CONVICTED CRIMINALS LIVING IN COUNTY G. CONVICTED CRIMINALS LIVING IN CITY

Just to satisfy himself that the offerings on the menu were what they appeared to be and not code for other information, he punched in selection F, to obtain data on convicted criminals living in the county. Another menu appeared, offering him ten choices: MURDER, MANSLAUGHTER, RAPE, SEX OFFENSES, ASSAULT AND BATTERY, ARMED ROBBERY, BURGLARY, BREAKING AND ENTERING, OTHER THEFT, MISCELLANEOUS LESSER OFFENSES.

He called forth the file on murder and discovered three convicted killers—all guilty of murder in either the first or second degree—were now living as free men in the county after having served anywhere from twelve to forty years for their crimes before being released on parole. Their names, addresses, and telephone numbers appeared on the screen with the names of their victims, economically summarized details of their crimes, and the dates of their imprisonment; none lived in the city limits of Moonlight Cove.

Sam looked up from the screen and scanned the parking lot. It remained deserted. The omnipresent mist was filled with thicker veins of fog that rippled banner-like as they flowed past the car, and he felt almost as if he were under the sea in a bathyscaphe, peering out at long ribbons of kelp fluttering in marine currents.