Halting State by Charles Stross Read Free Book Online

gonnae have to put it on unpaid hours and file for a time credit from Human Resources. It’s even threatening to snitch to the Occupational Health Department that your Work/Life Balance is out of kilter: If this goes on, it’ll be off to the compulsory Yoga and Aromatherapy classes with Stress Management for you. Inspector Mac will gently chide you in that calm and measured tone of voice that’s fifty times worse than being screamed at by a tanked-up ned: politely enquiring why you didn’t talk the idiot into going straight to SOCA instead of dropping his pants on your desk (and Mac’s by proxy). And speaking of neds, that’s exactly what there’s going to be one more of back on the streets if the sheriff fails to see your testimony in their browser when they come to that case.
    Congratulations. You’ve got the investigation from hell to add to your desk load: one that’s probably going to run and run for weeks and months, suck in scarce resources from all over, and likely as not will never deliver a clean-up because the festering cunts who go in for high-order stock scams and use botnets in Pakistan can also afford silver-tongued barristers. So your clean-up metric is about to take a nose-dive in the shitter, and all because Wayne Richardson, Marketing Director, panicked and phoned 211 instead of listening to his boss and emailing his company lawyers.
    Things are just about coming together in an investigatory sort of way. You’ve borrowed the MD’s office, and they’ve hooked you up with access outwith the corporate DMZ so you can talk to the station again. Along with the formal caution, you tipped them the nod that they’ll get their shinies back after the ICE take a gander at them, which may take some time, so they should kick back and relax. With any luck, that should stop them from getting all upset while the Information Crime Executive play with their toys. (You wouldn’t bother except they’re Victims, and Victims of Class at that, and the Victim’s Charter Ombudsman can have your guts for downpipes if you piss them off: So don’t do that, alright?) You’ve called the said scene-of-crime boys and told them to get their arses down here, and you’ve uploaded that first barking boardroom scene up to the station server, and you’ve tasked Bob with getting statements, fingerprints, and DNA swabs from the other witnesses.
    You’re getting ready to take a deposition from Wayne Richardson, Prize Twat, and you’re beginning to feel like it’s all under control, when your phone rings. It’s on voice-only and with a sinking feeling you see it’s the skipper. “I ken I’m late, sir, but there’s nothing to be done about it, this one’s doing my head in. If you’ve been following it…?”
    “Aye well, I have that, Sue.” Mac sounds unnaturally phlegmatic about the whole business. “It’s not your fault you’re running late. How many statements have you got lined up?”
    You take a deep breath. “There’s eight o’ them in the shop, and another who works from home. They’re trying to call him in but he isna answering his phone or IM. There was no signal down here ’til I got them to give me a line, so I went manual at first. I’ve sent you the boardroom shoot, that’s our formal complaint. I was about to have a talk with Mr. Richardson from Marketing, to get the statements going. The alleged crime…I’ve just uploaded a copy o’ their video grab; I figure it speaks for itself. I’ve called ICE in, but they’re swearing blind about how the crime happened on a bunch of mobile phones all over the planet, so I figure we’re just going to have to hope there’s some evidence for them to find when they lift their laptops. Just getting a straight story about what it is these folks do for a living is giving me a migraine. Anyway, even with Bob helping, interviewing this shower is going to take me a couple of days, and I’m not afrit to say, I’m in over my head, sir.”
    Which is the honest