Fantasy in Death (5 page)

“It’s a leap,” Cill said. “A true leap in merged techs. We’re working out some kinks, and we’ve projected we can have it on the market in time for the holiday blast. When it hits, U-Play’s going to go through the roof. Bart wanted it more user-friendly, and to keep the price point down. So we’ve been working on home and arcade and... it’s complicated.”

“We’ve got a lot invested, in the technology, the application, the programming, the simulations. If any of it leaks before we’re ready to launch...” Var’s mouth tightened.

“It could take us under,” Cill finished. “It’s a make or break.”

“In six months, a year, we’d be up there with SimUlate. We’d be global, and seriously ding in off-planet,” Benny told her. “Not just the up-and-comer, not just the wonder kids of gaming. We’d
be
gaming. But without Bart...”

“I don’t know if we can do it. I don’t know how we can do it,” Cill said.

“We have to.” Var took her hand. “We can’t lose this. Bart started it, and we have to finish it. You have to keep the game under wraps,” Var told Eve. “You have to. If anybody gets their hands on that development disc—”

“It self-destructed when the e-team tried to remove it.”

“Seriously?” Benny blinked. “Frosty. Sorry,” he said instantly. “Sorry. It’s just... Bart must have added the security. That’s why he’s Bart.”

“How many copies are there?”

“There were four. One for each of us to work with. It’s what I was working on last night,” Benny added. “I had it in sim, playing operator, and working with a droid. Mostly we work on it after the rest of the crew leaves.”

“Only the four of you know about it?”

“Not exactly. Everybody knows we’re working on something big. We’ve got a lot of good brains in here,” Cill commented. “We use them. But nobody knows exactly what we’ve got. Just pieces. And yeah, some of those brains are smart enough to put a lot of the pieces together. But we’ve been careful to keep it on the low. Leaks are death in gaming.”

She seemed to realize what she’d said, and shivered. “Do you think somebody found out, and...”

“It’s an angle. I’m going to need a copy of the game.”

The three of them stared at her, miserably.

“Look, if it’s what you say it is, and anything leaks on my end, you’re going to sue the department and possibly the city of New York for a big-ass bundle. If I’m culpable, you can probably sue me, too. I’ll lose my rep and very likely my badge—and those are every bit as important to me as the game is to you. My only interest in the game is how it pertains to Bart’s murder.”

“She’s Roarke’s cop,” Cill said.

“What? Shit.”

Cill shoved around, burned Var with a look. “Roarke’s not going to steal from us. He wouldn’t rob Bart’s grave, goddamn it.” Tears flowed again. “He helped us get started. He
liked
Bart.”

“Roarke knew Bart?” Eve asked, and tried not to let her stomach sink.

“He wanted to recruit us.” Cill swiped at tears with the backs of her hands while her eyes shimmered in green pools. “All of us, but I think especially Bart. But we wanted to start our own. He helped us out, gave us advice, let us play off him for ideas on how to set it all up. We’ve all got an open offer from Roarke Industries, SimUlate, or any of the arms. He wouldn’t steal from us. If we’ve got to give over a copy, I’d want it to be to Roarke’s cop, and Roarke. He’ll make sure nobody gets their hands on it. He’d do that for Bart.”

She rose, still swiping at tears. “We’ll need to talk to the lawyer. We’d need to cover that much, and maybe get some sort of documentation on producing a copy for you. It’ll take a while to make a copy anyway. We’ve got a lot of security levels on it, and it’s dense, so it could take a while. Maybe a day to get it handled. But I’ll take care of it. Bart’s dead,” she said before either of her friends could speak. “Nobody’s going to put anything in the way of finding out who hurt him. Not even us.”

“I’m sorry,” Var said as Cill left the room. “I didn’t mean anything about Roarke, that way.”

“No problem.” Eve’s ’link signaled, told her the e-team had arrived. “My team’s here. You’re going to want to tell your people what’s going on.”

She sent them out, and brought Peabody in. “I’ve got some details on the game the vic had in, and I’ll fill you in on that later. For now, I want to divide everyone on-site between the five of us. Pick five locations for the interviews, get the full list of employees, divvy them up. We’ll follow up with anyone who didn’t report to work today. Get statements, impressions, salients, and alibis. We’re going to run them all, then run their families and known associates. And we’re going to check financials. Maybe we’ve got somebody passing on data to a competitor for a little extra scratch.”

“You think this is about the game?”

“It’s more than a game,” Eve said with a thin smile. “It’s an adventure. I need to take care of something. You can send my share up here when you’ve set up.”

“You get the cool room.”

“Yes, I do. Move.”

Had to be done, Eve thought. She’d have filled him in when she got home in any case. And the murder would leak to the media before much longer. He’d know when it did as he made a point to monitor the crime beat. Just a way to keep up with her.

If she’d had the head for it, she supposed she’d have monitored the stock market and business news. Good thing for him she didn’t have a clue.

She opted for his personal ’link, figuring he’d be too busy wheeling to answer, and she could leave him a v-mail.

But his face flickered on-screen, and those bold blue eyes fixed on hers. “Lieutenant, nice to hear from you.”

The combination of those eyes, the faint lilt of the green hills and valleys of Ireland in his voice, might have turned a weaker woman into a gooey puddle. As it was she couldn’t stop the quick jump of her heart.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever.”

“I’m on my way back from a lunch meeting, so you caught me at a good time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“Florence. The pasta was exceptional. What can I do for you?”

“I caught a case.”

“You often do.”

Better quick, she thought. It somehow always was. “It’s Bart Minnock.”

It changed—the easy good humor, the innate flirtation dropped away. The hard lines of anger didn’t diminish that striking face, but instead made the compelling the dangerous.

“What happened to him?”

“I can’t get into all the details now, but I just found out you knew him. I didn’t want you to hear about it on a media report.”

“Has it to do with his work or was it personal?”

“It’s too soon to say, but his work’s involved.”

“Where are you?”

“U-Play.”

“I’ll be landing in about twenty minutes. I’ll be there within forty.”

“Roarke—”

“If it’s to do with his work, I’ll be helpful. If it doesn’t... We’ll see. He was a sweet boy, Eve. A sweet, brilliant, and harmless boy. I want to do what I can for him.”

She’d expected as much. “Find Feeney when you get here. I’m sorry, Roarke.”

“So am I. How did he die?” When she said nothing, sorrow clouded over the anger. “That bad, was it?”

“I’ll talk to you when you get here. It’s complicated.”

“All right then. It’s good he has you. I’ll be there soon.”

Eve took a breath. He would be helpful, she thought as she stared at the blank screen of her ’link. Not only with the e-work, but with the business. Feeney and his crew knew their e, but they didn’t know the business. Roarke would.

She checked the time, then tried for Morris.

“Dallas.”

“Give me what you can,” she asked. “I don’t know when I’m going to get in there.”

“My house is always open for you. I can tell you he had no drugs or alcohol in his system. Your vic was a healthy twenty-nine—despite, it seems, an appetite for cheese and onion soy chips and orange fizzies. There’s some minor bruising, and the more serious gash on his arm, all peri-mortem. His head was severed with one blow, with a broad, sharp blade.” Morris used the flat of his hand to demonstrate.

“Like an axe?”

“I don’t think so. An axe is generally thicker on the backside. A wedge shape. I’d say a sword—a very large, very strong sword used with considerable force, and from slightly above. A clean stroke.” Again he demonstrated, fisting his hands as if on a hilt, then swinging like a batter at the plate, and cleaving forward. “The anomaly—”

“Other than some guy getting his head cut off with a sword?”

“Yes, other than. There are slight burns in all the wounds. I’m still working on it, but my feeling is electrical. Even the bruising shows them.”

“An electrified sword?”

Humor warmed his eyes. “Our jobs are never tedious, are they? I’ll be with him for a while yet. He’s a very interesting young man.”

“Yeah. I’ll get back to you.”

She pocketed her ’link and began to pace.

A victim secured, alone, in his own holo-room, beheaded by a sword, potentially with electric properties.

Which made no sense.

He couldn’t have been alone because it took two—murderer and victim. So there’d been a breach in his security. Or he’d paused the game, opened up, and let his killer inside. It would have to be someone he trusted with his big secret project.

Which meant his three best pals were top of the suspect list. All alibied, she mused, but how hard was it for an e-geek to slip through building security, head over a few blocks, slip through apartment security, and ask their good pal Bart to open up and play?

Which didn’t explain how they’d managed to get the weapon inside, but again, it could be done.

It had been done.

Reset everything, go back to work.

Less than an hour, even with cleanup time.

Someone at U-Play or someone outside who’d earned the vic’s trust.

Possibly a side dish. Someone he snuck in himself, after he’d told his droid to shut down. He liked to show off. Guys tended to show off for sex, especially illicit sex.

The murder wasn’t about sex, but part of the means might be.

She shuffled the thoughts back at the timid knock on the glass door. Overall Girl, she thought as she came in, who’d added red, weepy eyes to her ensemble.

“They said I had to come up and talk with you ’cause somebody killed Bart. I wanna go home.”

“Yeah, me, too. Sit down.”

Halfway through her complement of interviews, Eve got her first buzz.

Twenty-three-year-old Roland Chadwick couldn’t keep still—but e-jocks were notoriously jittery. His wet hazel eyes kept skittering away from hers. But it was a hard day, and some in the e-game had very limited social skills.

Still, most of them didn’t have guilt rolling off their skin in thick, smelly waves.

“How long have you worked here, Roland?”

He scratched the long blade of his nose, bounced his knees. “Like I said, I interned for two summers in college, then I came on the roll when I graduated. So, like, a year on the roll, then the two summers before that. Altogether.”

“And what do you do, exactly?”

“Mostly research, like Benny. Like what’s out there, how can we twist it, jump it up. Or, like, if somebody’s got a zip on something, I cruise before we step so, like, we’re not hitting somebody else’s deal.”

“So you see everything in development, or on the slate for development.”

“Mostly, yeah.” He jiggled his shoulders, tapped both feet. “Bits and bytes anyhow, or, like, outlines. And you gotta check the titles, the character and place names and that jazz ’cause you don’t want repeats or crossovers. Unless you do, ’cause you’re, like, homage or sequel or series.”

“And yesterday? Where were you?”

“I was, like, here. Clocked at nine-three-oh, out at five. Or close. Maybe five-thirty? ’Cause I was buzzing with Jingle for a while after outs.”

“Did you go out, for a break, for lunch, leave the building before you finished for the day?”

“Not yesterday. Full plate. Yeah, full plate with second helpings.”

“But you took breaks, had some lunch?”

“Yeah, sure. Sure. Gotta fuel it up, charge it up. Sure.”

“So, did you contact anybody? Tag a pal to pass the time with on a break?”

“Ah...” His gaze skidded left. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. And you can tell me or I’ll just find out when we check your comp, your ’links.”

“Maybe I tagged Milt a couple times.”

“And Milt is?”

“Milt’s my... you know.”

“Okay. Does Milt your You Know have a last name?”

“Dubrosky. He’s Milton Dubrosky. It’s no big.” A little sweat popped out above his upper lip. “We’re allowed.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled out her PPC and started a run on Milton Dubrosky. “So you and Milt live together?”

“Kinda. I mean, he still has a place but we’re mostly at mine. Mostly.”

“And what does Milt do?”

“He’s an actor. He’s really good. He’s working on his big break.”

“I bet you help him with that? Help him study lines.”

“Sure.” Shoulders jiggled again; toes tapped. “It’s fun. Kinda like working up a game.”

“Being an actor, he probably has some good ideas, too. Does he help you out there?”

“Maybe.”

“Been together long?”

“Nine months. Almost ten.”

“How much have you told him about Fantastical?”

Every ounce of color dropped out of his face, and for an instant, he was absolutely still. “What?”

“How much, Roland? Those little bits and bytes, or more than that?”

“I don’t know about anything like that.”

“The new project? The big top secret? I think you know something about it. You’re in research.”

“I just know what they tell me. We’re not allowed to talk about it. We had to sign the gag.”

Eve kept an easy smile on her face, and a hard hammer in her heart. “But you and Milt are, you know, and you help each other out. He’s interested in what you do, right?”

“Sure, but—”

“And a big project like this, it’s exciting. Anybody’d mention it to their partner.”

“He doesn’t understand e-work.”

“Really? That’s odd, seeing as he’s done time, twice, for e-theft.”

“No, he hasn’t!”

“You’re either an idiot, Roland, or a very slick operator.” She angled her head. “I vote idiot.”