Fantasy in Death (3 page)

“This place is a cathedral to all that is E and Game,” McNab called up.

“I’m sure the dead guy up here would be thrilled with your approval. Holo-room, third floor.”

She headed up herself, then paused a moment when she saw Chief Medical Examiner Morris hadn’t sent one of his team for the on-scene, but had come himself.

He looked good, but then he always did. His slick black suit missed being funereal by the touches of silver in the cord braided through his long queue and the subtle pattern of his tie. Still, he seemed to wear black more often these days, and she understood it was a subtle symbol of mourning for his lost lover.

It had been his life Eve had crushed one morning in the spring, his life she knew would never be quite the same because of that loss.

He must have sensed her for even as he continued to examine the body, he spoke. “This is something you don’t see every day, even when you’re us.”

“That’s what I said.”

He looked up then, and his exotic face softened, just a little, with a smile. “But then people often lose their heads over murder. When the data came in, I wanted to see for myself, on-scene.” He nodded toward the head. “From the spatter and pool, it appears that part of him left this part of him in a hurry, went splat—”

“Is that a medical term?”

“Of course. Splat and roll. It’s fate’s little jab in the ribs that the face landed up and toward the door. It looks like the poor bastard died before he knew his head took wing, but we’ll take all of him in and see what we see.”

“A lot of force to decapitate that clean, and a damn sharp blade.”

“I’d agree.”

“The girlfriend’s about five-two, maybe a hundred and ten fully dressed. She wouldn’t have the muscle. A droid could do it.”

“Possibly, if the programming was altered and enhanced.”

“I haven’t come across anything that says self-termination, but a logical theory, given the circumstance, might be he wanted out, wanted out in a flashy way. Programs the droid. It does the job, disposes of the weapon, resets the security. It feels like bullshit, but it’s an angle.”

“People often do the incomprehensible. It’s what makes them so fascinating. Was he in play?”

“Apparently. Whatever disc he had going is fail-safed, still in the unit.” She gestured to the controls. “EDD’s heading upstairs. Maybe he had the droid in play, too, and something went very wrong.” But she shook her head, slid her hands into her pockets. “And that wouldn’t explain the droid reprogramming itself. It’s cutting-edge—ha-ha—according to Peabody, but that’s beyond any edge. Droids require a human operator to alter programming.”

“As far as I know, but then I don’t know much about this sort of thing. In general, human-replicate droids strike me as mildly creepy and just a little pitiable.”

“Yes!” She pulled her hand out of her pocket to point at him. “Exactly.”

“And since they don’t do the incomprehensible without that human operator programming it, they’re just not that interesting.” Morris shrugged as he got to his feet. “You should ask your expert consultant, civilian. He’d know whatever there would be to know, I’d think.”

“I’ll see what the department geeks have to say before I tap Roarke.”

“Whoa.”

She turned to see the aforesaid geeks step in.

“Big whoa,” McNab repeated. “Now that’s a large fucking shame. Bart Minnock, boy genius.”

“I always figured he’d come out ahead.” Callendar winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s inevitable. That’s Morris’s.” Eve jerked a thumb toward the two pieces of Minnock, then the control panel. “That’s yours. It appears the vic came in to play or maybe to test a new program. Whatever he put in is still in there. It’s passcoded and fail-safed. I need it out without damaging it or the unit. I need the security on this door and the entrance door fine-toothed. The logs say nobody went in or out once he locked in, but since he didn’t do that to himself with his fingernails, the logs are off. Peabody and I will be in the field. Since everyone here has a good head on their shoulders—see? Inevitable. I’ll expect some progress by the time we get back to Central.”

She left them to it, signaled to Peabody.

“Uniforms did the knock-on-doors,” Peabody told her as they started out. “Since his place takes up the top three floors of the building, we didn’t get anything. The doorman on duty last night came in when contacted. He confirms time of arrival, and swears no one came in for Minnock or accessed any of the three floors until the girlfriend went up this morning.”

“A smart e-geek employs, works with, and knows other smart e-geeks. Let’s go find out who didn’t like good old Bart.”

U-Play sprawled and spread over the converted warehouse. Activity, and what struck Eve as a manic energy, buzzed and beeped in the air. From the countless comps and screens, the open labs and offices came the sounds of vehicle crashes, space wars, maniacal laughter, booming threats, and the cheers of the victorious.

Little worlds, complex fantasies, endless competition, Eve thought. How did anyone keep it straight?

People, some who looked barely old enough to buy a brew and all clad in wild colors or the sag and bag of lounge wear, bounced over the four open floors. To her ear, they seemed to all talk at once in their incomprehensible e-shorthand as they operated handhelds, communicated on headsets, played with smart screens, and slurped down a variety of bottled go-drinks.

It was like EDD on Zeus, Eve thought.

“It’s Nerd World,” Peabody said. “Or Geek Galaxy. I can’t decide which because it’s full of nerds and geeks.”

“It’s Nerd World in the Geek Galaxy. How can they hear themselves think? Why doesn’t anybody close a door?”

“As someone who lives with a geek with aspects of nerd, I can tell you they claim the noise, the movement, the basic chaos keeps them up, keeps them sharp.”

“Their heads should all explode.” Eve watched people ride up and down old freight elevators cased with glass or jog up and down iron stairs in clunky airboots or skinny skids. Others lounged in reclining chairs and sofas playing games with the glassy and focused stare of marathon runners.

Eve grabbed one, a young woman wearing what looked to be a pair of overalls that had been splattered with paint by a crazed three-year-old.

“Who’s in charge?”

The woman, who had multiple rings in her ears, nose, eyebrows, blinked. “Of what?”

“Of this.” Eve raised an arm to encompass the madness.

“Oh. Bart. But he’s not in yet. I don’t think.”

“Who’s next? Down the chain?”

“Um.”

“Let’s try this.” Eve pulled out her badge.

“Oh, gosh. We’re all legal and stuff. Maybe if you want to talk about licenses and all that, you want Cill or Benny or Var.”

“Where do I find Cill or Benny or Var?”

“Um.” She pointed up. “Probably on three.” She turned a circle, looking up. “There’s Benny, on three. Really tall guy, red dreads? I got work, okay. So... cha.”

Benny Leman topped out at about six foot eight, by Eve’s gauge, and ran about two hundred after soaking in a lake for a few hours. He was a walking stick figure with skin the depth and gloss of ebony and a fiery headful of floppy dreadlocks.

By the time they’d climbed to the third floor, her eardrums throbbed from the noise, her eyes twitched from the assault of color and image, and she’d decided U-Play was in reality the seventh circle of hell.

She found Benny doing the typical e-geek prance as he shouted strange terms into his headset, operated a palm unit with one hand, and bapped his fingers on a smart screen with the other.

Still, he managed to send her a blinding white smile and hold up a hand in a “just a sec” gesture. His words hit her in one long buzz about nano, mothers, terabytes and CGI.

The ’link on his loaded work counter beeped, and when his pocket began to chime, Eve assumed he had a ’link in there, too. Someone came to the doorway, lifted the thumb of one hand, gave a back-and-forth move with the other. Benny answered with a nod, shrug, and shuffle, which seemed to satisfy his coworker, who dashed away.

“Sorry.” In a pretty voice with just a hint of island breezes, Benny ignored the chimes and beeps to offer another smile. “We’re a little busy around here this morning. If you’re here for the interview, you really want Cill. I can—”

“Mr. Leman.” Eve held up her badge. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”

“Golly.” Though the smile remained, it edged toward puzzled. “Is somebody in trouble about something?”

“You could say that.” She gestured to Peabody to close the door. Like the walls, it was glass, but at least it cut some of the noise. “Would you turn off that screen?”

“Okay. Am I in trouble about something? Oh shit, did Mongo get on the ’link? I didn’t get home last night, but my droid’s supposed to look after him. I—”

“Who’s Mongo?”

“My parrot. He’s a good boy, but he likes to access the ’link for cranks.”

“It’s not about your parrot. It concerns Bart Minnock.”

“Bart? Bart’s in trouble? That explains why I can’t reach him. But Bart wouldn’t do anything illegal. Does he need a lawyer? Should I...” Something crossed his face—a new kind of puzzlement, and the first shadows of fear. “Is he hurt? Was there an accident?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you Mr. Minnock was murdered yesterday.”

“Oh come on!” Quicksilver anger replaced the fear. “He was here yesterday. This isn’t funny. Bart knows I cruise a joke as much as anybody, but this isn’t chuckle.”

“It’s not a joke, Mr. Leman,” Peabody said gently. “Mr. Minnock was killed late yesterday afternoon in his home.”

“Nuh-uh.” The childish denial came out poignantly as tears sheened deep, dark eyes. Benny took one stumbling step back, then simply sat on the floor. “No. Not Bart. No.”

To keep their faces level, Eve crouched. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and I understand this is a shock, but we need to ask you some questions.”

“In his apartment? But he has security. He has good security. He’s too trusting. Did he let someone in? I don’t understand.” He looked at her pleadingly as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Are you sure? Are you positive?”

“Yes. Do you know someone who’d want to hurt him?”

“Not Bart.” Benny shook his head. “Not Bart. How? How is he dead?”

She wanted to wait on the details. “When did you last see him or have contact with him?”

“He left early yesterday. I’m not sure. About four, maybe. He had a date with CeeCee. His girl. And he had some things he wanted to do at home. He was really happy.” He grabbed Eve’s hand. “CeeCee? Is she hurt? Is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She wasn’t there.”

On a ragged breath, Benny closed his eyes. “No, that’s right. He was going to her place, for dinner.” He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, then just left his face buried in them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Was he having any trouble here, with the company, with employees?”

“No. No. Things are good. Really good. It’s a happy place. Bart runs a happy place.”

“What about competitors?”

“Nothing, really. Some try to hack in, or try to get a weasel inside. That’s just the way it is. It’s kind of like another game. Bart’s careful. We’re all careful. We have good security. We screen and delouse and realign regularly.”

The door opened. Eve glanced back to see a stunning Asian woman with black hair tied at her nape to fall straight to her waist. Her eyes glowed cat green in her fine-boned face.

“Bens, what the hell? I’m piled up by six, and you’re... What’s wrong?” She rushed in to drop by his side. “What happened?”

“It’s Bart, Cilly, it’s Bart. He’s dead.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid.” She slapped his arm, started to rise again, but he grabbed her hand.

“Cilly, it’s true. These are the police.”

“What are you talking about?” Her reaction Eve gauged as insult as she pushed fluidly to her feet. “Let me see some badges.”

She snatched Eve’s then yanked a miniscanner out of her pocket. “Okay, maybe it reads genuine, but—” She broke off, and her hand trembled slightly as she stared at the name on the badge, then at Eve’s face. “Dallas,” she whispered. “You’re Roarke’s cop.”

“I’m New York’s cop,” Eve corrected, then took back the badge.

“Roarke’s cop doesn’t bullshit.” Cill knelt down, wrapped an arm tight around Benny’s bony shoulders. “What happened to Bart? Oh God, oh crap, what happened to Bart?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk, privately, that’s not the floor?” Eve asked.

“Ah.” Cill passed a hand over her face. “Break room. It’s up a level. I can clear it. But we need Var. We need to hear it together before we... before we tell the others.” She turned, laid her brow against Benny’s. “I’ll clear it and get Var. Just give me a minute. Benny’ll bring you up.” She leaned back, took another breath before meeting Eve’s eyes again. “You do murders. I know that, and it means Bart was... Did they hurt him? Just tell me if they hurt him.”

“I can tell you I believe it was very quick.”

“Okay. Okay. You take them upstairs, Bens, and don’t say anything to anybody until we know what happened.” She cupped his face briefly. “Just hang on now.”

She rose, dashed out.

“What’s your function here, Benny?” Eve asked. “Yours, Cill’s, Var’s. What’s the pecking order?”

“On, ah, paper we’re like co-VPs. But Cill’s GID—Get It Done. I’m GTB—Go To Benny, and Var’s BS—Brainstorm. Everybody knows they can come to one of us or—or Bart if they have an idea or a problem.”

“And what was Bart’s unofficial title?”

“Triple B. Big Brain Boss.” His smile wobbled. “He’s always the smartest one in the room. I guess I should take you up.”

When they arrived, the wall screens were blank, the comps quiet, and the scatter of seats empty. Cill stood staring at one of the several vending machines. They offered fancy coffees, what appeared to be every soft drink on the planet, and a 24/7’s stock of snacks. Eve imagined the AutoChefs were as primed as Bart’s home units had been, and had a low-grade urge for pizza.

“I thought I wanted a power drink, because I always want a power drink,” Cill murmured. “But I don’t.” She turned around. “Var’s coming right up. I didn’t tell him why. I thought... anyway, do you want something? I can just use my pass.”