Fantasy in Death, Page 3

  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-andforth 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.”

  “We’re good, thanks,” Eve told her.

  “You sit down, Benny.” Cill swiped her pass then selected a bottle of water. She pushed it on Benny. “Drink a little.”

  She tended him, Eve thought. Not like a lover but a doting sister.

  Cill went back to Vending, ordered up a coffee. “For Var,” she said. “He’ll want coffee.”

  He came in fast, a stocky man of about thirty wearing the maxi-cargos McNab favored in an eye-friendly khaki, but his well-worn skids were the same stoplight red as his shirt. His brown hair capped short around a face hovering between pleasant and homely.

  “Jeez, Cill, I told you I’m buried today. No time for breaks. And with Bart still off-line I’ve got five shitloads to shovel before I—”

  “Var.” Cill passed him the coffee. “You need to sit down.”

  “I need to move. Seriously. So make it quick and . . .” He noticed Eve and Peabody for the first time. “Sorry.” His face edged slightly closer to pleasant with his smile. “Didn’t know we had company. Are you the reps from Gameland? I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. I’d have been a little more organized by then. Probably.”

  “This is Lieutenant Dallas and . . .”

  “Detective Peabody.”

  “Yeah.” Cill took a deep breath, then closed the glass door. “They’re here about Bart.”

  “Bart?” A quick laugh exploded. “What’d he do? Get drunk and jaywalk? Do we need to post bail?”

  “Sit down, Var,” Cill murmured.

  “Why? What?” Amusement faded. “Oh hell, oh shit, did he get mugged or something? Is he hurt? Is he okay?”

  “We’re Homicide,” Eve said. “Bart Minnock’s been murdered.”

  The coffee slipped out of Var’s hand and splashed over his bright red shoes. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”

  “Sit down, Var.” Cill pulled him to a chair. “Just sit down. We’ll clean that up later.”

  “But this is crazy. Bart can’t be . . . When? How?”

  “Sometime between four-thirty and five yesterday afternoon, in his apartment a few blocks from here. He was found by CeeCee Rove earlier this morning, in his holo-room. He’d been decapitated.”

  After Benny’s strangled gasp, there was utter silence. Beside him, Cill went deathly white. Her hand flayed out, and Var gripped it.

  “Someone cut his head off?” As Cill began to shake, Benny put an arm around her so the three of them sat on the sofa as one unit. “Someone cut Bart’s head off?”

  “That’s correct. It appears he was in the holo-room at the time of the attack, and had programmed a game by disc. EDD is working on removing the disc from the holo-unit. I’m going to need to verify the whereabouts of all of you from three to six yesterday.”

  “We were here,” Cill said quietly. “We were all here. Well, I left just before six. I had a yoga class, and it starts at six. It’s just down the street at Blossom. Benny and Var were still here when I left.”

  “I think I was here until about six-thirty.” Var cleared his throat. “I-I went home. My group’s got a game—a virtual game—of Warlord going, and we played from about seven to ten. Benny was still here when I left, and he was already in when I got here at eight-thirty this morning.”

  “I worked late and bunked here. Some of us were around until seven or eight—I don’t remember, but we can check the logs. I shut the place up, and worked until about one, then I crashed. None of us would hurt Bart. We’re family. We’re family.”

  “They have to know.” Cill leaned her head on his shoulder a moment. “It’s one of the steps. You have to take the steps to get to the next level. If Bart let somebody into his holo, he trusted them, or . . .”

  “Or,” Eve prompted.

  “He was showing off.” Var’s voice broke, and once again he cleared his throat.

  “What might he want to show off? What was he working on he’d want to take home, play with, show off?”

  “We’ve got a lot of things in development,” Var told her. “A lot ready to roll out, others we’re fine-tuning. Bart took hard copies home a lot, to play them out, look for kinks and glitches and ways to pump it up. We all did.”

  “Then he’d have logged it out?”

  “He should have, yeah.” Var stared blankly. “Oh, I could check. I can go check.”

  “I’ll go with you. Peabody,” Eve said with a nod, then followed Var out while her partner continued to interview.

  They took one of the elevators down, with Var waving people off. His pockets sent out chirps and beeps and buzzes. She saw him start to reach in—an instinctive move—then let his hand drop away. “They’ll know something’s up, something’s wrong,” he said to Eve.

  “What do we tell them? I don’t know what to tell them.”

  “We’ll need to interview all the employees. How many are there?”

  “On-site? Seventy or so. We have a couple dozen nationally who work virtually—in sales, in testing, that kind of thing.” He gestured her into an office that looked like the bridge of a starship.

  “This is Bart’s space. It’s, ah, a replica of Galactica’s CIC. Bart works—worked—best when he had fun with it.”

  “Okay. We’ll need to go through his things here, and take his comps and com units in.”

  “Don’t you need a warrant or something?”

  She aimed a cool look. “Do you want me to get one?”

  “No. Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair and sent the short ends into tiny tufts. “No. I just . . . His stuff. It’s all his stuff. He’d have logged anything he took with him on this unit. It’s inventory. The four of us have the same password here, so we can check what’s in and out. There’s a secondary, different for each of us, that’s required on our own units to edit. So we can’t mess around, you know?”

  “All right.”

  He entered the password manually, his back to Eve. “Var,” he said and held his pass up for verification.

  Var is cleared, the computer announced.

  “Show any log-outs for off-site use by Bart for June twenty-third.”

  “Make it a week,” Eve told him.

  “Oh. Amend to June seventeenth to June twenty-third.”

  One momen
t, please. How are you, Var?

  “I’ve been better.”

  I’m sorry to hear that. Here’s your list. Can I help?

  “Not right now, thanks. There’s nothing for yesterday.” He gestured at the screen. “He’s got a couple of in-developments off-site through the week, but he logged them back in. He didn’t have anything out yesterday.”

  “I’ll take a copy of that list, and a copy of any of the programs he took out this week.”

  “Oh wow, Jeez. I can’t. I mean, I really can’t just give you copies of stuff we’ve got in development.” His face went from shocked, to pained, to worried. “It’s, like, secret. Nobody but the four of us is cleared to take anything off-site. Benny won’t even do that until we’re about ready to rock it. It’s why he ends up working all-nighters here. He’s nervous about taking something that’s not in the jump out of the building.”

  “I’ll just get a warrant.”

  “Oh, man. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think straight.” Tears swirled into his eyes before he turned away. “I have to protect the company, but I don’t want to do anything that messes things up. I don’t even know if I can say yes or no. We have to vote on it. The three of us. We’d need to figure it out. Can you let us try to figure it out first?”

  “I’ll give you some time. How long did you know Bart?”

  “Since college. He was already hooked with Cill and Benny. They hit in, like, elementary, and then we all just . . . See the logo.” He pointed to the logo of U-Play on the screen. “He’d come up with a lot of fancier ones, really rocking ones, but he wanted this. The words in a square. He said that was us, the square, because it took four of us to make it happen. Can I be excused for a minute? Please. I just want to, um, take a minute.”

  “Go ahead.”

  As he fled, Eve’s ’link signaled. “Dallas.”

  “I’ve got good news and bad news,” Feeney told her.

  “Good first, it’s been a crap morning.”

  “We were able to dig some of the program details out of the unit. The name’s Fantastical, and it’s coded SID.12—still in development, I’d say twelfth version. It’s got the U-Play copyright, and the date of last edit as of two days ago.”