Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(100)

“Too much for you?” She cocked her head. “No problem. I’ll get McNab on it.”

“That’s bitchy. On here?”

“Yeah, I’ve just about got—”

“Go away.” He sat, then glanced back at her scowling face. “Now.”

“Fine. But don’t spend the next century fiddling with it. I just need it clear enough to—”

“Close the door behind you, whether or not it hits you in the ass.”

“No need to get pissy,” she muttered, and closed the door behind her with a sharp snap.

Since she’d forgotten to get coffee before being kicked out of her own damn office, she stopped and snarled at Vending. Machine and technology, not her friends in the best of times, were currently on her short list. She fingered the loose credits in her pockets and considered her options.

“Hey, Dallas.” McNab bounced up. “Great minds.” He punched in his code, ordered up a Tango Fizzy—tangerine and mango, Eve thought as her stomach curdled. “Here, get me a Pepsi.” She shoved credits at him.

“No prob.”

“Any activity on the scan?”

“Not yet. We brought a portable down so I can keep my eye on it while we brief. Anybody takes a stab at hacking in, I’ll know it. Here you go.” He tossed her the tube. “Peabody says Cill Allen’s hanging in so far. Hope she makes it, but I gotta say, I hate she might pop up and say, ‘Hey, it was Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick’ and make it easy after we put this much time in.”

“Who the hell is Colonel Mustard?”

“You know, from the game. Clue. You should play it. You’d kill.”

“I’ve had about enough of games that kill.” She considered him as she cracked the tube. He was young, and as into gaming as anyone she knew. Plus, being a cop, violence was part of his life. “Would you want that? Want to play games where the stakes were real?”

“You mean where I could win a zillion dollars? Oh shit, yeah.”

“No. Well, okay, say there’s a big cash prize.” Because if this thing ever went public, somebody would figure a way to gamble on it. “But to win, even qualify, you had to face off against opponents with real weapons. Real blood, real pain—and potentially fatal.”

“So I risk getting my ass kicked, maimed, or dead for money and/or glory? I do that anyway.” He smiled, shrugged. “Why would I want to do it for game? Gaming’s how you get away from the real for a while.”

“Yeah. You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“Thanks.” He lifted his fizzy as she walked away, then clicked in. “Hey!”

She strode into the conference room, nodded as the efficient Peabody finished the setup. She gestured toward the components and screens. “That’s the monitor on the dummy files?”

“Yeah. If anyone tries to hack in, access the case files, read, scan copy, infect, EDD will know and trace. I’m keeping my eye on it for a minute while McNab grabs some fluids. The others are on their way.”

“Roarke might be late. He’s working on something for me.”

“Wouldn’t mind him working on something for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm? Oh, just talking to myself,” Peabody sang. “You know how it is.”

Eve strolled over, clipped the back of Peabody’s head with the flat of her hand.

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry, just an involuntary reflex. You know how it is.” She shifted Var’s ID photo from the group on the murder board and set it dead center.

“Him?”

“Him.”

“Good. I just won a fifty-dollar bet with myself.”

“First, how do you win a bet with yourself?”

“See, I bet myself fifty it was Var. I win, so I put it in my investment kitty. When I get a decent chunk in the kitty, Roarke’s going to invest it for me.”

“What if you’d lost?”

“Then I’d put it in the investment kitty, but it’s more satisfying to win.”

“Okay. Why’d you bet for—against—forget that. Why Var?”

“A couple things. His apartment was perfect, both times a team went in. Okay, a lot of people are neat freaks, but he’d be the first serious gamer I know who doesn’t have a few stray discs sitting around, or some crumbs where he grabbed a snack while he was playing. And he said he’d been playing the night Cill was attacked. Maybe I just didn’t want it to be Benny because he really loves her, and if I was wrong about that, it’d be depressing. Who wants to be depressed?”

“Poets,” Eve decided. “You have to think they must.”

“Okay, other than poets. Plus, Benny strikes me as more of a follower. You have to be a self-starter to pull this off. I think. So if it came down between the two of them, I bet on Var.”

“I may need a tissue, my pride waters me right up.”

She looked over as the EDD team came in. “All right. Let’s get started. Roarke’s working on something for me, so we won’t wait for him. I’ve already briefed him.”

She called the first images on-screen while the team settled. “Victim One, Minnock, Bart, decapitated while engaged in play of Fantastical in his holo-room, secured, in his apartment, also secured. Thus far we’ve found nothing to indicate another entry, invited or forced.”