Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(14)

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.”

She had the protesting and now actively weeping Roland escorted to Central, then sent a team of officers to scoop up Dubrosky and take him in.

His criminal didn’t show any violent crimes, she mused, but there was always a first time.

She finished her interviews, calculating it would give Roland time to stop crying and Dubrosky time to stew. She found two more who admitted they’d talked about the project to a friend or spouse or cohab, but the Chadwick-Dubrosky connection seemed the best angle.

She broke open a tube of Pepsi while she checked in with the sweepers and added to her notes. She looked up as the door opened, and Roarke stepped in.

He changed the room, she thought, just by being in it. Not just for her, but she imagined for most. The change came from the look of him, certainly, long and lean with that sweep of dark hair, the laser blue eyes that could smolder or frost. But the control, the power under it demanded attention be paid.

Even now, she thought, when she could see the sorrow on that wonderful face, he changed the room.