Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(18)

“Enough to leak data on Fantastical.”

Dubrosky tried looking blank, but didn’t quite pull it off. “Sorry, never heard of it.”

“Save the bullshit, Dubrosky. My IQ in that area’s tuned and toned. And, Admiring Roland’s already spilled it.” She leaned back. “Admiring you doesn’t mean taking the fall for you. He’s not quite as dumb as you think.”

“Ro’s not dumb.” Dubrosky didn’t miss a beat. “He just gets confused sometimes when it comes to reality. He’s wired to games, and a lot outside his bubble gets past him.”

“Like you have two side pieces, and a penchant for e-spying?”

“It’s not illegal to spread yourself around. Believe me, all my lovers are happy.” He wrapped an arm around the back of his chair, posed. “What’s the harm?”

“It tells me you’ve got no scruples, and a man with no scruples doesn’t think twice about cheating, stealing, lying. It’s a short step over to murder.”

“I don’t kill people, sweetheart. I seduce them.”

“Call me sweetheart again.” She leaned in, eyes flat. “Go ahead.”

“No offense, no offense.” He held up his hands for peace. “I’m not denying I’ve taken my hobby too far a couple times. I get caught up, like anyone else. But if you’ve got my sheet, you know I don’t do violence. The fact is, sweet—Lieutenant,” he corrected quickly, “I don’t need to. And sure, Ro’s told me some things about the big secret project. He’s excited about it, and he likes to talk. Part of a good seduction is listening. I listen. Not a crime.”

“Try listening to this,” Eve suggested. “Do you know what else I have besides your sheet? Your financials. It’s pretty interesting reading, too. All these nice deposits, which I’d say keeps you in salon time with Nanette. More interesting as your employment records indicate you haven’t had a paying job in close to a year.”

“People give me money as gifts. It’s part of the admiring.”

“I’m going to bet Bart didn’t admire you. I’m going to bet when you went to him asking for payment to keep the information your sap passed you, he’d have threatened to go to the cops.”

“I don’t do blackmail.” He glanced down at his nails. “It’s too messy.”

“Here’s something really messy.” Once again she took out the crime scene photos.

Dubrosky didn’t turn green; he didn’t faint, but he did go stark white. “Oh my Jesus. Oh my Christ. Somebody cut off his head.”

“I bet you practice swordfights in those workshops. Action roles, period pieces.” Eve cocked her head as she gave him a cool up-and-down study. “You’re in good shape. I bet you can handle a heavy sword without much trouble.”

“Listen. Listen to me.” Suave vanished in sober. “I make a living sleeping with people who can afford to slip me some cash, buy me nice things. I make more by selling information when I’ve got it. I don’t hurt people. I sure as hell don’t kill them. Roland’s a mark, sure. He’s easy. But the fact is, I’d just about tapped that out, which is why I’m easing over to Britt. She’s got a rich husband who lets her play at acting and spend all the money she wants. He’s out of town a lot—financial consultant. I figure I can tap that for a while, maybe get in the house, hack one of his comps, see what I see. I’m laying groundwork there, so why would I do something like this? I don’t do this. I didn’t do this.”

“Who’d you sell the information to?”

“Ah hell.” He pushed a hand through his hair, ruining its perfection and telling Eve he was sincerely frightened. “If I roll there, you’ve got to cut me a deal.”

“I don’t have to do squat. You’ve already confessed, on record, to corporate espionage. And here’s the thing, Milt. I really, really don’t admire you. Names. Now.”

He sat back, closed his soft, shimmering eyes, and spilled his guts.

When she’d finished with Dubrosky, she had him escorted back to a cell. She would do what she could do to make sure he spent the next few years as a guest of the fine state of New York. And she hoped he sorely missed his salon appointments.

“I got mine,” Peabody told her when they met in Eve’s office.

“Then we’re two for two.” Eve programmed coffee, waved Peabody to the AutoChef so she could get her own.

“I didn’t know half of what he was talking about. The more upset he got, the more he babbled, and the babble got pretty technical. I figure to ask McNab to look over the interview and interpret, but...” Peabody paused to give the coffee a couple of little blows before taking the first sip. “But what I got was he gave Dubrosky the details of his research and whatever work he did on the Fantastical project, and anything else he had a hand in or knew about. The guy’s a walking mouth. They couldn’t be screening as well as they seem to think they are.”

“One of the holes,” Eve murmured, thinking of Roarke’s comment. She walked over to her narrow window, looked out at a passing airtram as she considered. “My guy’s so slimy if I stepped on him I wouldn’t wipe him off my shoe, I’d just incinerate the shoe. He lives off sex and what passes for charm, targeting marks, juggling them. He claims he was having sex with a new target when Bart lost his head. In the Oaks Hotel.”