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

“They’re a lovely family.”

Her gaze tracked as they continued on, as she looked for anything out of place, anything she might have missed before. “I don’t know why it always surprises me to see that sort of thing. Maybe I don’t generally interview lovely families. Steady ones. My impression is Bart came from the same. Maybe it’s a disadvantage in its own way.”

“What way would that be?”

“You can end up too simple and too trusting.” She glanced at him. “That’s sure not our problem.”

“The cop and the criminal?” He laid a stroke down her back. “I’d wager there’s a good many of those from steady families as well. Is that what worries you, Eve, about starting one of our own? Not time yet,” he added, helplessly amused by the quick panic in those canny cop’s eyes. “But when it is, is that your worry? We’ll either raise cops, criminals, or the too trusting?”

“I don’t have a clue. But just a for instance, who’ll remember to say, ‘No more fizzies’? What if I want one? Or no pizza for dinner again, when come on, why the hell not? It’s another endless set of rules to learn. I haven’t worked my way through the marriage rules yet.”

“And yet, here we are.” He lowered his head to kiss her lightly. “I think there’s a lot of on-the-job training involved in raising children.”

“That’s fine when it’s consenting adults, but it ought to be a lot more solid when there’s one of those little squirmy things involved, like Mavis’s Bella. Anyway...” She’d let herself become distracted, and Bart deserved better.

“He goes in, alone or with a playmate. Alone doesn’t make sense. His pocket ’link was still on him, and shut off—downtime corresponds to the holo-log entry. He came in, shut down his coms so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Or someone shut them down for him. But alone would mean someone came in after him, which means that person or persons circumvented the security not only on the building, but the apartment and this room.”

Blowing out a breath, she shook her head. “It’s too much work, too much trouble. If you’re that good, you minimize the risks.”

“And come in with him.”

“He had to have company in here. Maybe he’d planned it that way, though there’s nothing on any of his ’links or comps to show he intended to meet anyone. An impulse. Someone from work, from the building, someone he ran into on the way home. And still an outsider had to get by the doorman unless they came in earlier or accessed another opening in the building. Delivery entrance, roof, an empty apartment. We know at least one apartment’s vacant with the Trevors on vacation. Probably others, or others just empty during the day.”

“They’d have to expect Bart to come home in order to cross paths.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Which goes right back to someone from U-Play. All it takes is one tag. He’s on his way. Get in, arrange to run into him—knock on the door a couple minutes after he’s inside. Time to have him shut down the droid so he’s got everything set for game time. ‘Hey, how’s it going—I was just in the neighborhood, thought I saw you come in.’ Bart’s all whistling-a-tune happy, excited. He’s nearly ready to launch his baby, just wants to play with it first, fine-tune. Here’s someone he knows. Another game player. It virtually has to be or why bring them in?”

She paced the room, stopped, put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like it. Too loose, too many variables.” She closed her eyes a moment, tried to see another angle. “He takes the game disc, but doesn’t log it. Or he did and someone doctored the log. Either way, it’s a work thing. Someone from work, someone involved in the project, maybe someone he wants along to help with specifics. But on the down-low. They don’t come in together, so maybe the killer arranges to meet him. ‘I’ll be right behind you’ sort of thing. Gives him a chance to get in another way, before or after Bart leaves. Before’s better. Got a couple things to do first, so I’ll meet you. Access on the sly so nobody knows you’re there. Disc’s not logged out, and Bart’s place is a short walking distance from the warehouse. Busy place. Is anyone really going to notice if someone’s gone for an hour?

“It could work.” Complicated, she thought again, but doable. And didn’t gamers prefer the complex? “You’re in, and the only person who knows you’re in is going to be dead.”

“And the weapon?” Roarke asked.

“Big shiny toy. Look what I’ve got. Just had to show you. Game’s in, and they play because that’s got to be part of it. The competition, the game. It wasn’t a goddamn accident. It was premeditated. Otherwise there’s no need to avoid coming in through security. No need to time it just so. Some sort of war fantasy, fight, sports—something to explain the minor bruising. Fight. Sword fight? Knights in shining freaking armor or warlords or whatever the f**king hell boys play.”

She circled the room trying to see it, to get some sort of picture in her head. “Maybe Bart’s getting the upper hand, racking up points. That just pisses you off, helps wind you up for the kill. Give him a taste first or maybe you just missed. First blood with that arm wound. See the shock on his face, smell the blood—it’s like copper on the back of the throat. Then one vicious swing, and it’s done. End of game. The blood’s real though, so much of it now that copper taste is too strong. Clean up, change clothes, stuff the bloody ones in a bag. Get out the same way you got in.”