Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(47)

Eve took out a card, wrote down a couple of names and contacts. “Try one of these names. It can help to talk, and to have somebody listen.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I think I will. Is it a problem if I go home now?”

“No. Cill, do you know the Sing family?”

“Oh sure, sure. The kids are seriously sweet.”

“Var mentioned you were having a service for Bart here tomorrow. They’d like to come. If you’d let them know.”

“Yeah, I will. They’re on my list already, but I’ll take care of it right off. I’ll do it from home. I just think I want to be home.”

“Okay. Where can I find Benny?”

“He was in his office when I went by a little while ago. Mostly the three of us are just sitting around trying to get from one minute to the next. He’s probably still there.”

10

She didn’t find Benny in his office, which offered her the perfect opportunity to study his space. Open door, she thought, glass walls, implicit permission. Like the others, he had an office Friggie and AutoChef, a range of comps, a collection of toys and games.

More files, more clutter than Var, less than Cill, she noted, with active memo cubes stacked on his workstation, a mound of discs beside them. More discs filed by number on a shelf—and, as in Mira’s office, several photos.

She studied Benny with Cill and Bart as kids, all fresh faces and goofy smiles. Benny, tall and skinny even then, had an explosion of improbable red hair. He towered over his companions as Cill’s sharp green eyes sent out a wickedly happy glint, and the doomed Bart stood in the middle. In another they were teenagers at what looked to be the Jersey shore, sunshades, geek tees, windblown hair, mugging for the camera.

Still another had them dressed in costumes, with Cill in a fancy wig that had big rounds of hair at both ears, and a white flowy dress—with some sort of blaster in her hand. Benny wore a kind of space soldier suit, a smirky smile, and held another blaster, while Bart wore a white tunic and carried a glowing tubular sword.

No, light saber, she corrected. Sure, sure, the Jedi deal, the Star Wars thing—like his droid.

She took a closer look at the light saber, shook her head. It just wasn’t the murder weapon.

Other pictures included Var—older now, college time—shaggy hair, sloppy clothes, sleepy eyes. Then the four of them stood in front of the warehouse, with patchy snow on the ground. Each wore a U-Play T-shirt and mile-wide grins as they toasted the camera with glasses of what was likely champagne.

She filed it all away before wandering out. She scanned the area—the glass boxes, the open stairs, the clear cubes, and workstations. Not so much bustle today, but still plenty of movement.

She frowned as she watched the way the sun beamed down and flashed over all the glass—and threw certain areas into soft shadows.

That was interesting, she mused. Glass walls or not, at certain times of the day sections were glared to invisible by the slant of sunlight.

She stopped a guy with a half a million tiny braids before he could whiz by on airskates. “I’m looking for Benny.”

“Um. His office?”

“No.”

“Um. Maybe he went home. It’s a crap day. Yo, Jessie? Benny?”

“Um. I think he was going to Lab Three. Maybe.”

“Lab Three,” Airskate said helpfully. “Maybe.”

“And where is that?”

“Um. Third level.” He pointed east. “That way.”

“Thanks.” She wondered how many “ums” were dropped in the air on any given day.

She took the long way around. No one stopped her, asked who she was, what she was doing. People went about their business, or gathered in little groups with the slash of those black armbands like wounds on their bright colors.

Now and then she noticed someone actually using a swipe card, but for the most part doors remained open.

She spotted Benny through the glass of a lab, its outer wall lined with comps and screens. He seemed to be executing some sort of martial arts kata, mouth grim, eyes shielded by VR goggles.

Good moves, she decided. Smooth, controlled, quick despite his human stickman build.

This one did more than sit in a cube and pretend.

She hooked her thumbs in her back pockets, watching until he made the ritual ending bow.

He jumped when she rapped her knuckles on the glass.

When he pulled off the goggles, his eyes looked dazed and glazed and made her wonder how long he’d been caught in the VR.

He fumbled a little with the lock code, then slid the door open.

“Lieutenant Dallas. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“No problem. Good form. What level are you?”

“Oh, none.” There was an awkwardness to his shrug that hadn’t been there in the movements of the routine. “Not really. Virtually and in holo? I rock, but I don’t actually compete or practice or anything.”

“You should.”

He said, “Well...” And shrugged jerkily again. “Is there something new about Bart? Did you find out who killed him?”

“We’re working on it. Were you testing a new game?”

“Oh no. Not really. We’re always adding new functions and levels to our VR instructional programs. But mostly I was just... going away for a while. We should’ve closed today.” He looked over her shoulder, away. “I think we probably should have closed. But Var thought we’d all be better off here, doing something, being together. He’s right, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do at home.” He shrugged again. “The same thing I’m doing here, probably. Sorry. Do you want to come in? Or go to the break room? Something.”