Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(6)

She went to the stairs, looked down at the three of them. She saw Feeney’s grizzled head—the ginger and silver—McNab’s eye-searing orange cargo pants, and the sunburst pattern of Callendar’s shirt.

“When you’ve finished being awed and gooey, maybe you could mosey on up here. We’ve got a pesky little murder to deal with.”

Feeney looked up, and Eve saw she’d been right, there was a flush of excitement on his usually mopey face. McNab just grinned, and the little bounce in his step had his shining blond ponytail swaying. Callendar at least had the grace to look slightly sheepish as she hunched her shoulders in a shrug.

“This place is a cathedral to all that is E and Game,” McNab called up.

“I’m sure the dead guy up here would be thrilled with your approval. Holo-room, third floor.”

She headed up herself, then paused a moment when she saw Chief Medical Examiner Morris hadn’t sent one of his team for the on-scene, but had come himself.

He looked good, but then he always did. His slick black suit missed being funereal by the touches of silver in the cord braided through his long queue and the subtle pattern of his tie. Still, he seemed to wear black more often these days, and she understood it was a subtle symbol of mourning for his lost lover.

It had been his life Eve had crushed one morning in the spring, his life she knew would never be quite the same because of that loss.

He must have sensed her for even as he continued to examine the body, he spoke. “This is something you don’t see every day, even when you’re us.”

“That’s what I said.”

He looked up then, and his exotic face softened, just a little, with a smile. “But then people often lose their heads over murder. When the data came in, I wanted to see for myself, on-scene.” He nodded toward the head. “From the spatter and pool, it appears that part of him left this part of him in a hurry, went splat—”

“Is that a medical term?”

“Of course. Splat and roll. It’s fate’s little jab in the ribs that the face landed up and toward the door. It looks like the poor bastard died before he knew his head took wing, but we’ll take all of him in and see what we see.”

“A lot of force to decapitate that clean, and a damn sharp blade.”

“I’d agree.”

“The girlfriend’s about five-two, maybe a hundred and ten fully dressed. She wouldn’t have the muscle. A droid could do it.”

“Possibly, if the programming was altered and enhanced.”

“I haven’t come across anything that says self-termination, but a logical theory, given the circumstance, might be he wanted out, wanted out in a flashy way. Programs the droid. It does the job, disposes of the weapon, resets the security. It feels like bullshit, but it’s an angle.”

“People often do the incomprehensible. It’s what makes them so fascinating. Was he in play?”

“Apparently. Whatever disc he had going is fail-safed, still in the unit.” She gestured to the controls. “EDD’s heading upstairs. Maybe he had the droid in play, too, and something went very wrong.” But she shook her head, slid her hands into her pockets. “And that wouldn’t explain the droid reprogramming itself. It’s cutting-edge—ha-ha—according to Peabody, but that’s beyond any edge. Droids require a human operator to alter programming.”

“As far as I know, but then I don’t know much about this sort of thing. In general, human-replicate droids strike me as mildly creepy and just a little pitiable.”

“Yes!” She pulled her hand out of her pocket to point at him. “Exactly.”

“And since they don’t do the incomprehensible without that human operator programming it, they’re just not that interesting.” Morris shrugged as he got to his feet. “You should ask your expert consultant, civilian. He’d know whatever there would be to know, I’d think.”

“I’ll see what the department geeks have to say before I tap Roarke.”

“Whoa.”

She turned to see the aforesaid geeks step in.

“Big whoa,” McNab repeated. “Now that’s a large f**king shame. Bart Minnock, boy genius.”

“I always figured he’d come out ahead.” Callendar winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s inevitable. That’s Morris’s.” Eve jerked a thumb toward the two pieces of Minnock, then the control panel. “That’s yours. It appears the vic came in to play or maybe to test a new program. Whatever he put in is still in there. It’s passcoded and fail-safed. I need it out without damaging it or the unit. I need the security on this door and the entrance door fine-toothed. The logs say nobody went in or out once he locked in, but since he didn’t do that to himself with his fingernails, the logs are off. Peabody and I will be in the field. Since everyone here has a good head on their shoulders—see? Inevitable. I’ll expect some progress by the time we get back to Central.”

She left them to it, signaled to Peabody.

“Uniforms did the knock-on-doors,” Peabody told her as they started out. “Since his place takes up the top three floors of the building, we didn’t get anything. The doorman on duty last night came in when contacted. He confirms time of arrival, and swears no one came in for Minnock or accessed any of the three floors until the girlfriend went up this morning.”