Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(63)

“Which is why I’m not poking you with it. I might hit the stick up your ass and break the tip. Don’t worry. Roarke’s the one who’s going to be using it.”

“I expect it to be returned to the display in the exact condition it was in when you removed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, blah blah.” She stepped back on the elevator, and couldn’t resist tapping the flat of the blade to her forehead in a quick, sarcastic salute before the doors closed.

“I’d better not be stitching someone up tonight,” Summerset muttered.

Eve stepped out in her office, walked over to Roarke’s. “Hey.”

He made a humming sound, and continued to work his comp.

“Can you come in here a minute?”

“In five,” he said.

While she waited she went to her own comp, ran a reenactment of the murder using a figure representing each of the partners in height, weight, reach.

“What do you need?” Roarke asked her. “And why do you have that sword?”

“I’m trying to figure how it went down. So...” She stepped into the center of the room, and imagining Summerset’s horror, tossed the sword to Roarke. “Come at me.”

“You want me to attack you with a broadsword?”

“We’ll start with that version.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to go at you with a bloody sword.”

“Well, for God’s sake, I don’t want you to whack me with it. I don’t want it to be a bloody sword. Demonstration purposes only. You’re the killer.” She pointed at him. “I’m the vic.” And tapped her chest. “Now you’ve got that big, sharp, shiny sword, and I’ve got some useless holoweapon, so wouldn’t you just—”

She broke off as he took one quick step forward, and had the flat of the blade an inch from her throat.

“Yeah, like that. And see, my instinctive reaction to that move would be to bring my useless weapon up like this.” She moved slow, to block, shoving the sword aside. “The thing is, the gash was on his other arm. Vic’s right-handed, so logic says he’d have the useless holo-weapon in his dominant hand. The wrenched shoulder’s on that side, but Morris said it’s the kind of injury you’d get from over-rotating.”

“Maybe, in surprised defense, he brought his other arm up.”

“Yeah, but, see, if he did, the gash is just wrong.” She demonstrated again. “Logic again says the wound should go across, not up and down. Besides, if you had a big, long sword, and I didn’t, wouldn’t you just ram it into me? You’ve got the advantage of reach.”

“I would, yes. Get it done.”

“But it didn’t just get done. Bruises on the arms and legs. See, if we’re fighting. Put it down a minute.” When he had she gave him a finger curl. “Come at me.”

She blocked, pivoted. He blocked her side kick.

“See, we’re fairly even here, and if we meant it, I’m going to get some bruises where I either land a blow or block, or you block me. But you’re not going to block me with your arm when you’ve got that big sword.”

She held up a hand for peace. “I ran some reenactment. They just don’t play out logically.”

“We argue, it gets physical,” he suggested. “I lose my head, grab the sword, and take yours.”

“If it went down that way, why is the sword there in the first place?” She paced away, frowned at her murder board again. “If it went down that way, why isn’t the disc logged out? Why was it timed so the killer arrived after the droid shut down? And why did the killer evade building security on the way in?”

“Might be coincidence.”

“One might be a coincidence.” Hands on her hips, she turned back. “Put them together it’s a pattern.”

“Well, I’m forced to agree with you. So we’ve had our fight. What do you do when I pick up the sword?”

“I say, what the f**k are you doing?”

“Or words to that effect,” Roarke agreed. “And when I come at you?”

“I run, or at least try to get the hell out of the way of the really sharp point.”

“And, you’d run, one would think, for the door.”

“If the game’s still up, he might’ve been disoriented.”

“True enough.” As she did, Roarke tried to see it, to put himself into it. “Then wouldn’t you do one of two things—use the game, the holo-features for cover? Attempt to hide. Or call for the game to end, then try for the door.”

“Yeah. But the body was well inside the room, nearly center, and facing—so to speak—away from the door.” She huffed out a breath. “It skirts all around the edges of logical. I can’t make it work in my head.

I can’t see the steps. Maybe there were two people. Mira believes there might’ve been.”

She tilted her head at the reconstruction she’d paused on-screen. Maybe she needed to add another figure. “The killer and the planner. If so, he still had to know and trust both of them to let them into that room during game play. The game was too important for him to let anyone he didn’t know, anyone who wasn’t involved get a sneak peek.”