Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(76)

“Get me everything there is to get.”

Callendar wiggled her shoulders. “Good thing I’d be happy staying here all day.”

Eve stepped out.

“You can see why they’re friends.” Peabody gestured toward the bedroom closet. “Lots of costumes, lots of work gear. He’s got better clothes than the woman, but basically it’s the same deal. And like hers, and the vic’s for that matter, this room like the rest of them is set up for lots of play. Not bedroom type play, game play. Not bedroom game play, but—”

“I get it, Peabody.”

The bed, a roomy platform with a padded headboard, was neatly made with a good all-weather duvet and a few plumped pillows.

“No sex toys,” she announced. “Memo cubes, unused, a couple of handheld games, over-the-counter sleep aid.”

“Bathroom kicks ass,” Peabody called out. “Bubble tub, multi-jet steam shower, sauna deck, music, screen and VR systems built in, drying tube, the works.”

“Check for meds and illegals.”

She toured the rest, the second bedroom outfitted for games, a small, well-outfitted home gym, and as she’d expected, a holo-room.

She gave Callendar the same instructions as she had McNab, called Peabody, then headed out to check the last space.

“Baxter, Trueheart, and Feeney,” Peabody told her before she asked. “Feeney wanted in.”

“He just wants to play with the toys. Impressions so far?”

“They live and work as they please, and they live their work. She’s busy, likes to have several things going at once, so she’s got clutter because she doesn’t necessarily finish one thing before going to the next. She does a little cooking and since she doesn’t have to, she must like it. No droids, which is kind of odd given what she does. I think it’s that privacy issue. When she’s in her personal space, she wants to be alone. He’s more streamlined, and pays more attention to style. The second bedroom’s set up for gaming, but he’s got a convertible sleep chair in there, just in case.”

“Okay. There’s our shadow.” Eve jutted her chin.

Across the street, Benny stood on the steps of his building, watching them come. As they approached, he jammed his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, then walked quickly in the direction of Var’s apartment.

“He’s mad, but he’s sad, too. At least I think so,” Peabody added.

“You can kill and be both.”

Benny had gone for a loft, too, with a space that occupied the rear of the building, on two levels.

Peabody gaped as they entered. “Wow. It’s Commander Black’s quarters.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Commander Black. Star Quest. This is a reproduction of his living quarters aboard the Intrepid.” Peabody ran her hand over the scrolled arm of a brown sofa. “It’s even got the burn marks from when Black had the blaster fight with Voltar. And look! That’s the old desk that was his great-grandfather’s, the first commander of the Intrepid.”

“He lives in a vid set?”

“Vid and game. And it’s a really frosty set. It’s got every detail. Plus some that aren’t.” She gestured to a pair of worn white socks, an open bag of soy chips, two empty brew bottles. “Still, tidier than the woman.”

Eve repeated the routine, going room by room, absorbing.

Yes, she thought, she could see why they were friends. Though individual preferences came through, the overall focused on the same. Fun, games, and fantasy.

Like Bart, he kept a replica droid. Male, she noted.

“Name’s Alfred,” Feeney told her. “Butler to Bruce Wayne, confidant of the Dark Knight.”

She spun around. “What? The Dark Knight.”

“Batman, kid. Even you’ve heard of Batman.”

“Yeah, yeah, vigilante with psychotic tendencies who dresses up in a weird bat costume. Rich playboy by day, right?” She turned, frowned at the droid. “Hmm.”

“The Dark Knight’s an icon.” Feeney’s jabbed finger matched his tone. Insult. “And he uses those so-called psycho tendencies for good. Anyway, old Alfred here’s been shut down the last couple days. His basic programming is to clean the place, serve meals, greet guests. I’ll fine-tooth his memory board, but at a quick once-over, I don’t see anything hinky.”

Eve opened the fridge. “He’s out of beer.”

“You thirsty?”

“He’s been drinking. Sitting out there in his fantasy commander’s quarters drinking his brews.”

“Wouldn’t mind doing the same myself. He was just here.”

“Yeah, I saw him leave.”

“He tried to slip something out.”

“What?”

“A photograph. Had it in the bedroom, drawer by the bed. Trueheart caught it. The boy’s got it. He’s upstairs.”

She went up to where Trueheart continued to work on the master bedroom. The bed was made—halfheartedly. Two more empty bottles stood empty on the nightstand.

“Lieutenant.” In his uniform, the young, studly, and shy Trueheart looked fresh as spring grass in the crowded, cluttered room.

Eve glanced toward a large object draped in a colorful throw.