Fantasy in Death (In Death #30)(8)

“Nuh-uh.” The childish denial came out poignantly as tears sheened deep, dark eyes. Benny took one stumbling step back, then simply sat on the floor. “No. Not Bart. No.”

To keep their faces level, Eve crouched. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and I understand this is a shock, but we need to ask you some questions.”

“In his apartment? But he has security. He has good security. He’s too trusting. Did he let someone in? I don’t understand.” He looked at her pleadingly as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Are you sure? Are you positive?”

“Yes. Do you know someone who’d want to hurt him?”

“Not Bart.” Benny shook his head. “Not Bart. How? How is he dead?”

She wanted to wait on the details. “When did you last see him or have contact with him?”

“He left early yesterday. I’m not sure. About four, maybe. He had a date with CeeCee. His girl. And he had some things he wanted to do at home. He was really happy.” He grabbed Eve’s hand. “CeeCee? Is she hurt? Is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She wasn’t there.”

On a ragged breath, Benny closed his eyes. “No, that’s right. He was going to her place, for dinner.” He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, then just left his face buried in them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Was he having any trouble here, with the company, with employees?”

“No. No. Things are good. Really good. It’s a happy place. Bart runs a happy place.”

“What about competitors?”

“Nothing, really. Some try to hack in, or try to get a weasel inside. That’s just the way it is. It’s kind of like another game. Bart’s careful. We’re all careful. We have good security. We screen and delouse and realign regularly.”

The door opened. Eve glanced back to see a stunning Asian woman with black hair tied at her nape to fall straight to her waist. Her eyes glowed cat green in her fine-boned face.

“Bens, what the hell? I’m piled up by six, and you’re... What’s wrong?” She rushed in to drop by his side. “What happened?”

“It’s Bart, Cilly, it’s Bart. He’s dead.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid.” She slapped his arm, started to rise again, but he grabbed her hand.

“Cilly, it’s true. These are the police.”

“What are you talking about?” Her reaction Eve gauged as insult as she pushed fluidly to her feet. “Let me see some badges.”

She snatched Eve’s then yanked a miniscanner out of her pocket. “Okay, maybe it reads genuine, but—” She broke off, and her hand trembled slightly as she stared at the name on the badge, then at Eve’s face. “Dallas,” she whispered. “You’re Roarke’s cop.”

“I’m New York’s cop,” Eve corrected, then took back the badge.

“Roarke’s cop doesn’t bullshit.” Cill knelt down, wrapped an arm tight around Benny’s bony shoulders. “What happened to Bart? Oh God, oh crap, what happened to Bart?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk, privately, that’s not the floor?” Eve asked.

“Ah.” Cill passed a hand over her face. “Break room. It’s up a level. I can clear it. But we need Var. We need to hear it together before we... before we tell the others.” She turned, laid her brow against Benny’s. “I’ll clear it and get Var. Just give me a minute. Benny’ll bring you up.” She leaned back, took another breath before meeting Eve’s eyes again. “You do murders. I know that, and it means Bart was... Did they hurt him? Just tell me if they hurt him.”

“I can tell you I believe it was very quick.”

“Okay. Okay. You take them upstairs, Bens, and don’t say anything to anybody until we know what happened.” She cupped his face briefly. “Just hang on now.”

She rose, dashed out.

“What’s your function here, Benny?” Eve asked. “Yours, Cill’s, Var’s. What’s the pecking order?”

“On, ah, paper we’re like co-VPs. But Cill’s GID—Get It Done. I’m GTB—Go To Benny, and Var’s BS—Brainstorm. Everybody knows they can come to one of us or—or Bart if they have an idea or a problem.”

“And what was Bart’s unofficial title?”

“Triple B. Big Brain Boss.” His smile wobbled. “He’s always the smartest one in the room. I guess I should take you up.”

When they arrived, the wall screens were blank, the comps quiet, and the scatter of seats empty. Cill stood staring at one of the several vending machines. They offered fancy coffees, what appeared to be every soft drink on the planet, and a 24/7’s stock of snacks. Eve imagined the AutoChefs were as primed as Bart’s home units had been, and had a low-grade urge for pizza.

“I thought I wanted a power drink, because I always want a power drink,” Cill murmured. “But I don’t.” She turned around. “Var’s coming right up. I didn’t tell him why. I thought... anyway, do you want something? I can just use my pass.”

“We’re good, thanks,” Eve told her.

“You sit down, Benny.” Cill swiped her pass then selected a bottle of water. She pushed it on Benny. “Drink a little.”