Fantasy in Death

3

“I’ll get a warrant.” Eve tracked her gaze from face to face, looking for the weak spot. “And the department e-team goes through every byte of every file. And I shut you down while they do. It could take weeks.”

“But you can’t, you can’t shut us down,” Benny protested. “We have more than seventy people on-site, and all the others online depending on us. And the distributors, the accounts. Everything that’s in development.”

“Yeah, that’s a shame. Murder trumps all.”

“They have bills, they have families,” Cill began.

“And I’ve got the two parts of Bart.”

“That’s low,” Var mumbled. “That’s low.”

“Murder usually is. Your choice.” She held up her ’link.

“We can get the lawyers on it.” Cill glanced at Benny, then Var. “But-”

“Murder trumps all,” Eve repeated. “I’ll get my warrant, and I’ll get my answers. It’ll just take longer. Meanwhile, your friend’s in the morgue. But maybe a game means more to you than that.”

“It’s not just a game.” Passion rose in Benny’s voice. “It’s the ult for Bart, for us, for the company. The top of top secret-and we swore. We all swore an oath not to talk about it with anyone not directly assigned. And even then, it’s only need-to-know.”

“I need to know. He was playing it when he was killed.”

“But… but that’s not possible,” Cill began. “You said he was killed at home.”

“That’s right. With a disc copy of Fantastical in his holo-unit.”

“That’s wrong, that’s got to be wrong.” Paler now, Var shook his head. “He wouldn’t have taken a development copy off-site without telling us, not without logging it out. It breaks protocol.”

“He had it at home? He took it off-site, without telling any of us?” Benny stared at Eve with eyes that read betrayal as much as shock.

“She’s just trying to get us to tell her-”

“For God’s sake, Var, use your head,” Cill snapped. “She wouldn’t know about it if they hadn’t found it at Bart’s.” As she pressed her fingers to her eyes, a half-dozen rings glittered and gleamed in the light. “He was so juiced up about it, we nearly had it down. Nearly. I don’t understand why he’d have taken it out without letting us know, and why he didn’t log it. He’s pretty fierce on logging, but he was so juiced over it.”

“What is it?”

“An interactive holo fantasy game. Multi-function,” Benny continued. “The player or players choose from a menu of settings, levels, story lines, worlds, eras-or they can create their own through the personalize feature. The game will read the player or players’ choices, actions, reactions, movements, and adjust the scenario accordingly.

It’s nearly impossible to play any scenario through exactly the same way twice. It’s always going to give the player a new challenge, a new direction.”

“Okay, high-end on the fun and price scale, but not staggering new ground.”

“The sensory features are off the scale,” Var told her. “More real than real, and the operator has the option of adding in more features as they go. There’s reward and punishment.”

“Punishment?” Eve repeated.

“Say you’re a treasure hunter,” Cill explained. “You’d maybe collect clues or gems, artifacts, whatever, depending on the level and the scene. But you screw up, you get tossed into another challenge, and lose points. Maybe you’re attacked by rival forces, or you fall and break your ankle, or lose your equipment in a raging river. Screw up enough, game over, and you need to start the level again.”

“The program reads you,” Benny went on. “Your pulse rate, your BP, your body temp. Just like a medi-unit. It tailors the challenges to your specific physicality. It combines the sensations of top-flight VR with the reality-based imagery of high-end holo. Fight the dragon to save the princess? You’ll feel the heat, the weight of the sword. Slay the dragon, and the princess is grateful. You’ll, ah, feel that, too. The full experience.”

“If the dragon wins?”

“You get a jolt. Nothing painful, just a buzz, and like Cill said, the game ends at that point. You can start it up again, from that point or back at the beginning, or change any factors. But the program will also change. It morphs and calculates,” he added, obviously warming to the topic. “The characters in each program are enhanced with the same AI technology used in droids. Friend or foe, they’re programmed to want to win as much as the player.”

“It’s a leap,” Cill said. “A true leap in merged techs. We’re working out some kinks, and we’ve projected we can have it on the market in time for the holiday blast. When it hits, U-Play’s going to go through the roof. Bart wanted it more user-friendly, and to keep the price point down. So we’ve been working on home and arcade and… it’s complicated.”

“We’ve got a lot invested, in the technology, the application, the programming, the simulations. If any of it leaks before we’re ready to launch…” Var’s mouth tightened.

“It could take us under,” Cill finished. “It’s a make or break.”

“In six months, a year, we’d be up there with SimUlate. We’d be global, and seriously ding in off-planet,” Benny told her. “Not just the up-and-comer, not just the wonder kids of gaming. We’d be gaming. But without Bart…”

“I don’t know if we can do it. I don’t know how we can do it,” Cill said.

“We have to.” Var took her hand. “We can’t lose this. Bart started it, and we have to finish it. You have to keep the game under wraps,” Var told Eve. “You have to. If anybody gets their hands on that development disc-”

“It self-destructed when the e-team tried to remove it.”

“Seriously?” Benny blinked. “Frosty. Sorry,” he said instantly. “Sorry. It’s just… Bart must have added the security. That’s why he’s Bart.”

“How many copies are there?”

“There were four. One for each of us to work with. It’s what I was working on last night,” Benny added. “I had it in sim, playing operator, and working with a droid. Mostly we work on it after the rest of the crew leaves.”

“Only the four of you know about it?”

“Not exactly. Everybody knows we’re working on something big. We’ve got a lot of good brains in here,” Cill commented. “We use them. But nobody knows exactly what we’ve got. Just pieces. And yeah, some of those brains are smart enough to put a lot of the pieces together. But we’ve been careful to keep it on the low. Leaks are death in gaming.”

She seemed to realize what she’d said, and shivered. “Do you think somebody found out, and…”

“It’s an angle. I’m going to need a copy of the game.”

The three of them stared at her, miserably.

“Look, if it’s what you say it is, and anything leaks on my end, you’re going to sue the department and possibly the city of New York for a big-ass bundle. If I’m culpable, you can probably sue me, too. I’ll lose my rep and very likely my badge-and those are every bit as important to me as the game is to you. My only interest in the game is how it pertains to Bart’s murder.”

“She’s Roarke’s cop,” Cill said.

“What? Shit.”

Cill shoved around, burned Var with a look. “Roarke’s not going to steal from us. He wouldn’t rob Bart’s grave, goddamn it.” Tears flowed again. “He helped us get started. He liked Bart.”

“Roarke knew Bart?” Eve asked, and tried not to let her stomach sink.

“He wanted to recruit us.” Cill swiped at tears with the backs of her hands while her eyes shimmered in green pools. “All of us, but I think especially Bart. But we wanted to start our own. He helped us out, gave us advice, let us play off him for ideas on how to set it all up. We’ve all got an open offer from Roarke Industries, SimUlate, or any of the arms. He wouldn’t steal from us. If we’ve got to give over a copy, I’d want it to be to Roarke’s cop, and Roarke. He’ll make sure nobody gets their hands on it. He’d do that for Bart.”

She rose, still swiping at tears. “We’ll need to talk to the lawyer. We’d need to cover that much, and maybe get some sort of documentation on producing a copy for you. It’ll take a while to make a copy anyway. We’ve got a lot of security levels on it, and it’s dense, so it could take a while. Maybe a day to get it handled. But I’ll take care of it. Bart’s dead,” she said before either of her friends could speak. “Nobody’s going to put anything in the way of finding out who hurt him. Not even us.”

“I’m sorry,” Var said as Cill left the room. “I didn’t mean anything about Roarke, that way.”

“No problem.” Eve’s ’link signaled, told her the e-team had arrived. “My team’s here. You’re going to want to tell your people what’s going on.”

She sent them out, and brought Peabody in. “I’ve got some details on the game the vic had in, and I’ll fill you in on that later. For now, I want to divide everyone on-site between the five of us. Pick five locations for the interviews, get the full list of employees, divvy them up. We’ll follow up with anyone who didn’t report to work today. Get statements, impressions, salients, and alibis. We’re going to run them all, then run their families and known associates. And we’re going to check financials. Maybe we’ve got somebody passing on data to a competitor for a little extra scratch.”

“You think this is about the game?”

“It’s more than a game,” Eve said with a thin smile. “It’s an adventure. I need to take care of something. You can send my share up here when you’ve set up.”

“You get the cool room.”

“Yes, I do. Move.”

Had to be done, Eve thought. She’d have filled him in when she got home in any case. And the murder would leak to the media before much longer. He’d know when it did as he made a point to monitor the crime beat. Just a way to keep up with her.

If she’d had the head for it, she supposed she’d have monitored the stock market and business news. Good thing for him she didn’t have a clue.

She opted for his personal ’link, figuring he’d be too busy wheeling to answer, and she could leave him a v-mail.

But his face flickered on-screen, and those bold blue eyes fixed on hers. “Lieutenant, nice to hear from you.”

The combination of those eyes, the faint lilt of the green hills and valleys of Ireland in his voice, might have turned a weaker woman into a gooey puddle. As it was she couldn’t stop the quick jump of her heart.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever.”

“I’m on my way back from a lunch meeting, so you caught me at a good time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“Florence. The pasta was exceptional. What can I do for you?”

“I caught a case.”

“You often do.”

Better quick, she thought. It somehow always was. “It’s Bart Minnock.”

It changed-the easy good humor, the innate flirtation dropped away. The hard lines of anger didn’t diminish that striking face, but instead made the compelling the dangerous.

“What happened to him?”

“I can’t get into all the details now, but I just found out you knew him. I didn’t want you to hear about it on a media report.”

“Has it to do with his work or was it personal?”

“It’s too soon to say, but his work’s involved.”

“Where are you?”

“U-Play.”

“I’ll be landing in about twenty minutes. I’ll be there within forty.”

“Roarke-”

“If it’s to do with his work, I’ll be helpful. If it doesn’t… We’ll see. He was a sweet boy, Eve. A sweet, brilliant, and harmless boy. I want to do what I can for him.”

She’d expected as much. “Find Feeney when you get here. I’m sorry, Roarke.”

“So am I. How did he die?” When she said nothing, sorrow clouded over the anger. “That bad, was it?”

“I’ll talk to you when you get here. It’s complicated.”

“All right then. It’s good he has you. I’ll be there soon.”

Eve took a breath. He would be helpful, she thought as she stared at the blank screen of her ’link. Not only with the e-work, but with the business. Feeney and his crew knew their e, but they didn’t know the business. Roarke would.

She checked the time, then tried for Morris.

“Dallas.”

“Give me what you can,” she asked. “I don’t know when I’m going to get in there.”

“My house is always open for you. I can tell you he had no drugs or alcohol in his system. Your vic was a healthy twenty-nine-despite, it seems, an appetite for cheese and onion soy chips and orange fizzies. There’s some minor bruising, and the more serious gash on his arm, all peri-mortem. His head was severed with one blow, with a broad, sharp blade.” Morris used the flat of his hand to demonstrate.

“Like an axe?”

“I don’t think so. An axe is generally thicker on the backside. A wedge shape. I’d say a sword-a very large, very strong sword used with considerable force, and from slightly above. A clean stroke.” Again he demonstrated, fisting his hands as if on a hilt, then swinging like a batter at the plate, and cleaving forward. “The anomaly-”

“Other than some guy getting his head cut off with a sword?”

“Yes, other than. There are slight burns in all the wounds. I’m still working on it, but my feeling is electrical. Even the bruising shows them.”

“An electrified sword?”

Humor warmed his eyes. “Our jobs are never tedious, are they? I’ll be with him for a while yet. He’s a very interesting young man.”

“Yeah. I’ll get back to you.”

She pocketed her ’link and began to pace.

A victim secured, alone, in his own holo-room, beheaded by a sword, potentially with electric properties.

Which made no sense.

He couldn’t have been alone because it took two-murderer and victim. So there’d been a breach in his security. Or he’d paused the game, opened up, and let his killer inside. It would have to be someone he trusted with his big secret project.

Which meant his three best pals were top of the suspect list. All alibied, she mused, but how hard was it for an e-geek to slip through building security, head over a few blocks, slip through apartment security, and ask their good pal Bart to open up and play?

Which didn’t explain how they’d managed to get the weapon inside, but again, it could be done.

It had been done.

Reset everything, go back to work.

Less than an hour, even with cleanup time.

Someone at U-Play or someone outside who’d earned the vic’s trust.

Possibly a side dish. Someone he snuck in himself, after he’d told his droid to shut down. He liked to show off. Guys tended to show off for sex, especially illicit sex.

The murder wasn’t about sex, but part of the means might be.

She shuffled the thoughts back at the timid knock on the glass door. Overall Girl, she thought as she came in, who’d added red, weepy eyes to her ensemble.

“They said I had to come up and talk with you ’cause somebody killed Bart. I wanna go home.”

“Yeah, me, too. Sit down.”

Halfway through her complement of interviews, Eve got her first buzz.

Twenty-three-year-old Roland Chadwick couldn’t keep still-but e-jocks were notoriously jittery. His wet hazel eyes kept skittering away from hers. But it was a hard day, and some in the e-game had very limited social skills.

Still, most of them didn’t have guilt rolling off their skin in thick, smelly waves.

“How long have you worked here, Roland?”

He scratched the long blade of his nose, bounced his knees. “Like I said, I interned for two summers in college, then I came on the roll when I graduated. So, like, a year on the roll, then the two summers before that. Altogether.”

“And what do you do, exactly?”

“Mostly research, like Benny. Like what’s out there, how can we twist it, jump it up. Or, like, if somebody’s got a zip on something, I cruise before we step so, like, we’re not hitting somebody else’s deal.”

“So you see everything in development, or on the slate for development.”

“Mostly, yeah.” He jiggled his shoulders, tapped both feet. “Bits and bytes anyhow, or, like, outlines. And you gotta check the titles, the character and place names and that jazz ’cause you don’t want repeats or crossovers. Unless you do, ’cause you’re, like, homage or sequel or series.”

“And yesterday? Where were you?”

“I was, like, here. Clocked at nine-three-oh, out at five. Or close. Maybe five-thirty? ’Cause I was buzzing with Jingle for a while after outs.”

“Did you go out, for a break, for lunch, leave the building before you finished for the day?”

“Not yesterday. Full plate. Yeah, full plate with second helpings.”

“But you took breaks, had some lunch?”

“Yeah, sure. Sure. Gotta fuel it up, charge it up. Sure.”

“So, did you contact anybody? Tag a pal to pass the time with on a break?”

“Ah…” His gaze skidded left. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. And you can tell me or I’ll just find out when we check your comp, your ’links.”

“Maybe I tagged Milt a couple times.”

“And Milt is?”

“Milt’s my… you know.”

“Okay. Does Milt your You Know have a last name?”

“Dubrosky. He’s Milton Dubrosky. It’s no big.” A little sweat popped out above his upper lip. “We’re allowed.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled out her PPC and started a run on Milton Dubrosky. “So you and Milt live together?”

“Kinda. I mean, he still has a place but we’re mostly at mine. Mostly.”

“And what does Milt do?”

“He’s an actor. He’s really good. He’s working on his big break.”

“I bet you help him with that? Help him study lines.”

“Sure.” Shoulders jiggled again; toes tapped. “It’s fun. Kinda like working up a game.”

“Being an actor, he probably has some good ideas, too. Does he help you out there?”

“Maybe.”

“Been together long?”

“Nine months. Almost ten.”

“How much have you told him about Fantastical?”

Every ounce of color dropped out of his face, and for an instant, he was absolutely still. “What?”

“How much, Roland? Those little bits and bytes, or more than that?”

“I don’t know about anything like that.”

“The new project? The big top secret? I think you know something about it. You’re in research.”

“I just know what they tell me. We’re not allowed to talk about it. We had to sign the gag.”

Eve kept an easy smile on her face, and a hard hammer in her heart. “But you and Milt are, you know, and you help each other out. He’s interested in what you do, right?”

“Sure, but-”

“And a big project like this, it’s exciting. Anybody’d mention it to their partner.”

“He doesn’t understand e-work.”

“Really? That’s odd, seeing as he’s done time, twice, for e-theft.”

“No, he hasn’t!”

“You’re either an idiot, Roland, or a very slick operator.” She angled her head. “I vote idiot.”

She had the protesting and now actively weeping Roland escorted to Central, then sent a team of officers to scoop up Dubrosky and take him in.

His criminal didn’t show any violent crimes, she mused, but there was always a first time.

She finished her interviews, calculating it would give Roland time to stop crying and Dubrosky time to stew. She found two more who admitted they’d talked about the project to a friend or spouse or cohab, but the Chadwick-Dubrosky connection seemed the best angle.

She broke open a tube of Pepsi while she checked in with the sweepers and added to her notes. She looked up as the door opened, and Roarke stepped in.

He changed the room, she thought, just by being in it. Not just for her, but she imagined for most. The change came from the look of him, certainly, long and lean with that sweep of dark hair, the laser blue eyes that could smolder or frost. But the control, the power under it demanded attention be paid.

Even now, she thought, when she could see the sorrow on that wonderful face, he changed the room.

“They said you’d finished with your share of the interviews. Do you have a minute now?”

He wouldn’t have always asked, she remembered. And she wouldn’t have always known to get up, to go to him, to offer a moment of comfort.

“Sorry about your friend,” she said when her arms were around him.

She kept the embrace brief-after all, the walls were glass-but she felt some of the tension seep out of him before she drew back.

“I didn’t know him well, not really. I can’t say we were friends, though we were friendly. It’s such a bloody waste.”

He paced away to the wall, looked out through the glass. “He and his mates were building something here. Too many holes in it yet, but they’ve done well for themselves. Creative and bright, and young enough to pour it all in.”

“What kind of holes?”

He glanced back, smiled a little. “You’d pull that one thing out of the rest. And I imagine though e-work’s not your strongest suit, you’ve seen some of those holes already.”

“More than one person knows a secret, it’s not a secret anymore.”

“There’s that. Electronically it looks as though he covered the bases, and very well. It’ll take some doing to get through all of it, and I’m told you’ve already lost a key piece of evidence.”

“Self-destructed, but they got enough to give me the spring-board. How much do you know about this game, this Fantastical?”

“Virtual/holo combo, fantasy role-playing, varied scenarios at player’s choice. Heightened sensory levels, keyed through readouts of the player’s nervous system and brain waves.”

That pretty much summed up the big top secret project, she thought. “And when did you know that much?”

“Oh, some time ago. Which is one of the holes here. Too many of his people knew too much, and people will talk.”

“Do you know Milt Dubrosky?”

“No, should I?”

“No. It just erases a possible complication. If the technology developed for this game is so cutting-edge, why don’t you have it?”

“Actually, we’ve something I suspect is quite similar in development.” He wandered over to Vending, scanned, walked away again. “But my people don’t talk.”

“Because they’re paid very well, and because they’re afraid of you.”

“Yes. I’m sure Bart paid his people as well as he could, but there wouldn’t have been any fear.” He touched her arm, just a brush of fingertips, as he wandered the room. “They’d like him, and quite a bit. He’d be one of them. It’s a mistake to be too much one of your own as they’ll never see you as fully in charge.”

“When did you last see or speak with him?”

“Oh, four or five months back anyway. I was down this way for a meeting and ran into him on the street. I bought him a beer, and we caught up a bit.”

Restless, Eve thought. Pacing was normally her deal. Then he sighed once, and seemed to settle.

“One of my scouts brought him to my attention when Bart was still in college. After I’d read the report and done a little checking myself, I arranged a meeting. I guess he was twenty. God. So fresh, so earnest. I offered him a job, a paid internship until he got his degree, and a full-time position thereafter.”

“That’s a hell of an offer,” Eve commented.

“He’d have been a hell of a recruit. But he told me he had plans to start up his own company, with three friends. He outlined his business model for me there and then, and asked for my advice.” Roarke smiled a little, just a slight curve of those wonderfully carved lips. “He disarmed me, I have to say. I ended up meeting with the four of them a few times, and doing what I could to help them avoid some pitfalls. I don’t suppose this one any of us could have anticipated.”

“If he was that open with you, right off the jump, he might have been equally talkative with others.”

“Possibly, though that was one of the pitfalls I warned them of. He-they-wanted their own, and I know what it is, that want, that need. That, and well, the boy appealed to me, so it was easy to give them a little boost.”

“Money?”

“No.” His shoulder lifted, a careless gesture. “I might have done so if they’d asked. But they had some seed money, and you’ll work harder if it doesn’t come too easy. I had this property-”

“This? This is your building?”

“Was, so relax yourself,” he told her with the slightest hint of impatience. “I’m not involved here. I rented them space here for a time, and when they’d gotten off the ground, he asked me to sell it to them. As I said, the boy appealed to me, so I did. I made mine; they had theirs. Good business all around.”

“And the business is worth considerable.”

“Relatively.”

“Compared to you it’s a nit on a grizzly, but the money’s a motive, as is the technology they’re working on. Can they keep this place afloat without Bart?”

“No one’s indispensable. Except you to me.”

“Aww.” But she rolled her eyes with the sound and made him laugh a little. “They’ll split three ways instead of four.”

“And take a hit for the loss of the fourth. From a business standpoint, eliminating Bart’s a foolish move. He was the point man,” Roarke explained, “the public face, the big picture man. And he was good at it.”

“This kind of murder? Sensational, and tied in with the business. It’s going to get whopping truckloads of media. Free media of the sort that generates sales out of sheer curiosity.”

“You’re right about that.” He considered. “Yes, but that’s a temporary boost, and still poor business sense. Added to it, unless their dynamics have changed, it’s hard to see any of the other three hurting Bart.”

“People do the damnedest things. I have another angle to check out. Feeney will keep you busy if you want to be. I need a copy of the game disc. They’ll hand it over, but they’re going to drag their feet some. If they trust you, you might be able to nudge that along.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’ll be in the field.”

He took her hand as she walked to the door. “Take care of my wife.”

“She takes care of herself.”

“When she remembers.”

She went out, started down. She glanced back once to see him at that glass wall, hands in his pockets, and that sorrow that perhaps only she could see, still shadowing his face.