Delusion in Death

yellow shirt that showed off her considerable assets, shifted in her seat. “Schultz, Jacob J., age twenty-four. Single. He was cooperative, and also, if not stoned, considerably under the influence. He believed the transmission, which he replayed for me at his residence, was a practical joke played by his friend. I did not disabuse him of that belief.”
    She shifted again so her black hair, done in a mushroom cloud of curls, bounced. “He was toasted, Lieutenant. You’d have to be seriously toasted to hear and see what’s on that ’link and think it was somebody’s idea of a big yuck.”
    “Can you put it up?”
    She nodded at Eve, rose. “We made a copy. The ’link’s sealed and logged.” Moving to the computer, she slid the disc in. “On screen, Lieutenant?”
    “On screen.”
    “Vic on screen is Lance Abrams, age twenty-four. Ah, he’s number twenty-nine.”
    Callendar stepped back as the young, good-looking face came on screen.
    “Yo, Jake! ’S on?”

    “Decomp time. Might’ve had a half day, but the fucker was a day and a half. Brew’s going down easy.”
    “I hear that. Stopped off for a couple, and I got a line on that sweet blonde I told you about.”
    “Big Jugs? In your wet dreams, jerkoff.”
    “I’m telling you, and she’s got a friend. How about it? I said we’d hit a couple of clubs, get some chow. She busted with her boyfriend, man, and she’s prime for it.”
    There was a long slurping gulp as, Eve assumed, beer went down.
    “You want me to come all the way in so you can get laid?”
    “She’s got a friend.”
    “How big are her tits?”
    Abrams grimaced, pressed his fingers to his temple. “Fuck, need a blocker. You want to party or not?”
    “I got brew, prime smoke, and I’m tapped till payday. Why don’t you bring them here? I’ll show you a party.”
    “Asshole.” The attractive face became a mask of ugly rage. “You fucking prick.”
    “Got my fucking prick here, too,” Jake said placidly, “and my good left hand.”
    “Fuck up, fuck up, fuck everything up. I’m coming over there and fuck you up.”
    “Yeah, yeah, you and what ninja army? Take a snap of the friend, yeah? Let me see if I want to get laid. What’s with the screaming, man? You at some sex club?”
    “They’re coming.”
    Behind Abrams, blood spattered. Someone ran by, fingers curled like talons, blood running down his face.
    “They’re coming,” Abrams repeated in a scream, “for all of us.”
    “Who’s that? Hey!” There was a moment of concern in Jake’svoice as the screen tilted, as flashes of people—mostly feet now, or those crawling, came in and out of view. “Hey, man, performance art? Chilly stuff. Where you at, bro, maybe I will come in. Yo, Lance! Nasty!” He laughed as a woman fell into view, clutching at the gash in her throat. Someone tripped over her and was beaten viciously with a broken chair leg.
    “Shit man, gotta piss. Get me back.”
    Jake clicked off, and the screen went blank.
    Feeney cleared his throat. “We have the same transmission from the vic’s ’link, but this gives us the visual. We pieced together some of the others before they were aborted. What we’re going to do is dissect the audio, look for any key words, any patterns. But from what we have now, you’ve just seen the most comprehensive. I can run you the rest if you want it now.”
    “It can wait. I want a copy of both. At this point we don’t know the method of dispersal, the motive. We don’t know if the individual or individuals who released this substance survived, or if survival was their intention.”
    “You think this might’ve been some whacked-up suicide?” Baxter asked.
    “Some people don’t want to die alone, or easy. But it’s low on the list. Think of Schultz’s reaction to it. Chilly, he thought. Yeah, he thought it was a show, a joke, but watching people kill each other, it’s entertaining. Whoever did this? I think they enjoyed it, enjoyed the punch of causing it. Possibly one or more of the victims was a specific target, but taking out a bar full of people in minutes? Had to be a rush. Doctor Mira, would you agree with that, or do you have another take?”
    “I agree. To kill so many, so quickly, and more to manipulate them, like puppets. Very likely not getting his own hands dirty.”

    Her gaze stayed calmly blue as she studied the death posted on the case board. “Ordinary people,” she added, “doing a routine, ordinary thing after the