In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

time frame, it looks like she was cruising right along. I got through some of her older logs. She hits levels ten, twelve and up consistent.”
    “But we don’t know if any of those were this scenario.”
    “Can’t tell you until I get this disc out and you hand over ten pounds of cow meat.”
    “But it’s unlikely, given her skills and experience, she’d have crapped out that quick. Or have stopped voluntarily that close to completing a level. Got it. I’ll get back to you.”
    She clicked off.
    “I got authorization to put what we’ve got on disc. You have to sign for it.”
    “Thanks.” Eve dashed her name on the form, noted the woman’s wistful glance at her plate. “Do you want half?”
    She smiled. “No, I’m watching my intake. But thanks. It’s a nice offer. I went in to get an update on her. She’s hanging in, but . . . she’s got a long way to go.”
    She started for the door, stopped. “We see a lot of hard things in our professions.”
    “Yeah, we do.”
    “I hope she makes it.”
    “Me, too,” Eve murmured when she was alone.
    Eve inserted the disc then called for the data on-screen.
    She studied it, side-by-side with the records of the first responders.
    On the holo-room floor, Cill lay crumpled, broken as a china doll heaved against the wall by an angry child. Blood had pooled and congealed under her, while her arm and leg cocked at unnatural angles. Snapped bone speared through the skin of her shin. Jagged, Eve thought, ignoring the movements of the cops, the voices as she focused on the victim. Not a clean break there. Several gashes, including one on her shoulder that appeared straight and true rather than torn.
    Bruising around the eyes, she noted, scrapes at the temples.
    She switched off, studied the scans. Several internal injuries, bruised and damaged organs. But the external bruising . . .
    She scrolled through, backtracked, scrolled again, studying the battered, torn body as she ate her lunch. She pulled out her beeping ’link, glanced at the readout.
    “Doctor Mira.”
    “Eve. I heard about Cilla Allen. What’s her status?”
    “She’s still in surgery. I’m looking through the records, the scans. It’s bad. He used the victim’s holo-room again, the same project—the Fantastical game. She logged it out, or it’s been made to appear she did so. It’s the same basic setup—she appears to have been playing the game solo. But the method of attack is markedly different. Why?”
    “He’d already won the game, that scenario. He’d want a different challenge with this new player. Possibly a game that opponent favored. It adds to the challenge.”
    “Yeah, that’s my take. And it’s meaner than the first victim. That was quick and clean. He may be escalating, wants more bang for the buck. Except . . . Can you take a look? I’ll send you the record from the first responders.”
    “Of course.”
    “Hang on just a minute.” Eve ordered the transfer of data. “The two remaining partners discovered her this morning. The statement, from both, is they became concerned when she didn’t come in, walked over to check on her. The nine-one-one went out immediately.”
    “She sustained severe trauma.” Mira’s tone remained even as her brows knit in study. “Blood loss. The leg . . . It would seem he spent considerable time and rage. I’m surprised her face isn’t more badly damaged.”
    “Does it look like a beating to you?”
    Mira’s brows unknit and lifted. “What else?”
    “Could these injuries have been the result of a fall?”
    “A fall? Are you considering the holo-room a dump site rather than the attack site?”
    Eve hesitated. Not yet, she thought. Not ready to share quite yet. “I’m considering all kinds of things.”
    “This isn’t my area of expertise, and I hesitate to make a conclusion based on this, but I would say that yes, it certainly could be the result of a fall. What do her doctors say?”
    “I haven’t been able to interview any of them. They’re pretty busy with her.”
    “I can try to make some time later today, come to the hospital and study her data, speak with her medical team.”
    “No, that’s okay. I’ve got another angle on that. Why is she alive? That’s the sticker. Why didn’t he finish her?”
    “He may have thought he had, but that kind of mistake isn’t consistent. It’s possible drawing it out adds to the enjoyment. It prolongs the game.”
    “If she lives, it would box him in. He could