In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

lose.”
    “Yes. It’s possible that adds to his sense of competition. It doesn’t fit well, but often the criminal mind doesn’t follow a logical path. Still . . .” Mira frowned, slowly shook her head. “He didn’t finish the game, and he should have.”
    “He’s stuck on this level now, and can’t advance unless, or until she dies.”
    “I’m sure you have her well protected.”
    “Yeah, I’ve got her covered.”
    “I’d like to think about this further, review my notes and this additional data.”
    “Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
    She clicked off, and contacted someone whose area of expertise might give her some answers—and more questions.
    While she waited, she tried out her theory with a probability run, and got back a percentage she considered the computer equivalent of Have you lost your freaking mind?
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.”
    Since she didn’t have her murder board, she worked to create a facsimile of one on-screen. Then sat back, sipped excellent coffee, and studied it.
    “Whacked theory,” she murmured. “Way-out-of-orbit theory. But, didn’t we just have a party last night to celebrate a book about mad scientists secretly creating generations of human clones? That’s pretty whacked.”
    She adjusted the screen, putting her two victims side-by-side.
    Partners, she thought. Friends. Those words, those concepts meant different things to different people.
    History, shared interests, trust, emotion, passion. All shared.
    Shared business, profits, work, risks.
    Both attacked during play, in their own secured homes. One dead, one hanging on by the skill and efforts of medical science—and maybe her own grit.
    No weapons, no signs of forced entry, no trace other than the victims’.
    Add the timing, yeah, add the timing in there, too.
    People were always finding new ways to create and destroy, weren’t they? It’s what humans did. Technology was a tool, a convenience, and a weapon.
    She walked over to answer the knock on the door. “Thanks for coming, Morris.”
    “It’s nice to get out of the house now and then.”
    He wore black, as he had every time she’d seen him since Coltraine’s death, but Eve took hope from the flash of the shimmering red tie that the leading edge of his grief had dulled.
    “I need you to look at these pictures and the medical data, and give me your opinion on the cause.”
    “I’d do better with the body.”
    “Well, she’s not dead yet.”
    “That’s fortunate for her. I might point out you’re in a hospital, and there are likely doctors wandering around who tend to serve and assess those not dead yet.”
    “Yeah, the ones working on her are busy. And I don’t know them.” Trust, she thought again, the solid base of friendship. “What I’m looking for is your opinion on how this twenty-nine-year-old female incurred these injuries.”
    She turned to the screen, ordered the image of Cill on the holoroom floor.
    “Ah, well. Ouch. You say she’s alive?”
    “So far.”
    He moved closer, tilting his head. “If she lives, I hope she has an exceptional orthopedic surgeon on that leg. Enhance that for me. A bit more,” he said when she complied. “Hmm. Now down to the ankle, same leg,” he told her after a moment.
    “You can run it. Take your time.”
    As he went section by section, injury by injury, she swiped the Friggie for two tubes of Pepsi.
    He grunted in thanks, and continued. “You have her scans?”
    “Yeah.” Eve ordered them on-screen, then rested a hip on the desk as he studied, as he worked.
    “She’ll need the god of all neuros,” he murmured. “And even then I’m afraid I might see her on my table. The head injuries are the worst, and the rest is very nasty. If she gets her miracle, they’ll have to replace that kidney at some point, and the spleen, and she’ll require extensive PT for the leg, the arm, the shoulder. She’s got a lot of work ahead of her. Brain damage is another risk she faces. She may live, but it may not be a blessing. Still, it’s a wonder she didn’t snap her spine in a fall like this.”
    “A fall.” Eve all but leaped on it. “Not a beating.”
    “A fall,” he repeated. “The contusions, the breaks, the lacerations aren’t consistent with a beating, but a fall. She landed primarily on her back, with the impact shattering that elbow and twisting the leg with enough force to break the bone. A hard, uneven surface, I’d say from the type of injuries.