In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

too hard, kid.”
    “I’m saying the killer used the game,” Eve corrected. “I’m saying he used a new technology programmed into the game as the weapon. Enhanced wave fronts, increased power to beams and the haptic system, a refocus of laser angles and light, forming electrons and light source in the shape of the programmed images—replicating substance.”
    Callendar tilted her head. “Wicked. Wicked freaky.”

21
     
     
     
    “ T hat’s science fiction shit.”
    “It’s fiction until science catches up.” Eve rocked back on her heels. “Feeney, you work with science every day. Go back to your rookie days and compare them with now. This isn’t my area, so maybe it’s easier for me to consider the possibility. Nothing else fits. And this? Figuring the evidence, the time lines, the circumstances, the personalities, and the areas of interest? It fits like a fucking glove.”
    “There’s always some rumbling and mumbling on the underground sites,” McNab commented. His eyes shone bright with the possibilities—what Eve thought of as a geek beam. “Way-out theories and applications.”
    “We got sightings of Bigfoot and little green men on-sites, too,” Feeney countered, but he was frowning in a way that made Eve sure he was considering.
    “Both vics had minute burns, internal burns, at the site of injuries. We’ve gone around chasing some charged-up sword. I think we weren’t far off. But it only exists within the program.
    I believe Levar Hoyt killed one partner and attempted to kill another through his programming. Let’s take him for a minute.”
    She shifted gears, back to the comfortable, and outlined her reasons and conclusions on the suspect.
    “He looks good for it,” Feeney agreed. “You’ve got a nice pile of circumstantial. But say I came over to this idea of yours, how the hell do we prove it?”
    “He’s going to tell me. He’s going to want to tell me.” She paused as Roarke walked in. “Got it?”
    “It’s rough considering I was pressed for time—and your equipment is hardly cutting-edge—but I have it, yes.”
    “Load it up. Display on screen two. What we’re going to see are reconstructions of the crimes, using the available data, images, medical findings, and applying the theory. The running time’s bottom right. For both, we’ve utilized the victims’ game pattern from records of their sessions.”
    She watched as Roarke set the program, displayed it on-screen. “Bart Minnock enters his apartment,” she continued as the computerized images moved over the screen. “Interacts with the droid. He drinks the fizzy she serves him, orders her to shut down for the night. He leaves the glass on the table, goes to the third floor, and enters the holo-room, secures it.”
    She watched it play out, keeping an eye on the elapsed time. It fit, she thought again. The image moved through the steps, the pattern previously established. Maybe he’d done something different this time, but it didn’t matter. He’d ended up, as he did now, facing off with the figure of the Black Knight.
    Swords clashed, horses reared, smoke plumed. Then the tip of the blade scored Bart’s arm, and the knight followed through with the coup de grace.
    “You’ll note the positions, the height, reach of the victim and the holo-image, the blow result in the exact positioning of the victim, head and body, as we have on record at the time of discovery. For the second victim, we’ll move straight to level three.”
    “I put considerable time into the lead up,” Roarke complained.
    “Which is appreciated, and will be of interest to the PA’s office. But for now, let’s save time. Her character’s after this artifact, and up against obstacles, puzzles, and opponents. She needs to reach the top of this rise, gain entrance to a cave in order to complete the level. Note the path is muddy.”
    Arrows flew. Cill’s image dodged, weaved, slipped, scrambled up. Then came face-to-face with her opponent.
    “The time line, considering her average pace and movements, indicates she found the holo-image here, on the muddy path, leading up the rise to the cave, with the cliff dropping on to the rocks and water at her right. There! Pause program.”
    The images froze as the knife sliced Cill’s arm.
    “She sustained this injury—one Morris states was the result of insult with a smooth, sharp object. Knife or sword. Resume program. She’s shocked, hurt, and off balance on the slippery path,