In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

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