In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

stick it in a vault where nobody can see it. It’s all theirs. It’s a kind of glory, too. The big secret, the ownership. That takes control, willpower and a hell of an ego. It took all of that to set up this kill. It took precision, brutality, and cold violence to execute the kill. So, it takes me back to maybe we’ve got two involved. Maybe two people, maybe one and a droid. Or maybe a multiple personality type, but that’s low on the list for now.”
    He sucked on the candy, scratched his cheek again. “The model’s copyrighted on account it’s a replica of a vid character and there’s merchandising rights and all that. Then you gotta register a droid. There’s some getting around all of that if you buy it black or gray market, but this one’s the real deal. She’s got her registration chip and the proper model number. We got the vic’s registration and his authentication certificate. If she was messed with, she passed the standard diagnostic. We can run deeper. As for copies, well, it’s a popular model. It’s a classic for a reason. You can run a search for ownership on that, and maybe you’ll get a pop.”
    “Unless it’s black or gray market.”
    “If you were to run a probability, I’d bet it’s going to be high the vic would spot a knockoff. Even a dupe would have to be the real deal to get by him, if you’re asking me. Not to say they don’t have the reals off the grid, but what’s the point of going that way when it’s no crime to buy the real through proper sources? Less risky that way. We’ll go take a look at her.”
    He led the way out and through to Evidence. He coded in, pressed his thumb to the plate.
    Feeney, Captain Ryan, is cleared.
    He opened the door to an organized pirate’s cave of electronics. Comps, ’links, screens, com and surveillance devices, all labeled, stood and sat on towering shelves. The droids were well represented as well—mechanical-looking household and yard droids, cheap mini-droids, and a number of the human replicas lined up like suspects.
    Eve studied the victim’s choice of house droid. “That outfit wasn’t designed for fighting.”
    “Slave-girl version, episode six. But she handles herself. Girl’s a rebel and holds her own. Helped kick the Empire’s ass.”
    “Jesus, Feeney. It’s a droid—a replication of a fictional character from a space opera.”
    “I’m just saying,” he muttered. “This model’s top of the line. She’s designed to exactly replicate the character physically, and she has top flight programming capabilities.”
    “Did he play with it?”
    “Now it’s my turn. Jesus, Dallas.”
    “Not that way. Ick. Gaming. Did he use it in the games?”
    “She’s programmed to participate. She’d interface with the game program, upload the scenario, the rules. She’d be a tough opponent.”
    Didn’t look so tough in that outfit, Eve thought, but she’d take Feeney’s word.
    “It could handle a sword?” Eve asked.
    “Damn right.”
    But Eve shook her head. “The vic was taller, considerably. Blow came from an upward angle, slicing down. It could’ve been standing on something, or it took the higher ground.”
    “If she or one like her was programmed to do this, they’ll end up scrapping her. Damn shame. She’s a real beauty.”
    She started to point out, again, it was a machine, but remembered who she was talking to. “Run it, and I’ll do the search on the model.”
    “I’ll run her myself. I’ll put Callendar on analysis for the repeat scenarios and players.”
    “Appreciate it. I’ll be in the field, at U-Play.”
    “Hell of a place,” Feeney commented. “Too bad about the boy. He had a good thing going there.”
     
    It didn’t surprise Eve to find the U-Play offices more subdued. The noise level remained high, but the bright, or slightly wild-eyed look of those who manned systems, cubes, offices, labs had been replaced by the solemn.
    A great many wore black armbands along with their colorful attire, and she noted a great many who’d rushed around the day before weren’t in attendance today.
    “Lieutenant.” Var came down the stairs from one of the upper levels. His shadowed eyes and unhealthy color showed signs of a hard, restless night. “Have you got any news?”
    “We’re working some angles. You seem to be understaffed today.”
    “After we . . . made the announcement, we gave everybody the option of staying home today. We talked about closing up, out of respect, for a couple