In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

sharp.”
    “Their heads should all explode.” Eve watched people ride up and down old freight elevators cased with glass or jog up and down iron stairs in clunky airboots or skinny skids. Others lounged in reclining chairs and sofas playing games with the glassy and focused stare of marathon runners.
    Eve grabbed one, a young woman wearing what looked to be a pair of overalls that had been splattered with paint by a crazed three-year-old.
    “Who’s in charge?”
    The woman, who had multiple rings in her ears, nose, eyebrows, blinked. “Of what?”
    “Of this.” Eve raised an arm to encompass the madness.
    “Oh. Bart. But he’s not in yet. I don’t think.”
    “Who’s next? Down the chain?”
    “Um.”
    “Let’s try this.” Eve pulled out her badge.
    “Oh, gosh. We’re all legal and stuff. Maybe if you want to talk about licenses and all that, you want Cill or Benny or Var.”
    “Where do I find Cill or Benny or Var?”
    “Um.” She pointed up. “Probably on three.” She turned a circle, looking up. “There’s Benny, on three. Really tall guy, red dreads? I got work, okay. So . . . cha.”
    Benny Leman topped out at about six foot eight, by Eve’s gauge, and ran about two hundred after soaking in a lake for a few hours. He was a walking stick figure with skin the depth and gloss of ebony and a fiery headful of floppy dreadlocks.
    By the time they’d climbed to the third floor, her eardrums throbbed from the noise, her eyes twitched from the assault of color and image, and she’d decided U-Play was in reality the seventh circle of hell.
    She found Benny doing the typical e-geek prance as he shouted strange terms into his headset, operated a palm unit with one hand, and bapped his fingers on a smart screen with the other.
    Still, he managed to send her a blinding white smile and hold up a hand in a “just a sec” gesture. His words hit her in one long buzz about nano, mothers, terabytes and CGI.
    The ’link on his loaded work counter beeped, and when his pocket began to chime, Eve assumed he had a ’link in there, too. Someone came to the doorway, lifted the thumb of one hand, gave a back-andforth move with the other. Benny answered with a nod, shrug, and shuffle, which seemed to satisfy his coworker, who dashed away.
    “Sorry.” In a pretty voice with just a hint of island breezes, Benny ignored the chimes and beeps to offer another smile. “We’re a little busy around here this morning. If you’re here for the interview, you really want Cill. I can—”
    “Mr. Leman.” Eve held up her badge. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. This is my partner, Detective Peabody.”
    “Golly.” Though the smile remained, it edged toward puzzled. “Is somebody in trouble about something?”
    “You could say that.” She gestured to Peabody to close the door. Like the walls, it was glass, but at least it cut some of the noise. “Would you turn off that screen?”
    “Okay. Am I in trouble about something? Oh shit, did Mongo get on the ’link? I didn’t get home last night, but my droid’s supposed to look after him. I—”
    “Who’s Mongo?”
    “My parrot. He’s a good boy, but he likes to access the ’link for cranks.”
    “It’s not about your parrot. It concerns Bart Minnock.”
    “Bart? Bart’s in trouble? That explains why I can’t reach him. But Bart wouldn’t do anything illegal. Does he need a lawyer? Should I . . .” Something crossed his face—a new kind of puzzlement, and the first shadows of fear. “Is he hurt? Was there an accident?”
    “I’m sorry to have to tell you Mr. Minnock was murdered yesterday.”
    “Oh come on!” Quicksilver anger replaced the fear. “He was here yesterday. This isn’t funny. Bart knows I cruise a joke as much as anybody, but this isn’t chuckle.”
    “It’s not a joke, Mr. Leman,” Peabody said gently. “Mr. Minnock was killed late yesterday afternoon in his home.”
    “Nuh-uh.” The childish denial came out poignantly as tears sheened deep, dark eyes. Benny took one stumbling step back, then simply sat on the floor. “No. Not Bart. No.”
    To keep their faces level, Eve crouched. “I’m very sorry for your loss, and I understand this is a shock, but we need to ask you some questions.”
    “In his apartment? But he has security. He has good security. He’s too trusting. Did he let someone in? I don’t understand.” He looked at her pleadingly as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Are you sure? Are you