by J. D. Robb
“It’s not enough for everyone. And this sort of thing attracts the lonely and the egocentric.”
“And fanatics.”
“Certainly. E-services, particularly underground ones, provide the fanatic with an open forum.” He cocked a brow, cut neatly into his steak. “They also provide a service—educational for that matter—informative, intellectual. And can be perfectly harmless entertainment. They’re legal,” he reminded her. “Even the underground ones aren’t closely regulated. And that stems mainly from the fact that it’s nearly impossible to do so. And cost prohibitive.”
“EDD keeps a line on them.”
“To some extent. Look here.” He swung back, tapped out a few keys, and had a display sliding onto one of the wall screens. “See that? It’s nothing more than a somewhat amusing diatribe about a new version of Camelot. A multiuser role playing program, hologram optional,” he explained. “Everyone wants to be king. And there.” He gestured to another screen. “A very straightforward advertisement for a partner in Erotica, a sexual fantasy VR program, dual remote controls mandatory.” He grinned at her knitted brow. “One of my companies manufactures it. It’s quite popular.”
“I bet.” She didn’t ask if he’d tried it out himself. Some data she didn’t need. “I don’t get it. You can rent a licensed companion, probably cheaper than the cost of that program. You get sex in the flesh. Why do you need this?”
“Fantasy, darling. Having control or abdicating it. And you can run the program over and over, with nearly unlimited variations. It’s mood again, and mind. All fantasies are mood and mind.”
“Even the fatal ones,” she said slowly. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Having control. Ultimate control over someone else’s mood and mind. They don’t even know they’re playing the game. That’s the big kick. You’d need a huge ego and no conscience. Mira says Jess doesn’t fit.”
“Ah. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”
She flicked a look down at him. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“He’s what, in my alley days in Dublin, we would have called a fug—cross between a fuck and a pug. Lots of mouth and no balls. I never met a fug who could draw blood without whining.”
She cleaned the steak off her plate and set it aside. “It seems to me that killing in this manner is bloodless. Cowardly. Fuglike.”
He grinned at that. “Well put, but fugs don’t kill, they just talk.”
She hated that she was beginning to agree and had muscled her way down what looked like a dead end with Jess Barrow. “I’ve got to have more. How much longer do you figure?”
“Until I’m through. You can keep yourself occupied with the data on the VR unit.”
“I’ll come back to it. I’m going to go down to Reeanna’s office. I can just leave her a memo about Jess if she’s not back from dinner.”
“Fine.” He didn’t try to dissuade her. She had to move, he knew. To take some action. “Will you come back up when you’re done, or will I meet you at home?”
“I don’t know.” He looked perfect there, she thought, sitting in his snazzy office, manipulating controls. Maybe everyone wanted to be king, she mused, but Roarke was content being Roarke.
His gaze shifted to hers, held. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“You’re exactly what you want to be. That’s a pretty good deal.”
“Most of the time. And so are you what you want to be.”
“Most of the time,” she murmured. “I’ll check in with Feeney and Peabody after I meet with Reeanna. See if anything’s come loose. Thanks for dinner—and the compu-time.”
“You can pay me back.” He took her hand, rose. “I want, very much, to make love with you tonight.”
“You don’t have to ask.” Flustered, she moved her shoulders. “We got married and everything.”
“Let’s say asking is part of the fantasy.” He moved in, just a little; touched his lips to hers, just a whisper. “Let me woo you tonight, darling Eve. Let me surprise you. Let me . . . seduce you.” He laid a hand on her heart, felt the hard, thick beat of it. “There,” he murmured. “I’ve already started.”
Her knees were quivering. “Thanks. That’s just what I need to keep my mind focused on my work.”
“Two hours.” This time he lingered over the kiss. “Then let’s take something for ourselves.”
“I’ll try.” She stepped back while she was sure she still could, walked quickly toward the door. Then she turned back, just looked at him. “Two hours,” she told him. “Then you can finish what you started.”
She heard him laugh as she closed the door and hurried toward the elevator. “Thirty-nine, west,” she ordered, then found herself smiling.
Yes, they’d take something for themselves, she decided. Something Jess and his nasty little toy had tried to steal from them.
Then she stopped, and her smile faded. Was that the problem here? she wondered. Was she so focused on that—on a kind of personal retribution—that she was missing something bigger? Or smaller?
If Mira was right, and Roarke with his fug theory was on the mark, then she was off. It was time, she admitted, to pull back a bit. Refocus.
It was a tech crime, she mused. But tech crimes still require the human element: motive, emotion, greed, hate, jealousy, and power. Which of those—or which combination of those—was at the core of this? She could see both greed and a hunger for power in Jess. But would he kill for them?
Steely minded, she replayed his reaction to the morgue shots in her mind. Would a man who had caused that to happen, had directed it to happen, react with such violent distress when faced with the results?
Not impossible, she decided. But it didn’t fit her image of the hand on the button.
He enjoyed seeing the results of his work, she remembered. He liked to snicker over them and note them down in his log. Did he have another log, one the sweepers missed? She’d have to take a trip through his studio herself.
Deep in thought, she stepped out on thirty-nine, scanned the shielded glass walls of a lab. It was quiet here, security in full swing as indicated by the cameras in full view, the warning red beep of motion detectors. If there were any drones still at work, they were behind closed doors.
She placed her palm on a plate, received verification, answered the request for voice print by giving her name, then requested the location of Reeanna’s office.
You are cleared for top level, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Proceed left through breezeway, then right at termination. Dr. Ott’s office is five meters beyond this point. It will not be necessary to repeat this procedure to gain entry. You are cleared.
She wondered if Roarke or Reeanna had cleared her through and followed the directions. The breezeway impressed her, offering a full view of the city on all sides. She could look between her own feet and see the life bustling on the street below. The music piped in was energetic, and made her think sourly of some musicologist’s idea of fueling drones with enthusiasm for their work. Wasn’t that just one more kind of mind control?
She passed a door bearing an imprint that identified it as William’s. A game master, she thought. It might be helpful to get his input, pick his brain, jiggle a few hypotheses out of him. She knocked, watched his recorder light beep red for locked.
I’m sorry, William Shaffer is not currently in his office. Please leave your name and any message. He will respond as soon as possible.
“It’s Dallas. Look, William, if you’ve got a couple minutes when you finish dinner, I’ve got something I’d like to run by you. I’m going to drop by Reeanna’s office now. I’ll leave a memo if she’s not there. I’ll be in the building or at home later if you’ve got time to talk to me.”
As she turned away, she glanced at her watch. How long did it take to eat, for God’s sake? You picked up food, put it in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
She found Reeanna’s office, knocked. She hesitated for less than five seconds when the recorder light beeped green, then slid the door open.
If Reeanna didn’t want her inside, she’d have kept it locked, Eve decided, and indulged herself in a thorough study.
It looked like Reeanna, she decided. Polished to a bright sheen, underlying sexual tones in the slashes of fiery red in the laser art against cool white walls.
The desk faced the window to provide Reeanna with a constant view of the busy sky traffic.
The sitting area was plush with a deeply cushioned body-form lounger that still held the imprint of its last occupant. Reeanna’s curves were impressive, even in silhouette. The clear Plasticide table was hard as stone and was intricately carved with diamond patterns that caught and refracted the light from an arched-neck lamp with a rose-toned shade.
Eve picked up the VR goggles laid on it, saw they were indeed Roarke’s latest model, and set them down again. They still made her uncomfortable.
Turning away, she studied the workstation across the room. Nothing soft or feminine about that area, she noted. It was all business. Slick white counter, muscle flexing equipment even now hard at work. She heard the low hum of a computer on auto, frowned at the symbols flickering on the monitor. They looked similar to what she’d tried to decipher from Roarke’s screen.
But then, computer codes all looked the same to her.
Curious, she walked over to the desk, but nothing interesting had been left out to examine. A silver pen, a pair of pretty gold earrings, a hologram of William wearing a flight suit and grinning youthfully. A short printout, again in that baffling computer code.
Eve sat on the edge of the desk. She didn’t want to fit her wiry build into the imprint left by Reeanna’s. Pulling out her communicator, she tagged Peabody.
“Anything?”
“Devane’s son is willing to cooperate. He’s aware of the interest she had in games, particularly role playing. It wasn’t an interest he shared, but he claims he knows one of her usual partners. He dated her for a short time. I’ve got her name. She lives right here in New York. I have the data. Should I transmit?”
“I think you can handle an interview solo. Arrange a meet, bring her in only if she refuses to cooperate. Report back.”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody’s voice remained sober, but her eyes lighted with the assignment. “I’m on my way.”
Satisfied, Eve tried for Feeney, hit his frequency occupied recording. She had to settle for leaving a request for contact.
The door opened. Reeanna stopped her rush inside when she spotted Eve at her desk. “Oh, Eve. I didn’t expect you quite yet.”
“Time’s part of my problem.”
“I see.” She smiled, let the door shut. “I suppose Roarke cleared you in.”
“I guess he did. Problem?”
“No, no.” Reeanna waved her hand. “I’m distracted, I suppose. William went on endlessly about some glitches he’s concerned about. I left him brooding over his cre`me brûlée.” She flicked a glance toward her humming computer. “The work never stops around here. R and D’s a twenty-four/seven proposition.” She smiled. “Like police work, I imagine. Well, I didn’t take time for brandy. Would you like some?”
“No, thanks. On duty.”
“Coffee then.” Reeanna moved over to a counter, requested a snifter of brandy, a cup of black coffee. “You’ll have to excuse my lack of focus. We’re a little behind schedule today. Roarke needed data on the new VR model, and he wanted it from conception to implementation.”
“That was yours. I didn’t realize that until he mentioned it just now.”
“Oh, William’s mostly. Though I had a small part. Now.” She handed Eve the coffee, then took her brandy around the desk to sit. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m hoping you’ll agree to that consult. The subject is currently in custody, now lawyered, but I don’t think we’ll be blocked there. I need a profile, angling from your particular area of expertise.”
“Genetic branding.” Reeanna tapped her fingers. “Interesting. What are the charges?”
“I’m not free to discuss that until I have your agreement and clear the session with my commander. Once that’s done, I’d like the testing scheduled for seven hundred.”
“Seven A.M.?” Reeanna winced. “Ouch. And here I’m a night owl rather than a lark. You want me up and running at that hour, give me some incentive.” She smiled a little. “I can assume you’ve already had Mira test your subject—and the results weren’t to your liking.”
“Second opinions aren’t unusual.” It was a defensive answer. She felt defensive. And, Eve realized, she felt guilty.
“No, but Dr. Mira’s reports are sterling, and they’re very rarely questioned. You want him badly.”
“I want the truth badly. To find it, I have to separate theory and lies and deceptions.” She pushed off the desk. “Look, I thought you were interested in doing this sort of thing.”
“I am, very. But I like to know what I’m dealing with. I’d need the subject’s brain scan.”
“I’ve got it. In evidence.”
“Really?” Her eyes gleamed, catlike. “It’s also important to have all available data on his biological parents. Are they known?”
“We accessed that data for Dr. Mira’s test. It’ll be available to you.”
Reeanna leaned back, swirling her brandy. “It must be murder.” Her lips twitched at Eve’s expression. “After all, that’s your field. The study of the taking of lives.”
“You could put it that way.”
“How do you put it?”
“The investigation of the takers.”
“Yes, yes, but in order to do so, you study the dead—and death itself. How it happened, what caused it, what transpired in those last moments between the taker and the victim. Fascinating. What kind of personality is required to study death routinely, day after day, year after year, as a vocation? Does it scar you, Eve, or harden you?”
“It pisses you off,” she said shortly. “And I don’t have time to philosophize.”
“Sorry, bad habit.” Reeanna let out a sigh. “William tells me I analyze everything to death.” She smiled. “Not that it’s a crime—that sort of murder. And I am interested in assisting you. Call your commander,” she invited. “I’ll wait and see if clearance is forthcoming. Then we can go over details.”
“I appreciate it.” Eve removed her communicator, turned away, and requested display only. It took longer and was, she felt, less effective. The coding through of information and request. How could you add your instincts, your determination to a display?
But she did her best and waited.
What the hell are you trying to do, Dallas, override Mira?
I want another opinion, Commander. It’s well within procedure. I’m pursuing all angles. If I’m unable to convince the PA to charge Jess with coercion to self-terminate, I don’t want the lesser charges to slide. I need verification of intent to harm.
It was pushing it, and she knew it. Eve waited with a knotted stomach while Whitney mulled over his decision.
Just give me the opening, she thought. He needs his ears pinned back. He needs to pay.
You’re cleared to proceed on my authorization, Lieutenant. This better not be a waste of budget. We both know Mira’s report will weigh heavily.
Understood and appreciated. Dr. Ott’s report will give Barrow’s lawyer a headache, if nothing else. I’m currently working on detailing connection between suspect and victims. Results will be available by nine hundred hours.
Be damn sure of it. My butt is now swinging with yours. Whitney out.
Eve let out a long, quiet breath. She’d bought a little more time, and that was all, she admitted to herself, she was after. With time, she could dig deeper. If Roarke and Feeney couldn’t pull out data, there was no one, off or on planet, who could.
Jess would pay, but murder would go unavenged. She closed her eyes a moment. And that was where she stood. Avenging the dead.
She opened her eyes again, wanting to align herself before she relayed the details to Reeanna.
/> That’s when she saw it, in black and white there on the computer monitor.
Mathias, Drew logged as AutoPhile. Mathias, Drew logged as Banger. Mathias, Drew logged as HoloDick.
Her heartbeat jerked, but her hand was steady as a rock as she switched her communicator from off to open, signaling to Peabody and Feeney on code one. Backup required. Respond immediately to transmission source.
She pocketed the card, turned. “The commander okayed the consult. Reluctantly. I’m going to need results, Reeanna.”
“You’ll get them.” Reeanna sipped her brandy, then shifted her gaze to the sleek little unit on her desk. “Your heart rate just spiked, Eve, and your adrenaline level rose dramatically.” She angled her head. “Oh dear,” she murmured, and lifted her sparkling hand. It held an official NYPSD stunner. “That’s a problem.”
Several floors above, Roarke scanned the new data on Mathias, hummed over it. Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought. He switched back to auto and tuned in to the data on the new VR unit. Wasn’t it odd, he thought, and interesting, that some of the components on Jess Barrow’s magic console so closely mirrored the components of his new unit?
Then he swore softly when his interoffice ’link buzzed.
“I don’t want interruptions.”
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s a Mavis Freestone here. She claims you’ll see her.”
He switched the second computer to auto, blocked both audio and video. “Let her in, Caro. And you can log out for the day. I won’t need you anymore.”
“Thank you. I’ll bring her back directly.”
Roarke frowned to himself, idly picked up the VR unit Reeanna had left him to try out. A few adjustments, he mused. Improved for the next release. It was loaded with subliminal options, and could explain the coincidence of similarity. Still, he didn’t care for it. He began to consider a possible leak in his R and D division.