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“A fall? Are you considering the holo-room a dump site rather than the attack site?”
Eve hesitated. Not yet, she thought. Not ready to share quite yet. “I’m considering all kinds of things.”
“This isn’t my area of expertise, and I hesitate to make a conclusion based on this, but I would say that yes, it certainly could be the result of a fall. What do her doctors say?”
“I haven’t been able to interview any of them. They’re pretty busy with her.”
“I can try to make some time later today, come to the hospital and study her data, speak with her medical team.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got another angle on that. Why is she alive? That’s the sticker. Why didn’t he finish her?”
“He may have thought he had, but that kind of mistake isn’t consistent. It’s possible drawing it out adds to the enjoyment. It prolongs the game.”
“If she lives, it would box him in. He could lose.”
“Yes. It’s possible that adds to his sense of competition. It doesn’t fit well, but often the criminal mind doesn’t follow a logical path. Still . . .” Mira frowned, slowly shook her head. “He didn’t finish the game, and he should have.”
“He’s stuck on this level now, and can’t advance unless, or until she dies.”
“I’m sure you have her well protected.”
“Yeah, I’ve got her covered.”
“I’d like to think about this further, review my notes and this additional data.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
She clicked off, and contacted someone whose area of expertise might give her some answers—and more questions.
While she waited, she tried out her theory with a probability run, and got back a percentage she considered the computer equivalent of Have you lost your freaking mind?
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.”
Since she didn’t have her murder board, she worked to create a facsimile of one on-screen. Then sat back, sipped excellent coffee, and studied it.
“Whacked theory,” she murmured. “Way-out-of-orbit theory. But, didn’t we just have a party last night to celebrate a book about mad scientists secretly creating generations of human clones?
That’s pretty whacked.”
She adjusted the screen, putting her two victims side-by-side.
Partners, she thought. Friends. Those words, those concepts meant different things to different people.
History, shared interests, trust, emotion, passion. All shared.
Shared business, profits, work, risks.
Both attacked during play, in their own secured homes. One dead, one hanging on by the skill and efforts of medical science—and maybe her own grit.
No weapons, no signs of forced entry, no trace other than the victims’.
Add the timing, yeah, add the timing in there, too.
People were always finding new ways to create and destroy, weren’t they? It’s what humans did. Technology was a tool, a convenience, and a weapon.
She walked over to answer the knock on the door. “Thanks for coming, Morris.”
“It’s nice to get out of the house now and then.”
