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When he smiled, she ran a long, loose lock between her fingers. “It feels real. If I tug it, I feel it, even though it’s not really there. My weapon’s over there. I can’t see it, but it’s there. It’s real. So if his killer brough
t it in—like I did—oh yeah, forgot. Sets it down in a specific place. He’s only got to remember where it is, pick it up, use it. But why do all that? Why go through the motions of the game first?”
“More sporting?”
“Maybe. Maybe. The bruises, the burns. If the game was sabotaged ahead of time, the levels bumped up beyond what they could be for code, for sale, that ups the competitive level, too, doesn’t it? And if the killer used a droid, he wouldn’t have to be here. Alibis, none of them would matter with that angle. Talk Bart into testing the game at home with a droid.”
“The droid would have to be sabotaged as well, or built and programmed off code. The weapon would register as real, as lethal, so it would have to be programmed either not to register the weapon as lethal, or to discount it. Then to clean up and reset the security. Some of that would involve computer use, and that should have alerted CompuGuard.”
“You could do it.”
“Yes, I could do it. But I have unregistered equipment and the privacy to do the work without sending out flags. EDD combed the warehouse. There’s no unregistered equipment there. And none in Bart’s apartment.”
“Which only means, potentially, someone else had a copy of the disc, and worked on it off-site. You know this whole thing is showy. Showoffy,” she added and started to rise.
And remembered she was naked, and her illusionary clothes torn and bloody. “Ah, let’s shut this down.”
“If we must. Game end.”
The hillside vanished, the sounds of war faded away. She watched the blood on her palm do the same. She picked up her shirt, studied the ragged tear down the back.
“There was no dagger,” Roarke explained. “So essentially I tore the shirt you actually had on to remove the tunic you didn’t.”
“Different cause, different method, same result. That’s what we’ve got here. Somehow. A mix of illusion and reality combined to murder.” She held up the ruined shirt. “Essentially someone did this to Bart Minnock.”
In the morning, because there seemed to be no point not to, she compared the results of her level three to Roarke’s.
“There’s nothing here that sends up any flags, not on this investigation.”
“No,” he agreed, but continued to study the data on-screen.
“Do you see something I don’t?” she asked.
“No, not as applies to this. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or frustrated.”
“Well, it would be easier if something had popped here, or on the runs I’ve done on U-Play employees. DuVaugne was the big pop at Synch, but he’s just a cheat.”
She downed more coffee. “Whoever did this is a lot more tech-savvy and creative than DuVaugne. From what we know of the victim, considerably more to have been able to get past his guards. I’ve got meets with the lawyer and with Mira today. Maybe that’ll shake something loose.”
“I’ve meetings of my own. I’ll do what I can to work with EDD when I’m clear.”
“I’m going to try another angle. The sword. I’m going to send Peabody and McNab on that trail, figuring the team should include a geek and nongeek. McNab can talk the talk and pass for a collector. There’s what they call a mini-con in East Washington.”
“We have a booth there. I can easily arrange to get them in.”
“Fine. Saves me the trouble.” She crossed to the murder board, walked around it. “I’ll be talking to his three partners today. Individually this time.”
“Longtime friends suddenly turning murderous?”
She glanced over at him. “People get aggravated.”
Roarke lifted an eyebrow. “Should I worry about losing my head?”
“Probably not. We tend to blow it off, fight it off, yell it off, so the aggravation or the serious piss doesn’t dig in too deep. With other people, sometimes it festers. Maybe we’ve got a festerer here. These three have the means—the tech savvy, the creativity. They had the vic’s trust, and easy access to his home, his office. They’ve got motive, in as far as they’ll benefit from his death by upping their share of the company. And opportunity, as much as any.”
“They loved each other.”
“That’s just one more motive. How many women and kids are in Dochas right now, because someone loves them?” she asked, referring to Roarke’s abuse shelter.
