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“Nice.”
“You get what you pay for. When running there’s head severing, disemboweling, a bit of keel hauling, and the skeletal spirits of the damned. It’s fairly impressive.”
“I bet.” She studied the sign on an arched door fashioned to replicate planks.
IF THE PIRATE’S BLADE YOU FEAR,
TAKE THIS CHANCE TO ESCAPE FROM HERE.
“The exit.” She tried the door. It opened into the bright lights and sounds of the park. “He’d be out and gone in two minutes, easily. With the heart jab, he shouldn’t have gotten any blood on him. Or if he did, it’s easily cleaned off before he leaves. Stroll right out. He could buy a fucking soy dog to celebrate. He’d look ordinary, forgettable. But she doesn’t, that’s the thing. She’s the type people notice, so maybe somebody noticed him, too.”
She shut the door. “I’m going to take another walk through. Maybe you could give Gumm and McNab a kick. I want whatever they’ve got, and we’ll see what EDD can do with it. And yeah,” she said before he could speak, “you’re on as expert consultant, civilian, if you want to be. I know this is your place, and you’re pissed.”
“Not entirely mine, but, yes, I’m pissed. It’s good security here,” he added, looking around, “but it’s a playground. Families, children, people looking for a bit of fun. I don’t suppose we were as stringent in that area as we might have been.”
“Nobody’s going to monitor an amusement spook house the way they do the UN. And he knew what he was doing, just how to do it.” She frowned. “I want a list of other investors, partners, whatever they are. The money people who’d know what went into this place. He has money, or he wants it. The kind that buys gold limos and expensive LCs.”
She went out the exit, circled around to the front. This time she wanted to retrace the killer’s route. She tagged McNab. “Guide me through this place, by the blips on the security.”
“Can do. Let me get a fix on your ’link.”
She followed his directions, winding through a vampire’s lair, a graveyard with zombies dragging themselves out of the ground. She could imagine the lighting, the sounds, the movements well enough.
What if the program had taken them another way? she wondered. He’d had alternatives set up. Other kill zones with easily accessed exits. And the vic had played along, doing what she’d been paid to do.
She stopped, narrowed her eyes. Paid. An LC in her league would get a hefty deposit. She needed to consult with Charles, get a solid opinion on the practice and procedure.
By the time she reached Peabody she had the route mapped in her head. “He probably made it here with her in under twenty. Probability’s high this was his first stop, and her last.”
“I did a run on her. She had over a dozen years in, not a single citation. Clean and regular health checks, paid her fees on time, worked her way up the chain. She’s diamond level, and if I remember what Charles said that means she earns about ten thousand for a four-hour date. She’s certified for male and female, groups, bondage, submissive or dominant. Name it, she’s licensed. There are only half a dozen LCs in the city at her level. Only one other female.”
“He wants or needs exclusive.” She turned as Officer Milway came back in.
“Lieutenant. She didn’t book transpo, but I checked for private going to her address tonight. There was a pickup for that address, her name, booked at twenty-two-thirty. Elegant Transportation. The driver, Wanda Fickle, dropped her off at the main entrance at twenty-three-ten. The car was ordered by and paid for by a Foster M. Urich. He’s got an address in the Village.”
“Good work.”
“Yes, sir. We’re asking around. We found a couple of people who think they saw her. With a male, but they’re vague and contradictory on the male. We’ll keep on it.”
“If you get anything solid there, I want to know ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
She pulled out her ’link. “I’ve got to go to the Village.”
“Take the car,” Roarke told her. “McNab and I will get ourselves and the discs into Central.”
Since suggesting he go home and get some sleep first would be a waste of time, she didn’t bother. “I’ll see you there.”
“Morgue’s in the house.” Peabody tucked away her communicator. “Sweepers right behind them.”
“Good, let’s get things wrapped here, and go see Foster M. Urich. Do a run.”
“Already on it. Forty-three, Caucasian male, recently divorced, one child—daughter, age eight. CEO of Intelicore. Minor bust for zoner at age twenty. Nothing else on his record.”
“What’s Intelicore?”
“Data gathering and storing services. Major player globally and off planet. Three generations in.”
