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Travis asked, "Is she going to be okay? Tammy?"
"Looks like it."
He glanced at the scarred coffee table, where an empty but smudged ashtray rested. Dance didn't think she'd seen an ashtray in a living room for years. "You think I did it? Tried to hurt her?" How easily his dark eyes, set deep beneath those brows, held hers.
"No. We're just talking to everybody who might have information about the situation."
"Situation?" he asked.
"Where were you last night? Between eleven and one?"
Another sweep of the hair. "I went to the Game Shed about ten-thirty."
"What's that?"
"This place where you can play video games. Like an arcade. I kind of hang there some. You know where it is? It's by Kinko's. It used to be that old movie theater but that got torn down and they put it in. It's not the best, the connections aren't so good, but it's the only one that's open late."
Dance noted the rambling. She asked, "You were alone?"
"There were, like, other kids there. But I was playing alone."
"I thought you were here," Sonia said.
A shrug. "I was here. I went out. I couldn't sleep."
"At the Game Shed were you online?" Dance asked.
"Like, no. I was playing pinball, not RPG."
"Not what?"
"Role-playing games. For shooter and pinball and driving games you don't go online."
He said this patiently, though he seemed surprised she didn't know the distinction.
"So you weren't logged on?"
"That's what I'm saying."
"How long were you there?" His mother had taken on the interrogation.
"I don't know, an hour, two."
"What do those games cost? Fifty cents, a dollar every few minutes?"
So that was Sonia's agenda. Money.
"If you play good, it lets you keep on going. Cost me three dollars for the whole night. I used money I made. And I got some food too and a couple of Red Bulls."
"Travis, can you think of anybody who saw you there?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I'll have to think about it." Eyes studying the floor.
"Good. And what time did you come home?"
"One-thirty. Maybe two. I don't know."
She asked more questions about Monday night and then about school and his classmates. She wasn't able to decide whether or not he was telling the truth since he wasn't deviating much from his baseline. She thought again about what Jon Boling had told her about the synth world. If Travis was mentally there, not in the real world, baseline analysis might be useless. Maybe a whole different set of rules applied to people like Travis Brigham.
