J. Robb - Fantasy in Death

“It could, absolutely, if developed and marketed well. Is this your motive?”

“Might be. DuVaugne paid a source nearly a hundred and fifty thousand, so far, for data on the program. He’s a VP at Synch.”

“In Development,” Roarke added. “I looked him up on the way down. He’d be a hero if he brought the company this idea, and the means to create it. I imagine his contract with them includes bonus clauses. He’d rake in quite a bit, and for a very small investment.”

“Which is a very nice motive for murder, or for making another investment and hiring it out. He’s also got a fairly new and very young second wife. I bet she likes the high life.”

He smiled at her. “Most do.”

“Uh-huh. So, when down the road a couple decades if you think about ditching me for fresh? Remember who carries a weapon.”

“Something I never forget. Or fail to appreciate.”

“Okay. I need to have a little chat with DuVaugne.”

“I’d be interested in chatting with him myself.”

“Can’t do it. Can’t,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re a competitor, and it could sour my chances of shaking him out. Complicate them anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

“I should touch base with Morris, and I want another pass at the scene. Keep me updated on the e-work.”

“I’ll do that, but I want to go with you to Bart’s.”

She started to speak, stopped and reconsidered. “You might be handy there.”

“I do what I can.” He balled up the candy wrapper, two-pointed it into the recycler before he rose. “Thanks for the candy.”

She smiled. “What candy?”

“Do you think the penis ever gets tired?” As she drove, Eve turned her head toward Peabody, tipped down the shades she rarely remembered to wear. “Whose?”

“Anybody’s. I mean anybody with one. Does the penis ever just think: For God’s sake, pal, give it a rest? Or is it all: Woo-hoo! Here we go again!”

“Is this germane to the case, or have you lapsed into girl talk?”

“It springs from the case. I was thinking about that asshole Dubrosky. There he is banging away at Britt Casey yesterday afternoon. A triple-header, according to her. Floor,” she said, ticking it off on her fingers, “bed, and against the door. Then last night he’s bucking with Roland in fantasy game-play. Pirate captain and cabin boy.”

“Stop.”

“Wait. And this morning? He sneaks in a coffee and a quickie with Chelsea Saxton, then gets a follow-up bj in the shower.”

“Jesus, Peabody.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for the dirty details, but all three of them just splurted it all out when they found out about the others. I really think most ginnies would say: Hey! Don’t even think about putting anything in there for a while.”

“Ginnies?”

“It’s a nice name for vagina. And I really think after a couple rounds, under most circumstances, your average ginnie would say, okay, that’ll hold me for a while. But does the penis just keep searching out the next orifice? I wonder since I don’t have one.”

“In case you’re wondering, neither do I.”

“I’ve seen you naked so I know this. I think even the most stalwart and energetic penis would, at some point, say enough’s enough for today or tonight, and since, hey, I’m all relaxed now, I’m taking a little vacation. Or just a nap.”

“See now I’ve got this image of some cock sitting at a swim-up bar at a resort, wearing sunshades and drinking one of those stupid drinks full of fruit and paper umbrellas.”

“Aw, that’s cute.”

“It’s not cute. It’s mildly scary. Or disgusting. I’m not sure which. Both.” Eve blew out a tired breath. “I think both.”

“It should have a little straw hat, too. Anyway, I don’t think it’s about sex with Dubrosky’s penis.”

“Peabody, I can’t stress how much I don’t want to think about his penis.”

“It’s addiction,” Peabody continued, unfazed. “I bet Mira’d agree,” she added, referring to the departmental profiler and shrink. “He equates his worth with his penis, and also uses it as a weapon.”

“Okay, now I see it wearing a gold chain and toting a blaster. Stop now.”

Shifting, Peabody gave Eve a look of delight. “You get the best pictures in your head. It’s why you’re a good cop. Dubrosky said all that crap about needing to be admired. But see, he’s probably talking about his looks, his manner, but subconsciously, he’s talking about his penis.”

“Okay, if I agree with you, because actually I do, will you stop?”

“I just think it’s interesting. Now take this DuVaugne-”

Eve’s jaw tightened. “Do not start on his penis.”

“A man ditches his wife of about twenty years for a big rack and a fresh young ginnie.”

“Oh my God.”

“He does that because he’s starting to think about his own mortality-and he really doesn’t want to. He needs the big rack and fresh young ginnie so he can say: Hey look what I’ve got, look where my penis gets to go, and it proves I’m still vital and virile. Which circles right back to the penis, which, yes, demands to be admired. You know, we could consult with Charles about this.”

Eve pulled in at the morgue, and indulged herself by resting her brow on the steering wheel for a minute. “We don’t need a former licensed companion now sex therapist to investigate this case. Plus he and Louise are on their honeymoon.”

“But they’ll be back in a few days. I think gaining insight into the penis may help in investigations down the road.”

“Fine, you go right ahead and consult with Charles. Write me a freaking report on same. But now, I don’t want to hear the word penis for the rest of the day.”

“There’s really no nice word for… that particular thing,” Peabody continued as they headed inside. “Everything’s either too hard-get it?-or too silly. But when you think about it, it’s pretty silly to have that particular thing swinging around down there. So-”

“I will kill you. Save the taxpayers’ money by doing it right here in the morgue. It’s efficient.”

Eve used the cool air, the white walls to offset the images Peabody’s theories etched in her brain. She spotted Morris in the tunneling corridor, speaking to one of the white-coated techs.

“I’ll be in to check in a few minutes,” he told the tech, then turned to Eve. “I wondered if you’d make it in today.”

“I wanted to catch you before you left.”

“I was heading to my office to send you a report. You’ll want to see him again.”

He began to walk with her.

“Tell me about the burns.”

“Minor, but found along every wound, even the bruising.” He pushed open the doors of his autopsy room where the body lay on a steel slab, with the head on a smaller tray. He offered them both microgoggles. “You’ll see they occur with increasing severity. The bruising on his skin, left forearm, and here on the ankle? So minor he might not have felt the jolt. But here? On the shoulder, which shows slightly deeper bruising and inflammation-there’d been a good wrench in that area-it’s more pronounced.”

“The more severe the wound, the more severe the burns?”

“No, though I initially thought the same. But the shin shows more bruising than the ankle, the forearm, but the burns are very mild. The arm and the neck, the burns are virtually identical. And, we’d have to say the neck is a more serious wound.”

“So… the jolts-whatever caused the burns-increased along with the game. The longer he played, the bigger the shock when he got tagged.”

“It seems most likely.”

“Challenges usually go up in gaming,” Peabody commented. “As you move through a level, or head up to the next.”