J. Robb - Fantasy in Death

She broke off as he took one quick step forward, and had the flat of the blade an inch from her throat.

“Yeah, like that. And see, my instinctive reaction to that move would be to bring my useless weapon up like this.” She moved slow, to block, shoving the sword aside. “The thing is, the gash was on his other arm. Vic’s right-handed, so logic says he’d have the useless holo-weapon in his dominant hand. The wrenched shoulder’s on that side, but Morris said it’s the kind of injury you’d get from over-rotating.”

“Maybe, in surprised defense, he brought his other arm up.”

“Yeah, but, see, if he did, the gash is just wrong.” She demonstrated again. “Logic again says the wound should go across, not up and down. Besides, if you had a big, long sword, and I didn’t, wouldn’t you just ram it into me? You’ve got the advantage of reach.”

“I would, yes. Get it done.”

“But it didn’t just get done. Bruises on the arms and legs. See, if we’re fighting. Put it down a minute.” When he had she gave him a finger curl. “Come at me.”

She blocked, pivoted. He blocked her side kick.

“See, we’re fairly even here, and if we meant it, I’m going to get some bruises where I either land a blow or block, or you block me. But you’re not going to block me with your arm when you’ve got that big sword.”

She held up a hand for peace. “I ran some reenactment. They just don’t play out logically.”

“We argue, it gets physical,” he suggested. “I lose my head, grab the sword, and take yours.”

“If it went down that way, why is the sword there in the first place?” She paced away, frowned at her murder board again. “If it went down that way, why isn’t the disc logged out? Why was it timed so the killer arrived after the droid shut down? And why did the killer evade building security on the way in?”

“Might be coincidence.”

“One might be a coincidence.” Hands on her hips, she turned back. “Put them together it’s a pattern.”

“Well, I’m forced to agree with you. So we’ve had our fight. What do you do when I pick up the sword?”

“I say, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Or words to that effect,” Roarke agreed. “And when I come at you?”

“I run, or at least try to get the hell out of the way of the really sharp point.”

“And, you’d run, one would think, for the door.”

“If the game’s still up, he might’ve been disoriented.”

“True enough.” As she did, Roarke tried to see it, to put himself into it. “Then wouldn’t you do one of two things-use the game, the holo-features for cover? Attempt to hide. Or call for the game to end, then try for the door.”

“Yeah. But the body was well inside the room, nearly center, and facing-so to speak-away from the door.” She huffed out a breath. “It skirts all around the edges of logical. I can’t make it work in my head.

I can’t see the steps. Maybe there were two people. Mira believes there might’ve been.”

She tilted her head at the reconstruction she’d paused on-screen. Maybe she needed to add another figure. “The killer and the planner. If so, he still had to know and trust both of them to let them into that room during game play. The game was too important for him to let anyone he didn’t know, anyone who wasn’t involved get a sneak peek.”

“It depresses me to say it, but maybe it was the lot of them. All three.”

“Possible.” She’d circled around that herself. “I can’t figure why all three of them would want him dead, but possible. Two to do the job, one to stay back and cover for the other two.”

She paced away again. “I can’t find anything in the business that indicates there was any trouble, anything that makes me think he might’ve been throwing his weight around or threatening to walk away, or anything else that relates specifically to the partnership that comes up motive.”

“So it was personal.”

“I think it was, yeah.” That, she mused, was the one element that kept repeating for her. “Personal could’ve come out of the partnership, the business. They practically lived together in that place. Worked together, played together. The only one in a semi-serious outside relationship was Bart. Need to talk to her again. The girlfriend,” Eve added.

She turned back to Roarke. “Are you up for a game?”

“Will I need my sword?”

“Ha.” She gestured toward the broadsword. “Bring that one, too.”

“Ha,” he echoed.

“I want to run the two scenarios you culled out.” She retrieved the disc. “From the level he started.” They moved into the elevator. “Solo play,” she decided when Roarke ordered the holo-room. “Let’s replay as close as possible to what he might’ve done.”

“Question. Why does what he was playing matter?”

“Because I can’t see it.” And that, she had to admit, was a pisser. “I can’t make it work no matter how many ways I play it out. The injuries, the timing, the entry and exit by the killer. Every time I get one part of it solid, another part goes to goo in my fingers. Something’s missing. I could bring the three of them in,” she said as they stepped out again. “Pressure them some, try playing one against the other. Maybe I’d crack it. Or maybe I’d shore up whoever did it-because something’s missing and I don’t have it to use. Whoever did it would know that. Right now they think they’re clear, and maybe, just maybe, the killer relaxes and makes a mistake. If I push when I can’t see it, a mistake’s more likely.

“You play the first one, Bart’s character menu.”

“All right.”

“They could do it again.”

He paused, looked back at her. “Why? If it was specific toward Bart, why again?”

“Because it worked. Gaming can be a kind of addiction. It’s what they do-what the killer does-all day, one way or the other. It’s what feeds them, what excites them, what gives them purpose and pleasure. Higher stakes once you’ve killed. A new level. Some gamers start skipping the lower levels-like Bart did-once they nail them. It’s a little boring, right?”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

“It’s hard to go back to the simple stuff once you’ve proven yourself. Not just the kill, like we were talking about before. But the challenge. More, if it is one of them-say just one of them-they’re close, they’re tight. Day in and day out. One little slip, something said or done that makes the others wonder. Good excuse to do it again. You’re just protecting yourself.”

“The murder of another partner would increase your focus on the two remaining,” Roarke pointed out.

“True gamers juice on the risk, the challenge. Right? They want the buzz. Maybe need that buzz.”

“You believe the killer’s playing against you now.”

“Yeah, at least on one level. And the ego’s saying hey, I’m better than she is.”

“The ego would be wrong,” Roarke commented.

She tucked her thumbs in her front pockets as he inserted the copy of the game into the holo-unit. “Since I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, I’ll take the confidence booster.”

“You’re not spinning anything. A day ago, I wouldn’t have believed one or more of his friends would plot his death. But you’ve picked it all apart and laid it back out so that there’s simply no other answer. To my mind, that puts you well ahead in this game.”

“I wish I was wrong.”

“For my sake, or Bart’s?”

“Both.”

“Don’t wish it,” he told her. “Just win.”

He programmed Quest-1, level four, and requested the last run by Bart on the copy.

“I’ll take the sword,” Eve said, and kept it by her side as the room shimmered into a forest glade where silver beams of sunlight streamed through tall trees in full leaf.