“How did they know she’d be in game?”
“Because . . . one or both of them knew she’d logged out the disc.”
Now Eve nodded. “Yeah, and I’ll go one up from that. One of them gave her the disc to take home. The game, under it all? That’s the murder weapon. The killer likes the weapon.”
She walked to the door herself to let the sweepers in. While Eve showed them the holo-room, gave them the setup, Peabody chewed over theories.
“They give her time to come up,” Peabody said when Eve came back. “Time to settle in a little, to start the game. They come in. She’s distracted, into the game. And the rest follows my previous theory.”
“Also possible. You should run all variations.”
“I’m asking why. Why Cill, why now? Right on top of Bart, it’s absolute we’re going to be looking at the last partners standing. So, did she become a threat? Find something out? Was she asking the wrong questions?”
“Could be. Yesterday Roarke told her his people have been working on a similar game, similar technology, and have been for months.”
“That had to be crap news for them.”
“Yeah. And she’d have passed it to the others. She’d have told them. Maybe somebody was pissed enough to kill the messenger. And that one’s between you and me. I don’t want Roarke going there.”
“Understood.”
“I’ve got other reasons that’s not my number one. You play a game, you make decisions, and one leads to the next. You face off with different obstacles and opponents. It’s a good strategy to throw a new problem at your current opponent.”
“Which would be us. She was a ploy? Beating her half—and a good chance all the way—to death is a ploy?”
“And it ups the stakes. Yeah, we’ll be looking at the last two standing. And isn’t that exciting? Especially when you think you’re so fucking smart, so much better than the rest of the field. And now? There’s one less person who knows him, in and out. Intimately. Or thinks he does. It’s a calculated risk, but a good move.”
“If she comes out of it, she’ll ID him.”
“Yeah, that’s the sticking point. I’m working on it.” She went to the door again, this time for Feeney and McNab.
“Holo-room. I need whatever you can get me. But before you start, I want to talk to you about a setup I have in mind.”
Cill was still in surgery when Eve arrived at the hospital. “Go check on the partners. Be sympathetic, and try to get them to talk.”
Eve hunted down a floor nurse, badged her. “I’m on the Cilla Allen investigation. I need to know everything you know or can find out.”
“I can tell you they worked on her down in ER, had to zap her, but got her back. She’s lucky Doctor Pruit’s on today. She’s the neuro. The head wounds are severe and priority, but the other injuries are considerable. She’s going to be in there awhile.”
“Chances?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Educated guess.”
“She’s lucky she made it in at all. She looks like she’d been thrown off a cliff.”
Eve took the nurse’s arm before she could move on. “A fall? Not a beating?”
“I can’t tell you. If she beats the odds, she’ll tell you herself.”
She frowned as the nurse hurried away. And the frown deepened when she saw Roarke coming toward her.
“I heard. I thought I should come.”
“Are the partners in there?”
“Yes. Peabody’s with them now.”
“Impressions?”
“Shocked, scared—as you’d expect. Propping each other up you could say.”
“Did either of them ask you about your game in development?”
“No. I don’t think that’s on their scope at the moment.”
Eve shifted her gaze toward the waiting area. “It is for at least one of them.”
“You believe one of them beat that girl—from what I understand—to pieces?”
“No question about it. Not anymore. The only question is how to nail it down. Buy a little time, change the focus, tug the heartstrings. She was the short end of the triangle, hotheaded, impulsive, the weak spot. So she’s a logical sacrifice in the game. She—”
“Christ Jesus, Eve. The girl’s shattered like glass, and it’ll take a bloody miracle to put her together again. And you’re standing here talking about fucking games?”
She met fire with ice. “Obviously your heartstrings are playing a tune.”
“It might be because I have them,” he shot back. “Because I’m not so caught up trying to win some shagging game that I consider a young woman a logical sacrifice. She’s still alive, Lieutenant. She’s not on your side of the board yet.”
“Why don’t you go back to the waiting area. You can all join hands. Maybe hold a prayer meeting. You go ahead and do that while the one who put her in the OR is chuckling up his sleeve. I’ve got better things to do.”
She strode away, steeling both her heart and her belly against the hurt. It wasn’t just the body, she thought, that could shatter. And it wasn’t only fists and pipes and bats that could shatter it.
She found an empty restroom, leaned against the wall, and gave herself a moment to settle. She checked in with Feeney, updated Whitney, consulted with Mira.
This is how it worked, she reminded herself. How she worked. Sitting around patting heads, stroking hands didn’t get the job done. It wouldn’t bring Bart’s killer to justice or save Cill.
She’d be damned if she’d apologize for doing her job the way she saw fit to do it.
Calmer, she found another nurse, badged her, and arranged for a setup in a private observation room. She stood, alone, drinking hideous coffee, and watching as the medical team struggled to put that shattered glass back together again.
Even if she lived, Eve thought, those pieces would never fit quite the same way.
Not on her side of the board yet? Fuck that, she thought. Cill had moved to her side of the board the minute she fell to the floor.
She glanced back as the door opened, saw Roarke come in, then turned her attention back to the screen.
“I have no excuse for that,” he began. “Absolutely no excuse for saying those things to you. I’m unspeakably sorry, Eve.”
“Forget it.”
“I can’t. I won’t.” He walked to her, stood with her, but didn’t touch. “And still I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“It’s been a long few days.”
“That’s no excuse. It’s not even a reason.”
“Fine. Give me one.”
“She wept in my arms yesterday. I knew you considered her a suspect, and a part of me wondered, even as she wept in my arms, if she’d had some part in what happened to Bart. More, from what I’ve gathered, she was very likely lying on the floor, alone, broken, bleeding while we were on a rooftop drinking champagne.”
“You’re too close to it.”
“I am. You’re quite right about that, and I can’t fully explain, even to myself, why that is. But I can’t step back. Those might be reasons, Eve, but they’re still not excuses for slapping at you that way, for doing that because I knew you’d take it, could take it.”
“You hurt me.”
“Oh God. I know it.” He took her arms then, lightly. “You know me. You’ll have the satisfaction of being absolutely sure I’ll suffer for knowing it.”
“You weren’t altogether wrong.”
“I was, altogether and completely wrong.”
“No. Whatever I think about that.” She nodded toward the screen. “About any of it, all of it, I have to maintain. It’s not a shagging game for me, but it is for him. I have to calculate how he thinks so I can stop him.”
“I know how you think, and I know how much you care. I can only tell you again I’m sorry.”
She looked into his eyes, felt some of the sickness in her belly recede. “I’ve said things before designed to hurt you. You forgave me.”
“
I did, yes. I will again, no doubt.”
“So, let’s put it aside. You get a big black mark on the asshole side of the column.”
He smiled, pressed his lips to her brow. “What’s the score so far?”
“We’re neck-and-neck in that area.”
“You’d best check those stats. I really think you’re ahead.”
“You want another big black mark?”
“I don’t.” He drew her in, letting out a breath when she relaxed against him. “This is better.”
She turned her head so they watched the screen together.
“Why was she a target?” Roarke asked her.
“Because he doesn’t consider anyone indispensable but himself. He’s going to run the show now, and nobody’s going to slip ahead of him, the way Bart did. It probably felt good to soak up all that sympathy over Bart, and exciting to have the cops taking a look at him. Part of the game, and he’s racking up the points, anticipating the next moves.”
She glanced at Roarke. “That’s the way it is for him.”
“Yes. I know it. You’re right.”
“He’s a gamer, so he’d look at what was on the board. Players, scenarios, options. Cill? She was angry, depressed, taking it harder, at least on the outside, than anyone. It made her more vulnerable. She’s the most in tune, it feels to me, with the other staff. And being an attractive female, may be the most logical next public face for the company. He wants that for himself. And he has a taste for it now. That human nature thing.”
She eased back a little. “I’ve got some technical questions, and they may be way out of orbit, but—” She broke off as on-screen the medical team began to move quickly. “Something’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong.”
Roarke ordered the screen to zoom in, enhance. “Her blood pressure’s dropping. Look at the monitor. It’s bottoming out. They’re losing her.”
“Goddamn it, goddamn it. She’s got to fight! Does she want to stay alive or not?”
They watched in silence while Cill hovered between life and death.
19
When Eve stepped into the waiting area, both men jerked to their feet, then seemed to deflate back into their chairs. “We’re waiting for the doctor, for one of the medical team.” Var looked up at the clock. “It’s been a long time.”
“They said they’d update us. But nobody’s been in for more than an hour now.”
“I’ve been observing the surgery,” Eve began, and held up a hand when both men rose again and began talking at once. “Hold it. They’re working on her, hard. There was some trouble—Hold it!” she ordered again over the peppering questions. “I didn’t bring my medical degree, but I can tell you it appears they’re doing everything they can.”
“You got to watch, to see her? Where?” Benny demanded.
“We could go there, see her. It’s got to be better than just sitting here.”
“You’re not allowed to observe. Only medical personnel, police in a criminal matter, or family.”
“But we’re—”
“You’re not family,” Eve interrupted as Benny protested.
“Not legally,” Peabody said more gently. “I understand what you mean about family. I have friends who are family to me. But you’re not legally her family, so they might be sticky about the technicalities right now. It sounds like it’s going to be a while more,” she continued. “You should go get some air, some food, take a walk. It’ll make the time go faster,” she added.
“Something might happen while we’re not here.”
“I’ve got your ’link numbers,” Peabody told Benny. “If anything happens, anything changes, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Maybe we could get some air. And they probably have a chapel or meditation center. We could . . .” Var flushed a little, lifted his hands helplessly. “You know.”
“Yeah. That’s good. That’s a good thing to do. Just for a few minutes. If anything happens—”
“I promise.” Peabody watched them walk out together, nodded at Eve as she pulled out her communicator.
“Tell the shadows not too close,” Eve said. “I don’t want them to know we’ve got anyone on them yet.” She turned to Roarke. “Look, I know you’ve got an interest in this, but if you’re not going back to work to buy up the northern hemisphere, I think Feeney could really use you.”
“Distracting me?”
“That’s a side benefit. Either Peabody or I will be in here, keeping tabs on Cill, and watching the partners. I’m going to see if I can cop a room where I can set up shop and do some work while we switch off.”
“Let me be liaison there. I’ll see about getting you a work area, then I’ll see if Feeney wants me.”
“Good enough.”
“You said you had technical questions, before.”
“Yeah, and I do.” Wrong place, wrong time, Eve thought. “Let me line them up a little better first.”
“All right.” He curled the tips of his fingers in hers briefly. “Stay in touch, will you?”
“Yeah.” She turned back to Peabody. “Anything about the last ninety minutes I should know?”
“No. They’re acting and reacting as you’d expect given the circumstances. I swear, I don’t get any vibe off either of them.”
“If I’m gone before they get back, I want you to get them to agree to having officers go in their apartments to check their alibis. Just getting it off the slate so we can focus on Cill and how this happened to her. You know how to play it.”
“Can do.”
“Get their agreement on record. Then get EDD to send somebody to each place. I want somebody who knows how to look for details that aren’t on a comp. Just observe, note, report. We have the record from yesterday’s search. Let’s see what’s different today, if anything.”
“Yes, sir. How bad was it? Was she? When you were observing?”
“Jesus, Peabody, she’s a mess.” She jammed her hands in her pockets as memories of the dream snuck back in her head.
You couldn’t save them all.
“They’ve got the brain doc messing around in her head, and another guy working on her arm. It must be bad, really bad if they started there instead of the leg. They’ve got that in a sterile cage—whatever they’re called. Her face looks like somebody went at it with a bat. They’re dealing with internal injuries on top of it, trying to tie off bleeders or whatever they do when things inside are bleeding out. It looked to me like she was busted up every-damn-where.”
She did a short circuit of the room. “I’ve seen a lot of beatings. I’m not sure that’s what this is.”
“What else could it be?”
Eve shook her head. “We need to see the medical data, talk to the doctors, get a better look at her. Until then, it’s just speculation.”
“I got the report on the blood samples. It’s all hers.”
“Yeah, it would be.”
“Lieutenant Dallas?” The floor nurse came to the doorway. “We have an office set up for you.”
“What’s the status on my victim?”
“There have been some complications, but she’s holding her own.”
“We’ll take shifts,” Eve said to Peabody. “I’ll come back for you.”
She followed the nurse down the long corridor, then to the right down another. “I got a look at her in observation,” Eve commented. “She does look like she fell off a cliff.”
“It’s really just an expression.”
“Maybe. You people took pictures. Bone and body and scans. I’d like to see them.”
“I’m not authorized.”
“You can get authorization. You got a look at her.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Your people are doing everything they can to save her. I’m doing everything I can to find the son of a bitch who did that to her. Her name’s Cilla Allen, but they call her Cill. She had her twenty-ninth birthday six weeks ago. A couple days ago one of her closest friends was murdered, and yesterday she or
dered food and flowers for his memorial. She cried for him. And last night or early this morning, the same person who killed her friend tried to kill her. The sooner I see what he did to her, the sooner I figure out how he did it, and who did it, the sooner I put the fucker away so he never hurts anyone else.”
The nurse opened a door. “I’ll get the authorization. This room is generally available for family members of surgical patients. You’re free to use the equipment.”
“Thanks.”
It was a small office and still nearly twice the size of hers at Central. It boasted a sleep chair, an AutoChef and Friggie that took credit swipes. The desk held a comp, a ’link, and a small vase of yellow flowers.
A window let in the summer light, but was filtered so as not to toss glare on the wall screen.
She charged another cup of lousy coffee, sat, and got to work.
It was probably crazy, what she was considering. No, it was crazy, she corrected, and still she started a search on numerous underground e and game sites.
The weirder the better, she decided.
She popped into the chat rooms McNab had given her, the message boards, and noted that Razor was still putting out feelers for the weapon—with no results.
Or none that showed, she thought.
She tried Mira, and was told by her chilly-voiced admin that the doctor was in session. Eve requested a ’link consult as soon as Mira was free.
At the knock on the door, she called out, “Yeah, come in.” She expected the floor nurse, hoped to have a file of medical data to comb through. Instead, a waiter walked in carrying a tray.
“Got your lunch order.”
“I didn’t order lunch. You’ve got the wrong room. Scram.”
“Room 880, East Surgical Wing. You Dallas?”
Frowning, she gave him and his tray a closer look. “Yeah.”
“Got your lunch order. Got one for Peabody, too. Waiting room A, East Surgical Wing.”
“Who placed the orders?”
“Ordered up by Roarke.”
“Of course they were. Well, what’ve I got?”
He set the tray on the desk, pulled off the insulated top. “Got your burger—that’s moo-meat, too. Got your fries, got your small side salad. Got your coffee—real deal. A double, black.”