Indulgence in Death (In Death 31)

She waited until the uniform stepped out. “How do you figure he got that through the scanners?” she asked, gesturing to the bayonet.

“The smartest way would be to have it on him, in a sheath or holder lined with magnetic fiber that would block the reading.”

Eve nodded, continued to study the body, the room. “An LC of that level has to have solid experience as well as skill and a clean bill. Her hair’s still perfect. Her dress, except for the blood, isn’t messed up. No bruises, no sign she tried to evade or fight. She didn’t see it coming. Didn’t get any kind of buzz he was off.”

“Neither did Houston,” Roarke pointed out. “A driver would be good at reading clients.”

“Should be. She comes in here with him. We’ll get the route from the glitches, the blips, whatever Gumm wants to call them, and then she ends up here. Must be gruesome when it’s running.”

“It’s meant to be.”

“People are fucked up,” she said half to herself. “Can you get them to turn on this sector? Just this sector. I want to see how it played.”

“Give me a moment.” He took out his ’link, stepped away.

“Sweepers dispatched, morgue team’s heading in.”

Nodding at Peabody, Eve considered. “She doesn’t have a memo book on her, but you can bet someone at her level has perfect records. She’ll have this guy listed. But he’d know that.”

“If it’s the same killer, you’re thinking he faked his ID again.”

“I’m thinking he’d cover himself, play the same pattern. If so, it means she didn’t know him. A first round. Wouldn’t she run him? Make sure she’s not dating a psycho—not that it did her any good. But wouldn’t she? I want to talk to Charles about that,” she said referring to their mutual friend, a retired LC.

“Charles might’ve known her,” Peabody added. “They would’ve run in the same circles, same social strata.”

She jumped as if her air skids were springs at the bloodcurdling scream.

“Nerves of steel,” Eve muttered while moans and stench and eerie light filled the chamber. She watched an anitron score another anitron’s

face with a glowing poker.

“The torture methods in play are historically accurate,” Roarke told her. “The instruments are carefully crafted replicas of those used.”

“Yeah, seriously fucked up. Is there another entrance?”

“To the public, no. That one would channel the customers in here, through the maze of the place, then move them out again over there to the next sector.”

“Okay.” She moved to the entrance, ignoring cobwebs, skittering rats. “Is the smell authentic, too?”

“Or a close approximation.”

“And people pay for this.” She shook her head. “They come in here. Does it excite him, all the screams, the smell of blood and piss, the realism? I bet it does. He didn’t just decide to do it here, he planned it. Here in this replica of misery, cruelty, fear, despair. Maybe she’s playing the part, shivering, cringing, holding on to him. Or she’s going the other way, aroused, excited—whichever she thinks the client’s after.

“But they moved around.” She began to walk through. “Getting a closer look. Had to get to the kill zone. Shadows are deeper there. Maybe he maneuvers her, or she goes that way and plays into his hands. Up against the wall, braced against the wall, that’s how he did her. She thinks he wants a little sample of what’s coming, and he gets her against the wall so she doesn’t fall on anything, knock anything. Jamming the cameras, the sensors, but if she falls and knocks anything over, that could get through. He wants a little time to get out, get away. He leaves, the jamming stops. But she’s on the floor, in the shadows, and the show goes on.”

She walked over to a doorway that resembled the mouth of a cave. “Out here. Where does this go?”

“Here.” Roarke held out his PPC. “That’s the layout of this area. Depending on the route and timing of anyone ahead of you, the program would take you out into one of these three sectors. There are appropriately mocking signs here, here, here, for those who want to end their tour. This is where Gumm believes he exited.”

“Let’s have a look. Peabody, stay with the body, set up the sweepers when they’re on scene.”

“Ah, could we maybe lose the effects?”

“Coward.”

But Roarke winked at her, ordered them shut down.

The security lights illuminated a narrow corridor with torches on the walls. They followed its left fork into a wide cavern with what appeared to be a deep pool of water. On it sat a boat where men in dingy pirate garb were frozen in mid-sword fight. A couple of decaying corpses lay piled under jutting rocks. The topmost had a crow on its belly, beak buried in torn flesh.