“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.