She started for the door, stopped. “We see a lot of hard things in our professions.”
“Yeah, we do.”
“I hope she makes it.”
“Me, too,” Eve murmured when she was alone.
Eve inserted the disc then called for the data on-screen.
She studied it, side-by-side with the records of the first responders.
On the holo-room floor, Cill lay crumpled, broken as a china doll heaved against the wall by an angry child. Blood had pooled and congealed under her, while her arm and leg cocked at unnatural angles. Snapped bone speared through the skin of her shin. Jagged, Eve thought, ignoring the movements of the cops, the voices as she focused on the victim. Not a clean break there. Several gashes, including one on her shoulder that appeared straight and true rather than torn.
Bruising around the eyes, she noted, scrapes at the temples.
She switched off, studied the scans. Several internal injuries, bruised and damaged organs. But the external bruising…
She scrolled through, backtracked, scrolled again, studying the battered, torn body as she ate her lunch. She pulled out her beeping ’link, glanced at the readout.
“Doctor Mira.”
“Eve. I heard about Cilla Allen. What’s her status?”
“She’s still in surgery. I’m looking through the records, the scans. It’s bad. He used the victim’s holo-room again, the same project-the Fantastical game. She logged it out, or it’s been made to appear she did so. It’s the same basic setup-she appears to have been playing the game solo. But the method of attack is markedly different. Why?”
“He’d already won the game, that scenario. He’d want a different challenge with this new player. Possibly a game that opponent favored. It adds to the challenge.”
“Yeah, that’s my take. And it’s meaner than the first victim. That was quick and clean. He may be escalating, wants more bang for the buck. Except… Can you take a look? I’ll send you the record from the first responders.”
“Of course.”
“Hang on just a minute.” Eve ordered the transfer of data. “The two remaining partners discovered her this morning. The statement, from both, is they became concerned when she didn’t come in, walked over to check on her. The nine-one-one went out immediately.”
“She sustained severe trauma.” Mira’s tone remained even as her brows knit in study. “Blood loss. The leg… It would seem he spent considerable time and rage. I’m surprised her face isn’t more badly damaged.”
“Does it look like a beating to you?”
Mira’s brows unknit and lifted. “What else?”
“Could these injuries have been the result of a fall?”
“A fall? Are you considering the holo-room a dump site rather than the attack site?”
Eve hesitated. Not yet, she thought. Not ready to share quite yet. “I’m considering all kinds of things.”
“This isn’t my area of expertise, and I hesitate to make a conclusion based on this, but I would say that yes, it certainly could be the result of a fall. What do her doctors say?”
“I haven’t been able to interview any of them. They’re pretty busy with her.”
“I can try to make some time later today, come to the hospital and study her data, speak with her medical team.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got another angle on that. Why is she alive? That’s the sticker. Why didn’t he finish her?”
“He may have thought he had, but that kind of mistake isn’t consistent. It’s possible drawing it out adds to the enjoyment. It prolongs the game.”
“If she lives, it would box him in. He could lose.”
“Yes. It’s possible that adds to his sense of competition. It doesn’t fit well, but often the criminal mind doesn’t follow a logical path. Still…” Mira frowned, slowly shook her head. “He didn’t finish the game, and he should have.”
“He’s stuck on this level now, and can’t advance unless, or until she dies.”
“I’m sure you have her well protected.”
“Yeah, I’ve got her covered.”
“I’d like to think about this further, review my notes and this additional data.”
“Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
She clicked off, and contacted someone whose area of expertise might give her some answers-and more questions.
While she waited, she tried out her theory with a probability run, and got back a percentage she considered the computer equivalent of Have you lost your freaking mind?
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.”
Since she didn’t have her murder board, she worked to create a facsimile of one on-screen. Then sat back, sipped excellent coffee, and studied it.
“Whacked theory,” she murmured. “Way-out-of-orbit theory. But, didn’t we just have a party last night to celebrate a book about mad scientists secretly creating generations of human clones? That’s pretty whacked.”
She adjusted the screen, putting her two victims side-by-side.
Partners, she thought. Friends. Those words, those concepts meant different things to different people.
History, shared interests, trust, emotion, passion. All shared.
Shared business, profits, work, risks.
Both attacked during play, in their own secured homes. One dead, one hanging on by the skill and efforts of medical science-and maybe her own grit.
No weapons, no signs of forced entry, no trace other than the victims’.
Add the timing, yeah, add the timing in there, too.
People were always finding new ways to create and destroy, weren’t they? It’s what humans did. Technology was a tool, a convenience, and a weapon.
She walked over to answer the knock on the door. “Thanks for coming, Morris.”
“It’s nice to get out of the house now and then.”
He wore black, as he had every time she’d seen him since Coltraine’s death, but Eve took hope from the flash of the shimmering red tie that the leading edge of his grief had dulled.
“I need you to look at these pictures and the medical data, and give me your opinion on the cause.”
“I’d do better with the body.”
“Well, she’s not dead yet.”
“That’s fortunate for her. I might point out you’re in a hospital, and there are likely doctors wandering around who tend to serve and assess those not dead yet.”
“Yeah, the ones working on her are busy. And I don’t know them.” Trust, she thought again, the solid base of friendship. “What I’m looking for is your opinion on how this twenty-nine-year-old female incurred these injuries.”
She turned to the screen, ordered the image of Cill on the holoroom floor.
“Ah, well. Ouch. You say she’s alive?”
“So far.”
He moved closer, tilting his head. “If she lives, I hope she has an exceptional orthopedic surgeon on that leg. Enhance that for me. A bit more,” he said when she complied. “Hmm. Now down to the ankle, same leg,” he told her after a moment.
“You can run it. Take your time.”
As he went section by section, injury by injury, she swiped the Friggie for two tubes of Pepsi.
He grunted in thanks, and continued. “You have her scans?”
“Yeah.” Eve ordered them on-screen, then rested a hip on the desk as he studied, as he worked.
“She’ll need the god of all neuros,” he murmured. “And even then I’m afraid I might see her on my table. The head injuries are the worst, and the rest is very nasty. If she gets her miracle, they’ll have to replace that kidney at some point, and the spleen, and she’ll require extensive PT for the leg, the arm, the shoulder. She’s got a lot of work ahead of her. Brain damage is another risk she faces. She may live, but it may not be a blessing. Still, it’s a wonder she didn’t snap her spine in a fall like this.”
“A fall.” Eve all but leaped on it. “Not a beating.”
“A fall,” he repeated. “The contusions, the breaks, the lacerations aren’t consistent with a beating, but a fall. She landed primarily on her back, with the impact shattering that elbow and twisting the leg with enough force to break the bone. A hard, uneven surface, I’d say from the type of injuries. Broken concrete, rocks, something of that order.”