Fantasy in Death - J. D. Robb [120]
Roarke settled in the visitor’s chair with his coffee. “And that’s your motive?”
“It’s the root. Who did you approach when you considered recruiting that group?”
“Bart. Yes. He was de facto leader, even then. Go on.”
“And he turned you down, wanted to build his own company. His initial concept from all the statements, the data, the time lines. Equal partnership, sure, but Bart was the head, and the public face.”
“True enough, but you could say both Cill and Benny had been competing with him even longer. Benny, for instance, always the sidekick.”
“Yeah, I considered that. I had a moment in his apartment during the search with the droid. The Dark Knight connection.”
Roarke lowered the coffee, obviously baffled. “What would Batman have to do with it?”
“How do you know that?” Baffled, she tossed up her hands. “How do I say ‘Dark Knight’ and you immediately click to Batman. How do you know this stuff?”
“The question might be how do you not know. Batman’s been part of the popular culture lexicon for more than a century.”
“Never mind. It’s just weird. I could ...” She narrowed her eyes. “Who murdered sixteen male prostitutes between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three over a three-year period and fed their remains to his prizewinning hogs?”
“Christ Jesus.” Despite the image, Roarke had to laugh. “I’m delighted to say I have no idea.”
“Hanson J. Flick, 2012—2015.” She smirked. “You don’t know everything.”
“And your particular area of expertise is occasionally revolting.”
“Yet handy. In any case, Benny’s stuck on Cill, which could have been a motive on Bart, except there’s zero going on there in the screwing around department. And Benny’s happy with his place in the company. He likes his research. Cill’s apartment was a mess—a kind of organized mess. Benny’s was lived-in, and he’s got Mongo and Alfred for company when he wants them. It’s probably healthy in some weird way.”
“Mongo?”
“A parrot. It talks. A lot, I’m betting. And you didn’t ask who Alfred was.”
“You said Benny, Dark Knight, so Alfred’s the butler.”
To that Eve could only heave out a breath. “Okay. Benny’s place. There were signs of grieving and ... simplicity,” she decided. “Var’s place was clean. Like he was expecting company. He knew we’d need to do a search—he’d anticipated the steps in the game, and he was ready for it. He stocks good wine, fancier food, spends more on clothes and furniture. He opened the door for the cops at Cill’s.”
“And that ... ah. Benny was alone with her. He could have finished her easily. Simply closed off her airway. It wouldn’t have taken much, wouldn’t have taken long.”
“He got to her first, and stayed with her. Var couldn’t do anything about it. He expected to find her dead. It had to be a shock when Benny found a pulse, but he thinks on his feet—and he had to hope, to believe, she’d never make it through surgery. It surprised him, and pissed him off when she did. It showed, just for a second. He’s good, a good actor. Most sociopaths are, and all that role-playing’s worked for him over the years.”
“And you believe he played the role of friend and partner, all these years.”
“It may have even been true, as far as it goes, off and on. The business is successful, he’s making a good living with potential for more. It’ll be the more that pushed him, or gave him the excuse he wanted. And the fact Bart could and did overrule him. He’s already edging himself into a leadership role at U-Play. Taking Cill out just cements it. Benny doesn’t want to run that show. He wants to keep doing what he’s doing, so he’s not a threat but an asset. Cill could run it, and Benny would side with her. Remove her, and the field’s clear.”
“All right, say I’m convinced you’re right. How? I’ll agree he could easily have arranged to go in with Bart, it’s trickier with Cill as Benny claims he watched her go in, and Var walked on. I suppose he could have circled around, entered another way, intercepted her before she went in the apartment, but—”
“He was never in either apartment, not at the time