Fantasy in Death - J. D. Robb [94]
“Yeah, yeah, vigilante with psychotic tendencies who dresses up in a weird bat costume. Rich playboy by day, right?” She turned, frowned at the droid. “Hmm.”
“The Dark Knight’s an icon.” Feeney’s jabbed finger matched his tone. Insult. “And he uses those so-called psycho tendencies for good. Anyway, old Alfred here’s been shut down the last couple days. His basic programming is to clean the place, serve meals, greet guests. I’ll fine-tooth his memory board, but at a quick once-over, I don’t see anything hinky.”
Eve opened the fridge. “He’s out of beer.”
“You thirsty?”
“He’s been drinking. Sitting out there in his fantasy commander’s quarters drinking his brews.”
“Wouldn’t mind doing the same myself. He was just here.”
“Yeah, I saw him leave.”
“He tried to slip something out.”
“What?”
“A photograph. Had it in the bedroom, drawer by the bed. Trueheart caught it. The boy’s got it. He’s upstairs.”
She went up to where Trueheart continued to work on the master bedroom. The bed was made—halfheartedly. Two more empty bottles stood empty on the nightstand.
“Lieutenant.” In his uniform, the young, studly, and shy Trueheart looked fresh as spring grass in the crowded, cluttered room.
Eve glanced toward a large object draped in a colorful throw.
“It’s Mongo,” Trueheart told her. “A parrot. The subject covered his cage so he wouldn’t get too excited.”
Curious, Eve crossed over, lifted the throw. Inside, an enormous bird with wild feathers cocked his head and eyed her.
“Hi! How you doing? Want to play? Let me out of here. Want to play?”
“Jesus,” Eve muttered.
“Ben-nee!” Mongo called.
Eve dropped the throw.
“Dammit,” Mongo said clearly and with what sounded like true bitterness.
She turned away to see Trueheart grinning. “He was doing a lot of that when I came up. It’s pretty chill. He even asked me my name. Benny said he’s about thirty-five years old, and ...” Trueheart paused, cleared his throat. “I agreed it was best to cover the cage so as not to excite the bird or distract from the search. The subject requested I uncover it when we’re done, as the bird enjoys the light. Sir.”
“Right. Where’s the photo he tried to get by you?”
“Here, sir.” Trueheart opened the drawer, removed it. “I checked it. It’s just a standard digital, standard frame. He was more embarrassed than mad when I caught him.”
Cill looked out, half profile, face bright with laughter.
There were other photos around the room, around the loft, as in his office at U-Play. But those captured the group, or various parts of it. This was only Cill, and obviously his private memory, or fantasy.
“Do you want me to take it in, sir?”
“No.” She handed it back. “Leave it.”
She finished her tour, filed her impressions.
Unlike Cill, Benny wasn’t a loner. He kept a replica droid, and a pet. A talking pet. Things for company and conversation. Not as tidy as either Var or Bart. A brooder, she concluded, thinking of the empty beer bottles.
Before she left, she walked to the window. From the angle she could see Cill’s building, pick out her windows.
What was it like? she wondered. And what did it do to a man who could stand here and look out and see the woman he loved, night after night?
Both sad and mad, Peabody had said, and Eve thought, yes, that was just about right.
16
EVE SPLIT OFF FROM PEABODY, SENDING HER partner back to Cill’s to work with the search team while she divided her time between the other two apartments.
The problem was, as she saw it, what they looked for and hoped to find would be buried in electronics. It put her at a disadvantage.
“There’s something to find,” Feeney told her, “we’ll find it sooner or later.”
“It’s the later that sticks in me.”
“You’re not showing much faith in me and my boys.”
“Feeney, I’m putting all my faith in you and your boys.” Hands on her hips, she did a circle around Benny’s home office. “These three live and breathe e-air. When it comes to outside interests they still wind back to it. And according to Roarke, they’re exceptional.”
“They ain’t hacks.”
She pointed a finger. “Why not?