It creaked ominously.
Cobwebs draped the shadowy foyer like shawls over a body back. Light, such as it was, came from the flickering glow of ornate candelabras and a swaying chandelier where a very lifelike rat perched.
Something breathed heavily to the left, and made her fingers itch for her weapon. Shadows seemed to swoop and dive from the ceiling. Up a long curve of steps a door groaned like a man in pain, then slammed.
The skinny guy moved to a panel on the wall, aimed his little handheld. The panel slid open to reveal a keypad. He coded something in.
Lights flashed on, movement and sound died.
Glancing around, she decided it was a little creepier in the bright and the still. Anitrons stood frozen on the floor, in the air, on the stairs. In a mirror a face held in mid-scream while a severed hand holding a two-bladed ax hung suspended.
“Where’s the body?”
“Subsection B. Torture Chamber,” the skinny guy told her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Gumm. Ah, I’m Electronics and Effects.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
“Do you want to go by the amusement route or employee?”
“The most direct.”
“This way.” He walked to a bookcase—why was it always a bookcase? Eve wondered—and engaging another hidden mechanism, opened the doorway.
“We have a series of connecting passages and monitoring stations throughout the amusement.” He guided them through a brightly lit, white-walled passage, past controls and screens.
“It’s all automated?”
“Yes, state of the art. To give the customers the full experience, we’re able to funnel them in various directions rather than have them all follow the same route and crowd together. It’s more personal. They can, if they choose, interact with the effects. Speak to them, ask questions, give chase or attempt to evade. There’s no danger, of course, though we have had some customers pass out. A loss of consciousness triggers an alarm in Medical.”
“How about death?”
“Well . . .” He made a turn, paused. “Technically, a loss of heartbeat should have triggered an alarm. There was a glitch, a kind of blip at twenty-three-fifty-two. A kind of blip. We’re looking into it, sir,” he said to Roarke.
He opened the door into the Torture Chamber. There was the faint memory of stench, as if something hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned. Over it smeared the smell of death.
The officer holding the scene came to attention. Eve gave him a nod.
The body slumped against the fake stone wall, legs spread, chin on chest. As if the woman had fallen asleep. The mass of curling brown hair hid most of her face, but one wide blue eye stared out from a part in that curtain, almost flirtatiously.
Sparkling stones glittered at her throat, her wrists, on her fingers. She wore a white dress in a summery fabric, cut low on the breasts. Blood stained it in a thin line where the blade pierced her heart.
Eve opened her field kit, used Seal-It to cover her hands and boots before tossing the can to Roarke. She’d already engaged her recorder.
“Victim is mixed-race female, looks early thirties, brown and blue. She has a small, jeweled bag on the belt at her waist, and is wearing considerable jewelry. Single stab wound,” she said as she stepped over and crouched. “Heart shot, and it looks dead-on, with a knife still in the body. The blade has some sort of mechanism, like a socket, on the grip.”
“It’s a bayonet,” Roarke said from behind her. “It would fit on a rifle or other firearm, or can be removed, as it is now, for use as a sidearm.”
“A bayonet,” she murmured. “Something else you don’t see every day.” She opened the little bag. “About two-fifty in cash, breath spray, lip dye, credit card and ID card, both in the name of Ava Crampton, Upper East Side addy. And it lists her as a top-level LC on her ID.”
She checked fingerprints to verify.
“Who found her?”
“Ah, I did.” With a look of apology on his face—Eve wondered if it was situational or permanent—Gumm raised his hand. “We ran down the source of the glitch to this sector, and I came down to do an on-site check. She was . . . just there.”
“Did you touch her?”
“No. I could see . . . It was clear.” He swallowed. “I called Security, and they notified the police. We cleared the amusement. I’m afraid there had been several people through here between the glitch and the . . . discovery.”
Eve simply stared at him. “Customers tromped through the crime scene?”
“We—they—no one knew there’d been a crime. She was probably taken as part of the amusement. The exhibits are very lifelike.”
“Crap. I need the security discs.”
“We’re putting them together for you now. There is a bit of a wrinkle.”
Eve paused as she reached for her gauge. Glitch, blip, wrinkle, she thought. What other cute term would he find for clusterfuck? “Define wrinkle.”
“There are sections on the discs from various areas that appear to be blank.”
“Appear to be.”
“I’m having them analyzed. Sir.” He addressed Roarke now. “My first thought is someone entered and toured while carrying a sophisticated jammer. A pinpoint device of considerable strength. In order to bypass the security walls, and only for moments at a time, it had to be extreme, and in my opinion, the user had to know the locations of the cameras and alarms. He had to know the system. The route, as far as we can tell from the first run, leads here, then out through Sector D, which would be the nearest exit. I’m afraid whoever did this”—he glanced at the body—“periodically jammed our system so as to go undetected.”
“Did you kill her, Gumm?”
His head jerked on his bony shoulder as he gaped at Eve. “No! No, of course not. I don’t even know her. I’ve never—”
“She’s winding you up, Gumm,” Roarke said mildly, but Eve heard the anger under the surface.
“Finish the analysis, and get the lieutenant the discs,” he began when they heard footsteps coming down the passage.
Peabody popped out seconds before the love of her life, EDD ace McNab.
“This place rocks even when it’s turned off. McNab and I came in for the spooks a couple weeks ago. It’s total.”
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Seal up,” Eve ordered. “Not you,” she added pointing a finger at McNab. “This is Gumm. Go with him and do e-crap.”
“Sure.” McNab, skinny of build, bony of ass, looked positively robust compared to Gumm. He offered a smile as sunny as the hair he’d pulled back into a long tail. “Live to serve.”
Because he was amenable, and as good as they come, Eve ignored the fact he wore red maxi cargo with multicolored pockets and a shortsleeved yellow jacket over a tank that looked like he’d soaked it in a rainbow.
“Go live. TOD, twenty-three-fifty-two.” She looked at Roarke. “There’s your blip. Her heart stopped, and whatever he was jamming it with gave you the blip instead of the alarm. He came prepared. Weapon, jammer, knew the route and the system if Gumm is to be believed.”
“He is. He’s skilled and reliable.”
“I’ll want a list of people who know the system, anyone who’s been fired or written up.”
“You’ll have it.”
“Peabody, contact the usual, and let’s get this place processed. Spookville’s shut down for the foreseeable.”
“What kind of knife is that?” Peabody asked as she pulled out her ’link.
“Bayonet. Vic is a high-priced LC. From a visual exam on the clothes, the state of the body, it doesn’t look like sexual assault—and really what would be the point? She’s got jewelry, cash, and credit still on her, so that ditches robbery—and again, why haul her in here, bringing a jammer and a freaking bayonet, if you just wanted sex and glitters?
“Limo driver, crossbow, transpo station parking. Pricey LC, bayonet, amusement park. Luxury items, unusual weapons, semipublic places. He’s got a system, and right now he’s two for two.”
She stood up. “Officer—”