“We found Norris’ body this morning,” Lucy said insensitively. “In the warehouse he was using for a recording studio. Strangled to death. With a computer cable just like that one.” She moved closer to Adrian, advancing with purpose as she looked him straight in the eye. “So, that personal matter you touched on. We do need to go into it.”
Chapter Four
The Downtown police precinct - identifiable from a chiselled marble sign above the ornate, wooden doors - was based in an early twentieth century building with dirty exterior stonework and a quaint clock tower flying the United States flag. The patrol vehicles parked in the bays out front were considerably moderner, with bodywork waxed to a shine and emergency lights so clean they sparkled.
A few scarf-wrapped pedestrians slogged past, armpits tucked tight to their woolly coats. None paid attention to the unmarked car that pulled up to the precinct. It was a battered relic, a poor cousin to the sleek police fleet. Lucy exited the driver’s side and walked briskly up the steps. Her uncapped head was exposed to the elements, cheeks slightly redder than usual and breath visible in the winter air. Adrian - left in the custody of her partner - was shaking. Whether that was because of cold or panic, only he knew.
“Sorry for taking you outside your comfort zone, Mister Pryce,” Ron said insincerely. “Our interview rooms are a lot more basic than your fancy president’s office. You won’t want to spend much time in them.”
“I didn’t kill Norris,” Adrian protested angrily. “I—”
“Save it for the interview. I’d much rather talk over a warm cup of coffee. And jot down a few notes. Who knows? You might even say something incriminating.”
Adrian walked faster and caught up to Lucy by the entrance. “Am I a suspect?” he asked her.
Lucy said nothing, and went through the doors without turning.
“Don’t take it personally,” Ron told Adrian, closing to breathing distance. “My partner’s very focused on doing her job. A real cold bitch to work with. But one thing I like about her… She’s got no time for bullshit.”
Ron gave Adrian a smile that bordered on sinister, and ushered him into the precinct.
***
The police holding area was functional to the extreme. Table and chairs were all stainless steel, appearing dull grey despite bright light from fluorescent strips above. The upper two thirds of one whitewashed wall - the side facing the interview chair - was taken up by a polished mirror. Adrian’s anguished reflection was crystal clear, forehead and hair wrung with sweat. His clammy hands were clasped together, fingers twitching.
Glossy photographs of the warehouse crime scene were spread across the table: Norris’ body from various angles, red strangulation marks round his gooey neck, the discarded computer cable and phone, the typed letter from Taurus Studios. Ron sat opposite Adrian, conducting the interrogation while Lucy watched in silence from a standing position by the mirror.
“So, if I understand correctly,” Ron summarised, “Norris did the music for your next big game. What was it called?” He referred to his notebook, open on the table before him. “Crimson Shadow. Gives me violent vibes, that does. Anyway, back to Norris. Despite the generous paycheck, he made a few bad decisions, borrowed money from some dodgy characters. He was struggling to pay off his debts. Hey, none of us are perfect right? So he came to you - his close friend - and asked for a little extra cash.”
“I wouldn’t call fifty grand a little extra,” said Adrian, bitterness creeping into his reply.
“For a company whose worth is estimated at over a billion, fifty thou wouldn’t break the bank would it?”
“I run a business, not a charity. If I’d given him the money, Norris would have come back to me a month later asking for more.”
Ron leant back, causing his chair rest to squeak. “Wouldn’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay him anything now.”
Adrian looked away from the interrogator, his eyes shifting to Lucy. Her gaze was Medusa-like, her lips almost perfectly straight. Ron slid the photograph of the typed letter across the table, and turned it so it was the right way up from Adrian’s viewpoint.
“Colleagues’ well being above personal gain,” dictated Ron. “Team players. Do you meet these standards? Maybe you should have terminated yourself.”
“I told you.” Adrian bowed his head, talking to the table. “I didn’t write that. It doesn’t take a genius to cut and paste my company logo onto a letter.”
“But you are a genius,” said Ron doggedly. “So it wouldn’t be too hard to do.”
“What about the cable we found?” Lucy asked, circling round the outer wall. “It matched the one in your office. Can you explain that?”
Adrian shook his head. “Standard equipment for connecting a hard drive to a monitor. There are hundreds, probably thousands of cables in this city just like that.”
“And the message on Norris’ phone?” Lucy questioned him. “The last call he received before he was killed. Don’t try to pretend that wasn’t your voice.”
“Anyone who’s used the Internet could have recorded my voice off a company video. I’m a public figure. Successful. It makes people envious. Can’t you see I’m being set up!?”
“Calm down.” Lucy softened her tone a little. “We have to ask these questions. We’re only trying to help. Let us do that.”
Adrian glared back at her, reciprocating none of the warmth. “By pinning a murder on me? Is that what you call help? Do I need to call my lawyer?”
“Depends,” Ron said. “Have you done something illegal, Mister Pryce?”
Adrian chose not to answer. He looked between the two detectives at the mirror behind them.
***
The mirror’s reverse side was an observation window: see-through glass with a slight blackish tint. Events in the interrogation room were recorded by a surveillance camera, and replayed in real-time via a flat-screen, high-definition television and speakers. Adrian was shown in close up, sweaty patches visible on his cheeks. A slightly blurred, out-of-focus crop of mannish hair obscured the right side.
Though Ron was mostly off camera, his voice came through clearly. “With Norris dead,” he questioned Adrian, “do his family get the royalty payments?”
“No,” was the delayed response. “The contract becomes void upon death.”
“So the company profits. Nice little loophole you snook in. Bet you omitted that titbit when you hired Norris.” Ron paused, allowing Adrian time to contemplate.
A dense puff of smoke floated toward the two-way mirror, thinning as particles dissipated. The man stood in the observation room had a rough-edged, but clean-shaven face. Deep wrinkles and completely bald head hinted he was well past his prime, most likely in his early fifties. His expression was totally serious, his black suit and tie closer to funeral attire than work clothes. He gripped his cigarette tight between thick fingers, squashing the white filter end as he watched the interview.
“Money,” Ron went on. “Oldest motive in the book. Maybe you should call that lawyer.”
“That’s enough, Wallace,” Lucy butted in.
“Excuse me?” Ron turned to look at her, shock showing on his face.
The man in black pressed a button by the television screen. An intercom system whined as feedback came through.
“It’s okay,” the observer said, though his direct tone suggested it was more of an instruction. “Let Duvall finish off.”
Ron stood up without a moment’s hesitation. “If you’re hoping to sweet talk her,” he advised Adrian, “I wouldn’t bother. She doesn’t have a reputation for being soft.”
He finished with a sharp-eyed glance at Lucy, then exited through the door and let it slam shut behind him. A few seconds later, Ron walked into the observation room. The suited man didn’t turn to look, electing to take another puff from his cigarette. Ron stood in the back corner, far away from the spreading smoke.
“I didn’t kill him,” Adrian insisted.
Lucy remai
ned by the wall, apparently unconvinced. “Where were you three days ago?” she asked. “Between midnight and two AM?”
There was a silent pause.
“Alone with the ice queen,” commented Ron. “Don’t envy the creep.”
The black suited man took one final puff, and stubbed his cigarette out in a dirty metal tray. Charred paper and dark grey ash scattered as he squashed the butt down hard. There was no way Adrian could see the mean-eyed observer, but he squirmed in his seat regardless.
“Taurus chatroom,” the suspect said. “Answering questions from fans. You can check the company’s data logs. We monitor all office traffic on social media.”
“Except that wouldn’t prove anything,” Lucy rebutted. “It’s all usernames and text. That’s the trouble with the Internet. You can be anybody you want, but it also means anybody can be Adrian Pryce. Who’s to say it was you on the computer?” She took a breather and allowed herself a weak, lightly-curved smile. “But since I’m getting tired of seeing you sweat…”
Lucy took a seat directly opposite Adrian. On the observation room monitor, the suspect’s face was almost completely obscured. The positioning was near perfect, so exact it was either premeditated or amazing coincidence. Lucy shifted something across the table. The object couldn’t be seen through the window or on television.
“Let’s say I believe you,” she said. “Distinctive letterhead. Left where we’d find it. And then there’s the phone message. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to implicate your company, Mister Pryce. To implicate you. Any idea who it might be?”
“Take your pick,” Adrian replied, shoulders rising above Lucy’s as he shrugged. “Holiday season’s coming up, and that means a lot of major game releases. There’s plenty of competition out there for Christmas number one spot. And we attract a lot of crazy fans. Want to see how many? Come to the expo.”
“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance. What’s an expo?”
“Our annual trade show,” Adrian clarified. “A promotional get together. We’re hosting it tomorrow at the office tower. It’s the largest public event of the year for us. All the big players will be there. The list’s full up, but I’m sure I can get an old college friend an invite.” His tone was more relaxed than earlier, and bordered on playful. “Unless you’re planning to lock me up. Then I’d have to waste that phone call on my attorney.”
Lucy thought it over for a second. “You can go,” she said flatly. “For now. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Keeping your eye on me?”
Lucy stayed quiet, acting professional as she led Adrian from the interview room. He looked at the mirror with apparent relief.
Ron watched his partner follow the suspect out. “We’re just letting him walk?” he asked his black-suited superior. “Prime suspect says he didn’t do it, and we just take his word. This is bullshit, Lieutenant.”
“We got nothing on him,” the boss said resignedly. “Not yet, but don’t stop digging.”
Ron headed for the exit. Frustration showed on his face.
“Wallace,” the Lieutenant called out. He waited for Ron to turn around. “Does your partner know this guy?”
“Like you and I know the President. They were in the same year at college. Both studied locally. Drexel. Different subjects though. Pryce took computer science, Duvall did criminal psychology.”
“No personal history?” enquired the Lieutenant.
“Personal? This is Duvall we’re talking about.”
The Lieutenant paused to suck his lips. “There’s definitely a connection between these two. Could be minor, like you say. But if not… Conflicts of interest don’t go down well with internal affairs. Don’t have to remind you what happened last year with Killian and his brother. The press are still banging on about that cover up. So watch Duvall. First sign something’s off, any hint of this being more than an acquaintance, you call me.”
“Sure boss,” said Ron half-heartedly. “But I’m telling you—”
A no-nonsense glare from the Lieutenant silenced him.
“You got it,” acknowledged Ron.
Chapter Five
An army of teenagers had invaded the Taurus Studios roundabout, congregating in clusters near refreshment stands and temporary wooden souvenir stalls. It was either a warmer day than usual for winter, or those in attendance were feeling brave. The majority wore no coats over their short-sleeve T-shirts. Black was the commonest colour choice, with many clothes and shoulder-slung rucksacks bearing printed, colourful images. Gold-horned Taurus bulls and miniature versions of Crimson Shadow posters greatly outnumbered other designs, but computer games were the universal theme. Square-jawed heroes and suggestively-dressed females featured prominently in the artwork. One group of especially fanatical, messy-haired geeks had shown up wearing cardboard face masks of Adrian Pryce.
Burly security guards in blue-shirted uniforms were stationed along cordoned-off paths to the Taurus tower. Two men at the front rigorously checked the credentials of those queuing outside the closed entrance. A cloth banner stretched between the bull’s horns boldly promised the Greatest Game Expo Ever. A countdown was displayed on a massive digital screen. The ticking clock reached 05:00, prompting loud cheers from the crowd.
Lucy and Ron stood far back. They were close to a tripod-mounted plasma TV screen - one of several set up along the approach - and a hot dog stand staffed by a Hispanic woman in a grease-stained striped apron.
Ron tucked into an unappetising ‘snack’: a thin, black-ended sausage sandwiched in a soggy roll practically drowned in gooey ketchup. “Sure you don’t fancy some fine cuisine?” he asked in between two munches. “We still got time until the doors open.”
The empty-handed Lucy watched the TV monitor. A live broadcast came from outside the tower, where a shortish man in square-lensed, red-tinted glasses talked excitedly to an unseen camera. His mohawk-style, spiky-blond hair rose to a sharp point, and his chin was covered in unhealthy-looking spots. Unlike the teens waving from the queue behind him, the presenter’s white T-shirt was plain and devoid of logos. A caption on a superimposed, black oblong footer identified him as James Fitzroy, Chief Reviewer - Gamer Frontline.
“Excitement at Taurus Studios’ fourth gaming expo is mixed with tragedy,” he announced, voice projected by loudspeakers above the television screen. “The community has been shocked by the brutal murder of Justin Norris, known around the world by gamers and moviegoers alike.”
“Never heard of him before we found the body,” muttered Ron.
He swallowed the last of his hot dog, and cleaned his hands on a napkin. Ron glanced around the attendees. Far more paid attention to the countdown than Fitzroy’s eulogy.
“Yeah. They seem real shocked, don’t they?” Ron said. “No such thing as bad publicity, I guess.”
“Viewers will already know my opinions on the company and President Pryce…” Fitzroy continued.
“The way this guy talks, you’d think Pryce was the one in the Oval Office,” Ron whispered to his partner.
“He always did have an ego complex,” said Lucy. “But the man we interviewed was broken. Unsure of himself. I don’t think he’s our guy, Wallace.”
“Even if he isn’t, there’s plenty of other nutcases around. Look at these people. Never seen so much religious devotion. Like a God damn papal visit. Pardon my blasphemy.”
Fitzroy shouted louder, trying to get the attention of the apathetic crowd. “In the absence of any company announcements, it is only fitting that we at Gamer Frontline provide a fitting tribute to the legendary composer.” He gestured to someone off camera, and waved both arms in a flowing, circular movement akin to a conductor leading an orchestra. “Here is a collection of his greatest works.”
Music blared over the speakers, fast in tempo with many dramatic beats. But the countdown reached zero seconds later, and the tune was quickly lost amid cheers, excited chatter, and shrieks of excitement. Behind Fitzroy, spectators stopped waving and scrambled
toward the open doors.
“And so the stampede begins.” Ron rolled his eyes. “You good to go, Duvall?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.
Lucy marched across the roundabout directly toward the security barrier. She was a woman on a mission, never deviating from the most direct route. Lucy circumvented the cordon, ignoring complaints and nasty looks from the invitees. Before the astonished guards could protest, Lucy whipped out her detective’s shield.
“Police business,” she said abrasively.
“You’ll have to be more—” the guard started to argue.
“We already cleared it with your boss.” Lucy showed no sign of backing down.
“She’s in one of her moods,” Ron explained. He budged between them to flash his own badge. “Detective Wallace. My partner, Detective Duvall. Best to let us inside quietly, unless you want to create a scene.”
The guard mulled it over - very briefly - before waving them on.
Ron gave Lucy a querying glance as they headed through the doors. “That was edgy, even for you.”
***
The scene inside the Taurus lobby was even more chaotic than outside. Men and women in business suits stood behind display counters packed with high-priced souvenirs, game consoles, and official Crimson Shadow merchandise. There were all sorts of tie-ins: a board game with oriental artwork and ninja-weapon playing pieces, plastic samurai characters, replica red-garb clothing and masks. A cynic would call it a cash grab, but customers were all too eager to part with their money.
A few security guards watched from the balcony, but pretty much everyone was on the ground level, with the crowd thickest around a centrally located platform. Taurus’ main stand was one of many, but by some margin the busiest.
Adrian stood on the stage-like structure, flanked by two women in Crimson Shadow outfits. Their wardrobe was a perfect match to the woman on the poster: tight, martial arts outfits dyed the colour of blood, with sheathed imitation weapons. The masks had been omitted, possibly so Sophie could woo the crowd with sexy eyelid flutters and frequently blown kisses. She was to Adrian’s right, performing acrobatic feats that included high kicks, karate chops at pretend targets, and crouched fighting stances. Her movements were clumsy and imprecise. Compared to the masked woman shown in televised gameplay footage - who despatched seven armoured samurai with one free-flowing attack - Sophie was an amateur.
Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers) Page 3
