The spectacled Asian woman to Adrian’s left did much better with the choreography, though her frequent blinking and trembling lips suggested stage fright. She was quite tall - two inches on Adrian and a whole foot on Sophie - with her long, naturally-soft black hair fastened into a jade-clipped ponytail. Her light brown skin was smooth and makeup-free, without a single bead of sweat on her lean cheeks.
An excited gamer - a teenage boy in a black baseball cap - punched the air in triumph. “That was easy,” he boasted, waving a wireless videogame controller in his reddened fist. “I’m the master of the flaming forest, folks.”
That was a reference to the ‘stage completed’ screen: a darkened image of the ninja woman in a katana-wielding victory pose, surrounded by burning trees and impressive, overlaid statistics.
Adrian reached across to collect the game controller. “Anyone else fancy a go?” he yelled at the crowd.
A plethora of arms shot up, accompanied by squeals of delight. Then the noise dropped an octave, and the crowd parted to allow the two detectives through. Lucy held her badge high to ward away the teenagers.
Adrian lowered the controller, looking a touch miffed at the intrusion. He stepped down from the stage to confront Lucy head on. “I know you have a job to do,” he whispered angrily, “but you could be more discreet.”
“We certainly could have been,” Ron said, disdainfully eyeing his partner.
“But as you said,” countered Lucy, “we have a job to do.” She looked around the room, and the crowd by the stage which had grown noticeably thinner since her arrival. “See what you mean by interest. But why would a gamer go after a former employee? Seems to take obsession to a whole new level.”
“Unless they didn’t,” Ron speculated, “and the motive was financial. Which brings us back to you, Mister President.”
An attendee strutted toward the stage, pushing an Adrian-masked teen out of the way. It was Fitzroy, the game reviewer who’d given Norris a questionable tribute. Still wearing his cheap, red-tinted glasses, he thrust a microphone-fitted MP3 player in Lucy’s face. The red recording light was on.
“Any comment, Detective?” Fitzroy asked brashly.
Lucy appeared stunned at the interruption, and Adrian gave Fitzroy a mean stare of his own. The models on stage - Sophie and the Asian woman - looked at each other, perplexed. They were no longer doing fight choreography, and nearly every guest in the lobby - plus the guards upstairs - had stopped to watch.
The reviewer wasn’t about to be stonewalled. “Any leads?” he pressed. “Are you linking the death of Justin Norris to Taurus Studios? Is there evidence to connect his brutal murder to the gaming community?” Lucy opened her mouth to reply but Fitzroy gave her no opportunity. His eyes opened wide as he clenched his MP3 recorder tight, giving him the appearance of a lunatic on the verge of breakdown. “Could this be the start of something bigger? Is a new terror about to grip the city of Philadelphia? Do you have any suspects?”
“I’m not at liberty to comment on an ongoing investigation,” Lucy said, considerably lower on melodrama. “Lieutenant Blake will be giving a press conference this afternoon.”
“A textbook answer,” Fitzroy scoffed. “Where’s the originality?”
“Hey!” Ron stepped forward to intervene. “Leave the sarcasm to me, pal. There’s no story for you here. Talk a walk.”
Fitzroy acted as if Ron wasn’t there. He thrust his MP3 recorder at Adrian, almost clubbing him on the nose.
“Do you think it was a mistake to part company with a top talent?” Fitzroy pestered him. “Can we expect a further dip in quality from Taurus? More unoriginal games that pander to the masses?”
“Dip in quality!? Pander to—” Adrian lost his cool. “Who the hell are you to come here and chuck insults around? It won’t wash, Fitzroy. Everybody knows you’re biased towards us.”
“Now we’re hearing the real Adrian Pryce, people. An obsessed control freak who only—”
Lucy placed a firm hand on Fitzroy’s shoulder, adding a tight squeeze that made him flinch. “I advise you to step back,” she said, other hand on her holster bulge. “Or we’ll have to take action.”
“Is that a threat, Detective?” Fitzroy turned his attention back to Adrian. “Same game, sexier clothes. You think you can hide the truth, Pryce. But it will come out. I know what you’ve done.”
“You insinuating son of a bitch,” Adrian said viciously.
He snatched the recorder from the reviewer’s hand, threw it on the stage, and grabbed Fitzroy’s neck with both hands.
Lucy tackled Adrian from behind. Showing powerful upper body strength, she pulled him away from Fitzroy and held him face down on the stage. Ron dragged Fitzroy a few paces back, using brute force to separate the two quarrelling men. The reviewer’s shades came off and clattered against the marble floor. The Asian woman stepped back, while Sophie looked on in shock. Security guards stormed down the nearest staircase.
“What the hell do you think this is?” Lucy asked the subdued Adrian. “Amateur crime hour? Calm down, and leave the police work to us.” She redirected her fury at Fitzroy. “And you. I won’t ask you to leave again.”
Fitzroy quit struggling, but Ron kept his grip.
“Everybody getting this?” the reviewer yelled at the captivated crowd. “Police brutality. The iron fist of the system suppressing us. I have rights. I demand an apology.”
Digital cameras clicked and beeped as guests used them to take pictures.
“What for, asshole?” asked Ron, unperturbed. “Messing up that tuft of fur you call hair? That murder you’re so interested in. To answer your question… Yeah, we got a suspect. His name’s Fitzroy.”
Chapter Six
Seen from the balcony, Fitzroy appeared a midget next to the burly guards that restrained him. Expo attendees kept well away, leaving a ten-foot circle of marble floor otherwise empty. With the reviewer now in Taurus security custody, the two detectives had relocated near the stage, close to Adrian who appeared somewhat calmer and back in control of his emotions.
Loud cheers continued as the guards hauled Fitzroy toward the entrance. The ring of empty space followed the three men with uncanny precision. Once they’d left the premises, the excitement quickly subsided, and the guests turned their attention back to souvenir hunting and playing demo games.
A well-manicured man leant over the balcony looked less than impressed. The wristband of his gold watch glinted as he tapped the chrome rail. Wearing an impeccably-pressed, purple suit, firm-collared shirt, and polished Italian shoes, he was at least twice - possibly three - times as old as the casually dressed teens he looked down on. Either the auburn-haired man possessed considerable wealth and power, or liked to pretend so.
The observer’s dark green eyes focused on Adrian. He waited until the president noticed him, and then inclined his head. Without hanging around for a response - verbal or gestured - the man in the purple suit headed for a secluded, shadowy corner. The balcony screened him from the ground floor. With the elevator tubes currently inactive, the fifteen-foot-long patch was effectively a blind spot.
The man raised a flattened palm toward an approaching security guard - a silent suggestion he patrol a different area. Without a word of dissent, the guard altered his route.
***
“Take a ten minute break, girls,” Adrian said, glancing over his shoulder at Sophie. “Once the excitement’s settled down, we’ve got some promotion to do. When we’re done, I want them all talking about Crimson Shadow and not that lunatic.” He turned to Lucy. “Are you planning to arrest him?”
“We got a case for Fitzroy disturbing the peace. Enough to peg him as a definite suspect. But nothing to link him to the crime scene. And you did attack first.”
“After he provoked me. So that’s it? You’re not even going to question him?”
“Oh we’ll question him,” said Ron. “Once he calms down. But that could take a while. In the meantime, we got our eye on some other p
romising suspects.” He let his piercing gaze linger on Adrian for a moment, then gave him a false smile.
“I’m going to the men’s room,” Adrian said firmly. “To take a piss. Unless you want to follow me there, too.”
Adrian glanced up at the balcony. Only the briefest of looks, but Ron noticed. The detective scanned the upper tier, but saw nobody above except patrolling security guards.
“Go ahead,” Lucy said. “Nothing to see in there that would interest me.”
“You haven’t told him, have you?” Adrian glanced across at Ron. “Don’t worry, Detective Duvall. I can keep a secret.”
Ron gave Lucy a bemused look as the president walked off.
“He likes to play games,” Lucy offered as an unconvincing explanation. “Pay no attention to what he says.”
She wandered to the stage, and flashed her shield at the Asian choreographer. The woman flinched, looking somewhat uncomfortable as she stepped off the platform. Lucy followed her round the side, away from the crowd. A gang of puberty-age boys stayed behind to drool over Sophie, who redid her dance routine despite the boss’ orders.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Lucy asked the Asian tactfully. “Miss…”
“Tania Chin,” she introduced herself. “I’m the lead programmer on Project Ninja.” Seeing Lucy’s perplexed reaction, she quickly elaborated. “Crimson Shadow. Project Ninja was the working title, when we were in the pre-production stage.”
Instead of joining his partner, Ron tracked Adrian through the crowd. The detective noted the black-on-silver male and female restroom symbols. Adrian headed straight past them, and continued toward the stairs. Ron tailed, careful to keep his distance.
Lucy continued to question Tania. “I always thought of programmers as desk workers. Doing the boring stuff in the back office.”
“It’s not boring,” Tania said. “Not all the time. But I do spend most days in back offices.”
“Is the dancing a sideline?”
Tania followed Lucy’s gaze to Sophie, who was busy posing for her male admirers.
“They need people to be Crimson Shadow,” the programmer said. “I could have managed on my own, but Adrian wanted another woman to work with me. Someone prettier.”
“Sounds about right,” Lucy muttered under her breath. She quickly changed tack. “Your colleague over there doesn’t seem to mind the attention.”
Sophie knelt down, and loosened the belt around her ninja outfit. She was an unapologetic temptress, and the boys looked only too happy to be ensnared in her seductive web.
“Adrian…” Tania hesitated a moment. “…is fond of Miss Gallier, and not many pretty women work at Taurus Studios. And I’m not… as comfortable performing in public as she is.”
“You did fine,” Lucy complimented her. “So what else does Miss Gallier do? Besides dance and flirt with gullible teenagers?”
“Sophie’s head of public relations, according to her e-mail signature. I don’t really know her that well. She doesn’t spend much time with the other team members.”
“Too busy servicing the clients, I suppose.”
Tania - looking uncertain how to respond to the snide comment - gave Lucy a shy grin.
“So what’s he like?” Lucy asked. “Adrian Pryce, as a boss?”
“All right.” Tania avoided direct eye contact.
Lucy smiled, waiting her out.
“He calls the shots.” Tania adjusted her spectacles until they were level. “There’s not a lot of room for creativity at Taurus Studios. Adrian likes us to follow his rules. But those rules don’t always apply to him.”
“Driven and obsessed. Sounds just like this guy I knew at college.”
***
Adrian stomped along the balcony, and joined the purple-suited man in the shady corner. Ron - halfway up the stairs - watched from distance.
“A little tacky, don’t you think?” the manicured man said. “Dancing with two ladies? And a fistfight with a reporter. I’ve warned you about losing your cool, Adrian. It’s a story we can do without. Especially this close to the launch date.”
“Fitzroy’s a hack,” Adrian said contemptibly. “But he was right about one thing. Sex sells. Most of our fanbase are teenage boys. It’s what they want to see. A man in black might be more realistic, and could work as a secondary character in the sequel. But it’s Crimson Shadow who’ll get to get us to number one. Which you should understand the importance of, being the producer. The man with the money.”
“Demographics change.” The producer peered over the railing. It took him a moment to spy some women in the crowd. “This is not the eighties, or even the noughties. There’s a lot more accountability now, examples to set. I just came from a meeting with our investors. They want us to appeal to a broader audience from now on, and expand into new markets.”
“And pissing off our existing customers will help us expand?”
Adrian shook his head, stopping when he saw Ron turn off the stairs onto the balcony. The detective approached slowly, brushing past a security guard. He closed in behind the money man, like a predator stalking its quarry.
“Do I need to remind you we had three triple-A flops last year?” the producer continued, unaware of Ron’s presence. “Building our fanbase might - just might - allow me to revise our bleak profit projections. Less red and more black. The Norris situation hasn’t helped. Taurus stocks took a nosedive when the company and murder got mentioned in the same sentence. Those of us that live in the real world have to deal with the fallout.”
“Bad news is good news. Isn’t that one of your catchphrases, Miles?”
The producer started to clench his fist, then apparently thought better of it. “Having police nosying around our company isn’t good news. Not for me. Not for you.”
“That’s too bad.” Adrian nodded towards Ron. “Because it seems there’s a detective here who’d like to speak to you.”
Ron responded to Miles’ sharp backward glance with an exaggerated hand wave.
“Why don’t you put some spin on it?” Adrian suggested. “Use those fancy words. It’s what you’re good at.”
The president walked off without a look back, leaving Ron and the purple-suited man alone in the dark corner.
“Pretty shady,” Ron commented. “This cubby hole. Don’t like to mingle with other guests, huh? Why do I get the impression you’ve been avoiding me? Oh, excuse me. Forgot the introductions. Detective Wallace. You are?”
“Miles Dawson. I handle the company’s money.”
“Of course you do,” said Ron, smile fading away. “You must be Pryce’s attorney, then.”
“And producer.” Dawson cemented his upright stance. “That means I run the show. Money talks, despite what Adrian thinks.”
“Have you told him that?”
Dawson reached into his suit, pulled out a business card, and slid it into Ron’s breast pocket. The detective kept his eyes on the attorney.
“Next time you want to talk to my client,” Dawson said, “you go through me. Or I’ll go through your boss. Do we understand one another?”
Ron didn’t look unsettled in the slightest. “This is a peaceful spot you picked out.” He took out his notebook and pen. “Away from the crowd. It’d be a shame to let this opportunity to talk go to waste. So - if you don’t mind - I’d like to ask you some questions.”
***
The Sun was about to set on Philadelphia. Technicians worked on dismantling the last television screen. The refreshment stands and trader stalls were still manned, lights switched on now it was getting late in the afternoon. Not many people were outside the Taurus Studios tower, which had the appearance of a black column against the orange-brown sky.
Ron walked alongside Lucy, crossing the empty, litter-strewn roundabout. “Weird bunch,” he assessed. “Your old college pal’s ruffled some feathers over the years. Fitzroy. His producer stroke attorney, quite a few of his staff.”
“We’re not pals,” Lucy said
harshly.
“Sure about that? You got awfully protective when that loon went after him. Thought you were going to toss in some Miranda rights.”
Lucy quickened her pace, moving ahead of Ron. She unlocked the unmarked car’s door, and pulled it sharply outward. Lucy got in, slammed the door shut, and fastened her seat belt.
Ron took his time joining her. “Acting on impulse,” he said while he strapped up. “That’s not like you, Duvall.”
“Are you done with the commentary?” Lucy started the engine.
Ron placed a restraining hand on the handbrake before she could disengage it. “Just looking out for my partner.” His concern sounded genuine. “You know, Pryce got pretty heated back there. He could have choked Fitzroy to death if they’d been alone. Maybe something similar happened with Norris. He could be our man, Lucy. If there’s something you’re not—”
“That guy may be a self-centred control freak, but trust me. He’s not a killer.”
***
Someone entered a restroom stall: a tiny cubicle with a white plastic door, ebony-tiled walls, and porcelain toilet. The person was enshrouded in shadow, and wore a long-tailed, black leather jacket zipped up to the neck.
A sliding bolt clicked shut. There was a silent pause, as if the darkened figure was checking nobody else was around. Norris’ killer - or someone dressed remarkably similarly - took out a mobile phone and typed on its lighted alphanumeric keypad with gloved fingers. The figure in black entered a text message, choosing from the device’s suggested words quickly and accurately.
Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers) Page 4
