"And impossible to trace. Who would remember selling someone a screwdriver?"

"Poison is much more difficult. Not sure of the results, or how quick."

"Strangling could be a straggle. It had to be quick, and silent, with no blood."

"Could a woman have the strength to do this?" Eileen asked, abandoning the game. Rowland shrugged, still smiling a little.

"Ordinarily, I'd say no. But the insane have different ways of using power. I've seen a tiny woman who needed two orderlies to hold her down, all because she didn't want her medication. A normal woman, no."

"Insane," Eileen repeated.

"Or full of hate. The person who killed this woman, insane or not, hated her very much."

"I'll remember that," Eileen said.

"See that you do," Rowland said grimly. "I'd hate to be sawing you in two to see what killed you." He winked, and Eileen grinned back, liking him a lot.

"Right."

"Should I call for the stretcher?" Blaine asked at the doorway.

"A stretcher it is," Rowland said cheerfully. "I'll do the autopsy tomorrow. You want a report?"

Blaine and Eileen both nodded.

"Do you have e-mail?"

"I've got it," Eileen said.

"Good."

"I don't have e-mail. We're not allowed to have external computer lines," Blaine said. "Hackers, you know."

"Oh," Rowland said. He put a stubby hand in his medical bag and produced a black address book. "Too bad. Wonderful stuff, e-mail. What's your address?"

"," Eileen said. She saw the address book was filled with streams of addresses like her own.

"I do all my work on a voice recognition system," Rowland explained to Blaine, writing Eileen's address in a small, neat hand. "I dictate, it produces a pretty packet, all set up just like my old reports. Plus," and he closed the book with a snap, "I can send it to Detective Reed in a few seconds. She reads it, prints what she wants, no problem."

"We have e-mail systems, but they're all internal," Blaine said. "Security."

"I'll send you a packet by regular mail. Can I have your card?" Rowland was brisk and unsympathetic. "I need to get home. I'm not like those TV MEs you see working all hours of the night. I have three little girls."

Blaine produced a card and within a few moments the ME was out the door and gone. His pa.s.sing seemed to leave a wake like a speedboat engine. Eileen sighed. After the crisp Dr. Rowland, Major Blaine was even harder to face.

"Let's have you view those tapes now," Blaine said.

"I'll interview the other Gamers now," Eileen said firmly. "I'll look at the tapes afterwards."

There was a short silence from Blaine. Eileen looked at him without challenge, waiting to see what he would do.

"That sounds reasonable," he said. "I'll handle the crew in here and you go across the hall. I'll check on you later-" He stopped as there was an almost audible pop. The screen in front of them, now showing lights across the dark half of the world, went black. The lights in the room dimmed slightly, then became brighter. The consoles that Eileen could see had also gone black and still. It was eerie, as though the computer had stopped the simulation all on its own. Eileen knew that Joe and Art must have brought the programs to a halt from their office, as he said they would.

"Fine," Eileen said. "Bathroom break first."

"Right," Blaine said. "I'll get the ambulance crew in here. You know the key sequence to get in next door?"

"Eight zero three zero," Eileen said. Blaine blinked, impressed. Eileen didn't bother to explain that she'd developed her memory for numbers working as a waitress in college, adding up bills for eggs and bacon and chewy truck stop steaks. Let Blaine think she was brilliant. She hoped she would be able to keep at least an image of competence. So far, she felt like she was floundering her way through the day.

"Okay, then, let's get going."

9.

Great Falls, Virginia.

Lucy Giometti was home early. She intended to return to work later that evening, but dinner with her husband was not to be denied. She loved to cook and she loved their dinners together.

Her mother lost a baby girl to sudden infant death syndrome before Lucy. She had three younger brothers, so had her sister survived she would have been from the essential cliche, the large Italian family. As it was, her mother gave all her affection to her surviving daughter. Lucy spent a lot of time with her brothers, escaping as much as she could from her mother's smothering femininity. Lucy was the first to try riding her bicycle off the concrete embankment and into the sand pile. She was the first to climb trees, and until adolescence hit was the fastest and strongest of the four of them. Then she fell behind each year, as her brothers became more powerful and she became mysteriously smaller and weaker. She picked up track and excelled at running, but she never quite forgave her body for becoming a woman.

Her father, a policeman, had no interest in his daughter. Even when Lucy graduated in the top ten at her university he had no words of congratulations for her. Lucy was unable to understand her mother and her father had no desire to understand her, and until Ted came into her life she didn't realize how lonely she was. Ted Giometti changed all that. He brought joy. Now they were starting a family. Lucy Giometti fell in love with an English teacher and found she'd learned a lot from her mother after all, when in courtship she tried to please him with her cooking skills.

Her phone rang just as the fettuccine timer went off. Lucy scooped up the phone and held the hot pot one-handed, dumping the noodles into the strainer as she settled the phone into her shoulder.

"h.e.l.lo," she said.

"We need you in here," Mills said. "Right away."

"I'll be there in forty-five minutes," she said serenely. "You know I don't give up dinner."

"I need you here now, Giometti," Mills said.

Lucy smiled at the phone. "Mr. Mills, I am not involved in any operation that could cause the death of an agent by my presence. Fire me if you wish. Let the gate guards know and I'll give them my badge. Otherwise, I'll be there in forty-five minutes."

Mills hung up the phone and Lucy returned to her dinner task.

"Who was that?" Ted asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"My boss. I have to go back in after dinner," she said, and held her mouth up to him for a kiss.

Gaming Center, Schriever Air Force Base.

Sharon of the Whitney and Michael CDs was a solidly built woman in her late thirties, skin the cafe-au-lait of the Louisiana Creole, eyes a deep and somber black.

"Sharon Johnson?" Eileen asked, standing and offering her hand. "Eileen Reed, Colorado Springs Police, Special Investigations."

"How do you do?" Sharon asked politely. She took the hand and shook it briefly. Her hand was warm and dry.

"Please have a seat," Eileen said. Sharon took a chair quietly, folded her hands on her lap, and waited. Eileen seated herself as well, and studied the other woman for a moment. Sharon's body was thick-figured, big breasted, her legs short and chunky under the soft cream cotton of a dress that was quite obviously new. The shoes were scuffed and well worn, although of good quality, and she wore no jewelry. Her hair, thick and black, curved beautifully to her shoulders and her skin was a miracle, without tonal variation or flaw, a perfect b.u.t.tered toffee brown.

"Lowell is still not up for an interview?' Eileen asked quietly.

"He asked me to come in first. Doug took him something to eat. He was still feeling pretty bad."

"It has been a terrible day for you folks."

"A terrible day," Sharon repeated.

"Did you know Terry Guzman, Ms. Johnson?"

"Sharon, please, Miss Reed. Yes I did."

"Sharon, then. Please call me Eileen. Were you friends with Terry?"

"No, I wasn't," Sharon said firmly, and stirred in her seat. "But it is, a terrible thing, to die that way, a very bad thing."

"Why weren't you friends with her?" Eileen asked gently.

"She felt that I-" Sharon stopped for a moment, a look of bafflement coming over her face. Then her expression fell smooth again. "I don't have a four-year degree, Miss Reed. I am going to night school and they've given me this position while I finish. I-" Here she looked down, her mouth twisting for a moment as though she struggled with some unnamed emotion. "I have been having difficulties. Terry has not been kind to me." There was a pause. "Terry was not kind to me." There was relief in Sharon's voice when she corrected the tense.

"Why wasn't she kind?" Eileen asked.

"I don't know. I wish I knew. She was not kind to me, and I did not speak to her because of it."

"I see," Eileen said. "Was it racial?"

Sharon looked at her without surprise.

"No, I don't think so. You get to know pretty quickly when someone hates you because of your race. She didn't like anyone, I don't think. She never looked at me like I was a human being, but it wasn't because of my race."

"I'm trying to get an idea of what Terry was like, that's all. More importantly I need to know exactly what you did today, everything you can remember. Even if it doesn't seem important. All right?"

"That's fine," Sharon said. She took a deep breath.

"Okay then," Eileen said, smiling. "Tell me everything from when the alarm went off this morning."

Sharon looked surprised, then shrugged.

"I got up at five-forty-five this morning. I have three children and I got them off to school before I came in."

"Where do they go to school?" Eileen asked, hearing "School" instead of "school" in Sharon's voice.

"The Colorado Springs School," Sharon said. Eileen was surprised. That place was private, aimed at the Ivy League. Tuition was horribly expensive.

"It's worth it," Sharon explained. "They pay me a regular engineer's salary, it allows us to pay tuition and eat. They pay for my schooling, the company does, and books. Graham suffers, sometimes-he'd like to be dressed in fancy shoes like the other kids, but I'm bringing him up proud. He knows what it takes and he doesn't whine."

"That is an incredible accomplishment," Eileen said slowly, and meant it. "When did you get to work?"

"I got to my desk about a quarter till eight. I fixed myself some tea and walked over to get a donut, that's our Game Day bonus. When I got into the room I saw Terry talking to Major Travers. There are two donut and coffee tables. Terry was standing by the first one. So I went to the other one."

Sharon focused in on Eileen. "I'm trying to be honest, Miss Reed. I hope this doesn't get anyone in trouble. But you should know how I felt about her."

"I understand," Eileen said quietly.

"All right. I got to the table. 'Berto was there too. I always pick out the blueberry cake donuts if they have them. 'Berto always has those chocolate cream-filled ones? Joe calls them sugar and grease bombs. He eats the chocolate raised ones, though. So we started eating our donuts and we wandered over to Art's console, the Truth Team area. Art and Joe were watching some kind of network monitor on the screen. They-I'm sorry, it was Art-kicked out a couple of chairs and we- 'Berto and I-sat down. There was the usual crowd of people in there, all the military types and the Civil Service gray-suits. Everyone was just stuffing their faces with the donuts and drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups and just talking as fast as their gums could flap. My! Working in the Center, you don't realize how you get used to the quiet. Game Day is always so noisy."

Sharon shifted in her chair. She unfolded and refolded the sensible legs. "I sat next to Joe and pretty soon we started talking a little bit, about the Brilliant Pebbles. He is pretty stressed on Game Day."

Sharon paused. "Joe and Art were trying to fix a problem on the day of the Game. That's like retooling the motor when you're launching a ship." Sharon shook her head. "I can't stay late, I have the kids, but I was here until six last night finishing up some testing. If I had found a problem, I would have called Marion, my neighbor, and she would have watched the kids until I got the job done. We always make the Game."

"Was everyone that dedicated?" Eileen asked levelly.

"No," Sharon responded slowly. "You know who was not. Her stuff always worked, but I can't see how. Unless-"

"Unless what?"

"I have thought for quite a while that someone else was helping her. I mean, writing her code for her," Sharon said, and bit at her lips. "Software has a fingerprint. You can't write code without leaving your mark on it. Terry wrote sloppy, terrible, confused code. Then it started to get better, right after Sully died and we thought that was it for her-"

"What? Who died?" Eileen interrupted sharply.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you don't know. Sully was another engineer. She wasn't killed or anything like that, it wasn't... murder." Her voice died away.

"Tell me about Sully," Eileen said grimly.

"Sully was Harriet Sullivan. She was a Gamer. She was real abrasive, but she was good. Terry and her didn't get along at all. She was-Sully, I mean-she was so fine n.o.body could touch her, not even Lowell. I know Terry tried to get her fired, she hated her so much. She was so witty, you know? Just that turn of phrase that would sting you bad. If you knew Sully, you would laugh, because she was really a good person. She wrote me a note once when I gave her some terrible code and asked if having three children made me stupid, or was it just a defense mechanism."

"That's rough," Eileen commented.

"Yes. Sully was rough. She made me cry a few times, before I got used to her. Then we were just fine, I understood her. She had no biases, except for stupidity. Then she changed, near the end."

"How did she die?"

"She skidded off the road driving to work. She was broad-sided by a truck and killed instantly," Sharon said, her mouth a thin angry line. "She was working a lot of overtime, just like the rest of us, to make up for Terry's mistakes. One person on the team doesn't pull their own weight and everybody suffers. Terry made everybody suffer. None of us liked her before then, but afterwards ... I don't know how we held together. We had a wake. We never eat the sprinkle donuts during a Game. It's stupid, but they were her favorites. The military guys eat them, usually."

"Why did she change?"

Sharon looked discomfited.