“I will do my best to accommodate you, Mrs. Roarke.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Dallas, Lieutenant Dallas. Put a rush on it, Wang.” She looked down at the body again. Small man, she thought, thin, pale. Dead.
Pursing her lips, she studied the face. She’d seen what odd tricks death, particularly violent death, could play with expressions, but she’d never seen anything like that wide, goggle-eyed grin. It made her shudder.
The waste, the pathetic waste of such a young life made her unbearably sad.
“Take him with you, Wang. Get me the reports. You can shoot his basic paperwork to the tele-link in my suite. I need the next of kin.”
“Assuredly.” He smiled at her. “Lieutenant Roarke.”
She smiled back, showed her teeth, and decided she didn’t want to play the name game. Standing, she put her hands on her hips as Wang directed his two assistants to transport the body.
“You find that amusing,” she muttered to Roarke.
He blinked, all innocence. “What?”
“Lieutenant Roarke.”
Roarke touched her face because he needed to. “Why not? Both of us could use some comic relief.”
“Yeah, your Dr. Wang’s a chuckle a minute.” She watched the doctor sail out in front of the dead boy on a gurney. “It pisses me off. It fucking pisses me off.”
“It’s not such a bad name.”
“No.” She nearly did laugh as she rubbed her hands over her face. “Not that. The boy. A kid like that tossing out his next hundred years of life. That pisses me off.”
“I know.” He reached out to rub her shoulders. “You’re sure it was suicide?”
“No sign of struggle. No additional insults to the body.” She shrugged under his hands. “I’ll interview Carter and talk to some others, but the way I see it, Drew Mathias came home, turned on the lights, the music. He drank himself a couple beers, maybe took a VR trip, ate a few pretzels. Then he went in, stripped the sheets off his bed, made himself a rope, fashioned a very precise, professional noose.”
She turned away, scanning the room, letting the scene into her head. “He took off his clothes, tossed them aside. He climbed up on the table. You can see the smears from his feet. He tied the rope to the light, probably gave it a good tug or two to make sure it was secure. Then he slipped his head into the noose, used the remote to raise the light, and choked himself to death.”
She picked up the remote she’d already bagged for evidence. “It wouldn’t have been quick. It’s a slow ascent, not enough to give him a nice clean broken neck, but he didn’t struggle, didn’t change his mind. If he had, you’d see scrapes from his nails on his neck and throat from where he’d tried to claw free.”
Roarke’s brow knit. “But wouldn’t it be instinctive, involuntary to do just that?”
“I don’t know. I’d say it depended on how strong a will he had, how much he wanted to die. And why. Could have been cruising on drugs. We’ll know that soon enough. The right mix of chemicals, the mind doesn’t register pain. He might even have enjoyed it.”
“I won’t deny there’s some illegals floating around here. It’s impossible to regulate and supervise every staff member’s habits and personal choices.” Roarke shrugged, frowned up at the gorgeous blue chandelier. “Mathias doesn’t strike me as the type for a habitual, even an occasional user.”
“People are a constant surprise, and it’s an unending wonder what they’ll pump into their bloodstreams.” Eve jerked her own shoulders in turn. “I’ll give the place the standard toss for
illegals, and I’ll see what I can find out from Carter.” She dragged her hair back with a hand. “Why don’t you go back up, get some sleep?”
“No, I’ll stay. Eve,” he said before she could argue, “you deputized me.”
It made her smile a little. “Any decent adjutant would know I need coffee to get through this.”
“Then I’ll see that you get some.” He framed her face in his hands. “I wanted you away from this for a while.” He let her go and walked into the adjoining kitchen to see about her coffee.
Eve stepped into the bedroom. The lights were low and Carter was sitting on the side of the bed, his head in his hands. He jerked straight when he heard her come in.
“Take it easy, Carter, you’re not under arrest yet.” When his cheeks paled, she sat beside him. “Sorry, bad cop humor. I’m recording this, okay?”
“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, interview with Carter—what’s your full name, Carter?”