Fantasy in Death by J. D. Robb

know who killed Bart—Mr. Minnock?”
    “The investigation’s ongoing. We’re pursuing all leads. Has anyone tried to gain access to his apartment?”
    “No. No one’s been up there since your people left. He was a nice guy. Hardly older than my son.”
    “You were on duty when he got home yesterday.” It had all been asked before, she knew, but sometimes details shook out in the repetition. “How was his mood?”
    “He was whistling. Grinning. I remember how it made me grin right back. He looked so damn happy.”
    “And no one came in after him, or before him, who might have access to his apartment?”
    “No one. Quiet yesterday. You remember the weather we had? People stayed in, mostly, if they didn’t have to go anywhere. Hardly anyone in or out all day, and I knew all of them.”
    “Did he have any trouble with anyone in the building? Any complaints?”
    “He was a friendly guy, easygoing, but maybe a little shy, a little quiet. I never heard him complain about anybody, or anybody complain about him.”
    She shifted angles. “Maybe he was particularly friendly with one of the other tenants?”
    “Well, the kids, sure.”
    And there, she thought, a new detail. “What kids?”
    “The Sing kids, and the Trevor boy. We don’t have a lot of kids in the building. Couple of teenage girls, but they’re not so into the game scene. But the younger boys, they were big for Bart.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yeah, he let them come up and play now and then, said they were his market research. Gave them some demos here and there, passed them new games before they hit the stores.”
    “Were the parents okay with that?”
    “Sure. He wouldn’t’ve done it otherwise. In fact, Dr. Sing joined in sometimes. He’s more into strategy games and like that than the action stuff the kids like. Those kids are taking it hard, really hard, since the news got out. Well, the Sing kids. The Trevors are on vacation, so I don’t know if they heard about it.”
    “What’s the Sings’ apartment?”
    “They’re in five-ten if you want the main. It’s a nice two-level job. The whole family’s up there now, if you want to talk to them. I can buzz up, let them know.”
    “Why don’t you do that? After, we’ll be working in Mr. Minnock’s for a while.”
    “It’s good you’re keeping on it. That’s good. Whoever hurt that boy...” His lips thinned as he looked away. “Well, I can’t even say what I think about it. We get fired for that kind of language.”
    Roarke keyed up his PPC as they got in the elevator. “Sing,
    Dr. David—neurologist. His wife’s a pediatric surgeon. Susan. Boys, Steven and Michael, ages ten and eight respectively. Married twelve years. Both graduated from Harvard Medical School, and both are attendings at Mount Sinai. No criminal on either.”
    “Since when do you access criminal records on that?”
    “Since I consult with my lovely wife.” Roarke slipped the PPC back in his pocket.
    “I’ve got a guy in a cage right now for accessing proprietary information.”
    Roarke merely smiled, held his hands out, wrists up. “Want to take me in, darling?”
    The elevator doors opened and spared her from an answer. “I just want a look, a sense. Maybe the whole deal was some sort of accident. Everybody’s playing, having fun, until somebody gets their head chopped off.”
    “And a couple of kids clean up after themselves, reset the security, reprogram a very sophisticated droid?”
    “No, but they have really smart parents. I assume smart given the Harvard Medical. It’s not likely, but—”
    “You can’t write it off,” Roarke finished, and pressed the bell for 510 himself.
    “Try to look like Peabody.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Serious, official, yet approachable.”
    “You forgot adorable.”
    “Peabody is not adorable.”
    “She is from my perspective. Besides, I was talking about me.”
    She barely smothered the laugh before the door opened.
    David Sing wore jeans and a spotless white