“She’s a poet and don’t know it,” Jerome says moodily. He’s still tossing the console back and forth. Hodges has a feeling that he’s resisting an impulse to throw it on the floor and stomp on it, and that’s sort of reasonable. After all, one just like it almost got his sister killed.

No, Hodges thinks. Not just like it. The Fishin’ Hole demo on Dinah’s Zappit generates a mild hypnotic effect, but nothing else. And it’s probably . . .

He straightens suddenly, provoking a twinge of pain in his side. “Holly, have you searched for Fishin’ Hole info on the Net?”

“No,” she says. “I never thought of it.”

“Would you do it now? What I want to know—”

“If there’s chatter about the demo screen. I should have thought of that myself. I’ll do it now.” She hurries into the outer office.

“What I don’t understand,” Hodges says, “is why Brady would kill himself before seeing how it all came out.”

“You mean before seeing how many kids he could get to off themselves,” Jerome says. “Kids who were at that fucking concert. Because that’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Hodges says. “There are too many blank spots, Jerome. Far too many. I don’t even know how he killed himself. If he actually did.”

Jerome presses the heels of his hands to his temples as if to keep his brain from swelling. “Please don’t tell me you think he’s still alive.”

“No, he’s dead, all right. Pete wouldn’t make a mistake about that. What I’m saying is maybe somebody murdered him. Based on what we know, Babineau would be the prime suspect.”

“Holy poop!” Holly cries from the other room.

Hodges and Jerome happen to be looking at each other when she says it, and there is a moment of divine harmony as they both struggle against laughter.

“What?” Hodges calls. It’s all he can manage without bursting into mad brays of hilarity, which would hurt his side as well as Holly’s feelings.

“I found a site called Fishin’ Hole Hypnosis! The start-page warns parents not to let their kids look at the demo screen too long! It was first noticed in the arcade game version back in 2005! The Game Boy fixed it, but the Zappit . . . wait a sec . . . they said they did, but they didn’t! There’s a whole big long thread!”

Hodges looks at Jerome.

“She means an online conversation,” Jerome says.

“A kid in Des Moines passed out, hit his head on the edge of his desk, and fractured his skull!” She sounds almost gleeful as she gets up and rushes back to them. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy. “There would have been lawsuits! I bet that’s one of the reasons the Zappit company went out of business! It might even have been one of the reasons why Sunrise Solutions—”

The phone on her desk begins to ring.

“Oh, frack,” she says, turning toward it.