He’s getting ready to kick poor Holly again. To distract him, Hodges says, “There was a nurse. Sadie MacDonald. Did you nudge her into killing herself? You did, didn’t you? She was the first one.”

Brady likes that, and shows even more of Babineau’s expensive dental work. “It was easy. It always is, once you get inside and start pulling the levers.”

“How do you do that, Brady? How do you get inside? How did you manage to get those Zappits from Sunrise Solutions, and rig them? Oh, and the website, how about that?”

Brady laughs. “You’ve read too many of those mystery stories where the clever private eye keeps the insane murderer talking until help arrives. Or until the murderer’s attention wavers and the private eye can grapple with him and get his gun away. I don’t think help is going to arrive, and you don’t look capable of grappling with a goldfish. Besides, you know most of it already. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. Freddi spilled her guts, and—not to sound like Snidely Whiplash—she will pay for that. Eventually.”

“She claims she didn’t set up the website.”

“I didn’t need her for that. I did it all by myself, in Babineau’s study, on Babineau’s laptop. During one of my vacations from Room 217.”

“What about—”

“Shut up. See that table beside you, Detective Hodges?”

It’s cherrywood, like the buffet, and looks expensive, but there are faded rings all over it, from glasses that were put down without benefit of coasters. The doctors who own this place may be meticulous in operating rooms, but out here they’re slobs. On top of it now is the TV remote and a ceramic skull penholder.

“Open the drawer.”

Hodges does. Inside is a pink Zappit Commander sitting on top of an ancient TV Guide with Hugh Laurie on the cover.

“Take it out and turn it on.”

“No.”

“All right, fine. I’ll just take care of Ms. Gibney, then.” He lowers the barrel of the Scar and points it at the back of Holly’s neck. “On full auto, this will rip her head right off. Will it fly into the fireplace? Let’s find out.”

“Okay,” Hodges says. “Okay, okay, okay. Stop.”

He takes the Zappit and finds the button at the top of the console. The welcome screen lights up; the diagonal downstroke of the red Z fills the screen. He is invited to swipe and access the games. He does so without being prompted by Brady. Sweat pours down his face. He has never been so hot. His broken wrist throbs and pulses.

“Do you see the Fishin’ Hole icon?”

“Yes.”