A Game of Murder (19 page)

A cursor blinked next to the prompt.

“Any ideas what I should type?” Rok asked the class.

“The story sounds like Cinderella,” Emily, the elderly woman, said. “Shouldn’t she wait for the prince to come?”

“Are you saying I should type ‘wait’?” Rok’s eyes twinkled.

“Well, yes, but she should wait at home,” Emily said. “So type ‘Go home’.”

“Okay.” Rok typed the words at the prompt and pressed enter.

The game responded:

You can’t go that way.

“That didn’t work very well. Any other ideas?” Rok said. The chubby kid raised his hand. “Yes, Jim?”

“How about ‘Go down the stairs’,” Jim said.

Rok tried typing in Jim’s suggestion.

You are standing in a large ballroom. Bits of paper streamers and confetti litter the floor. An empty champagne glass lies on its side next to a puddle of liquid.

“Yes!” The chubby kid punched his fist in the air.

“Text adventures use a limited vocabulary, so you have to become familiar with the common commands. The ‘go’ command is interpreted to mean go in a specific direction, usually north, south, east, or west. Up and down are also directions. Home isn’t a direction, so the game didn’t understand what you meant.” The last sentence he said to Emily. Then he addressed the class in general. “Instead of telling you that, which could lead to a lot of frustration as you tried different ways to tell it to ‘go home,’ the game responded with a default answer. As a matter of fact, you don’t even need the word ‘go.’ All you need is the direction.”

Rok typed
Undo
at the prompt and the game repeated the first bit of text they’d seen. They were back at the top of the staircase. Then Rok typed
Down
.

You are standing in a large ballroom. Bits of paper streamers and confetti litter the floor. An empty champagne glass lies on its side next to a puddle of liquid.

“The parser searches for words it does understand and reacts accordingly. So, while it appears as if the game understood Jim’s instruction to ‘Go down the stairs,’ all it really understood was ‘Down’.”

“Neat,” the young girl said.

Faith agreed. The technique reminded her of a magician’s slight of hand, only with computer code.

Rok walked them through the simple game, which only encompassed a few locations, until they ‘won’ by finding the glass slipper and putting it on.

“Now let’s take a look at how you create a game in Inform.” Rok brought up a new screen on his computer. This one showed a blank area on the left side and a pane headed “Documentation” on the right side.

Faith’s lips twisted into a sardonic grin. Any program for which the designers felt the need to display a long list of documentation topics was bound to have a fairly steep learning curve.

Rok anticipated the reaction. “Don’t be intimidated by the list on the right side of the screen. I’m showing it to you for two reasons. One is the richness of the Inform language. As you can see, you can implement many types of game objects, including doors and locks and keys and even what are called NPCs—non-player characters.”

Emily furrowed her brow. She appeared slightly worried, while her husband’s eyes had glazed over. He would probably prefer to be on a golf course somewhere, Faith thought. The young girl was frowning. The boys, of course, leaned forward in anticipation. This looked more like what they’d been expecting when they joined the class.

“Inform 6 is a true programming language and does look a bit cryptic to non-programmers. Inform 7, which is what you see here, implemented a natural language interface, which means you type in English-like sentences to create your game.”

One of the boys interrupted. “Can we still use Inform 6?”

Rok smiled. “Sure you can. Under the covers, Inform 7 creates Inform 6 code, which is what the interpreter runs. If you want to write the code directly, that will work as well. You can use any programming editor or even Notepad to write Inform code. But for this class, I’ll be teaching the natural language version.”

The young girl, who had been looking worried, let out a breath as her tensed shoulders relaxed.

Rok bent over the keyboard and typed as he talked. “All you need to create a location, which is called a room in Inform, is to type a simple sentence.” He typed in Head of Staircase is a Room. “You click the Go button at the top of the screen to create and run the game.”

The right hand screen switched to the same screen as the one they’d seen when playing the game. Rok went through how to add a description, another room, and how to move between the two rooms, then, like last time, told them to experiment with creating a simple game of their own.

The elderly couple bent their heads together in a whispered conversation. Faith could just about make out what they were talking about.

“I think this is fun, Henry,” Emily said

“I don’t. I think it’s silly, making up a lot of stories on a computer. You stayed up half the night twice this week playing with the silly thing.” Grumpy didn’t begin to describe Henry’s mood.

“Well, you don’t have to come next week. But I’m going to make a game.”

Rok walked up behind them. “Anything I can help with?”

Emily turned and shook her head. “No, unfortunately. Henry won’t be coming back to the class with me. He’s really not a computer person.”

Rok assessed Henry’s demeanor, realized he wasn’t going to be convinced to continue. “I’m sorry to hear that, but not everyone likes creating games. Some people only like playing them.”

“I don’t like playing them, either,” Henry said gruffly. “Unless the game is poker or golf or something that makes sense.”

Ha! thought Faith. She’d nailed it when she guessed he was a golfer. As far as Faith was concerned, making sense was all in the mind of the player. Personally, she didn’t see the sense in golf, but to each his own.

A half hour later, Rok said, “For next week, I want you to come up with an idea for a simple text adventure game. Decide whether you’ll use Twine or Inform to create it. If you want to, you can start working on your game at home, get a head start. The next class will be a lab without a formal lecture. You’ll work on your game, and I’ll be available to help. Any questions?”

When all Rok got were a few of the students shaking their heads, he smiled encouragingly. ”The best way to learn is by doing. See you next week.”

Faith hung back while the others packed up their computers and notebooks. She didn’t have questions about the class, but there was one other thing she wanted to take care of as long as she was here. She needed to eliminate him as a suspect. As the last person exited the room, Faith closed up her laptop and started putting it away.

“Are you coming to the gamer meeting this week?” Rok asked.

“I think so,” Faith said, glad he’d started the conversation.

“Good. I’m glad you weren’t scared off by what happened to Mira.” His relieved expression as well as his words made it appear as if he really cared.

Faith wondered why. She also noticed the obvious omission. “And Ashley.”

Rok looked surprised, then understanding crossed his face. “Right. Ashley. Was she poisoned with sodium azide, too?”

It was Faith’s turn to be surprised. “You know about the poison?”

Rok nodded. “Yeah. The detective mentioned it when he took my statement. I’d never heard of sodium azide before, so I looked it up in Wikipedia to see what it was and find out where someone could obtain the chemical.”

Faith could have kicked herself. She hadn’t thought to do that. She was too focused on Lorna’s connection to the poison. Maybe there was a source other than as a preservative used in labs like Scott’s. “Did you find out anything interesting?” She made her voice casual, not wanting to arouse any suspicions.

Rok unexpectedly appeared uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, looked down at the floor. “Ummm…” His eyes met Faith’s. “It’s used in airbags. It’s what makes them pop open on impact.”

Faith thought about the airbag in the steering wheel of her car. And practically every other car on the road today. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Rok shook his head. “Apparently not. Once the chemical reaction that causes the explosion takes place, it’s changed into something harmless.”

“So it wouldn’t be very hard to obtain,” Faith said.

“No. Especially for someone who works in a place they make airbags.” Rok bit his lip. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?”

A librarian poked her head inside the door. “Are you through with the room? We have another meeting starting here in half an hour.”

“We were just leaving.” Rok picked up his laptop case and headed for the door, hurrying, obviously trying to avoid further conversation.

Faith hurried after him. He sure was walking fast. Faith had to practically break into a run to catch up with him. He had reached his car and was opening the door by the time she did. Faith was blowing like a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby and, once again, regretted the extra twenty pounds she carried and her lack of exercise. “Wait.” She breathed out the word.

He turned to face her. From his expression, he wasn’t going to help start the conversation this time.

“What did you mean about working in a place where they make airbags?” Faith asked.

Rok’s expression softened from determination to resignation as he realized Faith wouldn’t give up until he told her what he knew. “Stan,” he said.

Faith took a second to remember the potato-nosed gamer with the shoulder-length hair. The one who had talked to John—her chest tightened at his name—after Mira’s memorial service. “What about Stan?”

“Stan is an engineer at the TRW plant in Mesa. He works in Occupant Safety Systems.”

It took Faith a beat to translate the corporate speak. “Airbags.”

Rok nodded.

“Do you think he had a motive to murder Mira? Or Ashley?” Faith asked.

He shrugged. “As much as anyone did. He looks up to Derek. All of those guys were against Mira being in the club because Derek was against her.” Rok put his laptop in the car. “I really have to go now.” Without giving Faith a chance to pursue the topic, he quickly got in his car and started the engine.

Faith was forced to hop back to keep her feet from being run over as he drove away. Stan. She hadn’t thought of Stan as a suspect. She wondered what he and John talked about. Had Stan said anything that would point to him as the murderer?

What she wanted to do was rush right over to John’s apartment and ask him. But that door was closed now. Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to fight back her tears. She was only partially successful. One lonely teardrop left its track down her cheek.

The contents of John’s stomach threatened to rise into his mouth as he pulled into the driveway of his former home. The burning sensation in his chest crept up into his throat; he swallowed hard in hopes of keeping the nastiness down. Everything had been fine when he’d picked Luke up last night. Would it still be fine this morning?

He’d been spending more time with Luke since he found Roni and the house turned upside down. Mostly because he wanted to keep an eye on the situation, be able to whisk Luke away at the first sign of another relapse. Part of the reason, though, if he dared to admit it to himself, was to fill up the emptiness left behind when he broke up with Faith. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to depend on spending time with her, talking with her, seeing her smile at him. Until she was gone.

“Let’s go, buddy,” he said quickly before he got sucked into a whirlpool of regret.

Luke started unfastening the straps that held him in the car seat, and John admired the cleverness of his son. He’d have to keep a closer eye on him when they were driving.

Roni was standing in the doorway by the time John arrived on the front step. He held tightly to Luke’s hand. He couldn’t refrain from examining her face carefully, looking for any signs of another “party.” Her features appeared smooth and rested, except for a tic at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m fine, Johnny,” Roni said, clearly annoyed at his inspection. She opened the door. “C’mon in.”

“Hi, Mommy.” Luke looked up at his mother. Surely John was imagining the impression that Luke gave Roni the same careful scrutiny as he himself had only moments before. Luke was too young to understand what went on in his mother’s life. Or was he?

John’s stomach twisted and the acid churned again.

“Hey, kiddo.” Roni knelt down and gave Luke a hug, then tousled his hair before rising to her feet. “Why don’t you go play in your room while Mommy talks to Daddy?”

“Okay.” Luke toddled off toward his bedroom while John wondered what Roni wanted to talk about. Could she be thinking about a change in custody, too?

Roni strode into the living room, picked up a glass of what appeared to be iced tea from the coffee table, and took a long drink. She stood with the glass in her hands, one finger tracing patterns in the condensation. She didn’t offer him any. She also didn’t start the conversation.

“What do you want to talk about?” He would have preferred to sit down to take the pressure off the weakness in his knees, but he didn’t want to be looking up at her, didn’t want to give her that advantage.

“I need more money.” She let the statement hang there for a minute, making sure enough time passed for him to get the full impact of her words.

Not a change in custody. His hope collapsed like a jumping castle when the air is let out at the end of the county fair. He looked away.

“Property taxes have gone up. The city raised the water rates again. Luke is getting bigger. He grows out of his clothes faster and eats more food.”

“Roni, you know I can’t afford to give you more. If I could, I would.”

“Maybe if you spent less money on your girlfriend, you’d be able to spend more on your son.” Roni’s eyes narrowed as she said the words. A challenge.

Rage rushed through his body like hot lava. John refused to rise to the bait, tried to control his anger. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her things hadn’t worked out with Faith. “If I had more money to give you, I would. I just don’t have any extra.” He spoke through clenched teeth.