Free Sara's Game by Ernie Lindsey Page B

and pepper hair complimented the plain black t-shirt he was wearing, along with jeans and sneakers that suggested he was a man who dressed however he wanted because he was in charge. 
    DJ thought, Dude looks like a poor man’s version of Steve Jobs. 
    Jim said, “I hope you don’t mind sitting in the dark, Detective.  It’s easier on my eyes.  Too many years of working under these damn office lights.  They give me headaches.”
    “How long have you been involved with video games, Mr. Rutherford?  I was a huge fan of Shotgun Shooter back in the day.”  DJ knew he should be jumping right into his questions about Sara—he was already way behind on their timeline, after all—but buttering up the man with a miniature ego boost couldn’t hurt.  Like Barker said, ‘ Bees with honey, DJ.  More bees with honey. ’
    “About thirty years.  I was on some of the original Atari teams, if you can believe it.  So you liked Shooter , huh?  Wow.  Memories.  That was back when this was a tiny shop and I was still involved in the actual programming.  Blocky pixels, left to right scrolling, 2D worlds.  I miss those days.  Now we create these 3D masterpieces with nearly the square mileage of Portland for our players to run around in.  But hell, it’s what they want.”  Jim crossed his legs, tented his fingertips.  “I’ve been toying with the idea of releasing a 2D throwback for nostalgia’s sake, but since Sara lit the fuse under the Juggernaut series, we’d get creamed by the media for a stunt like that.”
    Eh, sounds like regret, but not enough of a motive for kidnapping.   “Have you spoken to her today?”
    “Not a word.  I’ve been trying to get in touch with her since she left this morning, but she won’t answer her phone.”
    “And you’re aware that her children are missing?”
    “That’s the report I got from her assistant, Shelley.  Such a shame.  They’re sweet kids, and I hope I can help.  Do you have any leads yet?”
    “We’re working on it.  How well do you know Sara—I mean, Mrs. Winthrop?”
    “We’re close.  She’s a bulldozer sometimes, but she’s one of my favorites.  I’m sure you can understand that I’m busy as hell trying to run this place, but I try to keep tabs on everyone here, you know.  I do my best to get out into the trenches with these guys so they don’t think I’m some seagull owner.”
    “Seagull owner?”
    “Flies in, shits on everything, and then leaves.”
    DJ chuckled.  “I think I’ve known a few of those.”  He liked the man, had a strong feeling that he wasn’t a suspect, and regretted having to ask his next question.  “Are you in any way involved in the disappearance of Sara Winthrop’s children?”  Such a pointed question obviously wouldn’t get a positive answer, but it was designed to take Rutherford by surprise in order to gauge his immediate response.
    “Definitely not.”
    The clear, definitive answer, coupled with the body language of a truth-teller, was the response DJ was looking for, in contrast to the dodging, evasive answers, and nervous tics of a person on the front-end of a lie.  He asked, “And do you have any idea who might be?”
    “Not in the slightest.  Like I mentioned, she’s an asskicker, but around here,” he said, motioning toward the glass wall and the open office on the other side, “she’s well liked.  Respected.  Some of the younger kids have a healthy dose of fear of her, but I love that about Sara.  She scares the hell out of my son, Teddy, which is sorta funny, to be honest, and frankly I think he does better work because of it.  Out there in the real world, though, I’m sorry to say that I don’t know what people think.  I can’t imagine their opinions would be much different.  But here in the office, she gets shit done, Detective Johnson, and we’d be lost without her.”
    “And you don’t think that type of demeanor would be enough to create some