J D Robb - Dallas 19 - Divided In Death

by Divided In Death(lit)

  She took a quick scan of the room. "There's no pass or ID sitting around. He might've taken it, altered it for his own use. We'll check on that. Then he just walked out again. We'll get time of death, but it was probably middle of the day yesterday."

  "Start with that. I'll head back to the house as soon as I can. Morris may want to notify next of kin himself. If not-"

  "I'll take care of it. Don't worry about this end, Dallas."

  "Then I won't."

  She started out, paused in front of the poster of Mavis. "Don't ever tell her," she said, and left the scene.

  ***

  Inside the lab, Reva worked side by side with Tokimoto. They rarely spoke, and when they did it was in an abbreviated computerese only the true data jock could translate. But for the most part, there were no words between them. One thought, the other anticipated.

  But Reva couldn't anticipate how badly he wanted to speak, how the part of his mind not focused on the work formed and re-formed the words and phrases.

  She was in trouble, he reminded himself. She was just widowed, and widowed by a man she'd learned was using her. She was vulnerable, and emotionally fragile. It was... ghoulish-wasn't it?-to even consider approaching her on any personal level at such a time.

  But when she leaned back on a quiet sound of exhaustion, the words simply popped out.

  "You're pushing too hard. You need to take a break. Twenty minutes. A walk in the fresh air."

  "We're close. I know it."

  "Then twenty minutes will make little difference. Your eyes are bloodshot."

  She worked up a twisted smile. "Thanks for pointing that out."

  "You have lovely eyes. You're abusing them."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah." She shut them on a sigh. "You don't even know what color they are other than red."

  "They're gray. Like smoke. Or fog on a moonless night."

  She opened one eye, peered at him. "Where'd that come from?"

  "I have no idea." Though he was flustered, he decided to push on. "Perhaps my brain is as bloodshot as your eyes. I think we should take a walk."

  "Why not?" She studied him as she got to her feet. "Sure. Why not?"

  Across the room, Roarke watched them step out. "About damn time," he muttered.

  "You got something?" Feeney asked, and nearly pounced on him.

  "No. Sorry. I was thinking of something else."

  "You're a little off today, aren't you, boy?"

  "I'm on right enough." He reached for his coffee mug, found it empty, and had to struggle against the urge to just heave it against the glass wall.

  "Why don't I fill that up for you." Feeney nipped it handily out of Roarke's hand. "I was about to do my own."

  "Appreciate it."

  When he'd done so, Feeney came back, swiveled his chair beside Roarke's. "She can handle herself. You know that."

  "Who would know it better?" Roarke took a tool as thin as a dentist's probe and scraped delicately at corrosion. Then because Feeney merely sat and sipped, he set the tool aside once more.

  "I gave her a difficult time before she left. She deserved it, by God, didn't she deserve it. But I regret the timing of it."

  "I'm not getting between a man and his wife. Those who do usually come out looking like they've been set on by wild dogs. I will say when the wife's in a mood to cook my brains for breakfast, I can usually save myself with flowers. Pick 'em up from a street vendor, take them home to her-with a big sappy look on my face." He sat, he sipped. "Flowers wouldn't work on Dallas."

  "Not in a million years," Roarke confirmed. "A sack of diamonds from the Blue Mines on Taurus I wouldn't work on her, unless you knocked her in that block of wood she calls a head with them. Christ Jesus, that woman's a frustration to me. Beginning, end, and all the middle."

  Feeney said nothing for five humming seconds. "See, you want me to agree with you. To say something like, 'Oh yeah, that Dallas sure is a blockhead.' If I did, you'd end up kicking my ass. So I'm just going to drink my coffee."

  "That's a big help to me."

  "You're a smart boy. You know what you have to do."

  "And what would that be?"

  He patted Roarke on the shoulder. "Grovel," he said, and scooted his chair out of harm's way.

  ***

  It wasn't over. No, by God, it wasn't over, and he was in the pilot's seat now.

  He paced and prowled his rooms-rooms he was so proud of, rooms he'd celebrated having completely to himself. No one knew about them.

  Well, no one living.

  They were a perfect place to strategize his moves. And to congratulate himself on yet another job well done.

  The blue-haired freak had been child's play. Absolute child's play. He took a minute hit of Zeus to keep his energies up, keep his mind alert as he had business, very personal business, to conduct shortly.

  He was protecting himself, step by stage by layer. And that, self-preservation, was paramount. The quick thrill of the kill, of outwitting those who would have erased him, was a nice benefit, but it wasn't the point.

  The point was to cover his ass, which he had done-and beautifully, if he did say so himself. The cops were up the creek now, without a body to work with.

  The next was funding. And he couldn't quite figure out, yet, how to get his hands on the money due him.

  He paused to study his reflection in a mirror. He was going to have to change that face, and it pained him. He liked the face that looked back at him. Still, sacrifices would have to be made for the good of the whole.

  Once he finished his work, tied up some more loose ends, he'd find a surgeon who wouldn't ask too many questions. He had enough to pay for that, sure he did. And he'd find a way to get the rest, all the rest, when he could just think without all these complications springing up on him.

  So that was level one and two. But the third level was payback, and he knew exactly how to collect that debt.

  He wasn't going to be used and betrayed, and played for a fool.

  What he was going to do was take care of business.

  ***

  Eve blanked everything out of her mind but the moment. She kept her sights on the goal, striding briskly toward the waiting area outside the vaulted office of Chief Tibble. And had to check that stride when Don Webster cut across her path.

  "Move it. I've got business."

  "So do I. Same place, same business."

  Her heart tripped. Webster was Internal Affairs. "I wasn't informed IAB was part of this. That's a serious breach, Webster. I'm entitled to a departmental rep."

  "You don't need one."

  "Don't tell me what I need," she hissed. "Somebody sics the rat squad on me, I get a rep."

  "The rat squad's on your side." He took her arm, then released it quickly when her eyes went to hot slits. "I'm not hitting on you, for God's sake, Dallas. Give me a minute. One minute." He gestured her around the corner.

  "Make it fast."

  "First, let me say this isn't personal. Or let me say this isn't intimate. I don't want Roarke trying to beat my brains into veggie hash again."

  "I don't need him to do that."

  "Acknowledged. I'm here to help you."

  "Help me what?"

  "Kick a little Homeboy ass."

  They had a history, Eve reminded herself as she studied his face. That history included a single night between the sheets, years before. For some reason she never quite understood, that night had gotten under Webster's skin. He had a... thing for her, which she was fairly sure Roarke had tramped out of him before she could do so herself.

  She supposed they were, in some strange way, friends by this point. He was a good cop-wasted, in her opinion, in IAB, but a good cop. And an honest one.

  "Why?"

  "Because, Lieutenant, IAB doesn't like outside organizations trying to mess with what's ours."

  "No, you like to mess with us yourselves."

  "Ease back, would you? We're informed the HSO is looking at one of our cops, we're obliged t
o take a look at that cop. That cops comes up whistle clean-and you do-we take exception to the waste of our time and resources. Somebody outside tries to target a good cop, IAB offers a shield. Consider me your knight in shining fucking armor."

  "Get out." She turned away.

  "Don't ditch a shield, Dallas. IAB's required to be in on this meet. I just want you to know going in where I'm standing."

  "Okay, okay." It wasn't easy, but she buried her temper and her resentment. She was probably going to need all the help she could get. "It's appreciated."

  She kept her head up as she approached Tibble's office. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve," she said to the uniformed admin stationed outside. "Reporting as requested."

  "Lieutenant Webster, IAB, as directed."

  "One moment."

  It didn't take long. Eve stepped into Tibble's office just ahead of Webster.

  Tibble was at the window, hands loosely held at the back of his waist, watching the city below. He was a good cop, in Eve's opinion. Smart, strong, and steady. It had helped put him in the Tower, but it was his political dexterity, she knew, that kept him there.

  He spoke without turning, and his voice carried authority. "You're late, Lieutenant Dallas."

  "Yes, sir. I apologize. It was unavoidable."

  "You know Agent Sparrow."

  She glanced at Sparrow, who was already seated. "We've met."

  "Have a seat. And you, Lieutenant Webster. Webster is here representing Internal Affairs. Commander Whitney is present per my request." He turned, swooped his hawk's gaze over the room, then moved to his desk.

  "Lieutenant Dallas, it seems the HSO has some concerns about the nature of your current investigation, the direction thereof, and your techniques. They have requested, through me, that you halt the investigation and turn over all notes, data, and evidence to AD Sparrow, thereby passing this case into HSO aegis."

  "I am unable to comply with this request, Chief Tibble."

  "This is a matter of global security," Sparrow began.

  "It's a matter of murder," Eve interrupted. "Four civilians have been killed, in New York City."

  "Four? "Tibble asked.

  "Yes, sir. I was detained due to the discovery of a fourth victim. Joseph Powell, a city employee assigned to transportation and disposal at the morgue. My partner and ME Morris are on scene."

  "How is this connected?"

  "Dr. Morris contacted me this morning to inform me that the body identified as Blair Bissel had been removed from storage."

  Sparrow lunged out of his chair. "You lost the body? You lost a key factor in the investigation and you sit there and refuse to hand it over to us?"

  "The body was not lost," Eve said evenly, "but removed. Covertly. That sort of thing falls under your aegis, doesn't it, Assistant Director?"

  "If you're accusing the HSO of stealing a corpse-"

  "I've made no such accusation, but merely commented about the covert nature of your work." She reached into her pocket and drew out a microtracker. "This is the sort of thing you play with, right?" She held it up, turning it between her thumb and forefinger. "Funny. I found this on my vehicle-my official police unit-which was parked outside the morgue. Does the HSO consider it a matter of global security to track and spy on a NYPSD officer while she is carrying out her sworn duty?"

  "This is a sensitive matter, beyond your-"

  "Electronic surveillance of a police officer, who has not been charged or is not suspected of a crime or an infraction of law," Webster put in, "violates federal and state privacy codes as well as departmental regs. If Lieutenant Dallas is suspected of a crime or an infraction by the HSO that requires said surveillance, Internal Affairs would like to see the paperwork, the order, the charge, the evidence that led to the surveillance."

  "I am unaware of any such surveillance by my agency."

  "Is that what you call plausible deniability, Sparrow?" Eve asked. "Or just a big, fat lie?"

  "Lieutenant," Tibble said, quietly, authoritatively.

  "Yes, sir. I apologize."

  "Chief, Commander, Lieutenants." Sparrow paused, let his gaze scan the faces. "The HSO wishes to cooperate with local law enforcement whenever this cooperation is possible, but global matters take priority. We want Lieutenant Dallas removed from the investigation and all data pertaining thereto given over to me, as representative."

  "I am unable to comply with the request," Eve repeated.

  "Chief Tibble," Sparrow continued. "I've given you the letter of request and authorization from the director."

  "Yes, I've read it. As I've read the reports and the case file provided by Lieutenant Dallas. Of the two, I find hers more compelling."

  "I can, if this request is denied, obtain a federal warrant for those reports and case files, and authorization to have the investigation terminated."

  "Let's cut the bullshit here, Assistant Director." Tibble folded his hands and leaned forward. "If you could have, you would have rather than wasting this time. Your agency is hip-deep in the mud on this. Two of yours are dead, and they were, allegedly, exploiting an innocent civilian without her knowledge or consent to gather information from a private concern."

  "Securecomp is on the agency's watch list, Chief Tibble."

  "I can only imagine what's on your agency's watch list. Regardless of this, or the very legitimate reasons you may have for that list, Reva Ewing was unforgivably-and illegally-used, her reputation impugned, her life turned inside out. She is not one of you. Chloe McCoy is dead. She was not one of you. Joseph Powell is dead. He was not one of you."

  "Sir-"

  Tibble merely held up a finger. "My count makes it three victims to two, weighed on this side of the fence. I will not compel my lieutenant to step out of an active investigation."

  "During the course of her investigation, your lieutenant illegally received or accessed data from the HSO. We can pursue charges on that issue."

  Tibble spread his hands. "You are free to do so. It may be necessary for you to pursue charges against Commander Whitney and myself as well, as we have both received that data from the lieutenant."

  Sparrow kept his seat, but Eve watched his hands ball into fists. The way things were going from his side, she couldn't blame him for wanting to punch something.

  "We want her source."

  "I'm not required to divulge my source."

  "You're not required," Sparrow snapped out the words, "but you can be charged, you can be held, and you can very possibly lose your badge."

  The more anger and frustration she read from him, the less she felt herself. "I don't think you're going to charge me, because if you do, it's going to look really bad for your team. The media gets their teeth into some of the dirty little games the HSO authorized Bissel to play-and they start speculating that he was taken out, he and his partner brutally murdered by your organization, which then callously staged a frame for Bissel's innocent and exploited wife-why they'll just tear you to bloody pieces."

  "Bissel and Kade were not HSO-sanctioned terminations."

  "Then you really better hope I find the answers that prove your agency is not responsible."

  "You hacked into government files," he tossed at her.

  "Prove it," she tossed right back.

  He started to speak, or, more likely from his expression, spew, but his 'link beeped. "I'm sorry for the interruption, but that's a priority signal. I have to take it. Privately."

  "Through that door," Tibble told him with a gesture. "There's a small office you can use." When Sparrow closed the door at his back, Tibble tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. "They may charge you, Dallas."

  "Yes, sir, they may. But I don't think they will."

  He nodded, seemed to drift off into thought. "I don't like their use of private citizens in this maneuver. I don't like them planting devices to spy on my officers, and circumventing the standards of privacy and decency and law to do so. These organizations have their purpose, and require a certain amount of latitude, b
ut there are lines. Those lines were crossed with Reva Ewing, and she's a citizen of New York, of the goddamn United States, and as such has a right to expect her government to treat her fairly. As such, she deserves the full efforts of this police force. I'm backing you on this, but I'm warning you, get it wrapped quickly. They're bound to send bigger guns than Sparrow to knock you out."