"Works for me." McNab glanced toward Feeney. "I want to get that over, and get on the job."
"She doesn't come up here," Eve cautioned. "She doesn't go near the kid. Any progress, any at all, tag me. I've got a meet downtown at thirteen hundred. I'll be working out of here until then."
"Let's get started." Feeney laid a hand on McNab's uninjured shoulder. "We'll show the boy what real EDD men can do."
"Flick Baxter back this way. I need to get him set up somewhere."
"I'll take care of that. You'll want him on this level," Roarke assumed.
"Fine. And whatever that is in your pocket, Ace, keep it there."
He shot her such a hot, suggestive grin that Peabody was forced to swallow.
"Get the salacious images out of your head, Peabody," Eve ordered. "We've got work."
She started Peabody on probability scans. When you were dealing with brass and bureaucrats the more data, the more paper, the better.
Eve began a hunt for known child abusers who'd wiggled through the system and out again.
How did so many of them skate over the law? she wondered.
She backtracked, looking for any connection between one or more of her possibles and each other, between one or more and either Cogburn or Fitzhugh.
Birds of a feather, she mused. Some of them had to have sullied the same nest at one point. It was irritating to have to go by case numbers rather than names, but a great number of the files were sealed. Minor victims often had seals slapped onto their files.
Using numbers, incident reports, descriptions, she whittled it down to a short list, ran probabilities.
Since her short list was over twenty-five possibles, she worked on secondary connections.
Twelve of the minor victims had shared the same child services rep.
CLARISSA PRICE, BORN 5-16-2O2I, QUEENS, NEW YORK. ID NUMBER 8876-LHM-22. MOTHER MURIEL PRICE, FATHER UNKNOWN. MARITAL STATUS, SINGLE. EMPLOYMENT, CHILD SERVICES, MANHATTAN DIVISION. EMPLOYED SINCE 2-1-43- CURRENTLY B LEVEL.
EDUCATION: MASTER'S DEGREES, SOCIOLOGY, PSYCHOLOGY EARNED FROM NYU.
NO CRIMINAL RECORD.
"Visual," she ordered and studied the image of Clarissa Price. An attractive mixed-race female, with a competent, straight-ahead look about her. Not many in Child Services lasted as long without the job adding lines and layers. But Clarissa's skin was smooth. Her reddish brown hair was curly and worn neatly pulled back at the nape.
Eve called up the home and work addresses, copied and saved the data. Then went hunting again.
This time she found a cop.
Detective Sergeant Thomas Dwier had arrested Cogburn four years earlier on possession with intent. But he'd rushed it, scooping Cogburn up without ascertaining if he'd been carrying. The arrest hadn't stuck.
He'd had better luck with an illegals dealer who supplied the uptown teenage crowd. But by the time the case had wound itself through the system, it had been pleaded down to possession and the dealer had ended up paying a fine, and walking.
He'd bumped into Fitzhugh as well, taking on a complaint of abduction and rape that had been tossed by the P.A.
Eighteen months before Dwier had worked on a team running a sting on a child pornographer. The woman had run a licensed day care center. The case had gone all the way to trial, resulting in acquittal.
Mary Ellen George, Eve thought, who according to the files, just happened to be a known associate of Chadwick Fitzhugh.
"Saddle up, Peabody." Eve stuck data discs in her bag. "We're going to make a couple of stops before The Tower meeting."
***
"Mary Ellen George. That was some trial." In the passenger seat, Peabody studied the data Eve had accumulated. "Did you buy that act of hers?"
"What act?"
"That shattered, innocent, schoolmarm act" Peabody glanced over, squinted. "Didn't you catch any of the trial on-screen?"
"I don't watch that crap."
"Well, you must've seen the blips in media reports, read the commentaries and stuff."
"I make it a point to avoid media reports, commentaries, editorials, and so on."
"But, sir, you've got to watch the news on-screen, or read it."
"Why?"
"Well... to keep abreast of current events."
"Why?"
"Because, because." Flustered, Peabody pushed back her uniform cap to scratch her head. "Because we live in the world."
"Yes, we do. There doesn't seem to be a thing we can do about it. Now, tell me how watching news blips and the On Trial channel is going to make me a better person."
"Just informed," Peabody answered.
"Seems to me it's only news for a few minutes. Then its old and they have to blast up something else that's news. Vicious cycle if you ask me. I don't get caught up in it because, by definition events that are current today are no longer current tomorrow. And before you know it, it's tomorrow anyway. So you've just wasted all that time getting riled up about something that's past its time when you wake up the next day."
"My head hurts. I know there's a major flaw in everything you just said, but it made my head hurt so I can't think of it."
"Don't worry about it. We'll check out George later. First we take a shot at Clarissa Price."
Parking near the Manhattan Division of Child Services was a joke. The two-level slots the city had put in along the street were jammed with vehicles that looked as if they hadn't dared move out in the last five years. Eve saw at least three with pancake tires and another with a windshield so covered with dust and grime it would've taken a pickax to clear it.
She double-parked, flipped up her on duty sign. And wondered idly just how far traffic would back up before she came out again.
The building was a squat twelve-story box of block construction that surely hadn't seen its proper share of city maintenance dollars since it had been tossed up after the Urban Wars.
The lobby, such as it was, was small and crowded and boasted an ancient manual directory.
"Sixth floor." She walked right by the beleaguered lobby receptionist and onto an elevator. So much, Eve mused, for building security.
And as she'd had personal experience with Child Services, she knew that the kids who'd been sucked into the system could be just as dangerous as the adults who put them there.
She stepped out on six and saw someone had tried to add an illusion of cheer in this area. There was a section under a window with child-sized seating in primary colors and an offering of plastic toys. Across from it were two vid-game units currently under attack by a pair of bored, surly teenagers in rebel black.
She saw one of them gaze up and make her for a cop before his eyes traveled over Peabody's uniform and dismissed them both.
She walked up to him, waited for his lazy glance to meet hers again. Then she leaned over. "Take the knife out of your boot, real slow, and give it to me and I won't run you in for carrying a concealed."
Since it was concealed, and very well in his opinion, he only sneered. "Fuck off."
Eve's hand slapped on the hilt under his pant's leg seconds before his. "You want trouble with me, I'll oblige. Otherwise, I'll just take this and let you spend your mandatory hour bullshitting your social worker."
She yanked the knife out of his boot, slid it into her own. "Nice blade. Decent balance."
"Cost me seventy-five."
"You got hosed, pal. It's not that good."
She turned her back on him and walked to the young, cheery-faced receptionist. They were always young and cheery-faced because they rarely lasted a year before running away with their idealism shattered behind them.
"I need to see Clarissa Price." Eve laid her badge on the counter.
"Miss Price is in a family session. She should be finished in ten minutes."
"We'll wait." Eve walked back and deliberately dropped into the seat beside Knife Boy.
It took him twenty seconds of pretending indifference to break. "How'd you spot the sticker?"
"
That'd be telling."
"Come on."
She'd already spotted the bruises on his wrists-fresh-and when he shifted saw the old burn marks on his shoulder, only partially hidden by his tough-guy muscle shirt.
That was one thing her father hadn't done to her, she thought. No burns, no scars. Wouldn't want to diminish the value of the merchandise.
"When you made me you moved your right leg back, rotated your ankle to check if the blade was under and secure. You get busted for carrying, they toss you in Juvie. Ever been inside?" The way he shrugged told her he hadn't. Yet. "I have. Whatever deal you've got it's better than being inside. Couple of years, they'll shove you out of the system, and your life's your own. You go inside at this stage, they'll keep tabs on you till you're twenty-one."
Since that was as close to advice or a lecture as she intended to give, she pushed up again and went out to hunt up a vending machine.
By the time she got bad coffee, the receptionist told her Miss Price had five minutes free before her next session.
It was a small office, but again the attempt had been made to brighten it. Art, obviously created by children, was framed to cover two of the walls. Files were neatly stacked on the desk and sat beside a little vase of fresh daisies. Behind them Clarissa looked as neat and competent as her ID photo.
"I'm sorry you had to wait," she began. "I'm afraid Lauren didn't get your name."
"Dallas, Lieutenant Dallas."
"We haven't met on the job?"
"No, I'm Homicide."
"Homicide. I see. What's this about? One of my kids?"
"No, not directly. You worked with some minors who had associations with a playground dealer, Louis K. Cogburn, and an alleged pedophile, Chadwick Fitzhugh."
"I worked with minors who were exploited by those individuals."
"A couple of your case files also intersected with other known or alleged child predators. But at the moment, we're interested in Cogburn, in Fitzhugh."
"Who are dead," Clarissa said flatly. "I heard the report on 75 this morning. Some para-organization is claiming responsibility."
"Terrorist organization," Eve corrected. "Who is also responsible for the death of an unrelated civilian and a police officer. You watch much screen? Sorry." Eve let her lips curve. "Just a personal debate between my aide and myself on the merits of media reports and keeping up with current events."
"I have 75 on most mornings and usually tune in at least briefly in the evenings." She smiled back. "Whose side am I on?"
"Hers." Eve jerked her head toward Peabody. "In any case, I'm primary investigator on these matters and I'm pursuing the possibility of connections between members of the group known as The Purity Seekers and minors who may have been exploited by Cogburn and/or Fitzhugh, as well asother child predators this group may have targeted. As the names of those minors are sealed and many of those who've reached majority have requested they remain sealed, I need your help."
"I can't break confidence with those kids and their families, Lieutenant, to help you in an investigation." She lifted pretty, ringless hands. "There's a reason for those seals. These children have been damaged, and while you have your job, I also have mine. Mine is to protect those children, and to do everything in my power to help them heal."
"Seals can be broken, Miss Price. It'll take me time, but I can get an order to open the files for this investigation."
"I understand that." Clarissa lifted both hands again. "And when you have that authorization, I'll help you in any way the law allows. But I work with these victims every day, and it's difficult enough to gain the trust of kidswho've already been hurt by an adult, to gain the trust of their families, even to find family members who give a damn. I can't help you until I'm ordered to."
"Did you ever have personal contact with Cogburn or Fitzhugh?"
"Professional contact. I gave statements to the P.A. on both men. That is, on the psychological damage done to the minors in my case file who'd had dealings with them. I never spoke with either of them, and I won't pretend to be sorry they're no longer around to hunt more children."
"Mary Ellen George."
Clarissa's face closed up. "She was acquitted."
"Should she have been?"
"A jury of her peers thought so."
"Have you had personal contact with her?"
"Yes. I had occasion to visit and examine the conditions of her day care facility, and I cooperated and worked with the police who ultimately arrested her. She was very convincing. Very... motherly."
"But she didn't convince you."
"This job requires a certain instinct, just as yours does. I knew what she was." A cold disgust, bordering on rage, hardened Price's features. "You win battles and you lose them. Losing's hard, but if you don't move on to the next in this field, you'll burn out. And I have to move on to the next now. I have another session, and I'm already late."
"I appreciate the time." Eve stepped to the door. "I will get that authorization, Miss Price."
"When you do, I'm at your disposal."
Outside, Eve ignored the knotted traffic fighting its way around her vehicle. She didn't bother to respond to the horns, the curses, the variety of obscene gestures. She just climbed in.
"She's by the book," Peabody began as Eve shoved into traffic. "But she'll be helpful once you get authorization."
"She's holding more than sealeds under her hands. She knew who I was and pretended not to."
"How do you know she knew who you were?"
"She watches 75 routinely. You watch 75 routinely, you're going to see me. You sure as hell saw me this morning-during the report she admitted watching-when I did the one-on-one. She played it a little too cautious not mentioning that."
Eve swung west, barely missed nipping the bumper of a Rapid Cab. "Clarissa Price goes to the top of the short list."
Chapter 9
Jamie was working hard to act cool. Everything he wanted in his life had fallen so unexpectedly into his lap he was terrified he'd do something to blow it away again. As far as Jamie was concerned electronics made the world go around. There was only one thing he wanted more than to work with them. That was to work with them as a cop.
Thanks to Roarke, he was getting that chance. Sort of. And on a homicide investigation that was baffling the premium ult cop.
It didn't get better.
Well, it would've been better if he'd had a badge and rank. But tech assist to the expert consultant was an air-boot in the door.
He was going to make it count.
He dug on working with Feeney, that was for sure. Uncle Feen was the total e-cop, with all kinds of stories about shit that went on before therewas an EDD.
And McNab was totally iced. He talked a lot of trash, but he knew his 'Ironies. Jamie thought he was pure hero stuff now that he'd been wounded in the line. Here he was half-frozen and pushing on with the job.
That's what cops did.
That's what Dallas did. Nothing stopped her. No matter what, she stood up. Like she had for his grandfather, and for Alice.
It still hurt, thinking about his sister. He knew his mother was never going to get over it, not all the way over it. Maybe you weren't supposed to.
Sometimes when he looked back to everything that had happened last fall, it was like a dream. Especially the end of it. All the smoke and the fire in that horrible room where that bastard Alban had taken Dallas after he'd drugged her.
Smoke and fire and blood, and the bitch Selina lying dead on the floor. Roarke and Alban fighting like wild dogs, and Dallas yelling at him to get the knife, get the knife to cut her loose from where Alban had strapped her naked to some kind of altar.
He'd cut the bonds, but he'd felt cold. Cold all over in spite of the smoke. And naked, still groggy from the drugs, Dallas had leaped right off the slab onto Alban's back.
Dreamy, it was all so weird and dreamy. He'd seen Roarke's fist fly up, knock Alban unconscious. He'd heard the sirens coming, he'd heard Roarke and Dalla
s talking-not words, just sounds. The fire crackling, the smoke stinging.
And the knife in his hand.
She'd shouted when she'd seen what he was going to do. But it was too late. She couldn't have stopped him. He couldn't have stopped himself.
The bastard who had killed his family was dead, and his blood hot on Jamie's hands.
He couldn't remember actually doing it. Not the moment, not the instant when he'd plunged the blade into Alban's heart. It was like some time blip, and he couldn't remember.
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