Body of Evidence

by Pickart, Joan Elliott; Davis, Justine; Merritt, Jackie

  “Come on, come on,” she murmured, then let out a tightly compressed breath when the screen flashed and went blank. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed the back of her neck.

  “Problem?”

  “Not sure. He’s got some odd chunks on his hard drive that could be hidden files. I just have to find my way into them.”

  “Hidden files?”

  “They could be junk, but we won’t know until I can get in there.”

  He leaned against the edge of his desk and gestured at the computer. “How’d you get so into all this?”

  “I started out doing research for school online. Then a Web site. The more I got into that, the more I wanted to know.”

  “And the jump from there to police work?”

  She swiveled the chair around to look at him straight on. “My mom got taken in by an online scam. During that case, I saw a whole lot of innocent people who got taken by thieves who used this medium I loved for their crimes. I wanted to stop that kind of thing. It’s going to be the crime scene of the future. It’s already here.”

  God, she really was the girl next door, out to avenge her mom. “It’s not all nice, clean computer crime, you know.”

  She gave him a wry look. “Believe it or not, I knew that. And if I hadn’t, this assignment would have taught me in a big hurry.”

  “Sorry,” Colin muttered.

  “Look, I know I was hired for this—” she gestured at the open laptop “—because the department is recruiting computer people, but I didn’t come into this blind. I thought long and hard before I applied. And longer and harder before I took the job because I knew there were going to be people who felt like Palmer does.”

  “Palmer is just a jerk.”

  She studied him, long enough to make him wonder what she was thinking. “Thanks, but you know there are others who think the same thing.”

  “They may question your being given the job, but if you prove you can do it, eventually that’s all that will matter.”

  “Promise?” she asked, her mouth quirking up at one corner.

  “Yeah,” he said, hoping he wasn’t being too optimistic.

  She studied him again for a long moment before saying, “So, now that I’ve told you my life story, tell me yours.”

  He blinked, startled. “Mine?”

  “Why don’t you talk to your ex?”

  “Why would I?” He was aware he sounded a bit defensive.

  “That bad?”

  When he realized he’d tensed up, he made a conscious effort to relax his muscles. She had, after all, told him about her ex. So he told her, although the words came out stiffly.

  “She couldn’t take these kinds of hours, so she found somebody who came home on time. Unfortunately, we were still married at the time.”

  “Ouch. No wonder you jumped to that conclusion about Tony.”

  “Yeah. Well.” He grimaced. “And she was my high-school sweetheart.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  He shrugged, back in control now. “It wasn’t her fault. I’m just not cut out for the whole wife and kids thing. Married to my job, Anita used to say.”

  “I can see being married to a cop would be difficult. But I believe an affair is the fault of the person involved. If you want out, get out, but you don’t cheat.”

  Yes, he thought, surprising himself. He’d spent so much time listening to Anita telling him it was all his fault that he’d almost forgotten that what Wilson had just voiced had been his original reaction to his wife’s infidelity.

  When he didn’t speak, she lowered her gaze. “Sorry about the soapbox bit.”

  Then she turned back to the computer. He thought he saw a faint tinge of color in her cheeks, but he couldn’t be sure. She stared at the screen for a minute, then hit a few keys.

  “Come on,” she muttered. “I know you’re in there.”

  He let it go, and sat down to make some calls to residents of the building they so far hadn’t been able to contact. He did a little net surfing of his own for mentions of Franklin Gardner or the Gardner Corporation in the business and financial sections of the area newspapers, looking for potential enemies on that front. Hours later, when he’d hit the wall, she was still at it, and showing no sign of letting up. The office was deserted, the rest of the division having gone home long ago. He crossed out the last name on his list, tossed down his pen, and groaned audibly as he stretched.

  She looked up. Glanced at the watch he’d noticed before; nothing fancy or glittery for this woman, just a simple, utilitarian metal band. She wore only small, gold earrings as well, no rings or necklaces.

  “No wonder my stomach’s growling,” she said. Then she stood up and stretched much as he had. Except on her, the sinuous movement was downright sexy.

  She grinned at him, and for a breath-stopping moment he wondered if she’d read his mind. But she only said, “Let’s go out. Feed me.”

  He recoiled, as much from his own unexpected response to her as to her words. “I don’t think that would be wise. The commander frowns on fraternization.”

  She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t mix business with pleasure,” he said bluntly.

  She crossed her arms in front of her and gave him a level look. “Which part did you figure was going to be the pleasure?”

  He blinked, startled. “What?”

  “I gather you’re used to women falling at your feet, but it was a simple request for a food break, Waters. Not a declaration of undying passion.”

  He supposed he’d been more embarrassed in his life, but just now he couldn’t recall when.

  “Uh…yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

  He noticed that she carefully shut down the computer and resecured it in the evidence locker before picking up her coat and purse. Then she started across the empty office toward the door. And she did it without once looking at him.

  Nice work, Waters, he told himself.

  And didn’t dare think about what thoughts had leapt to life in his mind at the words undying passion.

  Well, she’d really put her foot in it that time, Darien thought as she fastened her seat belt. She’d meant only to keep things businesslike, to make clear to him she wasn’t like the other women at the department who seemed to be chasing him at every turn, and she’d ended up insulting him.

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t usually say such stupid things. The fact that he was the most attractive man she’d spent time with in far too long shouldn’t make any difference.

  Well, not much anyway.

  She was grateful that, when he finally spoke, he seemed to have put the awkward scene behind him.

  “Where do you want to go? Luciano’s maybe? Or Sullivan’s?” he asked, naming a couple of popular restaurants on the Magnificent Mile.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m dying for a Gold Coast Dog.”

  He laughed. She let out a silent sigh of relief; he wasn’t mad. “That’s one I haven’t indulged in for at least a week.”

  She widened her eyes. “You’ve gone a whole week? You poor man, we must remedy that immediately!”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Drive on, James,” she said, so relieved that he wasn’t angry—or at least wasn’t showing it—that she was able to carry off the breezy tone.

  He chuckled, and in moments they were heading toward Hubbard and the nearest Gold Coast Dog franchise.

  When they had eaten enough of their hot dogs laden with onions, tomatoes and hot peppers to quiet growling stomachs, he took a long draw on his soda—caffeinated, he said, in anticipation of another long night—and leaned back.

  “You think there’s really something there on that computer hard drive?”

  “Just some space that I can’t account for. There’s data there, in some form. It may be nothing, old files that weren’t erased or overwritten, but…” She shrugged, not wanting to try and explain the suspicion that had so little basis in hard fact.

 
“But what?”

  “It’s just a feeling. I know that’s not much to go on.”

  To her surprise, he nodded. “Sometimes it’s all you have.”

  She was used to the computer world, which had little room for things as ethereal as gut feelings. “No cracks about intuition versus hard data?”

  “I never underestimate intuition because I don’t think it’s intuition at all.”

  That caught her attention. “You don’t?”

  “No. I think it’s more a finely honed perceptive ability that leads to valid deductions, but it goes through the middle steps so fast it seems like wild jumps.”

  She’d never thought of it that way, but the explanation made sense to her. “You mean it’s like that sense you get just looking at some person, that they’re up to something?”

  “Exactly. Maybe it’s only that they have a heavy coat on when it’s seventy degrees out, or that they’re carrying an umbrella when it hasn’t rained in days. Something you don’t really consciously think about, but it registers and you…wonder.” He took another sip of soda, then gestured at her with the paper cup. “Like your unaccounted for space.”

  His assessment was so logical that it relieved her own uneasiness about the instincts that occasionally prodded her and that she couldn’t explain to her hard data-minded colleagues.

  They finished and drove back to the station. Without discussion, Darien realized; she’d always intended to return to continue working on the computer, but she’d never said so. She decided she was pleased that he had made the assumption. It meant that he was taking her dedication to the work seriously, despite the others who seemed to think she was playing at this.

  Hours later, her back aching from being hunched over the laptop’s small keyboard, she could have told them all how wrong they were. There was nothing about this that was anything like playing.

  Chapter 5

  Colin was exhausted. While his new partner had been hacking away at the victim’s computer, he’d done the rest without even taking a break on Saturday or Sunday. He’d fielded calls coming in, including one from District Attorney Evan Stone, who was well aware this case would be headed his way as soon as they made an arrest. He made interview calls following up on the initial canvas until 9:00 p.m. every day, knowing that after that he took the chance of really irritating the citizens he was asking for help. He’d taken repeated calls from both the district commander and the deputy superintendent of the Investigative Services Bureau. He assured them all possible progress was being made, and that he would personally contact them when there was anything to report.

  After that he finished the reports from those calls and interviews, then reread the case reports Sutter and Benton had filed. He mentally crossed the maid off his suspect list when he’d learned she had had a gentleman caller herself the evening before the murder; no wonder she’d been a bit edgy.

  He mentioned it to Wilson. She nodded, but didn’t look away from her screen. He tossed down his pen, closed the computer file, and sat for a moment rubbing at gritty eyes. Just another in the string of long nights.

  He glanced over at his partner. He didn’t know how she did it, sat and stared for so long at a computer screen day after day. His eyes started to scream back at him after a few hours. But she was just as intent as she had been when she’d started, clearly with no thought of quitting. She had the drive, he had to admit that. And she’d made some good observations. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared.

  At that moment she leaned back at last, arching her back in a slow, graceful move. She shoved one hand through her hair. He’d never thought of short hair as particularly sexy before, but he just might change his mind. The blond cap fell back in a tousle that looked as if she’d just run her fingers through it after getting out of bed.

  Shock jolted through him as his body clenched. For a moment he refused to believe what he was feeling, but the rush of heat that followed, pooling low and deep inside him, made it impossible to deny.

  Are you nuts? he asked himself. Isn’t it bad enough she’s the epitome of everything you’ve proven you can’t handle, a woman made for a marriage that would last a lifetime, with kids gathered round? Add the fact that she’s a colleague, and your partner to boot, and you’re not playing with fire, you’re tossing around napalm.

  “Gotcha!”

  He nearly jumped, wondering how on earth she’d guessed his reckless thoughts. It took him a moment to realize her exclamation was directed at the laptop she was working on. He stood up.

  “Go—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Got what?”

  She looked up at him, satisfaction warming her blue eyes. “The files. I found the files. They were buried a bit, but they’re there, right where I thought.”

  “Can you get them open?”

  “I think so. I’ve got this program that’s designed to do just that.” She looked up at him again. “I’m going to have to do it on this machine, or risk corrupting the files trying to copy them. Is that going to be a problem, evidence wise?”

  “Worth it, if it works. We’ll just have to log every step. Go for it.”

  She nodded, then turned and pulled a jewel case out of her purse and removed a CD-ROM. She inserted the disk into the laptop’s drive.

  “Hang on,” she said.

  He waited while she opened a software program with what looked to him like a very rudimentary interface. He decided not to ask what it was or where she’d gotten it. After a moment she typed a series of commands, then leaned back and waited, her eyes fastened on the screen. Several minutes passed, during which she assured him the wait was not unusual.

  Then the computer let out a high beep, the screen flashed and changed, and row after row of jumbled characters raced across and down the screen.

  She let out a low, hissed breath.

  “What is it?”

  She sat back and rubbed at her face in obvious weariness. Then she looked at him.

  “It’s all in code.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “They’re all there, the files I mean, but they’re encoded.”

  “Hot damn,” he breathed. “That means there’s something there really worth hiding.”

  Realization dawned on her face, and he knew she had been so intent on solving the new problem that she hadn’t thought of the ramifications of the results she’d already gotten.

  “Hot damn,” she echoed. And grinned.

  Darien was exhausted. Exhausted, but still determined. They’d brought her into this job because of her computer skills, so she was darn well going to prove that they’d made a good choice. So she kept at it. She’d taken a three-hour nap last night in one of the few offices with a couch in it, but at 5:00 a.m. she’d been up and at it again. She’d been antsy to get back to working on Franklin’s computer. She knew it was in part because that was safe, familiar ground where she knew what she was doing, unlike this seemingly endless legwork.

  She didn’t look up until her partner wandered in about a half an hour later.

  He’d obviously been to the locker room and taken a shower; his hair was wet and slicked back. It emphasized the even, chiseled features of his face, strong masculine jaw and cheekbones she hadn’t really noticed before. A drop of water from his hair trickled down the side of his face, then traced a path along his neck.

  “—having any luck?”

  She jerked her gaze away from the unexpectedly fascinating travels of that droplet.

  “What? Oh, no, not yet.” She looked at the message that had flashed on her screen, tapped a couple of keys, then looked back at him. “What do you suppose he was hiding?”

  He leaned a hip against his desk, and she noticed then he’d put on a pair of jeans. And judging by how snug they fit, it must have taken him ten minutes just to get into them, especially if his skin was still damp, she thought.

  At the images that raced through her mind she felt a blush that began somewhere around her navel. And again she miss
ed the first part of what he said.

  “—anything. Could be just secret business files, maybe something on a takeover.”

  “Maybe he cooked some books,” Darien said, still working to recover a poise shattered by her own too-vivid and suddenly overactive imagination.

  “Or if we’re real lucky, it could be even worse, something criminal.”

  “You mean something bad enough that it could have gotten him killed?”

  “It’s a possibility,” he said.

  “All the more reason to get this broken fast,” she said, and turned her gaze back to the screen.

  “Coffee?”

  She looked up again, surprised. “Yes, please.”

  “How do you take it?”

  “One each cream and sugar.”

  He nodded and exited the cubicle, leaving her still a little bemused that he’d even offered. When he returned a few minutes later, a luscious aroma made her look up.

  “The guy was just bringing them in, they were still warm, and I couldn’t resist.”

  He set a small plate down in front of her, and put a matching one on his own desk. She looked down at the obviously freshly baked cinnamon roll, and nearly grinned as her stomach growled in Pavlovian response.

  “I can see why,” she said with heart-or stomach-felt sincerity. “Thanks.”

  She tore a piece off the edge, and found it tasted as divine as it smelled. She looked up to thank him again, and found him licking icing from his fingers in a way that made her think again of those rebellious shower thoughts she’d had earlier. Immediately she tried to distract herself by peeling off another layer of the roll and popping it into her mouth.

  So, the hunk has a sweet tooth, she thought.

  “It’s a weakness,” he said rather sheepishly, and for an instant she feared she’d spoken aloud. “Baked stuff. Can’t help myself.”

  She found that rather endearing. “Did your mother bake a lot?”

  “No. She was all thumbs in the kitchen. But my stepmother, now she can whip these up with her eyes shut. Cakes, cookies, you name it. She always joked she had to run five miles a day to keep from weighing a ton just from sampling.”