"A couple of mostly naked guys and a big satin bed." Eve blew out a breath, set the goggles down. "Who'd have thought she relaxed with sex fantasies?"
"Ah, Lieutenant. Sir. As your aide, I believe it's my responsibility to test that unit. For evidence control."
Eve tucked her tongue in her cheek. "Peabody, I couldn't let you take that kind of risk."
"I'm a cop, sir. Risk is my life."
Eve rose, held out the goggles as Peabody's eyes lit. "Bag it, Officer."
Deflated, Peabody dumped the goggles into a seal. "Hell. Were they good looking?"
"Peabody, they were gods." She stepped back into the office proper, gave it one more scan. "I'm going to order in sweepers, but I don't think they'll find anything. I'll take the disc you downloaded into Central, contact next of kin – though the media will already have this all over the fucking airwaves."
She hitched up her field kit. "I don't feel at all suicidal."
"I'm relieved to hear it, Lieutenant."
Still, Eve frowned at the goggles. "How long was I riding that, five minutes?"
"Nearly twenty." Peabody gave a sour smile. "Time flies when you're having sex."
"I wasn't having sex." Guilt had her worrying her wedding ring. "Exactly. If there'd been something in that program, I should have felt it, so that looks like a dead end. Have it analyzed anyway."
"Will do."
"You wait for Feeney. Maybe he'll find something interesting on her 'link logs. I'm going to go grovel to the commander. When you finish here, deliver the bags to the lab, then report to my office." Eve started for the door, tossed a look over her shoulder. "And Peabody, no playing with the evidence."
"Spoilsport," she muttered when Eve was out of earshot.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Commander Whitney sat behind his massive, well-organized desk and listened. He appreciated the fact that his lieutenant delivered a clean and concise report, and he admired that she could omit certain details without a flicker.
A good cop had to stand cool under fire. Eve Dallas, he was pleased to know, was ice.
"You had the autopsy data on Fitzhugh analyzed outside the department."
"Yes, sir." She didn't blink. "The analysis required more sophisticated equipment than NYPSD currently has access to."
"And you had access to this more sophisticated equipment."
"I was able to gain access."
"And run the analysis?" he asked, quirking a brow. "Computer science is not your strong suit, Dallas."
She looked him dead in the eye. "I've been working on improving my skills in that area, Commander."
He doubted that, sincerely. "Subsequently, you gained entry to the files at the Government Security Center, and there, confidential reports fell into your hands."
"That's correct. I don't wish to reveal my source."
"Your source?" he repeated. "Are you telling me you have a weasel at GSC?"
"There are weasels everywhere," Eve said coolly.
"That might fly," he murmured. "Or you might find yourself facing a subcommittee back in East Washington."
Eve's stomach shimmied, but her voice stayed steady. "I'm prepared for that."
"You'd better be." Whitney sat back, steepled his hands, tapped his fingertips against his chin. "The case on the Olympus Resort. You also accessed data there. That's quite a bit out of your jurisdiction, Lieutenant."
"I was on scene during that incident, and I reported my findings to interspace authorities."
"Who then took over the disposition of the matter," Whitney added.
"I'm authorized to request data when an outside case relates to one of mine, Commander."
"That's yet to be substantiated."
"The data's necessary for me to substantiate the connection."
"That would hold, Dallas, if there was a homicide."
"I believe there are four of them, including Cerise Devane."
"Dallas, I've just viewed the recording of that incident. I saw a cop and a jumper on a ledge, the cop attempting to talk the subject in, and the subject choosing the leap. She was not pushed, she was not coerced, she was not threatened in any way."
"It's my professional opinion that she was coerced."
"How?"
"I don't know." And for the first time, frustration leaked through. "But I'm sure, dead sure, that if they had enough of her brain to scrape up off the street for analysis, they'd find that same burn on the frontal lobe. I know it, Commander. I just don't know how it's getting there." She waited a beat. "Or being put there."
His eyes flickered. "Are you theorizing that someone is influencing certain individuals to self-termination through some sort of brain implant?"
"I can't find any genetic link among the subjects. No social group, education sphere, or religious affiliation. They didn't grow up in the same town, they didn't drink the same water, attend the same health clubs or centers. But they all had the same flaw in the brain. That's beyond coincidence, Commander. It was caused, and if by being caused it coerced those people to end their lives, then it's murder. And it's mine."
"You're walking a thin wire, Dallas," Whitney said after a moment. "The dead have families, and the families want this put away. Your continued investigation extends the grieving process."
"I'm sorry for that."
"It's also raising questions from The Tower," he added, referring to the Chief of Police and Security.
"I'm willing to present my report to Chief Tibble, if directed." But she hoped she wouldn't be. "I'll stand on my record, Commander. I'm not a rookie playing terrier with a dead case."
"Even experienced cops overfocus, make mistakes."
"Then let me make them." She shook her head before he could speak. "I was on that ledge today, Commander. I looked at her face, into her eyes when she went off. And I know."
He folded his hands on the edge of the desk. Administration was always a struggle in compromise. He had other cases, and he needed her on them. The budget was thin, and there was never enough time or man power. "I can give you a week, no more. If you don't have the right answers by then, you close the files."
She drew a breath. "And the chief?"
"I'll speak with him personally. Get me something, Dallas, or be prepared to move on."
"Thank you, sir."
"Dismissed," he said, then added when she reached the door. "Oh, and Dallas, if you're going to go outside the official sphere for… research, watch your step. And give my best to your husband."
She colored slightly. He'd pinned her source, and they both knew it. She mumbled something and escaped. Dodged that stun stream, she thought and dragged a hand through her hair. Then, with an oath, she dashed toward the nearest down glide. She was going to be late for court.
She was approaching the end of her shift when she made it back to her office and found Peabody settled at the desk, a cup of coffee in her hand.
Eve leaned against the doorjamb. "Comfortable, Officer?"
Peabody jerked, sloshed a little coffee, cleared her throat. "I didn't know your ETA."
"Apparently. Something wrong with your unit?"
"Ah, no. No, sir. I thought it more efficient to enter the new data directly into yours."
"That's a good story, Peabody, you stick with it." Eve walked to her AutoChef and programmed coffee for herself. It was Roarke's blend rather than the poison served in the bull pen area, which explained Peabody cozying up at her superior's desk.
"What new data?"
"Captain Feeney pulled all communications on Devane's 'links. Doesn't appear to be anything that relates, but it's all here. We have her personal datebook with all appointments and the most current data from her last health exam."
"She have any problems there?"
"Not a one. She was a tobacco addict, registered, and took regular anticancer injections. She had no sign of disease: physical, emotional, or mental. Tended toward stress and overwork, which was counteracted with soothers and tranqs. She was cohabitating, happily, by all reports. Her partner is currently off planet. You have the name of next of kin, her son from a previous partnership."