Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

“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.

C olin 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.