J. Robb - Purity in Death

"Because they're killing people."

"I can tell myself that. But it's just a matter of degrees."

"The hell it is. You'll always have a conscience, and you'll always question the right and wrong of it. Worry it to death, and yourself with it. You know how far to push the line before it breaks, Eve. You'll never break it. You can't."

She closed her eyes. "I said something similar to Baxter. They're using the law to slow me down. I can't let them."

"It would be best if we used the unregistered."

She nodded. "Let's get it done."

The room was accessible only by voice and palmprints. Only three people were cleared for entry.

There was a single window, wide and uncovered to the dying evening. But she knew it was privacy treated to prevent anyone nervy enough to try a flyby from seeing in.

The room itself was designed almost rigidly. This was work space. Serious space. There was a wide, U-shaped console in sleek black that commanded all the research, retrieval, communication, and data systems. Systems unregistered with CompuGuard, and therefore illegal.

The first time she'd seen it, well over a year before, even she'd recognized the level of equipment as superior to anything in Central. Since then, some units had been upgraded.

She imagined there were some toys in here not yet on the market.

There were comp stations with monitors, a holo unit, a smaller auxiliary station, which now boasted its own miniholo.

Crossing the glassed black tile, she studied the new addition. "Never seen one like this."

"Prototype. I wanted to run some tests on it without documenting them. It seems to be working out nicely."

"It's really small."

"We're working on smaller yet. Palm-sized."

She glanced up. "Get out. Palms with full holofunction?"

"Three years, maybe less, and you'll be slipping one into your pocket just like your 'link." He placed his palm on the console's identi-screen. "Roarke. Open operations."

The console came to life with lights. Eve walked over to join him, laid down her palm. "Dallas."

Identification verified, Darling Eve.

She hissed. "Why do youdo that? It's embarrassing."

"Darling Eve, the computer, however brilliant, is an inanimate object and can't embarrass anyone. Where would you like to start?"

"Start with Cogburn. He was their first. You can pull the data off my unit." She gave Roarke the case number and the file number for her notes.

He had them accessed, copied, and displayed in almost less time than it had taken her to give him the numbers.

"You see his sheet? I've made notations of the case files that connect him to the other victims through arresting officers, social workers, legal, medical. Baxter's started interviews where we have vic ID, but he hasn't gotten a bump."

"Bump."

"The vibe."

"No bump on the vic," Roarke repeated with a chuckle. "And you threatened rabbit food for comp jargon."

"Jeez. Upon interviewing identified victims related to this matter, Detective Baxter found no connection to The Purity Seekers, nor felt any indication of connection from statements, attitude, or background checks."

"I got it the first time, darling, but it's such fun to hear you explain it to me in such official tones."

"Moving on," she continued. "The incident reports list interviews with two additional minors. Records sealed."

"It'll take me a few minutes."

"Yeah. I'll get the coffee."

"Let's have some wine instead," he said as he began to work on a keyboard. "I'd prefer not to get buzzed on caffeine."

"I need to keep sharp."

"Any sharper, you'd be drawing blood. Now this is interesting."

"What?"

"There's a secondary block on this file. That's not usual for a standard seal. Damn good block, too. Well now." He rolled his shoulders like a boxer about to enter the ring.

"When was it put on?" She hurried back to lean over his shoulder. "Can you tell when it was put on?"

"No talking." He brushed her back, and continued to work one-handed. "Yes, indeed, I've seen your work before, haven't I? You're good, very, very good. But…"

"He gets to talk," Eve grumbled and because watching the speed of his fingers flying over keys made her antsy, she went to get the wine.

"Got him." Roarke sat back a moment, reached out a hand without glancing at her to take the glass of wine. "Wouldn't have been quite that quick if I hadn't already dealt with his work on those two units in the lab."

Now, there's a bump, she thought. "You're sure of that?"

"A good compu-jock has a style. Take my word for it, the block was added by the tech who designed the virus. Or techs. I doubt this was the work of one."

"Organized, thorough, and skilled." Eve nodded. "And careful. Let's see who they wanted to hide."

"Screen Three. Display."

"Devin Dukes," Eve read. "Twelve at the time of the incident." She scanned the data quickly to get to the meat. "Okay, Cogburn sold him some Jazz. Parents-Sylvia and Donald-turned it up, confronted the kid, pressed the right buttons, and got the story. Brought the kid in to make the complaint, and DS Dwier caught the case."

"Might've been wiser to leave the cops out of it."

She looked back, coolly. "Excuse me?"

"Just a thought. Dragging the boy into a cop shop, putting him in the system. Put his back up, wouldn't it?"

"A crime had been committed."

"Absolutely. I just wonder if it might have been simpler and cleaner to stand the kid on his head, so to speak, at home initially rather than having him surrounded by badges and reports."

"We rarely torture minors these days. They break down so easy, it's not much fun."

"Torture has a different definition for a boy of twelve. But…" He shrugged his shoulders, elegantly. "That's hardly to our point, is it? It seems a relatively small occurrence to go to such trouble to lock away."

"Cogburn was brought in, ID'd, charged," Eve continued. "But the parents had flushed the evidence. Cogburn maintained that he'd been drinking in a bar at the time the kid stated the buy went down. Bartender backs Cogburn. Probably bullshit. Places like that will back Jack The Ripper if Jack spreads enough grease. Dwier messed this up."

Annoyance edged her voice. "He shouldn't have charged Cogburn so fast. Why didn't he work him first, work the bartender? Hang back, scope out his routine, snatch him up doing another deal? Pop a charge on him like that, he lawyers up, clams up. He knows Dwier's got nothing but the kid's word. And see here, you've got the Child Services report. Clarissa Price. Says the minor was reluctant, defiant, uncooperative. Confrontational with parents. Recommends family counseling and yadda-yadda. Dwier needed to sweat Cogburn because his witness was hostile and worthless."

"Which is something like saying his back was up. Look further," he said before she could snarl at him, "into the CS report. Price states the boy's schoolwork has been in steady decline. His attitude at school, and at home, poor. Brooding in his room, picking fights. And so on. The root of the problem wasn't in buying the Jazz, the root was in the boy, and at home."

"Maybe so, but the result was the parents overreacted, the cop jumps too fast, social worker mouths platitudes, and the system fails the kid."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I see Dwier didn't do his damn job on this one, but I don't know how I see the whole picture." She studied the data, absently twirling a lock of Roarke's hair around her finger. "I know they're seeing the last part. System fails. But you're right, this isn't enough to hide. So there's more. Let's dig into Fitzhugh's sheet."

Roarke found more blocks there as well. But he had the groove now and broke them quickly. "Minor complainants, Jansan, Rudolph… ah here we are. Sylvia and Donald Dukes, filing on behalf of their fourteen-year-old son, Devin."