J. Robb - Judgment in Death

"You get me a copy, I'll have a friend-a discreet friend-in EDD pin it down. He's a bloodhound. He'll smell it out."

"I don't want to send it through the system at Central."

"Home office." Eve rattled off the proper identification code.

"Got it. Hey, I thought you were going to pull the tag on me."

"I did."

"Well, if you did, I've picked up another one. And they're cops. I know a cop tag."

"Just go about your routine. Don't contact me on any departmental line."

"I know the drill, Lieutenant."

"Right. You need to talk to me, contact through my home or my personal 'link. Ready?" She reeled off the numbers. "Don't take any chances, don't be a hero. And don't trust anybody."

"I don't. Not even you."

"Fine," Eve murmured when the transmission ended. "Just so you keep breathing."

She turned away from the 'link. She scanned through Peabody's current runs and results and found an additional three potentials in the One twenty-eighth. Wanting a visual impression, she called up ID photos, stopped, smiled a little, and focused on one.

"Well, well, if it isn't our oinking detective. Vernon, Jeremy K. I don't like your face, Jerry. Let's have a closer look at you, and the hell with the flags."

She dug through his financials and saw nothing to ring alarms. She did a search and scan on connecting accounts, keying in variations of his name, trying for the numbers by using date of birth, address, his precinct, his badge number.

She was well into it when Peabody strolled back in. "Did you know you have paella? With honest-to-God shellfish? I've never had paella for lunch."

"Yum yum." Eve didn't bother to look up. "Use the other unit and copy the data on Detective Jeremy Vernon."

"You got something?"

"Yeah, I got me a nibble here. How many cops have numbered bank accounts in another city?" Now she did glance up, giving Peabody a speculative look.

"Not me. By the time I pay the first of the months, factor in transpo costs and food allowance, I'm lucky to have enough left over for new underwear, which I'm in desperate need of at the moment. Having a sex life is great, and a nice change, but you have to have decent drawers."

"Detectives make more than uniforms," Eve speculated, "but unless the pay scale's gone up since my day, this guy shouldn't be able to tuck away three hundred grand and change. But it's not enough. Dead relatives," she murmured. "Mills used dead relatives. Where the hell's McNab?"

"He was still stuffing his face. You also have strawberry shortcake. Don't make me go get him. I'm weak, and it looked really mag."

Eve turned to her 'link. She'd never used the house intercom, but now seemed like a good time to start. She flipped it to full open. "McNab! Get your bony ass up here. Now."

"It's not bony so much as tight," Peabody offered and earned a killing look from Eve.

"I've told you about that."

"Just saying," Peabody muttered. "Do you want me to start a search for ancestors?"

"Let McNab do it. He's faster than both of us."

And delegating, she thought, would give her time to balance those scales. She rose.

"I want him to do the run, then the two of you split the names. Look for current accounts. If the names crap out, go for numbers. DOBs, DODs, IDs, driver's license, and anything else that comes to you. All combinations. I'm taking an hour personal time."

She headed out as McNab rushed in. "Man, Dallas, it was like hearing the voice of God. You nearly scared me to death."

"You've got strawberry gunk on your lip. Clean up and get to work."

"Where's she going?" McNab demanded when Eve breezed out.

"An hour personal time."

"Dallas? Personal time? Maybe it was the voice of God and this is the end of the world."

That got a smirk out of Peabody, but she told herself she'd been too nice to him lately and refused to let the laugh loose. "She's entitled to a life like everybody else. And if you don't get that bony ass in gear, she's going to kick it to New Jersey when she gets back."

"I didn't get my coffee." But he wandered to the desk on his way to the kitchen. "What's she running?"

"This guy. She wants a financial search."

"Hey, I know him. Vernon."

"You do?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember him. I got called on-scene, backup for an illegals bust, when I was in uniform. He's an asshole."

"Why's that? Wasn't he properly awed by the brilliance of your mind?"

He gave her a sour look. "He's a strutter. Preening around. Hitting on the LCs we hauled in during the bust. Made a big deal out of himself, and it was a penny-ante bust, too. Bunch of street hookers, couple of Johns, and a couple kilos of Exotica. Acted like he'd just taken down some major cartel, and he treated the uniforms like slaves. I heard one of the LCs yelled sexual harassment and he got called in on it. Took a knuckle rap."

"Nice guy."

"Yeah, a prince. Seems I heard a rumor that he liked to bust the hookers for Exotica because he could skim a couple ounces for personal use. Well, Jerry old pal, what goes around comes around."

He forgot the coffee, dramatically flexed his fingers, and got to work.

Roarke's midtown offices were in his own sleek black tower that speared up from the street like a shaft into the blue belly of the sky. That sheer ebony lance was a favorite image on the tourists' postcards and holo-cubes.

Inside, it was just as sleek, with edges of the lush, in banks and pools of stunning flowers, tropical trees, acres of animated maps, and an ocean of glossy tile.

Not all the businesses housed in the tower were his. But he owned a piece of most that were, including the shops, restaurants, and chic salons.

He worked on the top floor, which Eve could access through a private elevator. She arrived, unannounced and unexpected, and with a chip the size of a meteor on her shoulder.

The receptionist beamed at her. Because she was a clever and experienced woman, that welcoming smile stayed in place even when she caught the combative expression on Eve's face.

"Lieutenant Dallas, how nice to see you again. I'm afraid Roarke's in a meeting at the moment and can't be disturbed. Is there anything I can do to-"

"Is he back there?"

"Yes, but-Oh, Lieutenant." She scrambled up from her post as Eve marched past her. "Please. You really can't-"

"Watch me."

"It's an extremely important meeting." The receptionist risked her very attractive face by throwing herself in Eve's path. "If you could just wait, possibly ten minutes. They should be breaking for the lunch portion very shortly. Perhaps I can get you some coffee. A pastry."

Eve gave her a considering look. "What's your name?"

"I'm Loreen, Lieutenant."

"Well, Loreen, I don't want coffee or a pastry, but thanks. And I'll be sure to tell Roarke you tried. Now move."

"But I-"

"Tried really hard," Eve added, then simply shouldered Loreen aside and yanked open the door.

Roarke was in front of his desk, leaning back against it, looking cool, casual, and completely in control with the staggering view of the city behind him. He was listening with polite interest to something one of the six people, all sober-suited and seated, said to him. But his gaze shifted to the door as it burst open, and Eve had the pleasure of seeing surprise flash into his eyes.

He recovered instantly. "Ladies, gentlemen." With lazy grace, he straightened. "My wife, Lieutenant Dallas. Eve, the representatives, attorneys, and financial advisers of Green Space Agricultural Port. You know Caro, my admin."

"Yeah, hi. How's it going? We have to talk."

"Excuse me a moment." He walked to the door, took her arm firmly, and pulled her through.

"I'm sorry, sir," Loreen began, nearly stuttering. "I couldn't stop her."