"And your take is?"
"She's hard, got a mean temper, and she's been so busy rising up the ladder, she's been missing details. She's covering up personal mistakes in a scramble to protect her position. Could be she's covered up more, in her squad, to keep her superiors from yanking her out. A lot of temper went into that first murder. Like I said, she's got a mean one."
She turned back to Roarke. "Vernon, Detective Jeremy. I've already got enough on him to haul him in-after I let him sweat awhile."
"What do you need from me?"
"I want to connect the money to Ricker. Getting it this way, I won't be able to use it as evidence. But I can make him think I can. I break Vernon, I've got new lines to tug. He's connected to both victims and to Roth. And to Ricker."
"Ricker's going to be insulated, thickly. Any funds he disperses in that manner would have been washed."
"Can you find it?"
His brow winged up. "That is, I assume, a rhetorical question. It'll take time."
"Then why don't you get started? Can I use this subunit to check a few other names?"
"Hold on." He issued some commands she didn't understand, keyed in something manually. The computer acknowledged him and began a low hum. "It'll sift through the initial layers on auto," he explained, "as quickly as I could do it. What are the other names?"
She looked at him. "Rue MacLean."
If he was annoyed or surprised, he didn't show it. "You suspect her?"
"She manages Purgatory, knows or should know what goes down there. Now you tell me Ricker used to own the place, and we know IAB suspects or suspected a connection. If he's doing any business there, she should've known about it. And," she concluded, "you already thought of that."
"I did a run on her yesterday. Deep search. Computer, results of search on MacLean, Rue, on screen three. You can study the data yourself," he told Eve. "I found nothing to alarm me. Overmuch. But then again, if she's playing with Ricker, she'd be careful. She knows me."
"Would she risk it?"
"I wouldn't have thought so."
Eve scanned the financial first. "Jesus, Roarke, you pay her a goddamn mint."
"Which traditionally inspires loyalty. She essentially runs the club. She earns her salary. You'll see she enjoys the financial rewards and doesn't pinch her credits. She took a vacation to Saint Barthelemy this winter. Ricker's known to have a base near there."
He paused for a moment, strolling over to pour himself a brandy. "I intend to ask her about that tomorrow."
"Just ask her?"
"That's right, and I'll know if she's lying."
Eve studied his face: cool, hard, ruthless. Yes, he would know, and God help MacLean if she lied. "I'd rather you didn't. I'll ask her."
"If she's connected in any way to Ricker, it's a very tenuous connection to your case. She's my employee, and I deal with my own."
"If you scare her off-"
"If she has reason to be frightened, she'll have nowhere to go. Then she'll be yours to question. Do you have more names?"
"You're not cooperating."
"On the contrary." He spread his hands, indicating the room and the busy equipment. "Let me ask you a question, Lieutenant. Are you after a killer or Max Ricker?"
"I'm after a killer," she snapped. "And since Ricker's hooked to it somewhere, I intend to haul them both."
"Because he's connected to the case, or once was, to me?"
"Both." She shifted her stance, an unconscious move into combat. "So what?"
"Nothing. Unless, when the time comes, you intend to stand between us." He studied his brandy. "But why borrow trouble? Names?"
She didn't intend to borrow anything. But she fully intended to get to Ricker first. "Webster, Lieutenant Don."
The faintest smirk touched his mouth. "Well now, isn't that interesting? What do you suspect him of? Being the killer or being a target?"
"At the moment, neither, which is the same as both. He tailed me today. Maybe it was like he said, to apologize for being an idiot. Or maybe that whole business was staged. I want all the facts before I decide to trust him."
Saying nothing, Roarke tapped keys and had data shooting onto a screen.
"You already ran him?"
"Did you think I wouldn't?" Roarke said coolly. "Webster appears to be as clean as the traditional whistle. Which, using the standard you applied to Roth, puts him on your suspect list."
"Except for one thing." She moved closer to the screen, frowning over the data. "He knew about Kohli, helped set it all up. Why take out a straight cop? Going from evidence, from my own instincts, and from Mira's profile, I'm looking for someone avenging themselves. Someone who's taking out cops who went wrong. Webster was one of the few who knew Kohli hadn't. So no, I'm not looking at him for this, not if he's clean."
"And if he wasn't?"
"Then maybe I could've stretched it that he took Kohli out because Kohli was clean and knew Webster wasn't. What are these payments here? Steady outlay every month for the last two years to LaDonna Kirk."
"He's got a sister, divorced. She's going to medical school. He's helping her out."
"Hmmm. Could be a blind."
"It's legitimate. I checked. She's in the top ten percent of her class, by the way. He gambles occasionally," Roarke continued, sipping his brandy. "Small stakes, typical entertainment gambling pattern. He springs for season tickets for arena ball every year and has an affection for suits made by an overpriced and, in my opinion, woefully inferior designer. He doesn't put much away for a rainy day, but lives within his means. Which isn't difficult. He makes twice as much as you do, at the same rank. I'd complain about that."
"Desk jockeys," Eve said with obvious disdain. "Who can figure it? You went awfully deep on him."
"I prefer being thorough."
She decided, under the circumstances, to leave it at that. "He wants in."
"I beg your pardon?"
"On the case, Roarke. He wants me to let him in on the homicide investigation. He's feeling used and abused at the way it was set up. I believe him."
"Are you asking me my opinion?"
Relationships, she thought darkly, were so often a major pain in the ass. "I'm asking you if it's going to cause any problems around here if I let him in."
"If I said yes?"
"Then he stays out. He'd be useful, but I don't need him."
"Darling Eve. You needn't worry about…" He remembered her phrase, and her tone when she'd used it. "About my dick getting in a twist. Do what suits you. This needs my attention," he said as the computer signaled a pause. "Do you have more names?"
"A few."
"Be my guest." He gestured to the side unit, then took his seat behind the console.
Marriage, Eve thought as she took her seat, was a puzzle she didn't think she'd ever solve. Too many damn pieces. And the shapes of them were constantly changing on her. He seemed perfectly fine with the idea of her working with Webster, a man he'd pounded on gleefully the night before.
But maybe he wasn't, and this complacent agreement was just a ruse.
She'd just have to worry about it later.
She got down to work. At least that was something she understood. She ran the names Patsy Kohli had given her. Her husband's cop friends. Detectives Gaven and Pierce and an Officer Goodman, along with Sergeant Clooney.
On her first pass, every one of them looked clean enough to glint. Gaven, Detective Arnold, had a nice pocketful of commendations and a solid number of closed cases. He was tidily married, had a five-year-old daughter, and was lead-off batter in the squad's softball team.
Pierce, Detective Jon, ran along a parallel route, only he had a son, age three.
Goodman, Officer Thomas, was younger by two years, and considered a shoe-in for a detective's shield. He was recently married and a lay minister at his church.
Religion, she thought. Thirty pieces of silver.
Clooney, a twenty-six-year vet, had been attached to the One two-eight for the last twelve years. He'd partnered with Roth at one time, Eve noted, intrigued. Then Roth had sprinted past him up the brass ladder. That could piss a certain type of individual off.