In Death 01 - Naked in Death

toward the borders of Canada and Quebec. In slightly less than twice the time it would have taken Feeney, she came up blank again.
    Then, working south, she struck out with Maryland, and down to Florida. Her machine began to chug noisily at the work. Eve issued a warning snarl and a sharp bump to the console. She swore she'd risk the morass of requisition for a new unit if this one just held out for one more case.
    More from stubbornness than hope, she did a scan of the Midwest, heading toward the Rockies.
    You were too smart, Sharon, Eve thought, as the negative results flickered by. Too smart for your own good. You wouldn't have gone out of the country, or off planet where you'd have to go through a customs scan every trip. Why go far away, someplace where you'd need transport or travel docs? You might want immediate access.
    If your mother knew you kept diaries, maybe other people knew it, too. You bragged about it because you liked to make people uncomfortable. And you knew they were safely tucked away.
    But close, damn it, Eve thought, closing her eyes to bring the woman she was coming to know so well into full focus. Close enough so that you could feel the power, use it, toy with people.
    But not so simple that just anyone could track it down, gain access, spoil the game. You used an alias. Rented your safe box under another name -- just in case. And if you were smart enough to use an alias, you'd have used one that was basic, that was familiar. One you wouldn't have to hassle over.
    It was so simple, Eve realized as she keyed in Sharon Barrister. So simple both she and Feeney had overlooked it.
    She hit pay dirt at the Brinkstone International Bank and Finance, Newark, New Jersey.
    Sharon Barrister not only had a safe-deposit box, she had a brokerage account in the amount of $326,000.85.
    Grinning at the screen, she hit her tie-in with the PA. "I need a warrant," she announced.
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    Three hours later, she was back in Commander Whitney's office, trying not to gnash her teeth. "She's got another one somewhere," Eve insisted. "And the diaries are in it."
    "Nobody's stopping you from looking for it, Dallas."
    "Fine, that's fine." She whirled around the office as she spoke. Energy was pumping now, and she wanted action. "What are we going to do about this?"
    She jerked a hand at the file on his desk.
    "You've got the disc I took from the safe-deposit box and the print out I ran. It's right there, commander. A blackmail list: names and amounts. And Simpson's name is there, in tidy alphabetical order."
    "I can read, Dallas." He resisted the urge to rub at the tension gathering at the base of his skull. "The chief isn't the only person named Simpson in the city, much less the country."
    "It's him." She was fuming and there was no place to put the steam. "We both know it. There are a number of other interesting names there, too. A governor, a Catholic bishop, a respected leader of the International Organization of Women, two high-ranking cops, an ex-Vice President -- "
    "I'm aware of the names," Whitney interrupted. "Are you aware of your position, Dallas, and the consequences?" He held up a hand to silence her. "A few neat columns of names and numbers don't mean squat. This data gets out of this office, and it's over. You're finished and so's the investigation. Is that what you want?"
    "No, sir."
    "You get the diaries, Dallas, find the connection between Sharon DeBlass and Lola Starr, and we'll see where we go from there."
    "Simpson's dirty." She leaned over the desk. "He knew Sharon DeBlass; he was being blackmailed. And he's doing everything he can to undermine the investigation."
    "Then we'll have to work around him, won't we?" Whitney put the file in his lock box. "No one knows what we have in here, Dallas. Not even Feeney. Is that clear?
    "Yes, sir." Knowing she had to be satisfied with that, she started for the door. "Commander, I'd like to point out that there's a name absent from that list. Roarke's not on it."
    Whitney met her eyes, nodded. "As I said, Dallas. I can read."
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    Her message light was blinking when she got back to her office. A check of her E-mail turned up two calls from the medical examiner. Impatiently, Eve put the hot lead aside and returned the call.
    "Finished running the tests on your neighbor, Dallas. You hit the bull's-eye."
    "Oh,