In Death 10 - Witness in Death

remember. He wanted to erase them from her mind, eradicate them. And knew he never would. Never could.
    For months, he'd been tempted to do a full search and scan, to dig out the data on that tragic child found broken and battered in a Dallas alley. He had the skill, and he had the technology to find everything there was to find: details the social workers, the police, the child authorities couldn't.
    He could fill in the blanks for her, and, he admitted, for himself.
    But it wasn't the way. He understood her well enough to know that if he took on the task, gave her the answers to questions she wasn't ready to ask, it would hurt more than heal.
    Wasn't it the same for him? When he'd returned to Dublin after so many years, he'd needed to study some of the shattered pieces of his childhood. Alone. Even then, he'd only glanced at the surface of them. What was left of them were buried. At least for now, he intended to leave them buried.
    The now was what required his attention, he reminded himself. And brooding over the past -- there was the Irish again -- solved nothing. Whether the past was his or Eve's, it solved nothing.
    He gathered up the discs and hard copies he'd need for his afternoon meetings. Then hesitated. He wanted another look at her before he left for the day.
    But when he opened the connecting doors, he saw only McNab, stuffing what appeared to be an entire burger in his mouth while the computer droned through a background search.
    "Solo today, Ian?"
    McNab jerked from a lounging to a sitting position, swallowed too fast, choked. Amused, Roarke strolled over and slapped him smartly on the back.
    "It helps to chew first."
    "Yeah. Thanks. Ah... I didn't have much breakfast, so I thought it'd be okay if I..."
    "My AutoChef is your AutoChef. The lieutenant's in the field, I take it."
    "Yeah. She hauled Peabody out about an hour ago. Feeney headed into Central to tie up some threads. I'm working here." He smiled then, a quick flash of strong white teeth. "I got the best gig."
    "Lucky you." Roarke managed to find a French fry on McNab's plate that hadn't been drowned in ketchup. He sampled it while he studied the screen. "Running backgrounds? Again?"
    "Yeah, well." McNab rolled his eyes, shifting so his silver ear loops clanged cheerfully together. "Dallas has some wild hair about there might be some way-back connection, some business between Draco and one of the players that simmered all these years. Me, I figure we already scanned all the data and found zippo, but she wants another run, below the surface. I'm here to serve. Especially when real cow meat's on the menu."
    "Well now, if there is some bit of business, you're unlikely to find it this way, aren't you?"
    "I'm not?"
    "Something old and simmering, you say." Considering the possibility, Roarke hooked another fry. "If I wanted to find something long buried, so to speak, I'd figure on getting a bit of dirt under my nails."
    "I don't follow you."
    "Sealed records."
    "I don't have the authority to open sealeds. You gotta have probable cause, and a warrant, and all that happy shit." When Roarke merely smiled, McNab straightened, glanced at the entrance door. "Of course, if there was a way around all that off the record -- "
    "There are ways, Ian. And there are ways."
    "Yeah, but there's also the CYA factor."
    "Well then, we'll just have to make sure your ass is covered. Won't we?"
    "Dallas is going to know, isn't she?" McNab said a few minutes later, when their positions were reversed and Roarke sat at the computer.
    "Of course. But you'll find that knowing and proving are far different matters, even to the redoubtable lieutenant."
    In any case, Roarke enjoyed his little forays into police work. And he was a man who rarely saw a need to limit his enjoyments.
    "Now you see here, Ian, we've accessed the on-record fingerprints and DNA pattern of your primary suspects. Perfectly legitimate."
    "Yeah, if I was doing the accessing."
    "Only a technicality. Computer, match current identification codes with any and all criminal records, civil actions and suits, including all juvenile and sealed data. A good place to start," he said to McNab.
    Working... Access to sealed data is denied without proper authority or judicial code. Open records are available. Shall I continue?
    "Hold." Roarke sat back, examined his nails. Clean as a whistle, he thought. For the moment. "McNab, be a pal, would you, and fetch me some coffee?"
    McNab stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled