In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

like interrogating a goddamn droid with perfect programming.
    "Get him out of here," Eve ordered in disgust, then stalked out of the room.
    "This guy won't roll," she said when Feeney joined her. "Ricker sent brains this time. But Riggs wasn't completely in control. He didn't expect that creep to grab the kid. So while he's got brains, there's no saying the others do. I want to double the guards on the two in the hospital, get an update on their condition."
    "Riggs gets a decent lawyer, using that line, holds to it, won't even do five years."
    "I know it, and so does he. Self-satisfied son of a bitch. Let's get a run on the two in the hospital, find a level."
    "I'll take that. We don't need the smoke now, so I'd as soon work out of my office."
    "Okay. I'm going to go write this up, then head home. I've got some lines to tug on that end."
    By the time she was finished, it was well after shift. She cut Peabody loose, then headed down to the garage. Her leg hurt, which pissed her off. Her head throbbed, which was only a minor annoyance.
    But when she reached her parking level and saw the condition of her vehicle, she was ready to spit rock.
    "Goddamn it. Goddamn it."
    She'd had this unit -- one that actually worked -- for less than eight months. It was ugly, had already been wrecked once and repaired, but it was hers, and she'd kept it in decent shape.
    Now the hood, the trunk, the doors on both sides were smashed in, the tires slashed, and the rear glass looked like it had been attacked by lasers.
    And all, she thought, in a police garage with full security cams.
    "Whoa." Baxter strolled up behind her. "I heard you had a little trouble earlier, but didn't know you'd wrecked your vehicle. Maintenance isn't going to be happy with you."
    "I didn't wreck it. How the hell did somebody walk in here and beat the crap out of my ride?" She took another step toward it, and Baxter grabbed her arm.
    "Let's just keep some distance. Call the bomb squad. You've got a very temperamental enemy at the moment. Could be rigged."
    "You're right. Yeah, you're right. If it blows up, they'll never issue me another one. They hate me in Requisitions."
    It wasn't rigged, and she managed to cop four new tires. Because Baxter called down for them and sweet-talked Maintenance. While they were being changed and two crabby Maintenance men were doing something to the doors to make them open and close again, she checked with Garage Security.
    A blip, she was told, in the disc run.
    "What's the verdict?" Baxter asked when she came back.
    "A blip, fifteen minutes of snow and blocked audio. This level only. They didn't notice." Her eyes narrowed into tawny glints. "I guarantee they'll notice the next time. You didn't have to hang, Baxter."
    "This may be your game, Dallas, but we all want part of the ball. You should take something for that leg. You're limping."
    "I am not." She sighed as she wrenched open her dented car door. "Thanks."
    "Don't I get a kiss good-bye?"
    "Sure, honey. Come on over here."
    He laughed, backed away. "You'll hit me. You heading home?"
    "Yeah."
    He wandered to his vehicle. "I'm heading uptown, myself." He said it casually and didn't fool her for a minute. "I'll follow you up."
    "I don't need a baby-sitter."
    "I'm heading uptown," he said and got in his car.
    She wanted to be annoyed with him but couldn't quite pull it off. On the drive, she stayed alert, watching for tails, preparing for ambush. Other than her vehicle making ominous whining noises when she got over thirty miles an hour, and thumping ones when she turned left, the trip home was uneventful.
    She waved Baxter off at her gates, figured she'd raid Roarke's liquor supply for a bottle of unblended scotch as payment for the favor.
    She wanted a drink herself, she thought as she walked up the front steps. A nice cool glass of wine, maybe a quick swim to work out the kinks.
    She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
    "I assume," Summerset began while the cat streaked between his legs to greet Eve, "you've been involved in some sort of vehicular accident."
    "You assume incorrectly. My unit was involved in some sort of vehicular accident." She bent, picked up Galahad, and found a little comfort by rubbing her cheek against his fur. "Where's Roarke?"
    "He is not yet home for the evening. If you had consulted his schedule, you'd be aware he isn't expected for another hour. Those trousers are ruined."
    "People keep telling me that." She set the cat down, stripped off