In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

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.
    He had a wife, and though her residence listed was different than his, there was no record of a legal separation or divorce. His son, Thadeus, had been killed in the line of duty while attempting to prevent a robbery.
    Walked in on in progress, Eve noted, frowning. According to witness reports, he'd drawn his weapon, stepped in to shield one of the civilians, and had been attacked from behind. He'd suffered numerous stab wounds and had been pronounced dead on the scene.
    His assailants had cleaned out the 24/7 store and escaped. The case remained open.
    Thadeus Clooney had left behind a wife and infant daughter.
    Suffered a loss, she considered. A big one. Could that turn a twenty-six-year vet with a spotless record into a killer?
    But why blame other cops for the loss?
    Last, she ran Bayliss, Captain Boyd.
    Oh, he was clean, she thought as she read his data. If you looked only at that slick surface. Churchgoer, community volunteer, chaired a couple of charitable organizations, had his two kids in posh private schools. Married for eighteen years to a woman who'd come to him with money and social status.
    Never worked the streets, she mused. Even in uniform, which he'd shed quickly, he'd been assigned to a desk: administration, evidence management, office aide. A born drone.
    But a smart one. He'd moved up, then over, into IAB.
    And there, she thought, he'd found his calling.
    Interesting, she noted, that this last business wasn't his first official sanction. He'd been warned before about his methods. But whatever his means, he'd dug the dirt. The department had stepped nimbly aside, with a frown perhaps, but no serious block.
    He'd skirted the rules: entrapment, illegal tapping, and surveillance. His favored ploy was to set cop against cop.
    Cop against cop. How big a leap was it from destroying a career to taking a life?
    Most interestingly, she discovered that shortly after the Ricker debacle, Bayliss had found himself under review, and had earned another sanction, for his attempt to