In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

thought. Used a weapon. Probably a standard police issue. Damn.
    She worked her way down the body, handing Roarke the bagged tape as she freed it.
    Her movements were brisk and efficient, Roarke thought. Her eyes were flat. Distancing herself, as much as she was able, focusing her mind, her skill on the job.
    She wouldn't have called it courageous, but he did. To give herself over, to stand over death and work doggedly to balance the scales, even for a man he knew she had disliked.
    "Microgoggles," she ordered, and Roarke passed them back to her.
    With them on, she crouched, examining the abraded skin where Bayliss had futilely fought against the tape. Yeah, she thought, wanted him alive and awake while the water churned up. Screaming, begging, sobbing.
    Did he call you by name? I'd lay odds on it.
    She turned him, her hands unconsciously gentle. On his back, his buttocks, she saw faint marks where his body had pressed and rubbed against the tub.
    And on his hips was a small tattoo, gold and black, a replica of the shield that was now smeared with his blood.
    "A cop through and through," she commented. "At least that's what he considered himself. He'd have hated dying like this. Naked, helpless, and undignified."
    She gathered the coins littering the bottom of the tub. "Thirty," she said, jingling them in her palm before dropping them into the bag Roarke held out for her. "He deviates his method but not his symbolism. Bayliss hasn't been dead long. We didn't miss this one by much. The blood barely started to settle to its lowest level, and what's been spilled out there's still wet. I need the gauge to get time of death."
    "Lieutenant." Roarke held out the gauge. "I believe your team's here."
    "Hmm?" She took the gauge. She heard it now, the muted voices traveling from below up the stairs and through the open door. "Okay. I'm almost done in here. An hour," she said in disgust when she read the gauge. "We didn't miss him by more than an hour."
    She climbed back out of the tub as Peabody strode into the room. "Lieutenant."
    "Record on. See that he's bagged and transport's arranged, Peabody. Get some sweepers started in here. Did you bring EDD?"
    "Feeney and McNab are right behind me."
    "When they get here, have them start on the security, then the 'links. For what it's worth. Thank you, Sheriff." She held out a hand for her recorder. "This is my aide, Officer Peabody. She'll handle the scene, if you have no objection."
    "None at all."
    "I want to go through the house. Bayliss had files with him. I need to find them."
    "First-level office," Roarke put in, bringing her eyes to his. "I can show you where it is."
    Something in his tone told her he didn't want to show her with company. She blocked off the automatic annoyance that he'd gone through the house without her and turned to Reese. "I'd like you to check with your men doing the door-to-doors. Also, if you could contact your patrols, inquire as to whether anyone noticed a strange vehicle in this area tonight."
    "I'll get right on it. Outside, if it's all the same to you. I'd like some air."
    "Thanks." She started out with Roarke, waited until the first wave of the crime scene unit passed them on the stairs. "What's the idea of poking around the house on your own? We're on official business. I can't have civilians making themselves at home."
    "I was acting in my capacity as temporary aide," he said smoothly. "All of the other doors and windows were secured, by the way. The alarm system's one of mine, and top of its line. It wasn't tampered with. Whoever bypassed it had a code. And I located the security control," he continued. "Feeney's going to find that system was also bypassed. There won't be a recording of tonight's activities, in or out of the house, after seven o'clock."
    "Busy boy."
    "Me or your killer?"
    "Ha ha. He doesn't panic, he doesn't rush, he covers his tracks. And he does all that with rage working through him. Must be a damn good cop."
    She moved through the door Roarke indicated, into a large office space with views of the sea through the glass wall in the rear.
    Here there were signs of hurry. Here there were things out of place. A glass turned over on the desk, its contents spilled out on the brushed chrome surface. A jumble of discs, a disordered pile of clothes heaped on the floor. She recognized the suit Bayliss had been wearing at the meeting.
    "He took him out here, from the front," she began. "Surprised him at work. Bayliss had fixed himself a