In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

the Renquist home, and the search team pulled up behind her. "This is going to be fun."
     
     
She waited for Feeney, let the team file in behind. Home security scanned her badge, then the warrant, before shifting to a holding pattern. Within two minutes, the housekeeper, in a long black robe, opened the door.
     
     
"I'm sorry," she began, "there must be some, mistake-" -
     
     
"This warrant authorizes me and my team to enter this residence and conduct a search thereof. I am also authorized to arrest Niles Renquist on multiple counts of suspicion of murder in the first degree, and a count of first-degree assault with intent. Is Mr. Renquist on the premises?"
     
     
"No, he's away on business." She looked more baffled than annoyed "I'll. need to ask you to wait here while I inform Mrs. Renquist of these... circumstances."
     
     
Eve held up the-warrants again. "These mean I don't have to wait. But go right ahead and tell her we're here. After you direct me to Mr. Renquist's home office."
     
     
"I'm not... I can hardly take the responsibility for"
     
     
"It's my responsibility." She signaled the team behind her to enter. "Split into groups of two. I want a complete and thorough room-by-room. All recorders on. The office?" she said to the housekeeper.
     
     
"It's on the second level, but---"
     
     
"You're going to want to lead the way, Stevens, then step back. You don't want, a part of this."
     
     
Without waiting for the housekeeper, Eve started up the staircase. Stevens came after her in a trot. "If you'd just let me wake Mrs.' Renquist and inform her-"
     
     
"As soon as you show me his office."
     
     
"It's the last door, on the right. But it's secured."
     
     
"You got the code?"
     
     
She pokered up then, struggling for dignity as she stood in her nightrobe surrounded by cops. "Only Mr. Renquist has the code. It's his personal office, and he handles sensitive material. As an official of the British government-"
     
     
"Yeah, yeah, blah blahs" Eve decided she'd been right. This 'was fun. "My warrant gives me the right to open this door, with or without the code." She pulled out her master. "I am employing that authorization at this time, and using a police master code. to disengage the subject's security on this door."
     
     
The housekeeper turned and fled up to the third floor. Mrs. Renquist, Eve thought, was about to get a rude awakening.
     
     
She used the master, and wasn't the least surprised to find the police code denied.
     
     
"He's taken extra precautions." She looked over her shoulder at Roarke. "At this time I find it necessary and expedient to employ alternate methods. If the electronic experts on team are unable to disengage locks, I will utilize the battering ram."
     
     
"Let's have a look first," Feeney suggested, and Eve deliberately turned her recorder away so that it wouldn't show Roarke crouching down with burglar tools in his hands.
     
     
"Feeney, I'm going to need you to confiscate all security discs. I suspect the subject doctored them, so that he wasn't scanned when he left the house for the'murders and attack."
     
     
"If he did, we'll find the shadows." He tracked his gaze toward Roarke and had to bite down on a grin. Magic hands he thought again.
     
     
"I want all 'links and transmission devices as well." She didn't look at Roarke, kept herr back to him. But her mind was muttering: Hurry up, damn it, hurry up. I can't stall much longer."
     
     
"Lieutenant," Roarke said a moment later, "I believe the locks are now disengaged."
     
     
"Good." She turned back. "We're now entering the private home office of Niles Renquist." She opened the door, called for lights on full, then took a deep breath. "Let's get to work."
     
     
The room was meticulously organized, even elegant in its -choice of furnishings and decor. The antique desk held modern communication and data equipment, and what she concluded, after a puzzled study, was an old silver ink well and quill. There was a leather-bound notebook, an electronic calendar, and deeply cushioned chairs in dark, masculine green.
     
     
There was a neat black-and-white bath attached with the towels perfectly aligned on the rack.
     
     
He would wash up there after the murders, she presumed. She could see him perfectly, cleaning, grooming, watching himself in the long mirrors that shone on the walls.
     
     
She turned back, mentally measuring the room, and gestured to what looked to be a closet