In Death 18 - Divided in Death

December 5, 2055, A-1 stunners were standard issue for Secret Service. The change to the more powerful M3 went into effect at this time. The attempt on the life of then-President Anne B. Foster, on August 8, 2055, the loss of two agents and civilian casualties during this assassination attempt resulted in the upgrade of weaponry.
    “Is that so?”
    This is accurate data.
    “Right.” Eve tipped back in her chair. Whoever had used and planted the M3 had assumed Reva had one. She hadn’t left the SS until January. But she’d never gone back to active duty either. It was a simple matter to check to see if she’d ever been issued that style weapon.
    Another detail for her report. When she’d compiled everything she wanted, she dumped it all into a file, saved it.
    “Computer, analyze all data in case file HE-45209-2. Using known data, run a probability scan on Ewing, Reva, as perpetrator.”
    Working . . .
    “Take your time,” Eve murmured and rose to get more coffee.
    She wandered back to her desk. Sat, sipped, played idly with the stuffed cat Roarke had given her since Galahad appeared to be spending the evening with Summerset.
    Which just went to show, she thought, the cat’s lousy judge of character.
    Probability scan complete. Probability that Ewing, Reva, is perpetrator in the murders of Bissel, Blair, and Kade, Felicity, is seventy-seven point six percent.
    “That’s interesting. That’s pretty interesting for something that, on the surface, looked like a walk. She passes Level Three tomorrow, that’s going to drop another twenty points, easy. Then her lawyers are going to kick my ass.”
    “You don’t sound overly concerned about that.”
    She turned her head to look at Roarke, lounging against the door-jamb between their offices. “I can take my licks.”
    “I’ll owe you for it. Yes, yes,” he said, reading her face. “Doing your job, and so on and so forth. But you’ll be taking some of those licks to help a friend of mine. So I’ll owe you for it. The media loves to slap down anyone who’s at the top of their game, as you are.”
    “And gee . . .”—she held up the stuffed cat as if speaking to it—”. . . the media worries me almost as much as a bunch of pussy lawyers.”
    “I beg your pardon, but my lawyers are not pussies.”
    Eve set the stuffed cat aside and gave Roarke a steely stare. “I figured she’d lawyered up with some of your suits. If they’re worth half of what you pay them, they’ll have the charges dropped within another twenty-four. It’d be better if they didn’t.”
    “Why is that?”
    “As long as whoever’s running this show thinks she’s in the squeeze, she’s safe and he won’t be as likely to blow. If he’s not already in the wind, and Reva shakes this loose, he’ll blow. Or they will.”
    “They.”
    “There’s got to be a team working on this. Someone for the murder, someone for the setup, someone for the hit on the security and data units at the gallery and studio. And somebody, I betcha, pushing all the buttons.”
    “It’s so nice when we agree. I need to move this to the unregistered.”
    “Why?”
    “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
    “I’m working here.”
    “You’ll want to see this, Lieutenant.”
    “Better be good.”
    The equipment unregistered with, and undetectable by, CompuGuard was in a secured room.
    The wide wall of windows was screened against prying eyes, but let in the view of New York, with all its spires and spears rising into the night sky.
    The black, U-shaped console was slick, and studded with dozens of controls. It reminded Eve, always, of some sort of futuristic spacecraft. So much so, she wouldn’t have batted an eye if the entire thing had floated up from the floor, then zoomed off, to wink away in some time warp.
    He got a brandy from the fully stocked bar behind a wall panel, and because he intended for her to sleep shortly, poured her another glass of wine.
    “I’m on coffee now.”
    “Then it won’t hurt you to dilute some of the caffeine. And look what else I have.” He held up a candy bar.
    Greed shot into her eyes before she could disguise it. “You have candy in here? I’ve never seen candy in here.”
    “I’m just full of surprises.” Watching her, he waved the wrapped bar from side to side. “You can have the candy if you sit on my lap.”
    “That sounds like something perverted old men say to young, stupid girls.”
    “I’m not old, and you’re not stupid.” He sat,