In Death 18 - Divided in Death

might look overbearing or foolish initially, but that would wear off before long.”
    “Two people would still be dead.”
    “Two operatives, Dallas. By-product of the job.” He held up his hand again before Eve could speak. “Do you have an opinion on that, Detective Peabody?”
    “Yes, sir. If I went down, line of duty, that’d be a by-product of the job. But I’d expect Dallas and my fellow officers to do everything they could to get me justice. We don’t just let murder go because it’s a professional hazard.”
    “You stand up well for yourself, Detective. Now that I see we’re all on the same side of the line. Talk to Ewing. I’ll take this to Chief Tibble. Only Chief Tibble,” he added, “on a need-to-know.”
    “Thank you, sir. The EDD team will work primarily out of my residence. It has more levels of security than we have at Central.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me. Document everything, Dallas, but for now your reports to me will remain verbal only. I want to be informed the minute you have any kind of contact with any agent or representative of the HSO. Keep your ass covered, because if it takes a hit, so does this department.”
    ———«»———«»———«»———
    “That went well,” Peabody commented as they headed down to the garage.
    “Well enough.”
    “When he asked me if I had an opinion, I almost clutched.”
    “He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to hear it.”
    “Maybe not, but brass usually wants to hear what they want to hear. There was this other thing I was thinking.” She ran a hand, very casually, down her jacket to smooth the line. “Due to the nature of this investigation and certain sensitivities, it might be more secure, all in all, if members of the team remained at your residence.”
    “Might it be?” Eve replied.
    “Well, yeah, seeing . . .” She trailed off, studied their pea-green city vehicle. “Unit swept and shielded?”
    “Maintenance said so, but they’re lying sacks of shit. It should be safe enough for you to make your pitch in general terms.”
    Peabody climbed in. “First, you have those extra layers of security in place, so we don’t have to watch what we say or do. Part of investigating is talking through data and information. Also EDD could take shifts, if necessary. And since McNab and I are getting ready to move to our new apartment, my place is a wreck.” She smiled prettily. “So how about it?”
    “It’s not a party.”
    “Absolutely not.” Peabody stifled the smile and looked stern. “I’m proposing this for the good of the team, and the investigation.”
    “And because there’s always ice cream stocked in the freezer.”
    “Well, yes. Do I look stupid?”
    ———«»———«»———«»———
    It wasn’t unusual for Roarke to call for a spot-check on security in any department at any time. But it was less usual for him to run scanners personally—and to run tests on his own equipment.
    The level-ten lab at Securecomp could only be accessed by employees with the highest clearance. Still, none of them grumbled at the body scans, or the delay while the scanner was run through a series of checks, then the scans rerun.
    No one mumbled when a team of exterminators in their white skinsuits and black helmets were called in to sweep for bugs. Glances were exchanged, and a few shrugs, but no one questioned the man.
    The lab itself was pristine. Filters and purifiers kept the air absolutely clean. Floors, walls, ceilings were all unrelieved white. There were no windows, and the walls were a full six inches thick. Minicams were positioned to record every area, all personnel, every movement, every sound.
    Each workstation was a clear-sided cube or series of clear counters, and each held compact and powerful equipment. There were no ‘links other than interoffice ones.
    Authorized personnel wore encoded badges, and passed through three staging areas each time they entered or exited the lab. Access required voice, retinal, and palmprint verification.
    The scanners, alarm, and preventatives made it impossible—so Roarke had believed—to remove any data from the lab without his knowledge and authorization. Planting a bug inside would require sorcery.
    He’d have bet his reputation on it. And, essentially, had.
    He signaled to the acting lab chief, Tokimoto, and walked into what the techs called “the vault.”
    It was an office—Spartan, almost military—with a single streamlined desk, two