In Death 18 - Divided in Death

time to find out. I’m staying close. I told him I thought the butler did it, and he just nodded, all serious, and said he’d do a probability. Christ, he’s a sweet kid.”
    Cops popped out like corks on every level. There was almost breathable air by the time the elevator reached the garage.
    “Heard you had to spring the prime suspect on the double homicide. That’s gotta sting.”
    “It only stings if she did it.” She paused by Baxter’s shiny sports car. “How do you afford this ride?”
    “It’s not about afford, it’s about the deft juggling of numbers.” He looked over to where her pitiful police issue sat dolefully in its slot. “Me, I wouldn’t be caught driving that heap if I was wearing a toe tag. You’ve got rank enough to pull better.”
    “Maintenance and Requisitions both hate me. Besides, it gets me where I’m going.”
    “But not in style.” He slid into his car, gunned the engine so it roared like a mad bull, then, with another wide grin, zoomed off.
    “What is it about guys and cars?” she wondered. “I just don’t get how their dicks are attached to cars.”
    With a shake of her head, she started across the garage.
    “Lieutenant Dallas.”
    Instinctively, her hand slipped inside her jacket and onto the butt of her weapon. She held it there as she pivoted, and studied the man who stepped out from between parked cars.
    “This garage facility is NYPSD property, for authorized personnel only.”
    “Quinn Sparrow, Assistant Director, Data Resources, HSO.” He held up his right hand. “I’m going to reach, with my offhand, for my identification.”
    “Reach slow, AD Sparrow.”
    He did, drawing out the flip case with two fingers. He held it up, waiting for her to approach. Eve studied the ID, then his face.
    He looked young for any real juice in the HSO, but then she had no idea how early they recruited. He might’ve been forty, she supposed, but calculated he was missing a few years from that date. But he wasn’t green. His calm demeanor told her he’d had some seasoning.
    His body had the compact, ready look under its black, government employee suit that made her think boxer or ballplayer. His voice had no discernible accent, and he waited, without movement or word, until she’d finished summing him up.
    “What do you want, Sparrow?”
    “I’m told you want a conversation. Why don’t we have one. My car’s beside yours.”
    She glanced over at the black sedan. “I don’t think so. Let’s take a walk instead.”
    “No problem.” He started to dip a hand in his right pocket. She had her weapon out and at his throat. She heard him suck in air, let it out. She saw the quick flicker of surprise and alarm on his face before it settled into passive lines again.
    “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
    “That’s no problem either.” He held them out, and up. “You’re jumpy, Lieutenant.”
    “I’ve got reason, Assistant Director. Let’s walk.” Rather than holstering her weapon, she slid it inside her jacket as they walked toward the garage exit. “What makes you think I want a conversation?”
    “Reva Ewing spoke with a mutual contact in the Secret Service. Given the current situation, I was assigned to come over from the New York base and speak with you.”
    “What’s your function?”
    “Data cruncher, primarily. Administrative area.”
    “You knew Bissel?”
    “Not personally, no.”
    She turned, moved briskly down the sidewalk. “I assume this conversation is being recorded.”
    He gave her a very easy, very pleasant smile. “Is there something you don’t want on record?”
    “I bet there’s a lot you don’t.” She swung into a bar and grill, largely patronized by cops. Because it was change of shift, it was packed with them. Eve moved to a high-top where two detectives from her division were sharing beer and shop talk.
    “I got a meet here.” She dug out credits, laid them down. “Do me a favor and let me have the table. Beer’s on me.”
    There was some grumbling, but the credits were scooped up, and the detectives moved off. Eve chose a stool that kept her back to the wall.
    “Felicity Kade recruited Blair Bissel for the HSO,” Eve began.
    “How did you come by that information?”
    “Subsequently,” she went on, “he functioned as a data liaison—data’s your territory, right?—transporting same to and from sources, and using his profession as a cover. Was he ordered to marry Reva Ewing, or was that his own