In Death 23 - Born in Death

couple times recently. Let’s find what she accessed after business hours.”
    She turned as the door opened.
    “Anything?” Baxter asked her.
    “It’s looking like she found something off at work, was pursuing it on her own, and shared her concerns with her fiancé. We’re digging there.”
    “Want another shovel?”
    Eve dipped her hands into her pockets. “What’s on your desk?”
    “A few things, mostly leg and ’link work. Nothing the boy can’t handle,” he added, referring to his trainee, Trueheart. “Look, the kid’ll let me know if he needs me on anything active. I’ve got some personal time coming. I can take it to work this.”
    “You work it, you work it on the clock. Anything of your own heats up, you’re on that.”
    “No problem.”
    When her communicator beeped, she glanced at the readout. “Peabody, fill Baxter in. It’s Whitney’s office. I need to update him.”
    She was ordered up, and found Commander Whitney behind his desk. She thought he looked tired, maybe burdened was the better word. His big shoulders carried considerable weight.
    Gray was sprinkled generously through the dark hair that was closely cut around his wide, coffee-colored face. He watched her, saying nothing, as she ran through the movements and details of the investigation.
    “The data you confiscated is secured?”
    “Yes, sir. Detectives Peabody and Baxter are starting the search. Captain Feeney is supervising the e-work, using Detective McNab.”
    “Other avenues?”
    “Sir?”
    “Exploration of this being personal business. Jealous ex?”
    “I haven’t eliminated the possibility, Commander, but nothing points to that. While everything points to this being a double murder motivated by something the female vic discovered at her place of employment.”
    He nodded. “You understand the sensitivity of the data now in the possession of this department?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    His eyes stayed on hers. “Have you considered the sensitivity of you, personally, having access to that data?”
    “Personally, Commander?”
    “You’re married to a powerful businessman who has interests in many areas of industry and finance—interests that most certainly will be in competition or conflict with some of the parties whose data you now have in your possession.”
    Something hot formed a tiny ball in Eve’s belly. “I have potential evidence in my possession.”
    “Don’t be naive, Dallas.”
    “I never was. I’m the primary investigator on two murders looking for evidence of motive and culpability. I’m not looking, and have no interest in, inside information on my husband’s business competition.”
    “There’s concern that, should this data come into his hands, it might be used to his advantage against those competitors.”
    The hot little ball expanded. “He doesn’t need my help to compete in business. And he wouldn’t walk over two dead bodies to make some extra bucks. Respectfully, sir”—though her tone had taken on an edge that had nothing to do with respect—“to imply otherwise is an insult to me and to him.”
    “It’s not a matter of a few extra dollars, but the potential of millions. Perhaps more than millions. And yes, it’s insulting. It’s also necessary to be understood. If the information now at your disposal should beused in any way unrelated to your investigation, you, this office, this department, will be responsible.”
    “My understanding of my responsibility to the victim, to the people of New York, and to this department is and always has been crystal.” It wasn’t a ball in her belly now, but a flood. Like lava. “If you have any doubts of my understanding of that responsibility or my ability to fulfill it, you’re not only obliged to remove me from this investigation, but you should be asking for my badge.”
    “You want to be pissed, be pissed. Now, Lieutenant, go back to work.”
    She turned on her heel, struggling to keep that fury down, hold it in. But she didn’t quite block all of it. She looked back as she yanked open the door. “I’m not Roarke’s goddamn stooge,” she snapped, and shut the door behind her.
    She hauled the temper with her back down to Homicide and into the conference room. One look at Eve’s face made whatever bright comment Peabody was about to utter wither and die.
    “Sir,” she said instead, “Baxter’s taking Byson’s data. So far we’ve found nothing transferred to his data records from Copperfield’s.”
    “We keep