In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

how?”
    “And if that order includes murder, do you question it? Do you hesitate?”
    “I do not.”
    “What did Keener have, what did he know, what had he done to make him a liability? Why did he have to be eliminated?”
    Bix opened his mouth, closed it again. He squared his shoulders. “I have nothing more to say to you. If you want to question me further, it’ll be in the presence of my department rep.”
    “That’s your right. Let it be noted that not once during this interview did Detective Bix address me as sir or by my rank. This disrespect will be included in his file. Just a little icing on the cake I’m baking,” she told Bix, then rose. “Interview end.”

20
    HER LIEUTENANT AND BIX HAD BEEN GONE about ten minutes when Lilah saw her window. Four of the squad were in the field, Brinker off on one of his many lengthy trips to Vending or the bathroom. Sloan and Asserton sat at their desks plugging away at paperwork. Freeman and Marcell had just gone into the break room.
    Lilah picked up a report from her desk, walked briskly to Renee’s door, shoved the master she’d palmed in and out of the slot. And walked inside. The minute she had the door closed, she stuck the report in her back pocket.
    Five minutes, she told herself. Tops. Freeman and Marcell were bound to bullshit in the break room that long.
    She hit the desk first, crouching down to the locked bottom drawer. And using the skill she’d learned from her doomed brother, picked the lock.
    It shouldn’t have surprised her to find so many personal items the rest of the squad was denied. High-end—way high-end—face enhancements, a top-of-the-line VR unit with a collection of relaxation and sex programs.
    She’d already judged Renee as useless and vain.
    She ran her fingers under drawers, along their sides, checked for false bottoms. She found a little cash, but nothing over the line.
    She closed the drawer, secured it again. Careful not to disturb Renee’s pristine organization, she riffled through others. Flipped through file discs, opened and scanned a memo book, an appointment book before moving on to the furniture, the counters, the windows.
    She knew Renee had a hide in there. Knew it hid more than expensive lip dye and eye shadow, more than fancy imported perfume that sold for a paycheck an ounce.
    Her gut told her she’d hit the time to bail—sweat had begun to trickle down the center of her back.
    One minute more, she told herself, easing the seascape off the wall to check behind it, to examine its back, its frame.
    The minute she replaced it, carefully adjusting it so it hung perfectly true, it struck her.
    “You idiot,” she muttered. “You wasted those psych courses.”
    She looked at the portrait of Commander Marcus Oberman, in full dress blues.
    Too heavy to take off the wall on her own, she judged. Not unless she dragged the table under it out of the way to gain more leverage and a better angle.
    She managed to get a hand behind the frame, ease it out an inch—and cursed herself for not thinking to bring in a penlight.
    She braced the portrait with one hand, ran the other behind it while trying to angle her head to see. Eased it up another inch, praying she wouldn’t cock it off its support.
    Her searching hand bumped something, and the surprise had her pulling the bottom of the portrait up in a short little jerk. Her breath sucked in as it continued smoothly up, hinging at the top. And revealing the safe behind it.
    She grabbed her ’link, used its camera to take several shots. Even if she’d had the time, was willing to risk the time, her thievery skills were limited to picking simple locks, not to breaking what looked to be a complex wall safe.
    Taking it slow, she brought the portrait to rights. Stepped back, checked the alignment, the position. Wiped her damp palms on her thighs. At the door she tipped one of the blind slats a fraction.
    Asserton and Sloan still at their desks. Brinker still wherever Brinker went a dozen times a day. Freeman and Marcell still in the break room. All clear.
    Move, she ordered herself. Go now.
    She pulled the file out of her pocket, stepped out, closed the door. A quick slide of the master re-engaged the lock. Hearing the quiet click, she walked briskly toward her desk. She was halfway there when the break room door opened. She sat down, aimed her eyes at her screen as if checking her data. And considered her options.
    Business as usual, she reminded herself. Head down, ass in