Treachery in Death (12 page)

“It would be more enjoyably nostalgic if I stole it.”

She actually considered it for a moment. “No, it’s better to just take it out. But you need to do it so it looks like a regular—but severe—mechanical problem, not tampering. I don’t want her to be able to use it for, say, a week—and I want diagnostics to see it as a normal breakdown.”

“Well then, at least there’s a tiny challenge involved. I’ll need to change. While I do you can tell me how you plan to fix it so Renee signs your doctored waiver.”

“You should know when you need to run a con, you hire a grifter.”

10

VEHICULAR TAMPERING WASN’T SOMETHING she did every day, particularly with departmental approval. She wondered just how she’d write it up in her report.

Assigned expert consultant, civilian (former thief), to debilitate the official vehicle of a ranked NYPSD officer.

Probably not quite that way.

“She doesn’t deserve to be a ranked NYPSD officer,” Eve muttered.

Roarke glanced over as he drove. “You’re not actually feeling guilty about this?”

“Not guilty. Uncomfortable,” she decided. “It was my idea, and it’s a good step. It’s department property, so the commander can order or approve said step, and we have tacit IAB sanction with Webster’s attachment. But I’m still a cop deliberately and covertly disabling another cop’s ride. So I have to remind myself she doesn’t deserve to be a cop.”

“Whatever gets you through, darling. You might try to enjoy it, as I intend to.” He flashed her a grin, gave her a playful finger in the ribs. “Criminal activity does have its appeal. Otherwise there wouldn’t be so many criminals.”

“It’s not a criminal activity. It’s department sanctioned.”

“Pretend.”

She only rolled her eyes. “The building has—as you’d expect with a cop, and a dirty one at that—solid security. Underground parking for tenants is assigned—”

“Which you already told me, and is the reason I took a little walk through the records for said garage and identified her slot. Level two, slot twenty-three.”

“I’m just going over it.” Because, she admitted, it made it seem less criminal. “Visitor parking is limited to level three. Visitors have to clear garage security. The simplest way is to key in a name and corresponding apartment.”

He tipped her a glance, quick and full of humor. “No, there are simpler.”

“Which I have here,” she added, willfully ignoring him, “from your little walk-through. Apartment 1020, Francis and Willow Martin. There’ll be cams at the entrance to the garage, and on all levels.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“They’ll document the vehicle and tag going in and out,” she continued. “But Renee will have no reason, if you do the job right, to suspect tampering and request a review of the discs.”

“I’ve often wondered what sort of partner in crime you’d make, should we have met back in the day. Now I see, sadly, it would never have worked. I fear, darling Eve, you’re much too tight-assed.”

“I take that as a compliment,” she said between her teeth.

“Which proves the point.”

“Listen, smart-ass, I don’t want to give her any reason to question the disabled ride, or to take too hard a look at the new one.”

“Trust me,” he said simply, and turned to the gated doors of the garage.

“Apartment 1020,” she reminded him.

He said, “Mmm-hmm,” even as the gates lifted.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I could cite professional secret, but since I’m among friends, I activated a jammer just before I pulled up. It released the gate while it briefly disabled the cam. They’ll have a bit of a video snag—the cams flicking for a time. On the way down,” he continued as he snaked the downward curve. “Then when we’re done, on the way up.”

Slick, she thought. Pretty damn slick. But still. “I don’t know why that’s simpler than just keying in some data.”

“Well now, we don’t know Francis and Willow, do we? Whether they’ve got a visitors’ block up, or are off in Saint Maarten’s having manic sex on the beach.”

“I checked their data—I’m not an idiot. She’s an OB, and she has regular office hours tomorrow. They’re not in freaking Saint Maarten’s having any kind of sex.”

“More’s the pity for them. Maybe they’re out for the evening. Perhaps she’s delivering a baby as we speak, and taking advantage of her absence, Francis slipped out to visit his young, nubile mistress for a bit of that manic sex.”

He stopped the car, aimed his PPC out the window. “Point being, we don’t know what Francis and Willow are up to, so why risk it?”

“What are you doing?”

“Just a minute.”

She shifted in her seat. He’d tied his hair back—work mode—and was keying a series of numbers, letters—who could tell—into his handheld. He had a half smile on his face, but she knew those eyes. He was focused on whatever the hell he was doing.

“That should take care of it.”

“Of what?”

“For the next five minutes the cameras on this level will record the area as it is now—without us in it.” He drove on. “It’s not the Royal Museum, but still it would be awkward if a security man decided to check the garage and saw me fiddling with Renee’s vehicle.”

He pulled in longways behind it. “This won’t take long,” he told her as he got out.

Frowning, Eve shoved open the passenger door. She followed him around to the hood. She started to remind him the hood would be secured, but was glad she saved her breath. He had it open in seconds.

“How did you deactivate the alarm without—”

“Quiet.”

He took another of his little toys from his pocket, attached it to something under the hood with a thread-thin wire. He keyed in a command that had numbers and symbols flashing by in red on the miniscreen. He watched them, then paused the sequence. He keyed in another command, generated another series of codes.

Smiling, he held out the device. “Here, push ENTER.”

“Why?”

“Partners in crime.”

“Crap.” She pushed ENTER and distinctly heard several sharp electrical snaps.

“Nicely done. You’re a natural.”

“Bite me.”

“One of my favorite activities.” He entered yet another series, another command, then detached the device. Secured the hood.

“That’s it?”

“It is. I put the extra time blocking the cams in case you want to search the vehicle. Would you like me to get you in?”

She would. Oh boy, would she. “I didn’t get clearance for that.”

“Stickler—which is much the same as tight-ass.” He waited, watching her fight her internal battle.

“No. If I need to toss her ride, I’ll do the new one. With a warrant or at command directive. Let’s go.”

“That was fun.” Roarke got back behind the wheel, made the turn to curve up to the exit. “But vaguely unsatisfying.”

“What did you do to it?”

“Identified, copied, then countermanded the mainframe system code with an incompatible command issued by a diagnostic clone issuing feed directly into ...” He trailed off, smiling at her. “I do love it when you get glassy-eyed over tech. It’s not altogether dissimilar from when you come.”

“Oh, please.” Deliberately she darkened the look with a scowl.

“I’m the one privileged to look in those eyes of yours at such moments. Basically, I fried a number of chips, which will disable the starter. I issued a second command so when she get in, tries to start it, the action will set off a further reaction, and essentially completely bollocks the engine.”

“Okay. That’s good. Will it pass diagnostics?”

He sighed, long, deep, exaggerated. “I wonder why I tolerate such abuse and cynicism? Ah yes, it’s those glassy eyes. It’ll read like a starter defect, which, in turn, compromised the engine.”

“That’s perfect. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. On to our favorite grifter?”

“Yeah. They’re expecting us.”

Lieutenant Renee Oberman clipped into the squad room in a very bad mood.

“LT,” Detective Strong began, and received a furious shut-the-fuckup glare.

“Officer Heizer, contact Requisitions and tell them I want the damn paperwork on my vehicle asap.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I don’t want to see that piece of crap they hauled out of my garage this morning again. If they replace it with a similar piece of crap, I’ll make their lives a living hell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated even as she stormed into her office. Renee pulled up short when she saw Eve in one of her visitor’s chairs.

“Lieutenant. Nice hours you have here in Illegals.”

“Don’t start on me.” Renee strode around to her desk, opened a bottom drawer, tossed her purse inside. “My vehicle rolled over and died this morning.”

“Sympathies,” Eve said with no sincerity whatsoever. “They are crap.”

“Now I’m dealing with those idiots in Requisitions and the Vehicle Pool.”

“Pain in the ass,” Eve agreed. “I’m here to give you a bigger one.”

“Look, Dallas, you put me in a corner regarding sensitive data and files generated with the use of my CI.”

“Your dead CI.”

“Dead or alive, that data remains sensitive. Several of those cases are either in trial or yet to come to trial. If the information’s compromised, those trials could be compromised.”

Eve’s face went stony. “Are you insinuating, Lieutenant, that I might apprise a defendant or said defendant’s legal rep of that data?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m stating a fact. I don’t know how you run your division, who might now have access to that data. But you left me no choice. Now you’ve got it, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it.”

“You’d be wrong. To start, Keener’s COD was an overdose of FYU, sweetened with barely pushed Zeus. I’m wondering how a low-level chemi-head who dealt primarily in zoner managed that one.”

“I told you.” Renee spoke deliberately, as if to a child. “He used whatever he could get.”

“Yeah, and I’m wondering how he managed to get the high grade. I need to know who in your squad worked on anything involving FYU, who they busted on it, and so on. I’ll need those files.”

“That’s bullshit! Are you standing there, in my
office
, implying one of my people passed my weasel high-grade illegals?”

Perfect, Eve thought. Simply perfect. “I wasn’t implying that. Should I be? In fact, given my next order of business with you, that’s a very interesting angle.”

Renee slapped her hands on her desk. “Now you listen to me—”

“’Scuze.” A tiny woman with shoe-black hair in hooking pigtails poked her head in. She snapped bright pink gum and gave the two lieutenants a bored look out of chocolate brown eyes. “Either of you LT Renee Oberman?” Brooklyn drenched her voice.

Renee gave the woman a quick sweep, from the pigtails, over the cheap white polo shirt, the baggy pants, the dull gray skids. “I’m Lieutenant Oberman.”

“Candy, Requisitions.” Candy’s ID badge bounced between enormous breasts as she walked to the desk.

“It’s about time.”

“Yeah, well, we get backed up, you know. Cops’re hard on their rides. Gotcha a spank-new Torrent. That’s an upgrade, as requested. Got your codes and whatnot here.”

Renee held out a hand. “Well?”

“Jeez, can’t hand ’em over till you sign. Whatcha think? We just pass out rides? Sign, date, initial both pages—that’s in dupe.” Candy laid the forms on the desk, tapped them with a bright—and chipped—pink fingernail. “Said you were in a big-ass hurry, so they sent me up. Nice office.”

“Just give me the codes,” Renee snapped as she dashed her signature on the forms.

“Don’t have to get huffy about it.” Candy passed her a sealed card. “You want to change the codes, you gotta notify—in trip—so’s we got it on record.”

“Fine. That’ll be all.”

“Nope. You gotta sign my screen here, verifying acceptance of the new vehicle and codes. You don’t verify, somebody could say I boosted the ride, turned it on the street.”

Renee snatched the little screen, scrawled her name on it with the attached stylus. “Get out.”

“Jeez.” Candy gathered the forms, sniffed. “You’re fucking welcome.”

“It’s hardly a wonder they’re so disorganized over there,” Renee said when Candy strolled out. “Hiring people like that.”

“You got your new ride, Oberman. Now if you’re all set, why don’t we continue this fascinating discussion with you telling me why two of your detectives were in my victim’s flop yesterday?”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I won’t excuse you. What I will do is file a formal complaint against you, your detectives, and this squad for interfering with and potentially compromising a homicide investigation.”

Renee’s eyes burned hot as she took two challenging steps toward Eve. “You think you can come into my squad, into my office, and threaten me and my people?”

“Yeah, because that’s just what I’m doing.” For the hell of it, Eve closed the distance until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “And I will, I promise you, follow through if I’m not satisfied with your explanation of why Detectives Garnet and Bix entered Keener’s flop yesterday without my authorization. I’ll do more than follow up if I find out either or both of them hooked my vic up with illegals.”

“And I
demand
to know on what grounds you’re making that assertion.”

Eve twisted her lips into a sneer. “I don’t have to tell you squat. This is my case, my investigation, my vic. And I’m wondering just why you’re trying to stall it, to interfere with it, to compromise it.”

“That’s ridiculous, and insulting. I don’t take those kinds of accusations lightly, so believe me,
I’ll
be following up.”

“I don’t take a couple of your men tromping through my vic’s flop, screwing with potential evidence and undermining my authority and investigation in the process lightly. In fact I don’t fucking take it at all. You don’t want to talk to me, no problem. We’ll both talk to Whitney.”

“Is that how you solve things, Lieutenant? Jumping to the commander?”

“When it’s warranted, you bet your ass.” Deliberately Eve glanced over her shoulder at Commander Oberman’s portrait. “I’d have thought you’d understand and respect that, particularly since Dad used to hold the chair.”

“You don’t want to bring my father into this.”

Sore spot, hot button, Eve thought when Renee’s voice vibrated. “You don’t want to stonewall me. I can, and I will, write both your men up for this, drag both your men into formal interview. I can and will charge them with trespassing, illegal entry, obstruction of justice—for a start—if I don’t get some answers.”

Renee swung around to stand behind her desk. “I’ll speak with my detectives on this matter, and get back to you with my findings.”

Oh, you’re pissed, Eve thought, and trying to convince both of us you’re in charge. “You’re not following me, Oberman. You will speak to your men, in my presence, now, or they will speak to me in my interview room, on record. Make a choice, and stop wasting my time.”