Purity in Death

  She started on the third stick. “Dukes called a lawyer. Jumped right on that. Whining harassment, making lawsuit noises that’ve put Franco and company into orbit.”

  “Was that unexpected?”

  “No, I expected it. I guess I hoped it would hold line until after the memorial.” She glanced back at the bereavement center. A few cops were heading out. Back to duty, she thought. Life didn’t always go on, but the job did.

  “He’s in it, Roarke. Dukes. Slides into the profile like it was a tailor-made suit. You know how you handled Jamie this morning, what I said about knocking him back, grinding him into dust, then building him up again? Dukes wouldn’t trouble himself with the last part of that cycle. My impression is he made his kid’s life a small, personal hell. I’m going to bring him down, and the rest of them with him.”

  She looked up, picked out the window of the room where she’d sat with Colleen Halloway. “I’m going to stop them. I need you to get me as much data and background on Donald Dukes as you can—within legal bounds.”

  “If you want it within legal bounds, why ask me instead of Feeney or McNab?”

  “Because I may be ordered to back off the Dukes, and if I am I can’t ask them. So I’m asking you in case it plays that way. Seems to me a guy with all your companies would always be on the lookout for a good computer scientist. You’d do a background check, employment check, and so on before you considered hiring anyone on, right?”

  “I certainly would. And I might casually mention some of that information to my wife.” He stroked a finger down her chin. “That’s very clever, Lieutenant.”

  “I want him in a box, and to get him there, I need all the angles. I’m going to have another talk with Clarissa Price this afternoon. She’s not going to be happy to see me. Then I may bounce on to Dwier.”

  She looked down at her hand. The remaining stick was now a blob, and a dead loss. “Well, yuck.”

  She dumped it in a recycler, cleaned her fingers with the water and napkins Roarke provided.

  “Hey, lady!” A man stuck his head out of his car window and shouted at her over the horns. “Why don’t you blast that asshole up there, give the resta us a fricking break?”

  “Your weapon’s showing,” Roarke told her, and she hitched the thin black jacket back over it.

  A quick scan and she spotted a couple of uniforms coming out of the center. “Yo!” She held up her badge. “Roust that delivery jerk up there. He doesn’t move along in one, slap him a ticket.”

  “You a fricking cop?” the man shouted.

  “No, I just like carrying a fricking badge and a blaster. Lay off the horn.” She turned back to Roarke, caught him grinning at her. “What?”

  “You’ve got chocolate on your fricking badge, Lieutenant.”

  “Damn it.” She’d nearly wiped it on her trousers before he snatched it out of her hand, used the last of the napkins. “Lift up your chin,” he ordered.

  “What? Is it on my face?”

  “No.” He leaned in—the perfect angle—and kissed her. “I just wanted to do that.”

  “Smart guy. Give me back my shield.”

  “It’s back in your pocket.”

  She checked, shook her head. “Go use those fast fingers of yours to get me some data. I’m going to go grab Peabody and head to Child Services.”

  “I’ll just see if McNab’s ready to go.”

  “You brought them in the limo, didn’t you?” she asked as they walked back.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’re spoiling my team.” She turned toward the door just as Whitney came out.

  “Lieutenant, Roarke. I thought you’d left.”

  “We were about to, Commander, as soon as I round up my team.”

  “Leave that to Roarke. Walk back to Central with me.”

  “Yes, sir. Tell Peabody to meet me at Central,” Eve told Roarke. She took a step, stopped. “Tell her to walk,” she added. “I don’t want you dropping her off in the limo.”

  “As you like, Lieutenant.” Roarke skimmed a finger over the dent in her chin. “I’ll see you at home. Jack.” He nodded at Whitney, then went inside.

  “From the looks at this traffic, he wouldn’t get a vehicle near Central for the next thirty minutes.”

  “He’d find a way,” Eve replied, “and it makes a damn spectacle.”

  “I prefer walking when I can manage it,” Whitney said as they started down the sidewalk. “You spent some time speaking with Halloway’s mother, alone.”

  “She’s got a lot of spine.”

  “Yes, she does. I believe you also spoke with the mayor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s understandably concerned about this situation.”

  “I think it’s fair to say we’re all understandably concerned about this situation.”

  “Our concerns may demonstrate themselves differently. You also spoke with Chang and the deputy mayor.”

  “We had words.”

  Whitney looked over at her. “You had words with a number of people today.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe the statement I gave Nadine Furst in response to the release by Purity was appropriate. It was also factual. Detective Halloway and his family deserve more than to have him used as a tool by terrorists to spread their message. The job owes him more than that.”

  “I’m very aware of what the job owes, Lieutenant.” He stopped at the crosswalk with a crowd of other pedestrians waiting for the light. “As it happens, I found nothing inappropriate about your statement, nor does the chief. The mayor’s office is less satisfied, but Chang is already working to maximize the effect in our favor. It matters,” Whitney said, though she hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t intended to.

  The crowd started the surge seconds before the light changed. Both Eve and Whitney moved through it, picking up the pace to break clear.

  “I could waste our time giving you the standard lines about politics, media relations, public relations, image and perception, and the often tricky dynamics between the NYPSD and the mayor’s office.”

  Whitney flipped credits out of his pocket and into a beggar’s cup without breaking stride. “But I won’t. You’re aware of all of this already, just as I’m aware you’re not particularly concerned with any of that. I will say it will be helpful and it will be simpler for all involved if you cooperated with Chang as much as possible. When it doesn’t impede or interfere with your investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As to the matter of your interview with Donald and Sylvia Dukes this morning.”

  “It wasn’t an interview, Commander, but a few informal questions in their home, and with their permission.”

  “You can play the semantics game when it suits you. Whatever term used, the files on Devin Dukes were sealed, and remain so at this time.”

  “Data isn’t always accessed through files, sir.”

  “Yes, you can play the game. Are you willing to divulge your source?”

  “No, sir, nor am I required to under Departmental Code 12, Article—”

  “Don’t quote departmental codes at me, Dallas.” He continued to walk easily, despite the pressing heat. But his tone took on an edge. “If it comes to a civil trial, both you and those codes will be tested.”

  “It won’t. Not only will the issue be moot when I charge Donald Dukes with conspiracy to commit, but he’s going to need to pool all his legal resources for his defense.”

  “He’s part of it?”

  “He’s up to his neck.”

  “The mother?”

  Eve shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s too passive. I’m doing a background to try to determine how skilled a programmer Duke might be. Regardless, I believe him to be a key player. He wouldn’t settle for less. I could break him in Interview. He’s angry and he’s arrogant, and he needs to be right. He doesn’t like women in authority, either, so that’ll push. Likes them in their proper place,” she continued, half to herself. “Wife’s all shined up lik
e a show dog, wearing an apron. Lip dye and earrings at nine in the morning.”

  “My wife puts on her makeup before breakfast.”

  “Weird. But nobody intimidates Mrs. Whitney. Nobody pushes her around.” Eve caught herself, winced. “No disrespect intended, Commander.”

  “None taken.”

  “I need a few more threads to tie Dukes, then I can bring him in.”

  “Find the threads, and make them strong ones.”

  “I think he’s maintained a relationship with the social worker and the cop who were on his son’s case. And I think they’re involved. I tie any one of them, I’ll tie them all.”

  They streamed through another intersection, turned west.

  “Make sure of it. A mistake will blow this up in our faces and you’ll take the brunt of that. On another matter, it was good to see McNab on his feet.”

  “Yes, sir, very good.”

  “He looks a little shaky yet.”

  “I’m keeping his workload light, and Peabody’s . . .” She clammed up, redirected. Must be something about walking outside like a couple of tourists that loosened her tongue, she decided. “Peabody’s taking up the slack.”

  “Do you think I’m unaware of the relationship between the EDD detective and your aide, Lieutenant?”

  Eve stared straight ahead. “I don’t like to talk about it. It makes me twitchy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Literally. I get this tic right under my eye every time . . . Nevermind. Both Detective McNab and Officer Peabody fulfill their duties in an exemplary fashion. I plan to submit Peabody’s name for consideration for promotion to Detective First Grade.”

  “How many years does she have in?”

  “Almost three, and over a year of that in Homicide. Her work and her record warrant the consideration, sir. If you could find time to look at her files, and my evaluations, and if you agree with my recommendation, she could start preparing for the test.”

  “I’ll let you know. Can you spare McNab for an hour, maybe two, this afternoon?”

  “Yes, sir, if necessary.”

  “Then I’m pulling him. He’ll do a one-on-one with Furst, in studio, in response to the statements issued this morning.”

  “Sir, that doesn’t go down easy. Putting him on display after his injuries? On the day of Halloway’s memorial?”

  “This is what’s known as compromise, Lieutenant.” His tone remained mild, a dash of ice water on the heat of hers. “Power and authority demand compromise. Do you doubt he can handle it? More, do you doubt he’ll stand for Halloway?”

  “No, sir, I don’t doubt it.”

  “You don’t like him being used as a symbol.” Whitney moved to the entrance of Cop Central. “But that’s what he is. And, Lieutenant, so are you.”

  Inside, he looked around the enormous lobby with its many data stations, animated locator maps. At the cops, at the victims, at the guilty.

  “And so,” he said, “is this. This stands for law and order, and it’s on display. It is, very simply, on trial due to the manipulations and maneuvers of a group of terrorists. It’s more than closing your case. It’s winning the verdict. Find the threads. If you’re going to take down the father of a dead teenager, be sure you tie them tight.”

  She decided to tie other threads by taking the time to write an official report on her morning activities. But when she walked into her office, Don Webster was at her desk.

  “I keep finding IAB in my chair, I’m going to have to have it replaced.”

  “Close the door, Dallas.”

  “I’ve got a report to write, then I have to get out in the field.”

  He got up, closed the door himself. “We’ll make this quick. I have to record this conversation.”

  “What’s this conversation, and why do you have to record it?”

  “It’s in regards to your access of data contained in sealeds. Take a minute to think,” he said before she could speak. “Take a minute to think before the recorder goes on.”

  “I don’t need a minute. Turn it on and get this over with. I have a few pesky murders to solve while you’re filing your internals.”

  “This is SOP. You know it. You had to know this was coming.”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think of it.” And she’d kick herself for that later. “Had a few things on my mind today.”

  “Have a seat.”

  “I’m not required to sit.”

  “Okay, fine.” He turned on his recorder. “Webster, Lieutenant, Donald, attached Internal Affairs Bureau in interview with Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Homicide, Cop Central, regarding the matter of Dukes, Donald, Sylvia, and minor son Devin, deceased. Lieutenant Dallas, do you wish to engage your departmental representative, or any outside legal representation for this interview?”

  “No.”

  “Did you, in your official capacity, visit the home of Donald and Sylvia Dukes”—he read off the address—“at approximately nine A.M. this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you, at that time, question the aforementioned individuals regarding incidents that involved their deceased minor son, Devin Dukes?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, but whether it was in annoyance or approval of her monosyllabic answers, she didn’t know. Or care.

  “Were you aware that the data regarding certain incidents pertaining to the minor on which you questioned the Dukes is in sealed files?”

  She didn’t bat an eyelash. “I was informed of this by Mr. Dukes at his residence this morning.”

  “You were not aware previously that this data was protected by seal?”

  “I deduced it was.”

  “How did you come by that deduction?”

  “As I could find no open files with the aforesaid data in my search for information in the course of my investigation.”

  Webster’s gaze stayed level with hers. “How did you obtain information on Devin Dukes?”

  “Through an outside source.”

  “From what source did you obtain this protected information?”

  “I’m not required to name a source utilized during an investigation, most specifically a priority investigation. This information is protected under Departmental Code Twelve, Article Eighty-Six B.”

  The monotone of his voice never changed. “You refuse to name your source?”

  “Yes. Doing so would compromise the source and my investigation.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, did you employ departmental equipment and/or sources to access sealed records?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did you, Lieutenant Dallas, break the seal to Devin Dukes’s files?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did you order any member of the NYPSD to do so?”

  “No.”

  “Did you coerce, bribe, threaten, or order any other individual to break the court’s seal on these files?”

  “No.”

  “Will you, should it be deemed necessary, submit to Truth Testing on this matter?”

  “I will not voluntarily submit to Testing, but will do so if ordered by my superiors.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant. Interview end. Record off. Good.”

  “Is that it?”

  “For now. Can I have a hit of your coffee?”

  She merely jerked a thumb at the AutoChef.

  He walked over, programmed a cup. “If this goes to court, the truth angle would be smart. Would you pass it?”

  “The interview’s over, Webster. I’ve got work.”

  “Look, I snagged this interview duty because I’m trying to give you a hand. IAB doesn’t follow through officially on something like this, it smells like coverup. Neither of us needs that.”

  Some of the anger she’d held in check during the questioning leaked through. “There’s a coverup, Webster, but it has to do with Purity hiding files under official seals, doing the legal tango to keep them sealed as long as possible to try to stall or im
pair this investigation. I got around them, and they don’t like it.”

  “You sniffing at any cops?” When she said nothing, merely sat and turned toward her computer, he kicked her desk. It was a gesture she understood, and had some respect for. “Is it so hard to believe I’m on your side in this?”

  “No. But I don’t toss cops to IAB. At least not until I’m sure. If I find any who’re part of this, I’ll carry them to you on my back. But not until I know, without a shadow, they’re dirty.”

  He sipped coffee. She could literally see him using it to calm himself down, smooth out the edges. “If you’ve got names, I could look into it unofficially.”

  She studied his profile. He would, she decided. “I believe you, and I appreciate it. But I’ve got some angles to work first. If I hit a wall and think you can help, I’ll tag you. Are you done with Trueheart?”

  “Yeah, he’s cleared for duty. Kid didn’t deserve to take this spin through the wringer.”

  “As long as he came out the other side. I’ve got work, Webster.”

  He started for the door. “If there are cops in this, I want them.”

  “Get in line,” she answered, then made her first call.

  While she waited for a response, she drafted out her report, referring back to her own record to be sure she didn’t leave out even the smallest detail.

  She refined it, logged it, and transmitted the appropriate copies. When she got clearance, she contacted Trueheart.

  “I need a uniform,” she said briskly. “Grunt and drone work. Report to Detective Baxter, my home office.”

  “Sir, I’m assigned to dispatch duty until further notice.”

  “This is your further notice. I’ve cleared it. My home office, Officer, ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “See if you thank me after you put in a few hours with Baxter.”

  She broke transmission then went out to scoop up Peabody.

  “Peabody, you’re with me.”

  “Sir.” It was all Peabody said until they were in Eve’s vehicle. “I didn’t want to mention anything inside the building, just in case. Baxter passed some info to me for you. About Detective Sergeant Dwier.”