Purity in Death

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Unit's a dead loss." Roarke had yet to button his shirt, however he had removed the sensors. "But it gave its life for a good cause."

He turned one of the discs in his hand. "These should be clean-nothing on that program was geared to the external drive. But they should be labeled and set aside for testing after we've managed to extract the entire program. Hard copy will do for now. Jamie, you can start inputting the data in the morning."

"I can start now."

"You'll have some supper, then a two-hour recreation break. If you feel like putting an hour in after that-an hour only-that's fine. In bed, lights out, by midnight. If you don't rest your brain, it won't be of any use to me."

"Man, my mother isn't even that strict."

"I'm not your mother. Feeney-"

"You don't want to tell me when to go to bed, kid. I'm old enough to beyour mother."

"I was going to ask if you could do with a meal. I imagine we all could."

"Hold it. Just hold it." Frustrated, Eve held up both hands. "Nobody eats anything until I get an explanation. What did you get, and what does it mean? And if I hear one word of computerese, everybody gets rabbit food."

"Talk about strict," Jamie countered.

"Tell me," ordered Eve.

"He got the frequency," McNab told her. "And the spectrum. Another minute, tops, we'd've had the pulse and speed."

"Basically, Lieutenant." Roarke tugged the band out of his hair so it fell like black rain. "With a little more finessing, we've got your virus."

"Did you get the method of infection?" she asked.

"Possibly. There's data to analyze, but from the look I could get on the scroll, I'm putting my money on the simplicity of e-mail."

"They e-mailed it? Fucking e-mail?" Eve had wanted simple, but this… this was almost insulting. "You can't infect that way. CompuGuard-"

"Has never seen the likes of this," Roarke interrupted. "My guess would be…" He trailed off, gestured. "Go ahead, Jamie, before you erupt."

"Okay, see what it looks like-and I have to figure out how to do it-is they cloaked a doc, micro'ed and stealthed-"

"Do you want to eat radishes and lettuce?" Eve asked mildly.

"Right." He adjusted his brain to lay terms. "So they attached the virus to the e-mail, only it didn't show up as having an attachment, doesn't alert the receiver. Sender can check if it went in just by doing the standard scan on when the mail was read. Had to download fast, really fast, without showing the operator what it was doing. It had to talk to the unit, temporarily at least shut down the prompts and alerts for a download. Then it filed itself, as a document, an invisible document in the main drive program. It wouldn't register on a standard doc search and scan. It doesn't ID. It's just there, like lurking and doing its job. It's way radical."

"Okay, I follow that." Eve looked at Roarke. "If this could be done, how come you didn't know about it?"

"Lieutenant, I am chagrined."

"Me, I'm just starved." Jamie patted his belly. "Got any pepperoni pizza?"

Eve had a couple of slices herself, bided her time through the noisy, confused meal, let her mind drift to the case, away from it, back again.

She wasn't sure when it struck her-maybe when Feeney casually speared some of the pasta off Roarke's plate, or when Jamie dumped another slice of pizza on McNab's as he stretched across the table for another for himself. Maybe it had always been there, and just chose that moment to clarify.

Mira had said it on the terrace. Family.

This was what families did, she realized. This was what she'd never experienced as a child. Noisy, messy dinners with everyone talking over everyone else, which wasn't as annoying as it should've been.

Stupid jokes and casual insults.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of it when it applied to herself, but she could see what it might do to that pattern when something or someone damaged a part of the whole.

It would fall apart. Temporarily for those who were strong enough to glue it all back into pattern or make another. Permanently for those who couldn't. Or wouldn't.

She glanced at McNab. Even here, with all the chatter, there was a smear of worry over it all. If that one part of them stayed broken, the rest would tumble down like tiles. They'd form a new pattern-that was the job-but they'd never forget the way it had been.

She pushed back from the table. "I've got some stuff I need to do."

"The Walking Dead said there was chocolate cake."

"Jamie," Roarke said mildly.

"Sorry," Jamie said reluctantly. "Mister Walking Dead, also known as Summerset, said there was chocolate cake."

"And if you eat it all, I'll kill you in your sleep. Then you can join The Walking Dead. Roarke, I need to talk to you."

As they started out, she heard Jamie ask: "Think they're gonna go do it?" And heard the quick slap of Feeney's hand on the teenaged skull.

"Are we going to go do it?" Roarke grabbed her hand.

"Want me to have Feeney knock you, too?"

"I'm a bit quicker than Jamie yet. But I take that to mean we're not going back upstairs for a fast tumble."

"How many times a day do you think about sex?"

He gave her a considering look. "Would that be actively thinking of it, or just having the concept of it lurking there, like Jamie's invisible document?"

"Never mind. Did you see Mira before?"

"I didn't, no. I was in the lab. Sorry I missed her. Peabody said Mavis stopped by as well, and needed a private word with you. Is she all right?"

"She's knocked…" She didn't have time for that little routine again. "She's pregnant."

"What?" He stopped in his tracks.

It was always a treat, a rare one, to see him stupefied. "Totally pregs, as she puts it. On purpose, too."

"Mavis? Our Mavis?"

"One and the same. She came in jumping and spinning and dancing. I don't know if she should be bouncing around like that now. Seems like you could, I don't know, dislodge the thing in there. She's really hyped."

"Well, this is… lovely," he decided. "Is she well?"

"I guess. Looks great anyway. Said she was puking in the mornings, but she liked it. I don't get that."

"No, I can't say I do either. We'll take them out to dinner as soon as we're able. I should check on her performance and recording schedule." He knew every bit as much about the care and feeding of expectant mothers as Eve did. Which was nothing. "I don't suppose she should be overdoing."

"If this afternoon was any gauge, she's got enough energy for both of them, and then some."

When they stepped into her office, she shut the door. The action made him lift a brow. "As you've vetoed sex, I assume you want privacy for a less pleasurable reason."

"They're blocking my warrant, and when you've got two bureaucracies duking it out in court, you can die from natural causes before there's a ruling. I had a brief consult with Mira. I've still got to read her profile, but she gave me the gist in the oral. I got Baxter's take."

"Eve, what is it you want me to do that you'd prefer not wanting me to do?"

"People are dying, right now. They don't know it, but they're infected, and for some it's already too late. It's going to keep spreading. A good cop is dead. Another… another who's a friend of mine-and Jesus, I can't believe I'm friends with such an idiot-may not walk again under his own power. Some of the answers to who's doing this are in those sealed files."

"Then we'll break the seal."

She stared at him, then cursing, spun away. "And what makes me any different from them? I'm willing to slide around the law because I think I'm right."

"Because they're killing people."

"I can tell myself that. But it's just a matter of degrees."

"The hell it is. You'll always have a conscience, and you'll always question the right and wrong of it. Worry it to death, and yourself with it. You know how far to push the line before it breaks, Eve. You'll never break it. You can't."

She closed her eyes. "I said something similar to Baxter. They're using the law to slow me down. I can't let them."

"It would be best if we used the unregistered."

She nodded. "Let's get it done."

The room was accessible only by voice and palmprints. Only three people were cleared for entry.

There was a single window, wide and uncovered to the dying evening. But she knew it was privacy treated to prevent anyone nervy enough to try a flyby from seeing in.

The room itself was designed almost rigidly. This was work space. Serious space. There was a wide, U-shaped console in sleek black that commanded all the research, retrieval, communication, and data systems. Systems unregistered with CompuGuard, and therefore illegal.

The first time she'd seen it, well over a year before, even she'd recognized the level of equipment as superior to anything in Central. Since then, some units had been upgraded.

She imagined there were some toys in here not yet on the market.

There were comp stations with monitors, a holo unit, a smaller auxiliary station, which now boasted its own miniholo.

Crossing the glassed black tile, she studied the new addition. "Never seen one like this."

"Prototype. I wanted to run some tests on it without documenting them. It seems to be working out nicely."

"It's really small."

"We're working on smaller yet. Palm-sized."

She glanced up. "Get out. Palms with full holofunction?"

"Three years, maybe less, and you'll be slipping one into your pocket just like your 'link." He placed his palm on the console's identi-screen. "Roarke. Open operations."

The console came to life with lights. Eve walked over to join him, laid down her palm. "Dallas."

Identification verified, Darling Eve.

She hissed. "Why do youdo that? It's embarrassing."

"Darling Eve, the computer, however brilliant, is an inanimate object and can't embarrass anyone. Where would you like to start?"

"Start with Cogburn. He was their first. You can pull the data off my unit." She gave Roarke the case number and the file number for her notes.

He had them accessed, copied, and displayed in almost less time than it had taken her to give him the numbers.

"You see his sheet? I've made notations of the case files that connect him to the other victims through arresting officers, social workers, legal, medical. Baxter's started interviews where we have vic ID, but he hasn't gotten a bump."

"Bump."

"The vibe."

"No bump on the vic," Roarke repeated with a chuckle. "And you threatened rabbit food for comp jargon."

"Jeez. Upon interviewing identified victims related to this matter, Detective Baxter found no connection to The Purity Seekers, nor felt any indication of connection from statements, attitude, or background checks."

"I got it the first time, darling, but it's such fun to hear you explain it to me in such official tones."

"Moving on," she continued. "The incident reports list interviews with two additional minors. Records sealed."

"It'll take me a few minutes."

"Yeah. I'll get the coffee."

"Let's have some wine instead," he said as he began to work on a keyboard. "I'd prefer not to get buzzed on caffeine."

"I need to keep sharp."

"Any sharper, you'd be drawing blood. Now this is interesting."

"What?"

"There's a secondary block on this file. That's not usual for a standard seal. Damn good block, too. Well now." He rolled his shoulders like a boxer about to enter the ring.

"When was it put on?" She hurried back to lean over his shoulder. "Can you tell when it was put on?"

"No talking." He brushed her back, and continued to work one-handed. "Yes, indeed, I've seen your work before, haven't I? You're good, very, very good. But…"

"He gets to talk," Eve grumbled and because watching the speed of his fingers flying over keys made her antsy, she went to get the wine.

"Got him." Roarke sat back a moment, reached out a hand without glancing at her to take the glass of wine. "Wouldn't have been quite that quick if I hadn't already dealt with his work on those two units in the lab."

Now, there's a bump, she thought. "You're sure of that?"

"A good compu-jock has a style. Take my word for it, the block was added by the tech who designed the virus. Or techs. I doubt this was the work of one."

"Organized, thorough, and skilled." Eve nodded. "And careful. Let's see who they wanted to hide."

"Screen Three. Display."

"Devin Dukes," Eve read. "Twelve at the time of the incident." She scanned the data quickly to get to the meat. "Okay, Cogburn sold him some Jazz. Parents-Sylvia and Donald-turned it up, confronted the kid, pressed the right buttons, and got the story. Brought the kid in to make the complaint, and DS Dwier caught the case."

"Might've been wiser to leave the cops out of it."

She looked back, coolly. "Excuse me?"

"Just a thought. Dragging the boy into a cop shop, putting him in the system. Put his back up, wouldn't it?"

"A crime had been committed."

"Absolutely. I just wonder if it might have been simpler and cleaner to stand the kid on his head, so to speak, at home initially rather than having him surrounded by badges and reports."

"We rarely torture minors these days. They break down so easy, it's not much fun."

"Torture has a different definition for a boy of twelve. But…" He shrugged his shoulders, elegantly. "That's hardly to our point, is it? It seems a relatively small occurrence to go to such trouble to lock away."

"Cogburn was brought in, ID'd, charged," Eve continued. "But the parents had flushed the evidence. Cogburn maintained that he'd been drinking in a bar at the time the kid stated the buy went down. Bartender backs Cogburn. Probably bullshit. Places like that will back Jack The Ripper if Jack spreads enough grease. Dwier messed this up."

Annoyance edged her voice. "He shouldn't have charged Cogburn so fast. Why didn't he work him first, work the bartender? Hang back, scope out his routine, snatch him up doing another deal? Pop a charge on him like that, he lawyers up, clams up. He knows Dwier's got nothing but the kid's word. And see here, you've got the Child Services report. Clarissa Price. Says the minor was reluctant, defiant, uncooperative. Confrontational with parents. Recommends family counseling and yadda-yadda. Dwier needed to sweat Cogburn because his witness was hostile and worthless."

"Which is something like saying his back was up. Look further," he said before she could snarl at him, "into the CS report. Price states the boy's schoolwork has been in steady decline. His attitude at school, and at home, poor. Brooding in his room, picking fights. And so on. The root of the problem wasn't in buying the Jazz, the root was in the boy, and at home."

"Maybe so, but the result was the parents overreacted, the cop jumps too fast, social worker mouths platitudes, and the system fails the kid."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I see Dwier didn't do his damn job on this one, but I don't know how I see the whole picture." She studied the data, absently twirling a lock of Roarke's hair around her finger. "I know they're seeing the last part. System fails. But you're right, this isn't enough to hide. So there's more. Let's dig into Fitzhugh's sheet."

Roarke found more blocks there as well. But he had the groove now and broke them quickly. "Minor complainants, Jansan, Rudolph… ah here we are. Sylvia and Donald Dukes, filing on behalf of their fourteen-year-old son, Devin."

"Yeah, yeah, CS rep, Price, investigating officer DS Dwier. Click, click, click."

"There's a-"

"No talking," she ordered.

"Touche," he retorted, and sat back to watch her work.

"Kid ends up at the health center this time. Sodomized, facial bruising, sprained wrist. Tox report… got himself Jazzed again, and chased it with alcohol. Got some body piercing now. Cock and nipple ornaments. Dwier catches it again. But look here, Price tagged him, specifically. Something going on between them."

She pulled out her memo book, began to take notes as she scanned data. "Doctor determines rape-Stanford Quillens. We'll see if he pops up again. But they don't shake Fitzhugh's name out of the kid for twenty-four hours. Doesn't want to talk about it. Why do they think you want to talk about it? Gang up on him at home the next day. Price, Dwier, the parents, rape counselor, who's this? Marianna Wilcox. Should've gotten a male counselor. He doesn't want to spill this to a female. Are they just stupid? Computer, copy text of victim interview to my home unit."

But she read it through from where she stood. It gave her a sour taste in the mouth, a greasy feeling in the gut. So many of the questions were familiar. The same had been asked of her once.

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?

WE WANT TO HELP YOU, BUT YOU NEED TO TELL US WHAT HAPPENED.

YOU'LL FEEL BETTER ONCE YOU GET IT OUT.

"Bullshit, bullshit, you don't feel better. Sometimes you never feel better. Why don't they say it like it is? You've been fucked over, kid, and we're real sorry we have to fuck you over again. Tell us how it was, and don't spare the details, so we can write it all up and make it real all over again."

"Eve."

She shook her head fiercely. "They've got good intentions. Most of them anyway. But they don'tknow. "

"This boy isn't like you." He was standing behind her now, laid his hands on her shoulders and began to rub. "He's troubled, and looking for trouble. I know about that. Surely he got more than he deserved in that area, but he isn't like you."

She calmed, leaned back against him. "Not like you either. You were smarter, meaner, and you weren't gay."

"No arguing with that." He kissed the top of her head. "His confusion over his sexuality is likely the cause for most of his behavior and the consequences of it."

"That and his parents. You got Donald here, eight years military service. Marines. Once a marine, always a marine. Mom takes the professional mother route. They put you in private schools, three in five years. Pull you out into home schooling two months before the incident with Fitzhugh. He's got a kid brother here. Three years younger. No problem there, at least that's showing up on personal data. But they yank him into home schooling, too. Taking no chances."

"You did note the father's profession?"

"Yeah, computer scientist. Click, click." She turned away to get her coffee, remembered it was wine. Frowning a little, she settled for it.

"Devin rolls on Fitzhugh, claims he was picked up at a club after he snuck out of the house. Admits he showed fake ID, admits he was a little buzzed, and that Fitzhugh says how he's having a party at his place. He goes with him. Most of that's probably solid, but then it gets smokey. He claims Fitzhugh got him stoned, but the tox level's too low for the way he plays it. He was zonked, didn't know what was going on. Fitzhugh got him into the playroom, got him in restraints. He tried to get away, but Fitzhugh overpowered him, knocked him around, then raped him."

"It wouldn't be the first time. Wolves hunt sheep. It's their nature."

"But it didn't go down like that here. Dwier had to know it didn't go down just like that. Maybe it was rape, kid was a minor so consensual or not, Fitzhugh's a pig. But he didn't knock Devin around. The father did. You look at Fitzhugh's sheet. He never beat on his victims. He didn't use force. He used persuasion, bribery, threats. Trying to make the case with force was one of the reasons they lost him."

"So you read this as Dwier, probably along with the Dukes and Price, tried to build their case out of straw, and the wolf blew it down."

She sat on the console. "Lies, half-truths, and lousy police work. I guess that's straw. I'll tell you how it went down. Kid sneaks out of the house. Probably he's done it dozens of time. They try to cage him in, but he's not having it. He's not his goddamn father. He's not his angel-face baby shithead brother. He heads to a club that caters to same-sex orientation. He's not looking for a girl. Fitzhugh's trolling and smells fresh meat. Buys the kid a drink, maybe offers him some illegals. Come up to my place, there's more where that came from. Kid keeps the nice, steady buzz going, and Fitzhugh does what Fitzhugh does. Buzz is wearing off."

"It's no prettier a picture painted your way."

"No prettier," Eve agreed. "But it's the right picture. Kid's fourteen. He's angry, he's confused, he's ashamed.He goes home, sneaks back in. But he's busted. He smells of the alcohol and the sex, and the father loses his temper. Grabs him by the wrist, slaps him. Tears, shouts, recriminations. Probably some name-calling the father regretted after. Take him to the health center, order him to say the minor injuries were a result of the sexual assault. He's caused the family enough trouble, damn it, and he's going to do what he's told."

"And in the end," Roarke continued, "it fell apart. Fitzhugh walked, because among other things, the others were too busy protecting their image."

"Yeah, which makes me feel better about going over to their place tomorrow and questioning the family. They won't be the only ones. Let's find the others."

"I've set up the search already, adding in George's file." He smiled at her, moved in, nudging her knees apart so he could fit his body between them. "It'll mark blocked sealeds, and I've input the series of commands to bypass the block, open the seal."

"Busy fingers."

"And they've life in them yet." He slid them under her shirt. "It'll take a bit of time to finish tasking. Just, I'd say, enough time."

"I'm on duty."

"Me, too." He eased in and found, with his mouth, the spot just under her jawline he liked best. "Why don't you give me an order, Lieutenant?" His fingers skimmed over her breasts, her sides, and around her back to dance along her spine.

The thrill rushed after them. She knew what he was doing-washing away the shadows of the picture they'd just painted. Bringing up the strong, clear colors of their own.

"Cut that out." She angled her head so his lips could trail up. "In a minute."

"That's pushing even my speed and agility, but we'll start with a minute." He caught her earlobe between his teeth. "And see how it goes."

Her brain was starting to fog up, her body starting to rev. "God, you're good at this."

"Is that going into my official file as a…" His mouth found hers, sank in. "… expert consultant, civilian?"

"I'll keep it in my personal records." Her breath caught. How the hell had he gotten her shirt off so fast? "This is… we can't do this on a command console."

"I think we could." He'd already unhooked her trousers. "But it does lack a little something. Hitch on," he said, and gave her hips a boost until her legs were wrapped around his waist.

"Minute's gotta be up," she whispered, but couldn't resist nibbling at his throat.

"Let's see if we can make time stop."

He opened a wall panel. A bed slid out. When he tumbled her to the mattress, she kept her legs and arms hooked around him and used the momentum to roll on top of him.

"It's going to be fast," she warned him.

"I can live with that."

She tore open his shirt, ran her hands in one hard sweep over his chest, then lowered to scrape her teeth over flesh.

The taste of him was already a part of her, lived inside her. Still she always wanted more. And took more, crushing her mouth to his until the heat drenched her.

She could feel it pump from him, from her as mouths and hands turned greedy. It fueled her, pulsing through her system like a slap of adrenaline.

When he flipped her to drag at her trousers, she dragged at his. Her heart hammered under his restless mouth. His muscles tensed under her impatient hands.

They tugged, pulled, yanked and ripped so that she was naked and laughing when she rolled again to straddle him. Laughter became a purr of pleasure as she took him inside her.

She clenched around him and drove him mad with need. Rearing up, he clamped his mouth on her breast, sucking her in until it felt as though he could feed on her heartbeat. The flavor, the heat, the scent of mate. She arched, letting him fill her.

Then began to move.

She drove him back, braced her hands on either side of his head and used her hips to set a furious pace.

The thrill, the dark and dangerous edge of it, sliced through him. Her face was alive, so alive with purpose and pleasure. And she rode him as if their lives depended on it.

The air thickened, his vision dimmed. She was a blur of white and gold.

"You go over." Her voice was raw. "You let go."

His body plunged to hers. He thought it was like being swallowed alive. He heard her cry out as she dived after him.

He drew her down, drew her in while they drifted back.

"Sex is funny," she murmured.

"I'm still laughing."

She snorted and turned her face into the side of his neck for a moment. "Yeah, that was a really good joke, but I meant sometimes it knocks you flat so you feel like you could sleep for a month. Other times it pumps you up so you feel like you could run a marathon. I wonder why that is?"

"I couldn't say, but I have a feeling this one falls into the latter category."

"Yeah, I'm stoked." She shifted, planted a quick, hard kiss on his mouth. "Thanks."

"Oh, whatever I can do to help."

"Well, you can get your great-looking ass up so I can see the rest of the data." She sucked in a cheerful breath, then rolled away. "I want coffee."

"It's going to be a long night. Why don't we get some of that cake to go with it?"

She grabbed her shirt. "Good thinking."

Between the sex and caffeine, her energy level stayed high until after three a.m. She had six more names on her list, and had no doubt there were more. The game plan was already formed in her head.

She'd start in the morning with the Dukes.

When she reached for yet another cup of coffee, Roarke simply pushed it out of her reach. "You're cut off, Lieutenant, and going off duty."

"I've got another hour in me."

"You don't, no. You've gone pale, which is a sure sign you've hit the wall. You need some sleep or you won't be sharp tomorrow. You'll have to be if you're going to do what I assume you're going to do and push for interviews with these families. Will you take Peabody?"

He asked more to distract her than a need to know. He shut down the equipment, slid an arm around her waist.

"I've been going back and forth on that. If I take her, I'm putting her in the squeeze. If I don't, she'll be pissed and sulk. She's really annoying when she's sulking."

He had her in the elevator before she realized it. Which proved, she supposed, that she'd lost her edge for the night.

"I guess I'll leave it up to her. Or maybe I'll…"

"Decide in the morning," he finished, and steered her off to bed.