Purity in Death

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"During the course of investigating the Greene/Wade homicides," Eve began, "I found Greene's financials didn't jibe with his lifestyle. Even assuming a substantial unreported income through his alleged dealings in illegals and sexual services, purchases, and other assets accumulated over the previous year far exceeded any projected monies."

"You assumed he had another source," Whitney put in.

"Yes, sir. During the initial search and sweep of the premises-"

"Lieutenant." Tibble held up a hand to stop her. "Is there a reason you're taking us down the long road here?"

"I think my findings in this matter are going to require a solid foundation."

"Fine. But there's no need for the formalities. Just lay it out."

"Yes, sir. We found a safe when we did the first pass. There wasn't enough in it as review of the security tapes showed us three probable deals going down in his digs during the last week. He didn't go out himself, so he wouldn't have made any deposits. The guy dealt in cash primarily. No way he's going to hand his take over to a teenager he found in a club and trust her to dump it into his safebox or dummy account. Had to be another cache in his place, just like there had to be another source of income. Given the type of clientele he serviced, blackmail seemed the most logical sideline."

"You felt this assumed sideline connected with Purity?" Tibble asked her.

"It's not enough to connect, to investigate the big picture. Each case has to be handled individually, by the numbers, or you miss details."

Tibble nodded. "Since we're here, I assume you didn't miss the details."

"I returned to Greene's condo, with the civilian consultant. We located the second safe. I logged those contents at that time, and have updated the log as I reviewed those contents. It contained eight hundred and sixty-five thousand in cash, a code for a safebox at the Security National Bank, 88th Street branch, five data discs, and twelve video discs."

She gestured to her desk. "All contents are logged and sealed, as is my record of their confiscation from the safe."

"Since you're being very cautious, Lieutenant, those contents must be hot."

She met Whitney's eyes. "They are. The data discs contain his underground books. He kept good records. They also contain his daily journals. His deterioration from the infection is well documented on them, demonstrating increasing pain, paranoia, anger and confusion."

"And the vids," Tibble said. "Blackmail?"

"Yes, sir. I did ID search and matches on the individuals recorded by Greene. There's little doubt they were unaware they were being recorded during their activities as said activities were extremely graphic in nature. Some of the recordings take place at an as yet unknown location, others in the spare bedroom at Greene's condo. On those vids are a number of very prominent citizens recorded in compromising, illegal, and/or embarrassing sexual situations. Among them are a criminal court judge, the wife of a college professor and vocal Conservative Party supporter who I believe I can and will connect to Clarissa Price, a well-known media personality, and the Mayor of New York."

"Oh, Christ." Tibble stared for a full five seconds, then pressed his fingers to his temples. "This is a confirmed ID on Peachtree?"

"Yes, sir. I recognized him, but followed up with an image scan."

"Then it's a fucking mess." He dropped his hands. "All right, the idiot cheated on his wife and got recorded."

"Sir. It's a little more… involved than straightadultery."

"Spell it out, Dallas," Whitney said impatiently. "We're grown-ups here."

"He was dressed in women's clothes and had a sweaty sexual session with another man, which included a little dominance and punishment and, um, oral gratification and consummation."

"It just gets better and better." As if tired, Tibble sat back, rested his head on the cushion of his chair as he studied the ceiling. "Mayor Steven Peachtree is a transvestite who was being blackmailed by a sex and illegals broker who's now dead, and whose death was precipitated by a terrorist organization now responsible for seven murders."

"In a nutshell," Eve agreed.

"The media gets ahold of this…" He shook his head, pushed to his feet. He paced to her window. "It's over for him, one way or the other. Even the talented Chang won't be able to spin him out of the toilet. The city's in enough of an uproar without this. We keep it quiet, for now."

"I need to interview him, Chief, as well as the other individuals on vid."

Tibble looked over his shoulder, studied her face. "You believe Peachtree is involved in Purity? The Mayor, setting a terrorist organization loose on his own city? He may have shown extremely poor judgment in a personal matter, but he's not stupid enough to piss in his own pool."

Why not? she thought. You use a sex broker to fulfill your dream-date fantasy, you're stupid enough for anything. "I can't make that determination until after he's interviewed."

"You want to drag him into a major homicide investigation because he wore a goddamn bra."

She felt her patience drying up, hulling out like a grape in the sun. "Sir, I don't care if he dresses up like a shepherdess and seduces his flock on his downtime. Unless doing so puts him into my case. It's my allegation, as primary in this matter, that Purity has people of power, authority, and influence among their members. My request for a warrant to open sealed juvenile files has been blocked, and continues to be blocked beyond all reasonable objections. Warrants to view files at Child Services have also been blocked or denied. These blocks impede the forward course of my investigation."

"You found a way around them with Dukes."

She took a deep breath. "Yes, sir, I did. And I'll continue to find ways around them. Seven people, including a police officer, are dead. I'll continue to find a way until I have the answers and justice is served. The Mayor of New York is now a suspect in this investigation whether it suits you or not."

"Chief Tibble." Whitney got to his feet, very nearly gave into the urge to step between them like a referee at a boxing match. "Lieutenant Dallas is right."

Tibble swung his searing gaze onto Whitney. "Do you think I don't know she's right? For Christ's sake, Jack, I've carried tin longer than she's been alive. I know she's right. I also know we'll be digging ourselves out of the fallout for months once this hits. Transvestite terrorist. Sweet Jesus, can you imagine what the media will do with it?"

"The media doesn't concern me."

Tibble turned to Eve. "If you want to climb up the ladder, it better. You'd be wearing bars now if you paid more attention to perception and image. You've made choices that have prevented you from being the youngest female captain in the NYPSD."

"Harry."

Tibble waved off Whitney's quiet objection, turned away again. "I'll apologize for that. This has blindsided me. I work with the man. I can't say we're friends, but we're certainly friendly. I know his family. I believed I knew him. I'd like some coffee. Black, no sugar. If you don't mind."

Eve said nothing, didn't trust herself to speak. Instead she walked into the kitchen, programmed the AutoChef while temper warred with training.

They could take their captain's bars and shove them.

She came back in. As Tibble was once again facing the window, she set his coffee on her desk, then handed Whitney a second cup.

"Am I ordered to ignore the evidence that has come into my hands and detour from the investigative route that leads to Mayor Steven Peachtree?"

"I have no doubt, Lieutenant," Tibble said with his back to the room, "that were I to issue that order you would disobey said command or throw your badge in my face. As I believe you're angry enough at the moment to choose the latter, I'll apologize once again."

"I had no right to personalize this, nor to take my frustrations out on you. I will say there are shades of right, Lieutenant Dallas, and the higher you climb, the more shades there are, and the deeper they get."

"I'm aware of the difficulty of the situation, and your position, Chief Tibble."

"But mostly you think it's bullshit." He spread his lips in the grin that had terrified both cop and criminal over the years. He walked over, picked up his coffee, and drank. "And mostly you're right. No, Lieutenant, you are not ordered to ignore the evidence that came into your hands."

Without thinking, he sat behind her desk. "I am asking you to delay that interview until I speak with the mayor. Any portion of the conversation that is salient to your investigation will be relayed to you. It's not just the man, but the office. The office requires some respect and protection. I hope you can trust me to separate man from office and conduct this preliminary questioning personally."

"I believe you're more than capable of handling such questioning, sir. How do you want me to handle the other individuals identified on the videos?"

"Discreetly. I need copies of those vids, your notes, and files."

"I have them available for you."

He took the evidence bag she offered. "Jack, it looks like we're going to start the day with some porn."

"I ended mine with it," Eve said and made Tibble roar with laughter.

"Job's never dull."

"How much am I cleared to tell my team?"

"Trust is a two-way street. I leave that to you." He rose. "If Peachtree's part of this, we'll take him down. You have my word on it." He held out a hand.

"We'll take them all down, sir. You've got mine on that."

After they'd left, Eve called Peabody into her office.

"Sit down," she ordered, then as Tibble had done, she took the position of command behind her desk. "New data has come to light that may have a direct bearing on this investigation. I'm not free to share all the details of this data with you at this time, but you'll be accompanying me today on what will be a number of sensitive interviews. Until I give you clearance, you're to say nothing of this to other team members."

"You're not bringing the team in?"

"Not at this time. This is Code Five. Any record I order you to make will be sealed."

Peabody choked back the dozen questions leaping to her tongue. "Yes, sir."

"Before we start on this new round of interviews, we'll do a followup with Dukes. He needs a push. And I figure to round off the day with Price and Dwier. Like, I don't know, bookends."

"Is what's between the bookends connected to the whole?"

"It's all connected. I'll fill you in, as much as I'm able, on the way to the Dukes."

"Blackmail," Peabody said at the first stoplight on route. "Greene sure had his fingers in a lot of nasty pies."

"Lucrative pies. Raked in over three million annually with this scam."

"You think Purity infected him because of the blackmail?"

"Yeah, I do. Look at the others. Those were child predators. Greene, he dealt some in the adolescent arena, but the bulk of his clientele and employees were adults."

"You said you thought Purity would start expanding their criteria."

"And they will. Not this soon. There are plenty more in Fitzhugh's ilk to keep them busy. Greene teeters on the line. I think someone, maybe more than one, had personal reasons for wanting Greene dead. Eliminating another scumbag was a factor, but ditching a blackmail payment, and the threat of exposure, makes a real nice bonus. But it was stupid. A mistake. Killing the blackmailer before you destroy the evidence that ties you to him."

"Can you tell me if Dukes was on the blackmail list?"

"No. But he knows how it's done. He knows who's been infected or scheduled for infection. He's part of the foundation, so we shake him. Or his wife. She's a weak point."

"You think she'll roll on him?"

"She might, if she's scared enough. She's not a player, but she knows Dukes-his schedule, his habits. How else could she tailor the household to suit him? And if he thinks we're pushing her, he might get pissed enough to slip up. He's got a hot button."

Eve hunted up a parking spot, then jaywalked diagonally across the street toward the Dukes's residence. The first thing she noticed were the wilted flowers by the door.

"They're gone."

Peabody followed the direction of Eve's cold stare. "Maybe she forgot to water them."

"No, she wouldn't forget. Probably has a daily duty list. Damn it. Damn it." She rang the buzzer anyway, waited, rang again.

"Curtains are still at the windows." Peabody craned her neck to see inside. "Furniture's still in there."

"They left it. Got out fast. They were probably packed and gone within twenty-four hours of our first visit."

She started working the street, knocking on doors until one opened for her. She offered her badge to a snowy-haired woman in a pink tracksuit.

"Is something wrong? Has there been an accident? My husband-"

"No, ma'am. Nothing's wrong. I'm sorry to alarm you. I'm looking for some of your neighbors. The Dukes. They don't answer their door."

"The Dukes." She patted her hair as if to stir her thoughts. "I'm not sure I… oh, of course. Of course. I saw the story on the media report. Oh dear, you're the policewoman they're going to sue."

"I don't believe any legal action has been taken as yet. Do you know where they are?"

"Goodness. I don't really know them. Pretty young woman. I'd see her walking to the market every Monday and Thursday. Nine-thirty. You could set your wrist unit by her. But now that you mention it, I don't know the last time… They lost their older son, didn't they? They only moved in two years ago. I never knew a thing about it. They didn't really talk to any of the neighbors. Some people never do. It's a terrible, terrible thing to lose a child."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'd see him come and go now and then. Didn't look like a very kind sort of man. On Sundays they'd all go out together. Ten o'clock sharp. To church, I imagine from the way they were dressed. Back by twelve-thirty. You never saw the boy playing outside, with other children. I never saw another child go into that house."

She sighed, staring across the street now. "I suppose they kept him close, afraid something would happen to him, too. Hold on, there's Nita coming out. My jogging partner."

She waved wildly at the woman who came out of a building directly across the street. She, too, wore a track-suit. In powder blue.

"Nita doesn't miss a trick," the other woman said out of the corner of her mouth. "You ask her about them."

"Getting yourself arrested?" Nita said cheerfully when she joined them. "Better lock her up tight, Officer. Sal's a slippery one."

"We'll talk about slippery later," Sal told her. "They're asking about the Dukes. Two doors down from you."

"They went on a trip a couple days ago. Loaded up the car with suitcases. Wife wasn't too happy about it, if you ask me. She'd been crying. That would've been… let me think. Wednesday. Wednesday morning, bright and early. I was out front watering my pots when I saw them loading up."

"Did you notice anyone visiting them prior to that?"

"Saw you," Nita said with a grin. "The morning before. Got the commandant pretty stirred up from what I saw on-screen later."

"Nita."

"Oh, stop fussing, Sal. I didn't like the man and I'm not afraid to say so out loud."

She waved a hand and settled herself in as if for a nice, friendly chat. "I had an old cocker spaniel, old Frankie. Died last year. A few months before I was out walking him like I did every day, twice a day. Stopped in front of the Dukes place for a minute to talk to a neighbor who was out walking, too. And well, old Frankie did his business there on the edge of their property while I wasn't watching."

She sighed, one long expulsion of air. "Old Frankie. Now I'd've cleaned it up. I cleaned up behind that dog for sixteen years. But the commandant comes to the door and gives me what-for, says he's going to report me. Carries on so you'd think he'd never seen a little poop before. Well, I gave him what-for right back. I don't take that kind of thing from anybody."

She huffed out a breath, obviously still outraged. "He slams the door, I pick up the poop, finish walking old Frankie, and go home. Few minutes later, the beat cop's at my door. Young woman, looked mortified, told me Dukes had called in a complaint. Can you imagine that? Since I'd already flushed away the evidence, nothing came of it. The cop just wanted to let me know he was seeing red, said she'd cooled him off, but maybe it would be best all around if I made sure to keep the dog away from his property."

"Is that the only dealing you had with him?"

"Never spoke another word to the man, nor he to me."

"They lost a child," Sal reminded her. "It can sour a person."

"Some are born sour." Nita nodded to the house across the street. "I'd say that man was."

Eve conducted the first three interviews on Greene's list in the privacy of each subject's home or office. In each case there were varying degrees of denial, outrage, embarrassment, and pleading.

And in the case of Judge Vera Archer, a cold acceptance.

"I'd prefer to continue this discussion without the presence of your uniform, Lieutenant Dallas."

"Peabody, wait outside."

Archer folded her hands on her desk. Her chambers was a streamlined, organized space that suited her image. She was a tall, sternly attractive, rail-thin woman of sixty-three, with short, straight dark hair. She had a reputation for delivering swift and thorough decisions that rarely failed to hold up on appeal.

She brooked no theatrics in her courtroom.

Apparently, Eve thought, she enjoyed them in private. On disc she'd worn a pink ballgown, and had performed a rather glamorous striptease-down to g-string and pasties-for two well-muscled men as a prelude to a very athletic menage a trois.

"I assumed I'd be dealing with this when I heard Nick Greene had been killed. My private life isn't up for discussion. No laws were broken by me, other than those of common sense."

"Yet you paid Nick Greene seventy-five hundred dollars a month."

"I did. It's not illegal to pay such a fee. And if we determine it was blackmail, the crime was his in extorting such a fee. I'm not going to explain the contents of the disc, nor the motivation behind those contents. I'm entitled to my privacy."

"Yes, Your Honor, and you certainly paid enough for it. However, the contents of that disc, and your payments, are now part of a homicide investigation."

Archer's gaze never wavered. "I was better off with him alive. I could afford the money a great deal more than I can afford the publicity from exposure. The embarrassment to my robes, my husband. I made full disclosure of this matter to my husband nearly a year ago. You can verify that if you deem it necessary, but it is, again, a private matter. I will tell you we agreed to continue the payments."

"You're aware of the circumstances of Nick Greene's death?"

"I am."

"While I sympathize with your desire for privacy, Your Honor, that sympathy doesn't extend over my pursuit of the terrorists who are responsible for his death, and the death of six others to date."

"And how will exposing the contents of that disc aid your pursuit? I must have the respect of my courtroom when I'm on the bench. You pursue, you arrest, but then it's up to the courts to complete the cycle of justice. How can I do that if I'm a laughingstock, an embarrassment?"

"I'll do whatever I can to protect your privacy. Tell me how you came to use Nick Greene's services."

Archer rolled her lips inward into a nearly invisible line. "I'd heard about him through an acquaintance. It seemed harmless, and though his services were admittedly borderline, I made use of them. A release valve, you could say, from the pressures of the job. I made use of them once a month for several months. Then he gave me a copy of the disc, explained the payment schedule and the consequences of nonpayment. All very reasonable and businesslike."

"You must have been very angry."

"I was angry. More, I felt like a fool. A woman who's lived for more than sixty years, sat on a bench for fourteen, shouldn't be so easily duped. I paid, because one always pays for foolishness, and I stopped using his services."

"Were you afraid he would expose you anyway?"

She angled her head in mock surprise. "And cut off a small but steady income? No."

"Did he ever up the payments or threaten to do so?"

"No. In his way, he was a good businessman. If you bleed too fast and hard, you eviscerate."

Archer lifted her hands, the only excess motion she'd made throughout the interview. "I didn't even resent the payments. They reminded me I was human. Which is why I used his services to begin with. I needed to be reminded I was human. You've done a background on me. Personal, professional?"

"Yes, Your Honor, an initial run."

"I've served the law, and served it well. My record bears that out. I'm not ready to retire." She glanced over at the small viewing screen on her wall. "I saw the broadcast on 75 this morning. It was a vicious, horrible death they chose for him. He was a blackmailer, and he peddled in what could be called sin, certainly exploited people's secret weaknesses. But he didn't deserve to die as he did. Nor did that child."

She looked at Eve again, her gaze direct and level. "You suspect that I may be a part of these vigilantes calling themselves pure? They stand for everything I abhor, Lieutenant. Everything I've dedicated my life to fighting against. They're bullies and cowards playing God. I'm willing to waive legal representation at this time and submit to a Truth Test. My conditions are that this be done privately, by a single authorized and licensed technician, and that when the results clear me of suspicion, they, as well as the disc and any files pertaining to me in this matter, are sealed."

"I'll agree to those conditions and will arrange it. I can ask Dr. Mira to do the Testing personally."

"Dr. Mira is acceptable."

"I believe the results will put an end to your involvement in this matter, Your Honor."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask your advice and opinion on another matter connected to my investigation?"

"Yes."

"I have requested warrants to open sealed files on juvenile victims that directly pertain to this case. Child Services filed a TRO blocking me from these records and from additional records of their agency. The prosecutor's office engaged in the standard legal wrangle over this. The block remains."

"Sealeds, particularly in the case of minors, are sensitive issues."

"So is serial homicide. So is terrorism. So is obstructing a priority investigation. Time is of the essence, yet an essential tool is being held out of my reach. This isn't a matter of opening sealeds to the public, but to an investigator with probable cause. If this matter was before you, how would you rule?"

Archer leaned back. "Is your probable cause solid, Lieutenant-and don't jive with me."

"It's rock solid. The TRO argues that the sealeds must remain to protect the minors and their families from further distress, to ensure their privacy. The P.A. argues that probable cause in a homicide investigation supersedes, and further argues that the contents of the sealeds will be known only to the investigative team."

"If the arguments are as basic as that, you'd have your warrants in my court. Who signed the initial warrants?"

"Judge Matthews?"

"And he's subsequently held the sealeds?"

"No, Your Honor. The arguments are being presented to Judge Lincoln."

"Lincoln. I see. I'll make a few inquiries."

Eve left the courthouse with Peabody beside her and took a moment in the air. "If she's not clean, I've lost all sense of direction."

"Do we keep working down the list?"

"Yeah, we keep working it. Meanwhile, do a run on Judge Lincoln."

"Another judge? Jeez."

"He's not on Greene's. But he's on Archer's. She's good," Eve said as she got into her vehicle. "But she's not that good. I saw something on her face when I told her he was hearing the arguments over the sealeds."

Frowning, she pulled out her beeping pocket 'link. "Dallas."

"O'Malley's," Dwier said briskly. "Twenty minutes. Come alone."

"The Blue Squirrel," Eve returned, wanting home field advantage. "Fifteen."

She broke transmission.

Eve didn't frequent the Blue Squirrel as often as she once had. It was a joint with no redeeming qualities, including the food and service. During the day, it catered to a handful of surly regulars and the occasional lost soul who was foolish enough to think he might scope out a cheap meal and a little action.

At night it was usually jammed with people who made the action and were tough enough or crazy enough to risk their lives for what passed for alcohol in such places.

The music was loud, the tables small and rarely clean, and the air generally permeated with bad booze and stale Zoner.

Eve had an odd affection for it, and was pleased to find it hadn't changed since her last visit.

For a time Mavis had been one of the featured performers, whirling in costumes that defied description and screeching out her music to a packed dance floor where people actually seemed to understand it.

Thinking of Mavis, Eve wondered if impending motherhood would tone her down.

Not a chance.

"Grab a table opposite side," Eve ordered Peabody. "Eat if you dare."

"Their soy fries are only half-bad. I'll risk it."

Eve chose a table in the far comer, slid in. And decided Peabody was right. The fries were only half-bad, and deserved another chance.

She keyed in an order on the menu, and decided not to dance any closer to the edge by risking the coffee. She opted for bottled water, which she feared was bottled in one of the seamy back rooms by flat-nosed men with hairy knuckles.

Seeing no sign of Dwier, she pulled out her communicator and checked in with Feeney. "What's the status?"

"Nearly there." There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair was sticking out in tufts. "Two hours, we'll nail it. What're you working on?"

"In a couple of minutes, lunch. Blue Squirrel."

"You walk on the dark side, Dallas."

"Yeah, that's me. Got a meet with Dwier. He should be coming along shortly. I think he wants to deal."

"I'll give him a damn deal." Feeney blew air out his nose. "You wanna tell me what the brass was doing here this morning?"

"Can't. I have to wait for some information. Bugs me, Feeney, but I can't."

"Hooked a big fish, didn't you, kid? No, don't sweat it," he said. "Just remember, some big fish got teeth."

"I'm careful. Dwier just walked in. Later."

She pocketed the communicator, then waited for him to come to the table.

"I said alone. Ditch the uniform or this ends now."

"The uniform needs to eat. You want to walk, it's your choice." She nipped the bottle of water as it popped out of the serving slot. "Keep away from the coffee," she said conversationally. "If you want to live."

He dropped into the seat across from her. She wasn't surprised when he ordered bottled brew.

"Your girlfriend tell you about our conversation yesterday?"

"You show some respect when you talk about Clarissa. She's a lady. Your type don't recognize a lady."

"My type recognizes wrong cops, conspirators, killers, fanatics." Watching his face, she took a pull of her water. "I don't care how their skin stretches."

"I want you off her back. I'm giving you one warning on it."

She leaned forward. "You threatening me, Dwier? Are you intimating that if I continue to pursue the line of investigation that involves Clarissa Price, you may attempt to cause me physical harm?"

"What, are you wired?"

"No, I'm not wired. I just want to be real clear on the nature of your warning. That way, I won't be kicking your sorry ass across this sticky floor, out the door, and across the street due to a miscommunication."

"You think you're some badass, don't you? You homicide cops all think you're so fucking important. Elite or some shit. You come out on the street and wade through the garbage awhile, you pick up the pieces of some kid who's been raped and beat up, or drag through the puke of some asshole teenager who's OD'd on Jazz he got from some vulture working the school yards. See how long you're such a badass."

She felt some sympathy, a sliver of it scraping over her for a cop who'd seen more than he could handle. But there was the line again, the line that could only be moved so far before it fell off the edge.

"Is that why you're part of this, Dwier? Just couldn't handle taking all the steps, seeing some of those steps bust out from under you? Is that why you decided to be judge, jury, and executioner?"

Her fries slid out, and she ignored them. His bottle popped seconds later. He snatched it up, twisted the top with the violence of a man who wished it was a human neck.

"I want you off Clarissa's back."

"You're repeating yourself. Tell me something new."

He took two deep swallows from the bottle. "I'm not saying I got anything to tell you. But if I did, I'd need a deal."

"Can't deal without the cards."

"Don't try to hose me." He snorted at her, and she lost even that sliver of sympathy.

He wasn't just a cop who'd broken under the pressure. He was one who'd puffed up on it and filled himself to bursting-like the thin skin of a balloon-bulging with arrogance, with righteousness.

"I'm a badge. I know how this works. If I had anything to say pertaining to the recent homicides, I'd need immunity for Clarissa and myself regarding any possible involvement."

"Immunity." She leaned back, carefully selected a french fry, studied it. "You just want me to wipe your slate? Seven dead, one a cop, and you want a free ride for yourself and your lady? Just how do you expect me to pull that off for you, Dwier?"

"You'll pull it off. You've got weight."

"Let's put it this way." She drenched the fries with salt. They needed help desperately. "Why do you think I'd use the weight you think I have to help you skate on this?"

"You want the bust. I know your type. The bust comes first. Keep your cases-cleared percentage high. You figure they'll pin another fucking medal on you."

"You don't know me." Her voice was low and lethal. "You want a picture in your head, Dwier? How about this one? A sixteen-year-old girl, cut into ribbons, her blood all over the walls following the trail where she'd run trying to get away from a man who was driven insane by a group of people who decided he should die. Her name was Hannah Wade. She was a stupid kid with a bad attitude who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Kevin Halloway, a solid young cop just doing his job. How do the people pushing your buttons rate that in their list of percentages. An acceptable loss?"

"Clarissa's sick over that girl. She's busted to pieces over it. Didn't sleep a wink all night."

Eve felt bile rush into her throat, washed it back with water. "Remorse will weigh in with the prosecutor. Maybe you were misled. Maybe both of you were misled by the people in charge of Purity. You were just looking for a way to protect the kids on your watch."

"Yeah." He drank, keyed in the menu for a second bottle. "If that were the case, it would go toward immunity. The fact, if we did know something relevant, we were willing to give it up-voluntarily."

You puke, she thought, her face blank as a wiped slate. "You know I can't guarantee immunity. That decision doesn't come from me. I can only request it."

"You can push it. You know the buttons."

She looked away from him a moment because knowing she'd try for the deal made her sick. The greater good, she told herself. Sometimes justice couldn't sweep clean.

"I'll push for immunity. But you're off the job, and so's she-"

"You can't-"

"Shut up, Dwier. Just shut up, because what I'm going to lay down here is as good as you're ever going to get. And the offer is one-time only. I put my weight for immunity. Make the case for the P.A. that your information, and Price's, was key to my investigation. If it isn't key, Dwier, this conversation is moot. You and Price walk, no cage time. But you put in for retirement, and she resigns from Child Services. It's up to the P.A. and the brass as to whether you keep your benefits. That's out of my hands. But you walk."

She shoved her plate aside. "You refuse this deal and I give you a vow to hunt you, both of you, until I have enough to put you both over. I'll push for multiple charges, first-degree, conspiracy murder. I'll push for the murder of a police officer. I'll push hard and the two of you will spend the rest of your lives behind bars. The last breath you take will be in a cage. I'll make it my personal mission."

His eyes glittered-temper, terror, alcohol. And, Eve thought with a dull amazement, with insult.

"I got sixteen years in. Sixteen years busting my hump."

"And now you've got five minutes to decide." She pushed up from the table. "Be gone or be ready to talk when I get back."

As she strode across the club, Peabody started to rise. Eve simply shook her head and kept going.

She slammed into what the Squirrel called their rest room. Five narrow stalls and two shallow pits for sinks. She ran the water cold, splashed it on her face again and again until the heat of her anger and disgust chilled.

Face dripping, she lifted her head and stared at herself in the black-flecked mirror. Seven people dead, she thought. Seven. And she was about to help two of the ones responsible ride free so she could stop the others.

Is this what it took to speak for Kevin Halloway, for Hannah Wade? Is this what it took?

Shades of right, Tibble had said. And just now she felt smeared by the shadows.

She scrubbed her face dry, then pulled out her communicator.

"Commander. I need a deal for Thomas Dwier and Clarissa Price."

Dwier was still at the table when she returned and starting on his third bottle. She wondered how long ago he'd drowned his conscience.

"Talk," she said.

"I gotta have some assurances."

"I laid it out for you once, I'm not laying it out again. Talk or walk."

"I want you to understand we did what we had to do. You work to get scum off the street and before you write up your fives, they're back out. The system's gone soft. All this shit about civil rights jammed down our throat, lawyers sliding through the grease, you can't do the job,"

"I don't want the lecture, Dwier. I want data. Who's running the show?"

"I'm gonna tell it my way." He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, hunched in over the table. "Me and Clarissa, we got close. She's dedicated her life to helping kids, only to see half of them, maybe more, get screwed over by the system. We started going out, mostly just to blow off some steam, and we got close. After what happened with the Dukes kid, she was thinking about packing it in. That one almost broke her. She took a couple weeks' leave to decide what she wanted to do. And… Don came to see her."

"Don? Would that be Donald Dukes?"

"Yeah. She was in a rough spot. A rough spot. And he told her about this group who was looking for answers, who was working to find a better way. An underground group."

"Purity?"

"The Purity Seekers. He said a lot of people had gotten together, people like him, like her, other concerned citizens. He asked if she'd come to a meeting."

"Where?"

"Church basement. Downtown. Church of The Savior."

"A church basement?" She didn't know why it offended her sensibilities. She wasn't, never had been, religious. But it appalled something deep inside her. "This runs out of a church?"

"That's one of the meeting sites. We move around, churches and schools. She went to the first one with Don, with Dukes. It brought her back up, pulled her out of the depression. It gave her a grip on things again. I went with her the next time. It makes sense," he insisted. "The program makes sense. You want to clean up the city, you gotta take out the trash. Cops and courts are cuffed. Nobody respects the law because the law doesn't work. It doesn't fucking work, and you know it."

She looked at his face, the flush brought out by beer and righteousness. Not always, she thought. It doesn't always work because it's not going to put you in a cage.

"Who runs the meetings?"

"It's a democracy," Dwier told her with some pride. "We all have a say. Dukes is one of the founders. We've got cops, doctors, judges, scientists, preachers. We've got thinkers."

"Names."

He dipped his head. Rubbed the bottle over his brow. "We go by first names, but I recognized some, ran some others. You have to know who you're in bed with. Look, we had some glitches with the program. Maybe we pushed things too fast. The techs figured they could delete the virus after Absolute Purity was achieved, but there was some snafu. They're working day and night to fix it. We took up a collection for Halloway. We're making a contribution to the Police Officers' Survivors' Fund in his name."

"I'm sure that'll give his family a lot of comfort, Dwier. Give me names."

"You think it's easy to weasel?" He slammed the nearly empty bottle on the table. "You think it's easy to flip on people you've worked with?"

"Was it easier to kill? Easier to throw a few bucks in the hat for a dead cop because there was a snafu? I don't want to hear about your pain, Dwier, or your skewed sense of loyalty. I want names. It comes down to you or them. No names, no deal."

"Bitch."

"Yeah. Keep that in mind. Donald Dukes? His wife?"

"No. He kept her out of it. He doesn't much like working with women."

"But he recruited Clarissa."

"I figure there was some pressure on him to pick her up, since they had a history." Dwier jerked a shoulder. "Matthew Sawyer, big-shot doctor out of Kennedy Memorial. Brain guy. Keith Burns, one of those computer geeks. Worked with Dukes on the virus. He was the kid's, Devin's, godfather. Stanford Quillens, another doctor. Judge Lincoln, Angie and Ray Anderson-their kid got raped by Fitzhugh. Angie runs her own media consultant firm midtown."

He continued to reel off names. Eve recorded them. He ordered another beer. He wasn't sloppy yet, she noted. Four beers in less than an hour and he wasn't showing it. It told her his body was used to the steady intake.

There were other doctors, other cops, a city councilwoman, more programmers, two former social workers, and a minister.

"That's all I got confirmed. Clarissa might have a couple more."

"What about funding?"

"Everybody kicks in what they can, donates time." He sucked on the bottle. "Some of the members got deep pockets, and put their money where their mouth is. We've got powerful support-political support-and we could've expanded on that without the accidents."

"Who's your political support?"

"The mayor. Peachtree, he doesn't come to the meetings. But he sends statements, and contributions. My take is he lined up Sawyer and Lincoln, Dukes, too."

"Are you telling me this organization generated out of the mayor's office?"

"That's how I see it, yeah. Peachtree wants reform, and he can't get it through the polls. He found another way. He's a goddamn hero."

She stored it, clamped down on another wave of disgust. "How do you select the targets?"

"We put the names, the sheets, to the membership. We vote."

"Who else is nominated?"

"Only got one more infected. We decided to hold off until we worked out the glitches. Dru Geller. Runs private clubs, sells young meat to patrons. Runaways mostly, she scoops them up and pumps them full of Erotica. Her AP's scheduled within ten hours."

"How do you know when it's achieved?"

"That's mostly tech stuff. Not my area. But we can track usage on their infected unit or units. They ran sims so they know how long it takes to finalize."

"When's the next meeting?"

Dwier closed his eyes. 'Tonight, eight. The downtown church."

"Where's Dukes?"

He shook his head. "Safe house, Upstate. Albany. I'm supposed to help work out a relocation. He's still working on the program. Him and Burns and the other techs. They'll have it perfected in a few days. They're sure of it. Nobody anticipated that girl being in Greene's place. How the hell can you anticipate something like that? But it comes down to it, she wasn't any different than Greene. Got what she deserved, same as him. Just a little whore-"

She bitch-slapped him. Her hand was up and swinging before she realized the fury had taken over, before he could see it in her eyes and evade. The sharp crack of flesh on flesh slashed through the club. A few people turned their heads, then quickly looked away again.

Eve got to her feet. "Stay where you are. Peabody! You're going in. You can tell your story to the P.A. Price is being picked up right now."

"Just a fucking minute."

"Shut up, you pulsating piece of shit. You'll get your immunity. You're going in now, and staying in until the rest of your self-proclaimed heroes are picked up. There's a black-and-white outside, and a representative of the prosecutor's office. Thomas Dwier, you are now in custody. Surrender your shield and your weapon? Now," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "Or I'll take you down the way I want to instead of by the book you've shown such contempt for."

"People know we were right." He laid his weapon on the table, tossed his badge down beside it. "There are four monsters off the streets thanks to us."

She took his weapon, took his badge. Then hauled him to his feet. "There are all kinds of monsters, Dwier. You don't quite qualify. You're just a weasel. And an embarrassment to the job."

When he was secured in the black-and-white, Eve got into her own vehicle. Then just laid her forehead on the wheel.

"You all right, Dallas?"

"No. No, I'm not all right." She yanked Dwier's badge and weapon from her pocket. "Seal these. I don't want my hands on them again. I got him immunity. I got him a ride. Maybe, maybe I pull him in, hammer at him in Interview, I get him to roll without the deal. But I made the deal, because maybe he doesn't roll, and I can't spare the time to find out."

"The prosecutor wouldn't have dealt immunity if he didn't figure it was the way to go."

"When you want the whole pie, sacrificing one little slice is a reasonable trade. That's how the P.A. figured it. That's how Dwier knew he'd figure it. I wish I could. Get me an address on a Dru Geller. She'll be in the system."

She pulled out her communicator to run the next steps with the commander.

It took an hour to set it up to her satisfaction. Precious time, but she wasn't losing another cop. Not today.

"We can't be sure what kind of shape she's in," Eve reminded the crisis team she'd handpicked. "We will assume she is violent and armed. Three men on the door, three for the windows. We go in fast. We subdue, secure, and transport. The subject cannot be shocked with standard weapons, even on low setting. The probability is high that the infection has spread to the extent that this would result in termination. We use tranqs, and tranqs only."

She gestured to the apartment blueprint on-screen. "You've familiarized yourselves with the setup. We know the subject is in this location. We don't know where she is within its perimeter, but the highest probability is for the main bedroom, here. Communications are to remain open throughout the op. When the subject is secured, she will be transferred, immediately, to the medical techs, accompanied by two team members during transpo to designated health center where a medical team is waiting."

Maybe they'd save her, Eve thought as she approached the door to Dru Geller's apartment. And maybe they wouldn't. If Dwier's information was accurate, she had under eight hours left. Morris had called the infection irreversible after the initial spread.

She was risking six cops, her aide, and herself over a woman who was in all likelihood already dead.

She drew her tranq-shooter, nodded for the crisis team cop to uncode the locks. "Uncoding," she said quietly into her communicator. "Locks disengaged. Wait for my signal."

She eased the door open. She caught a whiff of spoiled food, of stale urine. The lights were off, the sun shields tight at the windows. The room looked and smelled like a cave.

She gestured, pointing Peabody and the second officer left. She went in fast, low, and right. "Living area clear."

She heard it then, a kind of growling. The sound a rabid dog might make when cornered. "Moving to main bedroom. Hold at the windows."

She took flank at the door, nodded again, then kicked it in.

Dru Geller had her back to the wall. She wore nothing but panties. There was blood on her breasts, breasts scored from her own fingernails. Her nose had bled as well, and the red ran down over her snarling lips, stained her teeth, dripped off her chin.

Eve saw it all in the space of a heartbeat and saw the long-bladed scissors in her hand.

The scissor flew, like an arrow from a bow. Eve pivoted, deployed the tranq. It caught Geller in the left breast. "Now! Go! Hit her again," she ordered as Geller lunged forward.

A second tranq hit her midbody, and still she leaped on Eve like a wildcat, all teeth and nails. She saw the red eyes wheeling, felt the blood drip on her face. Geller howled as a third tranq took her in the right shoulder.

She shut off like a light, red eyes rolling back, limbs going limp.

It took seconds, only seconds. There was a flurry of movement as Geller was rolled away, her unconscious body restrained.

"Get her to the MTs, get her transported," Eve ordered. "Move."

"We got an officer down."

"What?" Wiping the blood from her face, Eve gained her feet, spun around.

And saw Peabody lying on the floor, bleeding, the scissors jammed deep into her shoulder.

"No. Goddamn it. No." She was on her knees in one fast move, and without thinking brushing her hand over Peabody's white face.

"Zigged right, should've zagged left," Peabody managed. She turned her head, stared dully at the bright silver scissors. "It's not too bad, is it? Not too bad."

"No, it's nothing. Get me a medical, now. Right now!" Eve stripped off her jacket, prepared to use it to staunch the flow of blood.

"Pull them out, okay? Wouldja?" Peabody groped for Eve's hand. "It's making me pretty sick, having them sticking out of me."

"Better not. MTs coming up right now. They'll fix you up."

"They'd hit an inch over, the riot vest would've deflected them. What're the chances? Really hurts. Jesus, it really hurts. I'm cold. Just shock, right? Right, Dallas? I'm not dying or anything?"

"You're not dying." She snagged the wrinkled bedspread from one of the crisis team. "I don't have time to waste training another aide."

Eve turned her head as an MT rushed in. "Do something," she ordered.

Ignoring her, he ran a scanner over the point of entry, took Peabody's vital signs. "Okay, Officer. What's your name?"

"Peabody. I'm Peabody. Would you get these goddamn scissors out of me?"

"Sure. I'm going to give you a little something first."

"Gimme lots. Dallas is the one who lives for pain."

He smiled at her, set his pressure syringe.

"She's losing blood," Eve snapped. "Are you just going to let her bleed out on the floor?"

"Just keep the pressure on," he said mildly. "Too bad about that jacket. Looks like nice fabric. I'm going to pull out the invasive object. On three, Peabody, okay?"

"One, two, three."

The MT met Eve's eyes, and mouthed: Hold her down.

Eve felt it in her gut, felt the sharp shock of the blades slicing out of Peabody's flesh. Felt it in the quick jerk of her aide's body against her restraining hands.

Blood flowed over her fingers, warm and wet.

Then she was nudged out of the way, while the MT worked on the wound.

Twenty minutes later she was pacing the ER waiting room.She'd nearly decked the doctor who'd ordered her out of the treatment area. Had restrained herself only because she figured the medical had to be conscious to work on Peabody.

McNab burst through the doors in a limping run, with Roarke right behind him.

"Where is she? What are they doing for her? How bad is it?"

"She's in treatment. They're patching her up. It's just like I told you, McNab. She's got a deep puncture in her shoulder, but it missed the major arteries. They don't think there's any muscle damage. They're going to clean it up, give her some blood and fluids, sew her up. Then they'll probably spring her."

She saw him stare down at her hands. She hadn't taken time to wash the blood off. Cursing herself, she shoved them into her pockets.

"Which treatment room?"

"B. Around the corner to the left."

He rushed off, and Eve scrubbed her hands over her face. "I can't stay in here," she muttered and hurried outside.

"Is it more serious than you told McNab?" Roarke asked her.

"I don't think so. The MT seemed solid. He said it was too serious to treat and release on-scene, but not major. She lost a lot of blood."

She stared down at her hands.

"You lost a bit yourself." He traced his fingers over her jaw where Geller's nails had swiped.

"It's nothing. Goddamn it, it's nothing." She spun away from him, kicked the tire of an ambulance parked in the bay. "I took her in there."

"Is she less a cop than you?"

"That's not the point. That's not the fucking point." She whirled back. "I took her and six other cops in there. I made the call, I set the op. I dodged out of the way when Geller threw the scissors at me."

Because her eyes were swimming, her voice beginning to hitch, he took her shoulders. "And Peabody didn't move as quickly. Is that your fault?"

"It's not about fault. It's about reason. I took her in, took all of them in to secure and transport to medical a woman who's probably going to die anyway. I ordered those people to put their lives on the line for her. A woman who sells little girls. Boy, that's irony for you. I've got Peabody's blood on my hands because of a woman who sells children for sex."

She gripped his shirt, fisted her hands. "For what?" she demanded. "What's the damn point?"

"Lieutenant."

She jerked at McNab's voice, turned quickly.

He'd never seen her cry before. Hadn't known she could. "She's awake. You were right, they're going to spring her. They want to keep her about an hour first. She's still a little groggy. She asked if you were around."

"I'll go in and see her."

"Dallas." McNab moved into her path, took her by the arm. "If you ask her what the point is, she'd tell you. You haven't asked me, but I'll tell you anyway. Because when something has to be done, we're the ones who're supposed to do it. I didn't have to be there to know you went through the door first. So you already know what the point is."

"Maybe I needed somebody to remind me."

Roarke watched her walk back inside. "You're a good man, Ian." He laid a hand on McNab's shoulders. "Let's go buy Peabody some flowers."

"I usually just steal them."

"Let's make an exception for this one."