Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

Too heavy to take off the wall on her own, she judged. Not unless she dragged the table under it out of the way to gain more leverage and a better angle.

She managed to get a hand behind the frame, ease it out an inch—and cursed herself for not thinking to bring in a penlight.

She braced the portrait with one hand, ran the other behind it while trying to angle her head to see. Eased it up another inch, praying she wouldn’t cock it off its support.

Her searching hand bumped something, and the surprise had her pulling the bottom of the portrait up in a short little jerk. Her breath sucked in as it continued smoothly up, hinging at the top. And revealing the safe behind it.

She grabbed her ’link, used its camera to take several shots. Even if she’d had the time, was willing to risk the time, her thievery skills were limited to picking simple locks, not to breaking what looked to be a complex wall safe.

Taking it slow, she brought the portrait to rights. Stepped back, checked the alignment, the position. Wiped her damp palms on her thighs. At the door she tipped one of the blind slats a fraction.

Asserton and Sloan still at their desks. Brinker still wherever Brinker went a dozen times a day. Freeman and Marcell still in the break room. All clear.

Move, she ordered herself. Go now.

She pulled the file out of her pocket, stepped out, closed the door. A quick slide of the master re-engaged the lock. Hearing the quiet click, she walked briskly toward her desk. She was halfway there when the break room door opened. She sat down, aimed her eyes at her screen as if checking her data. And considered her options.

Business as usual, she reminded herself. Head down, ass in the chair. And when her shift was over, she’d use a public ’link on the way home to contact Dallas.

When Eve walked back into her office, Mira turned from the window.

“Oh, good. I didn’t know if you’d been able to make it down to observe. Do you think—”

“What are you doing?” Mira interrupted.

Eve saw what she’d missed through the interview high. The doctor was pissed.

“About?”

“Why are you deliberately baiting a man you believe has already killed at least two people in a matter of days? A man with no sense of urgency, nerves, or regrets regarding those murders? A man who has every reason to see you as an obstacle and a threat, to himself, but more important, to the woman he follows with absolute loyalty, all while knowing that woman has every motive, and would have no compunction, to order him to eliminate you.”

“Because it’s my job.”

“Don’t use that on me. I know you. There are certainly other ways to build and close this case, ways I have no doubt you’re pursuing. You enjoyed baiting him. You want him—through Renee Oberman—to try to kill you.”

“Okay.” Eve moved to the AutoChef, programmed some of the herbal tea Mira drank. “I think you could use this.”

“Don’t you dare try to brush me off.”

“I’m not.” Eve set the tea on her desk, programmed coffee for herself. “I’m not,” she repeated. “You’re not wrong. You’re rarely wrong. I did enjoy it. Hell, I relished it. And I do want him to come at me. But I’m not wrong either. All of that is my job. Okay, maybe not the relish, but I’m entitled to some perks.”

“This isn’t a joke, Eve.”

“You’re damn fucking skippy it’s not. They’re cops, Doctor Mira, and cops don’t roll so easy. Bix sure as hell isn’t going to roll on Renee because I ask nice or the PA offers him a sweet deal. She’s his direct superior—his commanding officer. She’s given him a mission, made him important to her—made him her right hand, and that’s a powerful seduction. She’s created an atmosphere where they’re above the rest. Elite. Like ... like Special Forces—which he applied for and couldn’t get. They do what needs to be done—and his CO decides what that is. Following orders is part of his code, and his code is his god.”

“You can’t tell me the only way to stop them, all of them, is to make yourself an irresistible target.”

“Not the only way, no, but it’s a sure way, not only to stop them, but to carve them out of this department, to absolutely crush them. To make certain Renee, Bix, Freeman—every one of them—pays the heaviest price allowed by law. Every one of them, because believe me I will weed out and carve out every one of them.”

Eve held up a hand before Mira could speak. “I’m under orders, too. Chief Tibble ordered me to take Renee Oberman and every cop in her network down hard. Bix isn’t the only one who takes orders seriously. I will take them down, and I will do everything in my power to minimize the damage to this department when I do.”

Eve picked up the tea again. Mira wasn’t just pissed, she’d noted, she was tired and . . . sad.

“Here. Maybe you could sit down.”

Mira took the tea, sat. “I’m so angry with you.”

“So noted. She has strings to pull. She has to have a judge, probably a couple of politicians. She’s got lines in the courts, in the department, maybe the lab, maybe the morgue. I’m stacking it up against her, and the rest of them, but I have to weigh that stack against her lines. She could wiggle out of this—evidence gets lost, lab results doctored, the wrong motion filed, wits vanish or recant.”