Amused, Eve watched Mira, dignity and grace, walk to the door. “Doctor?”
“Yes?”
“The, um, mother thing? That was weird. But nice.”
“It’s nice for me, too. Good-bye, Eve.”
Recharged, Eve walked into her office and ordered Peabody and McNab to take a twenty-minute break. But when McNab made a beeline for the kitchen in her office, she headed him off.
“No, downstairs, upstairs, outside. Somewhere else. I want quiet. Stay out of the bedrooms,” she added when she caught the gleam in his eye.
She settled down, contacting Feeney first. If and when she was called to The Tower, she wanted him along.
“Computer, run probability using all available data re Roth, Captain Eileen, as perpetrator in homicide cases in file.”
Working . . .
Eve wandered the room while the computer crunched data and percentages. Recharged, yes, she thought. She was also restless, energized, ready to move.
She thought of Roth, desperately trying to blend her professional and personal lives. Failing at one, endangering the other.
“That’s not going to happen to me.”
Whatever it took, she thought, she was going to make it work. On both sides.
Requested analysis as follows . . . Using available data, probability Roth, Captain, committed homicides on file is sixty-seven point three percent.
Low, Eve thought, but not out of the running.
“Computer, recalibrate with additional data, for my eyes only. Captain Roth’s recurrent alcohol addiction, failing marriage, and financial crisis. In addition, subject Roth was aware of victim’s employment at Purgatory and had visited the scene in the weeks prior to the incident.”
Working . . . Additional data increases probability by twelve point eight percent for a total percentage of eighty point one.
“Yeah, it makes a difference. That puts you on the short list, Captain. Who else have we got?”
Before she could move on, her ’link beeped. “Dallas.”
“Martinez.”
There was background noise, a great deal of it. Air and street traffic, Eve decided. Martinez wasn’t calling from the squad room.
“You got anything for me?”
“I’ve got holes in the data files, holes that don’t match my own records. I’ve backtracked, cross-referenced, but I can’t pin down who did the shifting. Somebody sure as hell messed with the reports, just a little twist here and there.”
“You get me a copy, I’ll have a friend—a discreet friend—in EDD pin it down. He’s a bloodhound. He’ll smell it out.”
“I don’t want to send it through the system at Central.”
“Home office.” Eve rattled off the proper identification code.
“Got it. Hey, I thought you were going to pull the tag on me.”
“I did.”
“Well, if you did, I’ve picked up another one. And they’re cops. I know a cop tag.”
“Just go about your routine. Don’t contact me on any departmental line.”