Divided in Death (In Death #18)(32)

Whoever had killed them, and incapacitated Reva, had gone back out the front door, leaving the locks open. Why not? What would it matter?

In fact...

She got up, went to the doorway. "Fancy security system like Kade's..." she began, "... if it's shut down, and an egress is left open, how long before the company'd do a routine check of the premises?"

"That would depend on the client's request. It's individualized." He glanced up from his own work. "You're wanting me to check."

"You could get the answer faster, seeing as you own the world."

"I only own specific parts of the world. Open Securecomp," he ordered his computer. "Authorization Roarke."

Working... Securecomp open on Authorization Roarke.

"Access client file for Kade, Felicity, residential account, NYC."

Working... Kade, Felicity, accessed. Do you want the data on screen or on audio?

"On screen. Detail client's profile for house security."

Profile displayed.

"Let's see, then... sixty minutes on the street-level doors and windows. The instructions are to monitor for motion, and to relay any questions to her house droid after a sixty-minute period."

"Is that standard?"

"It's rather long, actually. I'd have to assume she trusted the system, and didn't care to be disturbed should there be a glitch."

"Sixty minutes. Okay. Okay, thanks." She wandered back, running it around her head.

Had they figured Reva would be out at least an hour, or if not out, disoriented? Security company activates house droid, house droid reports security has been compromised, and the company automatically reports same to the police and sends over a team.

But Reva's a tough customer. She surfaces quicker, and even though she's sick, scared, confused, she makes a call. So that part of the plan-if it was part of the plan-didn't work, because Caro, rushing the few blocks with a coat thrown over her pajamas, closed the door before the sixty was up.

She added the detail to her report.

What was left on scene?

The kitchen knife from the Bissel-Ewing house. How long had it been missing? Unlikely they'd be able to determine.

Military-issue stunner. Used by military personnel, Special Forces, certain city crisis-response teams. Who else?

"Computer, what weaponry is issued to United States Secret Service agents, specifically those on presidential detail.

Working... all agents are issued an M3 stunner and a neuron blaster, both handheld models. Agents may choose between a 4000 blaster and a 5200, as suits their personal preference.

"An M3," Eve murmured. "I was under the impression SS agents carried A-1s."

Prior to December 5, 2055, A-1 stunners were standard issue for Secret Service. The change to the more powerful M3 went into effect at this time. The attempt on the life of then President Anne B. Foster, on August 8, 2055, the loss of two agents and civilian casualties during this assassination attempt resulted in the upgrade of weaponry.

"Is that so?"

This is accurate data.

"Right." Eve tipped back in her chair. Whoever had used and planted the M3 had assumed Reva had one. She hadn't left the SS until January. But she'd never gone back to active duty either. It was a simple matter to check to see if she'd ever been issued that style weapon.

Another detail for her report. When she'd compiled everything she wanted, she dumped it all into a file, saved it.

"Computer, analyze all data in case file HE-45209-2. Using known data, run a probability scan on Ewing, Reva, as perpetrator."

Working...

"Take your time," Eve murmured and rose to get more coffee.

She wandered back to her desk. Sat, sipped, played idly with the stuffed cat Roarke had given her since Galahad appeared to be spending the evening with Summerset.

Which just went to show, she thought, the cat's lousy judge of character.

Probability scan complete. Probability that Ewing, Reva, is perpetrator in the murders of Bissel, Blair, and Kade, Felicity, is seventy-seven point six percent.

"That's interesting. That's pretty interesting for something that, on the surface, looked like a walk. She passes Level Three tomorrow, that's going to drop another twenty points, easy. Then her lawyers are going to kick my ass."

"You don't sound overly concerned about that."

She turned her head to look at Roarke, lounging against the door-jamb between their offices. "I can take my licks."

"I'll owe you for it. Yes, yes," he said, reading her face. "Doing your job, and so on and so forth. But you'll be taking some of those licks to help a friend of mine. So I'll owe you for it. The media loves to slap down anyone who's at the top of their game, as you are."

"And gee..."-she held up the stuffed cat as if speaking to it-"... the media worries me almost as much as a bunch of pu**y lawyers."

"I beg your pardon, but my lawyers are not pussies."

Eve set the stuffed cat aside and gave Roarke a steely stare. "I figured she'd lawyered up with some of your suits. If they're worth half of what you pay them, they'll have the charges dropped within another twenty-four. It'd be better if they didn't."

"Why is that?"

"As long as whoever's running this show thinks she's in the squeeze, she's safe and he won't be as likely to blow. If he's not already in the wind, and Reva shakes this loose, he'll blow. Or they will."