Purity in Death (In Death #15)(12)

"After all that dirt came out from inside IAB-"

"That's why I stayed in." He said it quietly, and cut off her tirade. "I thought about it." He pushed a hand through his wavy brown hair. "I thought about it long and hard. I believe in the Bureau, Dallas."

"How? Why?"

"Checks and balances. We need checks and balances. When there's power there's corruption. They go hand-in-hand. A wrong cop's got no right to a badge. But he deserves having another cop see it's taken from him."

"I've got no use for dirty cops." Annoyed with the world in general, she took the coffee mug from him and drank. "Damn it, Webster, you were good on the street."

It gave him a quick zip to hear her say it. To know she meant it. "I'm good in the Bureau. I think I make a difference."

"By hammering at a rookie like Trueheart because he did what he had to do to protect a civilian and himself?"

"You know, the first thing I did when I went back into IAB was move out all the racks, thumbscrews, and other torture devices. I read the report, Dallas. It's clear there was immediate jeopardy. But there are holes, and there are questions. You know it."

"I'm looking into it. Let me clear it up."

"You know. I'd love to do you a favor, just so you'd owe me one. But he has to be interviewed, he has to make a statement. He can have his rep there. He can have you there. Jesus, Dallas, we're not looking to f**k this kid over. But when a uniform terminates using his weapon it has to be reviewed."

"He's clean, Webster. He's goddamn spanking clean."

"Then he's got nothing to worry about. I'll take it personally if that means anything to you."

"I guess it does."

"You tell Roarke you were tagging me for this? Or is he going to get riled up so I have to kick his ass again?"

"Oh, is that what you were doing when you had to be carried out of the room unconscious?"

"I like to remember it that I was just getting my second wind."

Webster rubbed a hand over his jaw. He could still remember what Roarke's fist had felt like plowing into it. Like a well-aimed brick.

"Whatever works for you. And I don't report to Roarke."

"You go on thinking that." He took the coffee back from her, finished it off. "You're so married I see little lovebirds circling over your head."

It mortified, right down to her toes. "Roarke's not the only one who can knock you unconscious."

"I really like the look of you." He grinned when her eyes narrowed. "Just looking," he assured her. "No touching. Learned my lesson there. You can trust me to keep it clean, personally and professionally. That good enough for you?"

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have called you."

"Check. I'll be in touch." He opened the door, glanced back. He really did like the look of her-lean and tough and sexy. "Thanks for the coffee."

Alone, she shook her head. She could hear the noise level drop into silence from the bullpen as Webster walked through it. He'd chosen a very hard road, she thought. A badge who policed other badges was regarded with suspicion, derision, and fear.

A slippery line to walk. She supposed, all in all, she liked him well enough to hope he kept his balance.

She checked her wrist unit, judged how much longer Trueheart would be in Testing. More than enough time, she thought, for her to browbeat Morris for results on Cogburn.

***

They were stacked and racked and packed in the morgue. Rarely in eleven years on the job had Eve seen so many corpses in one place at one time.

A trio of the bagged and tagged were laid out on gurneys and shoved against the wall outside of one of the autopsy suites.

Take a number, she thought. Too late to be protected, but you'll be served eventually.

As Eve strode down the bright white corridor of the dead, Peabody hustled beside her.

"Man, this place is always a little spooky, but this is beyond. You know how you half expect one of these bags to sit up and grab at you?"

"No. Wait out here. If one of them makes a run for it, give me a call."

"I don't think that's particularly funny." And watching the still black bags warily, Peabody took her post at the door.

Inside Morris was busy at work, a laser scalpel mid-way through the Y cut on one of the six bodies splayed out on tables.

He wore goggles over his pleasant face, a plastic hood over his long, dark braided hair, and a clear protective coat over a natty navy blue suit.

"What's the point in having voice mail if you don't talk to it?" Eve demanded.

"A lot of unexpected company dropped in this morning, due to an airtram collision. Didn't you catch the report? Bodies dropping out of the sky like flying monkeys."

"If they could fly they wouldn't be bagged and tagged. How many?"

"Twelve dead, six injured. Some jerk in an airmini rammed it. Tram pilot managed to hold the controls most of the way down, but people panicked. Add to that the knife fight at a club that took both participants and one bystander, the Jane Doe female found stuffed in a recycler, and your everyday bashings, bludgeonings, and brutalities and we've got ourselves a full house."

"I've got a police termination with some questions. Rookie uniform stuns crazy guy, crazy guy dies. No sign of stunner contact on vic. Stunner confiscated from officer was set on low."