Witness in Death (In Death #10)(58)

"There are ways, Ian. And there are ways."

"Yeah, but there's also the CYA factor."

"Well then, we'll just have to make sure your ass is covered. Won't we?"

"Dallas is going to know, isn't she?" McNab said a few minutes later, when their positions were reversed and Roarke sat at the computer.

"Of course. But you'll find that knowing and proving are far different matters, even to the redoubtable lieutenant."

In any case, Roarke enjoyed his little forays into police work. And he was a man who rarely saw a need to limit his enjoyments.

"Now you see here, Ian, we've accessed the on-record fingerprints and DNA pattern of your primary suspects. Perfectly legitimate."

"Yeah, if I was doing the accessing."

"Only a technicality. Computer, match current identification codes with any and all criminal records, civil actions and suits, including all juvenile and sealed data. A good place to start," he said to McNab.

Working... Access to sealed data is denied without proper authority or judicial code. Open records are available. Shall I continue?

"Hold." Roarke sat back, examined his nails. Clean as a whistle, he thought. For the moment. "McNab, be a pal, would you, and fetch me some coffee?"

McNab stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, did a quick mental dance over the thin line between procedure and progress. "Um. Yeah, okay. Sure."

He ducked into the kitchen area, ordered up the coffee. He dawdled. McNab didn't have a clue how long it would take to bypass the red tape and access what was not supposed to be accessed. To calm himself, he decided to see if there was any pie available.

He discovered to his great delight that he had a choice of six types and agonized over which to go for.

"Ian, are you growing the coffee beans in there?"

"Huh?" He poked his head back in. "I was just... figured you'd need some time."

He was a sharp tech, Roarke thought, and a delightfully naive young man. "I think this might interest you."

"You got in? Already? But how -- " McNab cut himself off as he hurried back to the desk. "No, I'd better not know how. That way, when I'm being charged and booked, I can claim ignorance."

"Charged and booked for what?" Roarke tapped a finger on a sheet of paper. "Here's your warrant for the sealeds."

"My -- " Eyes goggling, McNab snatched up the sheet. "It looks real. It's signed by Judge Nettles."

"So it appears."

"Wow. You're not just ice," McNab said reverently. "You're f**king Antarctica."

"Ian, please. You're embarrassing me."

"Right. Um. Why did I ask for Judge Nettles for the warrant again?"

With a laugh, Roarke got to his feet. "I'm sure you can come up with some appropriately convoluted cop speak to justify the request if and when you're asked. My suggestion would be a variation on a shot in the dark."

"Yeah. That's a good one."

"Then I'll leave you to it."

"Okay. Thanks. Ah, hey, Roarke?"

"Yes?"

"There's this other thing." McNab shifted from foot to foot on his purple airboots. "It's kind of personal. I was going to work around to talking to the lieutenant about it, but, well, you know how she is."

"I know precisely." He studied McNab's face, felt a stir of pity wrapped around amusement. "Women, Ian?"

"Oh yeah. Well, woman, I guess. I gotta figure a guy like you knows how to handle them as well as you handle electronics. I just don't get women. I mean I get them," he rushed on. "I don't have any problem with sex. I just don't get them, in an intellectual sense. I guess."

"I see. Ian, if you want me to discuss the intricacies and capriciousness of the female mind, we'll need several days and a great deal of liquor."

"Yeah. Ha. I guess you're in a hurry right now."

Actually, time was short. There were a few billion dollars waiting to be shifted, juggled, and consumed. But Roarke eased a hip on the corner of the desk. The money would wait. "I imagine this involves Peabody."

"We're, you know, doing it."

"Ian, I had no idea you were such a wild romantic. A virtual poet."

Roarke's dry tone had McNab flushing, then grinning. "We have really amazing sex."

"That's lovely for both of you, and congratulations. But I'm not sure Peabody would appreciate you sharing that piece of information with me."

"It's not really about sex," McNab said quickly, afraid he'd lose his sounding board before he'd sounded off. "I mean, it is, because we have it. A lot of it. And it rocks, so that's mag and all. That's how I figured it would be if I could ever get her out of that uniform for five damn minutes. But that's like it, that's all. Every time we finish, you know, the naked pretzel, I have to bribe her with food or get her going about a case or she's out the door. Or booting me out, if we landed at her place."

Roarke understood the frustration. He'd only had one woman ever try to shake him off. The only woman who mattered. "And you're looking for more."

"Weird, huh?" With a half laugh, McNab began to pace. "I really like women. All sorts of women. I especially like them naked."