“Privacy cube,” she snapped. “Now.”

“Yes, sir. It’s going to take me a few minutes to set it up.”

“Then get started.” She stormed out, veered off, and swung into Feeney’s office. He was sitting at his desk, machine-gunning on his keyboard while he hummed a tune.

Every so often he’d mutter, “Almost got you, you little bastard.”

“Your detectives have trouble understanding direct orders, or the chain of command?” she demanded.

He cursed, glanced up. He saw what Peabody had seen on her face. Easing back, he jerked his chin at the door. “Wanna shut that?”

She slammed it. “When I’m primary, the men assigned to the team, whether they’re EDD or Homicide, report to me.”

“You got a complaint about one of my boys?” They were all his boys to Feeney, regardless of their chromosomes.

It caught her just before she spewed. What was she doing? Playing tattletale over nothing just because she was pissed. “I’ve got a sensitive case,” she began.

“Yeah, I know about it. My boys report to me, and I logged in the electronics as you requested. So?”

“Big money sensitive. You figure Roarke would climb over my two vics, use that big money sensitive data to edge out a competitor? You figure he’d use my investigation or any information I might share with him therein for personal gain?”

“What the fuck you talking about? McNab make some idiot comment?”

“No. Whitney made a direct statement.”

Feeney pursed his lips, then blew out a breath. Then dragged his fingers through his wiry tangle of ginger and gray hair. “I got some of that coffee left you gave me for Christmas. Want a hit?”

“No. No,” she repeated and walked to his window. “Goddamn it, Feeney. He wants to slap at me for something I did or didn’t do on the job, something one of my squad did or didn’t, that’s okay. But to imply Roarke would use me, that I’d permit it, that’s over the line.”

“Have some almonds.”

She only shook her head.

Feeney dipped his fingers into the bowl of candied nuts on his desk. “Want my take?”

“I guess I do. I come pushing in here when you’re busy, I must need your take.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I expect some of those honchos – and the lawyers who love them – have been stomping their feet, flapping their jaws. Complaining to the mayor, the chief. Mayor and chief give Whitney the word. He’s got to take the departmental line, give you the warning. Want my take on his personal line?”

“I guess I do.”

“I’ve known him a long time. If he had any genuine concerns in this area, he’d take you off the case. Period. By doing that, he’d cover his ass. Instead, he gave you the word, and he’s leaving his ass hanging out there.”

“Maybe.”

“ Dallas?” He waited until she’d turned around. “You got any worries about Roarke on this?”

“No. Goddamn no.”

“You think I do, or that any member of the team currently working the case has any worries?”

The tightness in her chest eased a little. “No. But I’ve got to go to Roarke with this – even if I don’t share a single byte of data with him, I have to go to him with this. If you think I was pissed when I came in here, let me tell you, that was a sunny day at the beach.”

He shoved the bowl of nuts in her direction, and for a moment there was a touch of amusement on his hangdog face. “Marriage is a freaking minefield.”

“Fucking A.” But she relaxed a little, enough to sit on the corner of his desk and pluck up a few nuts. “Sorry.”

“Forget it. We go back a ways, too.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve got on your plate, but if you’ve got room for more I could sure use you on this.”

“I can probably clear a space. Me, I like a full plate.”

“Thanks. All around.”

With her temper defused, Eve headed back down to the conference room, where she found Peabody and Baxter deep into search mode and a mountainous pile of sandwiches. When she entered, Baxter kept his eyes on his screen, but Peabody risked a glance up. Obviously encouraged by what she saw on her partner’s face, she nodded toward the pile of food.

“Figured some hoagies would keep us going through this.”

“Fine.” Though her pissed level was down, so was her appetite. Eve culled out a pile of discs and took a comp unit. Moments later a mug of coffee appeared beside her elbow.

“Ah, also figured you’d want your own brew while we’re at this.”

“Thanks. I imagine you figured I’d share that brew and loaded the AC on that assumption.”

“Would that be an incorrect assumption?” Peabody smiled winningly.

“My assumption would be you’re already slurping it down.”

“Baxter slurps. I, however, sip delicately.”

Eve took a breath. “Listen. The commander wanted more than an update. He had some concerns – or some jerk has concerns – about Roarke being privy to some of this data, through me. Then using same to outswing competitors.”

“No wonder you were ready to kick the first available ass,” Peabody commented.

“Well.” Baxter paused long enough to scratch his cheek. “I’d guess Whitney said what he had to say, even knowing it was flammable bullshit. Must suck being brass.”

The last of Eve’s temper simply dwindled away. “Must. Let’s dig down into this fucking morass and find some goddamn gold.”

They dug for hours. Natalie Copperfield’s data files were organized and efficient, and gave them nothing.

“McNab said there were deletions.” Eve pushed back. “I’ve got what could be interpreted as lost time, or deletions in files. Little holes, if you look at them that way. You got a serious worker bee here.”

“Makes me feel like a slacker,” Peabody agreed, then pokered up. “Which, of course, I’m not. Being a detective, and a dedicated member of the NYPSD trained by the best in the department.”

“Ass kisser,” Baxter said with a grin.

“I have three gold stars for ass kissing.”

“That’s all really fascinating,” Eve said dryly. “But my point is, Copperfield kept superior records of her work, of her time. And I’m seeing gaps. A pattern of gaps going back about five, six months.”

“I’ve got some of that,” Peabody agreed. “Could be just wedding planning. A little personal business leaked into the workplace. Happens to the best of us.”

“Maybe. And maybe it’s an account that was passed to her at that point. Those gaps start widening ten days before her death. About the time we believe she found something questionable.”

“If her killer deleted those client files altogether,” Baxter began, “he or she had access to her work unit, her data files. Doesn’t strike me that a client would be able to access.”

“Could hack in by remote, or pay someone with the necessary skills to do so,” Eve replied. “Or it could be someone on the inside. Could be both. What we’re not finding in her files is evidence there was something her killer didn’t want found there.”

“Her supervisor would know all her accounts,” Peabody put in.

“Yeah. I’m going to go by, have another talk with her before I take this home. Peabody, I need all this data secured. Baxter, if you want to do a little leg work, you can check with the vic’s sister. See if Copperfield mentioned getting a new account within the last six months. It should be a big one.”

“Got that.”

“Check on Trueheart and your actives. If you need to put in extra time, run it through me. I’ll clear it.”

“Appreciate it.”

“ Peabody, if McNab has anything, I want a tag. Whenever, wherever. I’m in the field.”

The ferocity of the traffic reminded Eve of the time. The accounting firm would be closed for the day. She called up Cara Greene’s home address from her memo book, then tried her on the ’link. At the transfer to voice mail, she left a message to be contacted ASAP. On the off chance Greene was putting in some overtime, Eve tried the office ’link, and left the same message.