Eve slipped her police issue out of her holster, then, with some regret, bent down to take her clinch piece out of her boot. At Peabody's bland look, she shrugged. "I started carrying a spare after my experience with Casto. A clinch piece might have saved me some grief."

"Yeah." Peabody dumped her standard-issue stunner in the bin. "I wish you'd blasted the son of a bitch."

Eve opened her mouth, closed it again. Peabody had been careful not to mention the Illegals detective who'd charmed her, bedded her, and used her while he'd killed for profit.

"Look," Eve said after a moment. "I'm sorry about the way things went down there. If you want to vent about it sometime – "

"I'm not much of a venter." Peabody cleared her throat. "Thanks, anyway."

"Well, he'll be stretching those long legs of his in lockup into the next century."

Peabody's mouth curved grimly. "There is that."

"You are cleared to enter. Please step through the gate, proceed to the autotram on the green line for transport to second level clearing."

"Jesus, you'd think we were going to see the president instead of some suit-and-tie cop." Eve walked through the gate that efficiently shut and bolted behind them. She and Peabody settled down on the stiff plastic seats of the tram. With a mechanical hum, it sped them through bunkers and into a steel-walled passageway that angled down until they were ordered to step out into an anteroom filled with harsh, artificial light and walls of view screens.

"Lieutenant Dallas, Officer." The man who approached wore the smoke gray uniform of Government Security with the rank of corporal. His blond hair was buzz cut so close his pale white scalp peeked through. His thin face was equally pale, the skin tone of a man who spent his time indoors and underground.

His uniform shirt bulged under hefty mountains of biceps.

"Leave your bags with me, please. No electronic or recording devices are permitted beyond this point. You are under surveillance and will remain so until you leave the facility. Understood?"

"Understood, Corporal." Eve handed him her bag, then Peabody's, and pocketed the receipts he gave her. "Some place you've got here."

"We're proud of it. This way, Lieutenant."

After depositing the bags in a bomb-safe lockup, he led them to an elevator, programmed it for Section Three, Level A. The doors closed without a sound; the car ran with barely a trace of movement. Eve wanted to ask how much the taxpayers had paid for the luxury, but decided the corporal wouldn't appreciate the irony.

She was certain of it when they were deposited in a wide lobby decorated with foam scoop chairs and potted trees. The carpet was thick and undoubtedly wired for motion detection. The console at which three clerks busily worked was equipped with a full range of computers, monitors, and communications systems. The piped-in music was beyond soothing and edging toward mind dulling.

The clerks weren't droids, but they were so stiff and polished, so radically conservative in dress, that she thought they'd have been better off as automatons. Mavis, she thought with deep affection, would have been appalled at the lack of style.

"Reconfirmation of palm prints, please," the corporal requested, and obediently, Eve and Peabody laid their right hands flat on the plate. "Sergeant Hobbs will escort you from here."

The sergeant, tucked neatly into her uniform, stepped from behind the console. She opened another reinforced door and led the way down a silent corridor.

At the last checkpoint, there was a final screen for weapons, then they were key-coded into the chief's office.

Here was a sweeping view of the city. Eve supposed, after one glance at Dudley, that he considered it his city. His desk was as wide as a lake, and one wall flashed with screens spot-checking various areas of the building and grounds. On another were photos and holograms of Dudley with heads of state, royalty, ambassadors. His communications center rivaled the control room at NASA Two.

But the man himself cast the rest in shadow.

He was enormous, easily six seven and a beefy two seventy. His wide, rawboned face was weathered and tanned, with his brilliantly white hair cropped short. On hands as big as Virginia hams, he wore two rings. One was the symbol of military rank; the other was a thick gold wedding band.

He stood poker straight and studied Eve out of eyes the color and texture of onyx. For Peabody, he never spared a glance.

"Lieutenant, you're inquiring into the death of Senator Pearly."

So much for amenities, Eve thought and answered in kind. "That's affirmative, Chief Dudley. I'm investigating the possibility that the senator's death is connected to another case on which I am primary. Your cooperation in this matter is duly noted and appreciated."

"I find the possibility of a connection slim to none. However, after reviewing your record with NYPSD, I found no objection to allowing you to view the senator's file."

"Even a slim possibility bears investigating, Chief Dudley."

"I agree, and I admire thoroughness."

"Then, might I ask if you knew the senator personally?"

"I did, and though I did not agree with his politics, I considered him a dedicated public servant and a man with a strong moral base."

"One who would take his own life?"

Dudley's eyes flickered for a moment. "No, Lieutenant, I would say not. Which is why you're here. The senator has left behind a family. In the area of family, the senator and I were in harmony. Therefore, his apparent suicide does not fit the man."

Dudley touched a control on his desk, inclined his head to the view wall. "On screen one, his personal file. On screen two, his financial records. Screen three, his political file. You'll have one hour to review data. This office will be under electronic surveillance. Simply request Sergeant Hobbs when you've completed your hour."

Eve's opinion of Dudley was a little hum in her throat as he left the office. "He's making it easy for us. If he didn't particularly like Pearly, I'd say he respected him. Okay, Peabody, let's get to work."

She scanned the screens as her cop's eyes had already scanned the room. She was nearly certain she'd spotted all the security cameras and recorders, and taking a chance on a very uncomfortable detention, shifted so that her body was partially blocked by Peabody's.

She pulled the diamond Roarke had given her from under her shirt, ran it idly along its chain, and with her free hand slid the small recorder out, kept it pressed just at her throat as she aimed it at the screens.

"A clean life," she said aloud. "No criminal record whatsoever. Parents married, still living, still based in Carmel. His father did military time, ranked colonel, served during the Urban Wars. Mother an MT with time off as professional parent. That's a pretty solid upbringing."

Peabody kept her eyes on the screen and off the recorder. "Solid education, too. Graduate of Princeton, with post-grad work at the World Learning Center on Space Station Freedom. That was right at its conception, and only the top students could get in. Married at thirty, just before his first run for office. Adjusted Population advocate. Requisite one child, male."

She shifted her gaze to another screen. "His politics are dead center Liberal Party. Butted heads with your old friend DeBlass over the repeal of the Gun Ban and the Morality Bill DeBlass was pushing."

"I have a feeling I would have liked the senator." Eve turned slightly. "Scroll personal data to medical history."

The screen flipped, and the technical terms made her eyes want to cross. She'd have them translated later, she thought, if she managed to get out of the facility with the recorder.

"Looked like a healthy specimen. Physical and mental records show no abnormality. Tonsils treated in childhood, a broken tibia in his twenties as a result of a sport injury. Sight correction, standard, in middle forties. A permanent sterilization procedure during the same period."