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That stopped her. Peabody’s shoulders stiffened, straightened. “No.” She swiped a hand under her nose. “No,” she said again and marched out.
“Wasn’t that just perfect?” Eve muttered, then sat down to do her aide’s job.
In another section of Cop Central, the corridors were wide and the floors scrupulously clean. Cubicles were jammed with the best equipment the budget could bear and manned by cops in snazzy suits or in casual chic.
The hums and buzzes and beeps were constant, like music. Wall screens flashed with images and data in never-ending reels.
There were three holo-rooms designed for simulations and reenactments. They were used for these purposes and, nearly as often, for personal fantasies, romantic interludes, and naps.
The Electronic Detectives Division was never quiet, always crowded and painted a brain-stimulating red.
When Roarke stepped in, he scanned the room. The equipment, he noted with an expert’s eye, was reasonably good, and would be outmoded within six months. He happened to know this as one of his research and development companies had just finished a new prototype laser computer that would outpace and outperform everything currently on the market.
He made a note to himself to have one of his marketing directors contact the NYPSD’s acquisitions liaison. He imagined he could make his wife’s home away from home a very good deal.
He spotted McNab in one of those clear, three-sided cubes and made his way through the forest of them. A number of the E-detectives paced the room wearing headsets while calling out data and punching codes into palm PCs, but McNab sprawled at his desk with a brooding look in his eye.
“Ian.”
McNab jumped, rapped his knee on the underside of his desk. After the obligatory oath, he looked at Roarke. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”
“I’d hoped to see Feeney for a moment.”
“Sure, he’s back in his office. Through there,” he said, pointing at an opening in the wall. “And to the right. His door’s usually open.”
“Fine. Something wrong?”
McNab jerked his bony shoulders. “Women.”
“Ah. What else can be said?”
“They’re not worth it. That can be said.”
“Trouble with Peabody?”
“Not anymore. It’s time I got back to spreading out my talents. I’ve got a date with a redhead tonight with the best manmade breasts money can buy and an affection for black leather.”
“I see.” And because he did, very well, Roarke gave McNab’s shoulder a pat. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” McNab brushed it off and pretended his belly wasn’t full of lead weights. “I’ll get by. The redhead’s got a sister. We’re going to see if we can make it a trio.” His ’link beeped. “Got work.”
“Then I’ll let you get to it.”
Roarke passed the cubicles and the pacers and slipped into the short corridor that led to Feeney’s office. The door was indeed open, and Feeney sat at his desk, his hair standing on end, his eyes blurry as they scanned data flashing like lightning on three wall screens.
He held up a hand as he caught the movement at the door, eyes still tracking. Then he blinked. “Save, compile, and cross-reference current data with file AB-286. Hold results until command.”
Now he sat back, focused on Roarke. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“Need a minute to process anyway.”
Roarke smiled. “You or your equipment?”
“Both. I’m doing search and scans looking for probables and likelies on Yost’s employers on various hits. Maybe we find one to pigeonhole and we can get enough data to crawl up his back again.”
He reached into his bowl of nuts. “Hard on the eyes, hours of this. Going to need them fixed again.”
