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“Okay, I did tell you. We’re in the middle of a messy investigation and they’re trying to score off each other, and sulking. They’re cops, damn it.”
“That’s right. But they’re not droids.”
“Okay, okay.” She threw up her hands. “But they better table it until we close this. Moving on, Whitney used his arm and got me some additional data on Mollie Newman.”
“Ah, the justice’s minor entertainment.”
“Entertainment for him maybe. Upshot is she was his niece through marriage. A nice, impressionable kid who did well in her classes and wanted to be a lawyer. The justice was going to help her out there, and apparently just helped himself. I’m leaving her out of it, at least for now.”
“You might get closer after a little chat with her.”
“I might, but it’s not worth it.” She’d worked those angles everywhere they would fit and had decided they simply didn’t fit at all. “Yost doesn’t worry about ID, so her seeing him means nothing. I don’t think he touched her, no
t his style.”
“He wasn’t being paid to.”
“Exactly. And her medical indicates illegals and sexual molestation. I’d hang Exotica and the molestation on the judge, the Zoner on Yost to put her down while he did the job. I don’t need her to build a case, so unless it looks like there was some connection through her or her mother to Yost, I’m leaving her alone. She’s got enough to get over.”
No one would understand better, Roarke thought. “Then we’ll leave her be.”
“Meanwhile, Feeney popped into the briefing with some very interesting data, right out of Jacoby’s and Stowe’s sealed profiles.”
If they’d been playing poker, his mildly interested expression would have pulled in the pot with a hand full of trash. “Is that so?”
“Don’t give me that. It had your fingerprints all over it.”
“Lieutenant. I’ve told you before, I never leave fingerprints.”
“I told you before I didn’t want you veering off the regulations to get me information.”
“And I haven’t.”
“No, you just used Feeney as a bridge.”
“Did he say that?” When she hissed, he smiled. “Apparently not. I can only assume this data received from some unidentified source proved useful.”
She scowled at him, pushed off the desk to pace away. Paced back. Then gave up and told him about her meeting with Karen Stowe.
“Losing a friend is never easy,” he murmured. “Losing one when you feel you might have done something to stop it leaves a hole.”
Because she knew he lived with that, she laid her hands on his shoulders. “And going back to what you might have done helps no one.”
“But you’re helping her close it, just as you helped me close mine. What do you want me to do?”
“She gave me the names of three men. I want to know about these men, without sending up flags. It’s not illegal to look at them. Looking from an angle that won’t alert their personal security is a trickier area. But it’s not against the law unless you break sealeds. I don’t want that. I just want a discreet search. If you generate it, the Feebs aren’t likely to hit on it. If I do, they will.”
“And if you take more than a standard scan, officially, on Winifred’s case file, Jacoby might clue in, might look at it closer himself. That potentially exposes Stowe.”
“Exactly. Can you do it without breaking the law?”
“Yes, but I might have to bruise it slightly. Nothing that would generate more than a knuckle rap and a small fine if I were the clumsy type and got caught at it.”
“I can’t risk asking for a warrant again to keep it all aboveboard. We haven’t plugged the leak.”
“What are the names?”
She took out the memo, handed it over.
