Free In Death 12.5 - Interlude in Death by J.D. Robb

I did an end run around you. In your place, I’d be just as pissed off. I’m used to being able to pursue a line on an investigation in my own way, on my own time.”
    “You are not primary on this case. I want this body bagged and removed,” Darcia ordered the uniforms flanking the bedroom doors. “Probable cause of death, voluntary self-termination.”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Wait!” Eve ordered, throwing out a hand to warn the uniforms back. “This isn’t self-termination.”
    “I see an unmarked body, reclining in bed. Hair neatly brushed, cosmetic enhancements unblemished. I see on the bedside table a glass of white wine and a bottle of pills prescribed for use in painless, gentle self-termination. I have here,” she continued, holding up another evidence bag containing a single sheet of paper, “a note clearly stating the subject’s intention to end her own life due to her guilt about her part in the death of Reginald Weeks. A death she states was ordered by Roarke and for which she was paid fifty thousand, in cash. I see a satchel containing that precise amount of cash on the dresser.”
    “Roarke didn’t order anyone’s murder.”
    “Perhaps not. But I am accustomed to pursuing a line on an investigation in my own way. On my own time.” She tossed Eve’s words back at her. “Commander Skinner has lodged a complaint claiming that Roarke threatened him this morning, with words and a weapon. Security disks at the hotel verify that Roarke entered the commander’s suite and remained there for seven minutes, forty-three seconds. This incident is corroborated by one Bryson Hayes, Skinner’s personal assistant, who was present at the time.”
    There was no point in kicking something again and pretending it was Roarke’s head. “Skinner’s in this up to his armpits, and if you let him deflect your focus onto Roarke, you’re not as smart as I thought. First things first. You’re standing over a homicide, Chief Angelo. The second one Skinner’s responsible for.”
    Darcia ordered her men away by pointing her finger. “Explain to me how this is homicide, and why I shouldn’t have you taken to the first transport and removed from this station. Why I should not, on the evidence at hand, take Roarke in for interview as a suspect in the murder of Reginald Weeks.” Temper pumped into her voice now, hot and sharp. “And let me make this clear: Your husband’s money pays my salary. It doesn’t buy me.”
    Eve kept her focus on Darcia. “Peabody!” As she waited for her aide to come to the room, Eve struggled with her own temper.
    “Sir?”
    “What do you see?”
    “Ah. Sir. Female, late twenties, medium build. No sign of struggle or distress.” She broke off as Eve took an evidence bag from Darcia, passed it over. “Standard barb, commonly used in self-termination. Prescription calls for four units. All are missing. Date on the bottle is two weeks ago, prescribed and filled in Atlanta, Georgia.”
    Eve nodded when she saw the flicker in Darcia’s eyes, then handed Peabody the note.
    “Apparently suicide note, with signature. Computer-generated. The statement therein is contradictory to other evidence.”
    “Very good, Peabody. Tell Chief Angelo how it contradicts.”
    “Well, Lieutenant, most people don’t have self-termination drugs tucked in their med cabinets. Unless you’re suffering from an incurable and painful illness, it takes several tests and legalities to access the drug.”
    Darcia held up a hand. “All the more reason to have them around.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Ma’am,” Darcia corrected with a smirk at Eve. “In my country a female superior is addressed as ‘ma’am.’”
    “Yes, ma’am. It may be different in your country as to the process of accessing this sort of drug. In the States, you have to register. If you haven’t—that is, if you’re still alive within thirty days of filling the prescription, you’re on auto-recall. The drugs are confiscated and