"I'll do whatever I can to protect your privacy. Tell me how you came to use Nick Greene's services."

Archer rolled her lips inward into a nearly invisible line. "I'd heard about him through an acquaintance. It seemed harmless, and though his services were admittedly borderline, I made use of them. A release valve, you could say, from the pressures of the job. I made use of them once a month for several months. Then he gave me a copy of the disc, explained the payment schedule and the consequences of nonpayment. All very reasonable and businesslike."

"You must have been very angry."

"I was angry. More, I felt like a fool. A woman who's lived for more than sixty years, sat on a bench for fourteen, shouldn't be so easily duped. I paid, because one always pays for foolishness, and I stopped using his services."

"Were you afraid he would expose you anyway?"

She angled her head in mock surprise. "And cut off a small but steady income? No."

"Did he ever up the payments or threaten to do so?"

"No. In his way, he was a good businessman. If you bleed too fast and hard, you eviscerate."

Archer lifted her hands, the only excess motion she'd made throughout the interview. "I didn't even resent the payments. They reminded me I was human. Which is why I used his services to begin with. I needed to be reminded I was human. You've done a background on me. Personal, professional?"

"Yes, Your Honor, an initial run."

"I've served the law, and served it well. My record bears that out. I'm not ready to retire." She glanced over at the small viewing screen on her wall. "I saw the broadcast on 75 this morning. It was a vicious, horrible death they chose for him. He was a blackmailer, and he peddled in what could be called sin, certainly exploited people's secret weaknesses. But he didn't deserve to die as he did. Nor did that child."

She looked at Eve again, her gaze direct and level. "You suspect that I may be a part of these vigilantes calling themselves pure? They stand for everything I abhor, Lieutenant. Everything I've dedicated my life to fighting against. They're bullies and cowards playing God. I'm willing to waive legal representation at this time and submit to a Truth Test. My conditions are that this be done privately, by a single authorized and licensed technician, and that when the results clear me of suspicion, they, as well as the disc and any files pertaining to me in this matter, are sealed."

"I'll agree to those conditions and will arrange it. I can ask Dr. Mira to do the Testing personally."

"Dr. Mira is acceptable."

"I believe the results will put an end to your involvement in this matter, Your Honor."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask your advice and opinion on another matter connected to my investigation?"

"Yes."

"I have requested warrants to open sealed files on juvenile victims that directly pertain to this case. Child Services filed a TRO blocking me from these records and from additional records of their agency. The prosecutor's office engaged in the standard legal wrangle over this. The block remains."

"Sealeds, particularly in the case of minors, are sensitive issues."

"So is serial homicide. So is terrorism. So is obstructing a priority investigation. Time is of the essence, yet an essential tool is being held out of my reach. This isn't a matter of opening sealeds to the public, but to an investigator with probable cause. If this matter was before you, how would you rule?"

Archer leaned back. "Is your probable cause solid, Lieutenant-and don't jive with me."

"It's rock solid. The TRO argues that the sealeds must remain to protect the minors and their families from further distress, to ensure their privacy. The P.A. argues that probable cause in a homicide investigation supersedes, and further argues that the contents of the sealeds will be known only to the investigative team."

"If the arguments are as basic as that, you'd have your warrants in my court. Who signed the initial warrants?"

"Judge Matthews?"

"And he's subsequently held the sealeds?"

"No, Your Honor. The arguments are being presented to Judge Lincoln."

"Lincoln. I see. I'll make a few inquiries."

Eve left the courthouse with Peabody beside her and took a moment in the air. "If she's not clean, I've lost all sense of direction."

"Do we keep working down the list?"

"Yeah, we keep working it. Meanwhile, do a run on Judge Lincoln."

"Another judge? Jeez."

"He's not on Greene's. But he's on Archer's. She's good," Eve said as she got into her vehicle. "But she's not that good. I saw something on her face when I told her he was hearing the arguments over the sealeds."

Frowning, she pulled out her beeping pocket 'link. "Dallas."

"O'Malley's," Dwier said briskly. "Twenty minutes. Come alone."

"The Blue Squirrel," Eve returned, wanting home field advantage. "Fifteen."

She broke transmission.

Eve didn't frequent the Blue Squirrel as often as she once had. It was a joint with no redeeming qualities, including the food and service. During the day, it catered to a handful of surly regulars and the occasional lost soul who was foolish enough to think he might scope out a cheap meal and a little action.

At night it was usually jammed with people who made the action and were tough enough or crazy enough to risk their lives for what passed for alcohol in such places.

The music was loud, the tables small and rarely clean, and the air generally permeated with bad booze and stale Zoner.

Eve had an odd affection for it, and was pleased to find it hadn't changed since her last visit.

For a time Mavis had been one of the featured performers, whirling in costumes that defied description and screeching out her music to a packed dance floor where people actually seemed to understand it.

Thinking of Mavis, Eve wondered if impending motherhood would tone her down.

Not a chance.

"Grab a table opposite side," Eve ordered Peabody. "Eat if you dare."

"Their soy fries are only half-bad. I'll risk it."

Eve chose a table in the far comer, slid in. And decided Peabody was right. The fries were only half-bad, and deserved another chance.

She keyed in an order on the menu, and decided not to dance any closer to the edge by risking the coffee. She opted for bottled water, which she feared was bottled in one of the seamy back rooms by flat-nosed men with hairy knuckles.

Seeing no sign of Dwier, she pulled out her communicator and checked in with Feeney. "What's the status?"

"Nearly there." There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair was sticking out in tufts. "Two hours, we'll nail it. What're you working on?"

"In a couple of minutes, lunch. Blue Squirrel."

"You walk on the dark side, Dallas."

"Yeah, that's me. Got a meet with Dwier. He should be coming along shortly. I think he wants to deal."

"I'll give him a damn deal." Feeney blew air out his nose. "You wanna tell me what the brass was doing here this morning?"

"Can't. I have to wait for some information. Bugs me, Feeney, but I can't."

"Hooked a big fish, didn't you, kid? No, don't sweat it," he said. "Just remember, some big fish got teeth."

"I'm careful. Dwier just walked in. Later."

She pocketed the communicator, then waited for him to come to the table.

"I said alone. Ditch the uniform or this ends now."

"The uniform needs to eat. You want to walk, it's your choice." She nipped the bottle of water as it popped out of the serving slot. "Keep away from the coffee," she said conversationally. "If you want to live."