“To get a court order. And a warrant” she said, and turned away without waiting for a reply.

I watched as the woman thought she might bluff it out, for a good two and half seconds, and then she jumped up and ran after Debs, calling, “Wait a sec!” And that is how, only a few minutes later, I happened to be sitting in the back room in front of a computer terminal. Beside me at the keyboard was Noel, a preposterously skinny Haitian American man with thick glasses and severe facial scars.

For some reason, whenever there is computer work to do Deborah calls on her brother, Digitally Dominant Dexter. It is true that I am quite accomplished in certain areas of the arcane lore of finding things with a computer, since it has proved very necessary for my small and harmless hobby of tracking down the bad guys who slip through the cracks in the justice system and turning them into a few nice and tidy garbage bags full of spare parts.

But it is also true that our mighty Police Department has several computer experts who could have done the work just as easily without raising the question of why a blood spatter expert was such a good hacker. These questions can eventually turn awkward and make suspicious people ponder, which I do like to avoid at work, since cops are notoriously suspicious people.

Still, complaining is no good. It draws just as much attention, and in any case the entire police force was used to seeing the two of us together and, after all, how could I say no to my poor little sister without receiving a few of her famous powerful arm punches?

Besides, she had been somewhat cranky and distant lately, and beefing up my HLQ, or Helpful-Loyal Quotient, could not possibly hurt.

So I played Dutiful Dexter and sat with Noel, who was wearing far too much cologne, and we talked about what to look for.

“Look” Noel said with a thick Creole accent, I give you a list of all who are fired for what, two years?”

“Two years is good” I said. “If there aren't too many.” He shrugged, a task that somehow looked painful with his bony shoulders. “Less than a dozen” he said. He smiled and added, “With Jo Anne, many more just quit.”

“Print the list” I said. “Then we check their files for any unusual complaints or threats.”

“But also” he said. “We have a number of independent contractors to design projects, no? And sometimes they do not get the bid, and who can say how unhappy they are?”

“But a contractor could always try again on the next project, right?”

Noel shrugged again, and the motion looked like he was endangering his ears with his too-sharp shoulders. “Per'aps” he said.

“So, unless it was some sort of final blow-up, where the Bureau said they would never ever use them under any circumstances, it's not as likely”