Origin in Death Page 13

  Eve blocked her path, and with a hand on the woman's arm, felt the vibration of her body. "Mrs. Icove, I need you to come with me."

  "What is it? What is it?" There was a jump in her voice, and her eyes stayed trained on the door of her home. "Was there an accident?"

  "We're going to go inside and sit down."

  "They called, they called and said I needed to come home right away. No one would tell me why. I tried to call Will, but he doesn't an­swer. Is he here?"

  There were plenty of gawkers gathered behind the police barri­cades. Eve merely nudged them aside and steered Avril toward the house. "You left this afternoon."

  "Yes, yes, with the children. Will wanted me and the children away from .. . everything. And he wanted some time alone. I didn't like to leave him. Where is he? Is he hurt?"

  Eve got her inside, drew her away from the steps and into the living area. "Sit down, Mrs. Icove."

  "I need to speak with Will."

  Eve kept her gaze level. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Icove. Your husband's dead. He was killed."

  Avril's mouth moved, but no sound came out as she lowered to a chair. Her hands fluttered once, then locked together in her lap. "Will." Tears shimmered, turning her eyes to liquid amethyst. "An accident."

  "He was murdered."

  "How can that be? But how can that be?" The tears slid down her cheeks now, slowly. "We were only ... he was going to join us tomor­row. He only wanted some quiet."

  Eve sat. "Mrs. Icove, I'd like to record this, for my report. Do you object?"

  "No. No."

  Eve switched on her recorder, fed the salient data into the record. "Mrs. Icove, I'm going to need to verify your whereabouts from five-thirty this afternoon to nine this evening."

  "What?"

  "For the record, Mrs. Icove. Can you verify your whereabouts dur­ing that time frame?"

  "I took the children. I took the children to our house. The Hamp­tons." She reached up absently, brushed the coat from her shoulders. I: looked like a pool of blood against the quiet colors of the room. "We left... we left just after noon."

  "How did you travel?"

  "Shuttle. Our personal shuttle. I took them for a walk on the beach We'd hoped to have a picnic, but it was chilly. We had a swim in the in­door pool, and some lunch. Lissy, our little girl, she loves the water. We went into town and had ice cream, and saw our neighbors up there They came over. Don and Hester. They came over for drinks."

  "What time was that?"

  Her eyes had gone empty during the recital. She blinked now, like a woman coming out of a dream. "Excuse me?"

  "What time did your neighbors come over?"

  "At six, I think. At around six or a little before, and they stayed, they stayed for dinner. I wanted the company. Will likes to be alone when he's stressed or upset, but I like company. We had dinner, about seven, and the kids went to bed at nine. We played cards. Three-handed bridge. Don and Hester and myself. Then they called-the woman, I can't remember her name. She called and said I needed to come home. Hester stayed with the children for me. My children."

  ''What was your husband stressed about?"

  "His father. His father was murdered. Oh God." Her arms crossed over her belly. "Oh God."

  "Did your husband feel endangered? Threatened? Do you know if anyone made threats?"

  ''No. No. He was grieving. His father. Of course, he was grieving and upset." Avril cupped her elbows, rubbed her hands there as if chilled. "And he felt... I'm sorry, but he felt you weren't doing a very good job. He was angry because he felt you were somehow trying to compromise his father's reputation."

  "How was I doing that?"

  "I can't say. I don't know. He was upset and wanted time alone."

  "What do you know about his work?"

  "His work? He's a surgeon, a very skilled and important surgeon. The facilities at the Center are among the finest in the world."

  "Did he discuss his work with you? Most specifically his private project and research?"

  "A man with such a high-powered and demanding profession doesn't like to bring that work home night after night. He needs a sanctuary."

  "That doesn't answer my question."

  "I don't understand the question."

  "What do you know about projects your husband and father-in-law kept off the books, so to speak?"

  There were still tears but they were just glimmering now, blurring the eyes, the voice. "I don't know what you mean."

  "I'm interested in a long-term private project, one your husband and your father-in-law have been pursuing, actively. One that would require extensive facilities-in or outside the center. One that involves treatment of young women."

  Two tears spilled over, and for a moment, just an instant, those lavender eyes were clear. Something was in them, something sharp and cool. Then it was gone, wavering behind another shimmer of tears.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know anything about it. I wasn't involved in Will's work. Are you saying you think his work is somehow responsi­ble for his death?"

  Eve changed tacks. "Who has the security code for this house?"

  "Ah ... Will and myself, of course. His father-his father did. The domestics."

  "Anyone else?"

  "No. Will was very cautious about security. We changed the codes every few weeks. A bother," she said with the barest hint of a smile. "I'm not very good with numbers."

  "How was your marriage, Mrs. Icove?"

  "How was my marriage?"

  "Any problems? Friction? Was your husband faithful?"

  "Of course he was faithful." Avril turned her head away. "What a terrible thing to ask."

  "Whoever killed your husband was either let into the house or knew the codes. A man, under stress, might send his wife and children out of town for a day or two in order to spend time with a lover."

  "I was his only lover." Avril's voice dropped to a whisper. "I was what he wanted. He was devoted. A loving husband and father, a ded­icated doctor. He would never hurt me or the children. He would never stain our marriage with infidelity."

  "I'm sorry. I know this is difficult."

  "It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible. Is there something I should do now? I don't know what I should do."

  "We'll need to take your husband's body in, for examination."

  Avril winced at that. "Autopsy."

  “Yes.”

  "I know you have to. I don't like the thought of it, of what will hap­pen. One of the reasons we rarely discussed Will's work was because I don't like the thought of the ... the cutting and lasering."

  "Squeamish? A doctor's wife-and a woman who likes crime drama."

  There was a hesitation before that ghost of a smile. "I guess I like the end results, but could do without the blood. Do I have to sign anything ?"

  "No. Not now. Is there anyone you'd like us to call for you? Anyone you’d want to contact?"

  "No. There's no one. I have to get back to my children." Her hands came out of her lap, pressed to her lips as they trembled. "My babies. I have to tell my babies. I have to take care of them. How will I ever explain?"

  "Do you want a grief counselor?"

  Avril hesitated again, then shook her head. "No, not now. I think

  they’ll need me. Just me, for now. Me, and time. I have to go to my children."

  "I'll arrange to have you escorted back." Eve got to her feet. "I'm go­ng to need you to stay available, Mrs. Icove."

  "Of course. Of course I will. We'll stay in the Hamptons tonight. Away from the city. Away from this. The media, they won't leave us alone, but it'll be better there. I don't want the children exposed. Will

  would want me to shield the children."

  "Do you need anything from here?"

  "No. We have all we need."

  Eve watched her go, drive away in the sedan, this time with a police escort.

  When she was satisfied with her on-site, Eve gestured to Peabody. "My home office is closer. I'm going to write the report
from there, and arrange for your transport home."

  ''You want me with you?"

  ''For the moment." She headed out to her car, handing Peabody the record of her interview with Avril Icove. "Listen to it, then give me your impressions."

  "Sure."

  Peabody settled into the car, switching the replay on as Eve drove.

  Eve drove through her own gates, listening to Avril's voice, her own questions.

  "Shaky," Peabody said. "Teary, but holding up."

  "What's missing?"

  "She never asked how he died."

  "Never asked how, never asked where or why or who. And never asked to see him."

  "Which is strange, I grant you. But shock can make for strange."

  "What's the number-one question a shocked family member asks when informed?"

  "Number one's probably: Are you sure?"

  "She never asks, never insists on proof. She starts off with the 'Was there an accident?' routine, fumbles around to find her balance. Okay on that. She was shaking when I took her in, that works, too. But she never asks how he died."

  "Because she knew? That's reaching, Dallas."

  "Maybe. She never asked how we got in-how we found him. Never said: 'Oh God, was there a break-in, a burglary?' Never asked it he went out and got himself mugged. I never told her he was killed in the house. But if you watch her face on the record, she looked through the doorway toward the stairs going up several times. She knew he was dead up there. I didn't have to tell her."

  "We can verify whether or not she was where she said she was dur­ing the time frame."

  "She'll have been there. She had that pat. She'll be alibied tight. But she's in this somewhere."

  They sat in front of the house, Eve frowning through the windshield.

  "Maybe he was catting around on her," Peabody suggested. "She uses what happened to his father as inspiration, and gets somebody to off him. Maybe she was doing the catting, and figured she could lap up more cream with him dead. Gets her lover the security code, clears his voice print prior. He sticks the husband, mimicking the MO from the first murder."

  "Where'd the tray of fruit and cheese come from?"

  "Shit, Dallas. Icove could've ordered himself a snack."

  "Came from the kitchen unit. I checked."

  “So.”

  "So why go downstairs, order a snack, haul it up. You want a snack, use the office AutoChef."

  "Lee-Lee Ten," Peabody reminded her. "Maybe it's like that. Maybe he likes to putter in the kitchen when he's got something on his mind."

  "He's no kitchen putterer. She might be, Avril, but not him. Not Dr. Will."

  "He could've been downstairs, decided to go up. Ordered it to take up with him. Gets up there, decides, I'm not hungry right now, stretches out, falls asleep. Wife's handsome yet sleazy lover slips into the house, goes up, goes in, shoves the scalpel into his heart, takes the disc, resets security, and walks away."

  Eve made a noncommittal sound. "We'll talk to friends and neigh­bors and associates, check her personal finances again, go through her routines."

  "But you don't like my handsome-yet-sleazy-lover angle."

  "I don't discount the handsome yet sleazy lover. But if so, they moved damn fast to have it this smooth. I'm betting this was planned as carefully, and as much in advance, as the old doc's. Same people, same motive behind both."

  "Maybe Dolores is her handsome yet sleazy lover."

  "Maybe. In any case, we look at Avril, and find the link."

  Eve pushed open her door. "Take the vehicle. Come back at seven hundred. We'll put in a couple hours here before we go into Central."

  Peabody checked her wrist unit. "Wow! Looks like I may get five hours' sleep."

  "You want sleep? Sell shoes."

  Eve wasn't surprised to find Summerset, still fully dressed, in the foyer. "Icove's son's now as dead as he is." She peeled off her coat, tossed it over the newel post. "You really want to help, turn up the soft glow of memory light and look back hard. He was into something."

  "Must everyone you see carry stains?"

  She glanced back as she walked upstairs. "Yeah. If you want to fine out who killed him more than you want to canonize him, you'll look for them, too."

  She kept going up, and straight into her office. Roarke came through the adjoining door.

  "If I came home and a cop met me at the door," she began, "and told me you'd been murdered, what do you figure I'd do?"

  "Fall into a pit of despair from which you would drown for the rest of your sad, empty life."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get serious."

  "I rather liked that one." He leaned on the doorjamb. "First, I imag­ine you would kick the unfortunate messenger-and anyone else stu­pid enough to get in your path-out of your way. To see for yourself. I would hope you'd weep an ocean of hot and bitter tears over my body Then you'd find out everything that could be found out and hunt my killer down like a rabid dog to the ends of the earth."

  "Okay." She sat on the edge of her desk and studied him. "What if I didn't love you anymore?"

  "Then my life would no longer be worth living, and I'd have prob­ably self-terminated or simply died of a broken, battered heart."

  She had to grin at him, then sobered and shook her head. "She didn’t love him. The widow. She put on a dignified show, but she didn't have all the lines, and she didn't- What's it when actors . . ." She threw out her arms, put a horrified expression on her face, slapped her arm-crossways over her chest.

  "Miming? Please don't do that again. It's rather frightening."

  "Not miming. People should be allowed-no, they should be re­quired to chase mimes down the street with bats. Emote, that's the word. Avril didn't emote believably. See there was a tone when she talked about him, and another when she talked about her kids. She loves the kids. She didn't love their father, or not anymore. Not through and through. Peabody figures she had some side action."

  "Seems reasonable. You don't?"

  "When do I have time for side action when you're nailing me every chance you get?"

  He reached out, gave her hair a quick tug. "Quick tonight, aren't you?"

  "Must be the buzz, because I've got one going on this. Maybe she had a side dish. And maybe she's that smart and that quick and calcu­lating. Duplicating her father-in-law's murder to muddy the waters. But I'm thinking it is what it looks like. Connected murders by or on behalf of the same parties. And she's in it."

  "Why? Money, sex, fear, power, rage, jealousy, revenge. Aren't those the headliners?"

  "Power's in there. They were powerful men, killed with a tool of their own trade. If it's rage, it's ice cold. I don't see fear, and money doesn't give me the buzz. Jealousy's unlikely. Revenge-that's the unknown."

  "The money's plentiful, and well channeled. I haven't, as yet, found any that's questionable. Their accounts are ordered, extremely well organized and maintained."

  "There's more somewhere."

  "Then I'll find it."

  "Here's the gist."

  Eve ran it through for him quickly. As she spoke, he came in, opened a recessed door, and took out brandy. He poured a snifter for himself, and knowing his wife, ordered her a cup of black coffee. He hoped it would be her last of a long day.

  She didn't like them, her victims, he thought. It wouldn't stop her from pursuing whoever was responsible for their deaths, but it wasn't punishing her as murder often did.

  It was the puzzle that gave her the buzz she'd spoken of, the buzz she'd use and burn through until she found the answers.

  But the dead, this time, didn't haunt her. The girls she believed they'd used would. And for them, he knew, she'd burn through until she found those answers and exhausted herself.

  "It's not impossible the system was compromised," he said when she'd finished. "Depends on the skill of your B-and-E man." He passed her the coffee. "But in that neighborhood, at that time of the evening you'd have to have extreme skill. Particularly extreme if when EDI examine
s the system they still find no sign of tampering."

  "It's more likely she had the codes, and a voice box or clearance We've taken in the droids, too, and EDD will take them apart, see if any were compromised. If Icove's orders were countermanded by the wife at some point earlier today, one of the droids could have opened the door for the killer, then had its memory washed."

  "It would show. Unless, again, you're extremely skilled."

  "He wasn't eating-Icove. No appetite. So if his tummy rumbled okay, he wants a little bite. But he's working in his office. Sequestered there. Wiping data, I'll bet your fine ass."

  She paced now, walking it through. "He doesn't go downstairs to the kitchen to order a tray of food. It's not efficient. And you know what it is-a pretty tray with pretty fruit, artfully arranged cheese and whatnot. It's wifely."

  "I wouldn't know," Roarke said dryly. "I don't believe my wife ha-ever artfully arranged cheese on a tray for me."

  "Bite me. You know what I'm saying. It's female and fussy. The sort of thing fussy females do to cajole somebody to eat. But it wasn't the wife. She's in the Hamptons, eating ice cream with the kiddies, enter­taining the neighbors. Making damn straight sure somebody can swear on a mountain of Bibles she was somewhere else when that scalpel went into Icove's heart. So maybe Icove was fooling around and some­how his side dish and his wife are in league."

  "Back to sex."

  "Yeah. Maybe he was cheating on both of them. Maybe his sainted father was a perv and diddled with all three. But that's not it." She shook her head. "It doesn't feel like sex. It's the project. It's the work. She lied to me about knowing about his work, knowing about any long-term private research. That was the missed beat in her routine. There was the rage, just a flicker. I saw it in her eyes."

  She sipped her coffee. "She could've planted the weapon at the Cen­ter. Who's going to question Dr. Will's wife if she wanders around? Easy enough to palm a scalpel, conceal one. She's the main link be­tween the two victims. Former ward of one, wife of the other. Maybe, if this project goes back far enough, she was part of it."

  "It's a long time to wait to take your revenge," Roarke pointed out. "A lot of emotional ties during that time. She couldn't have been forced to marry and live with, have children with Will Icove, Eve. It had to be her choice. If she's involved, isn't it more likely she found out about this project-objected, was appalled or enraged?"