Origin in Death Read online

  "Illegal."

  "I didn't say illegal."

  "Would you if you weren't aware I was asking about Icove?"

  "There are a lot of reasons, as I've just told you, why such data might be particularly protected."

  Eve sat without invitation, kept her eyes level with Mira's. "He gave the patients labels rather than names. They were all female, all be­tween the ages of seventeen and twenty-two. There was little surgery of the type he's known for. They were all tested and graded in areas such as cognitive skills, language, artistic talents, physical prowess. De­pending on their progress and level, treatment-which was never clearly detailed-was either continued or terminated. If continued, it ended in what was termed 'placement,' at which time the file was ended. What does it mean?"

  "I can't say."

  "Best guess."

  "Don't do this to me, Eve." Mira's voice trembled. "Please."

  "Okay." Eve pushed to her feet. "Okay, I'm sorry."

  Mira only shook her head. Eve stepped back out of the office, and left her alone.

  O

  n the way to Homicide, Eve pulled her 'link out of her pocket. It was still early, but as far as she was concerned, doctors and cops had no schedule. She had no problem waking Dr. Louise Dimatto.

  Louise looked dewy, her gray eyes blurry with sleep, her blond hair tousled. She said. "Ugh."

  "Got some questions. When can you meet me?"

  "Morning off. Sleepy. Go far, far away."

  "I'll come to you." Eve checked the time. "Thirty minutes."

  "I hate you, Dallas."

  The screen wavered a moment, then a handsome and sleepy male race joined Louise's. "So do I."

  "Hey, Charles." Charles Monroe was a professional LC, and the other half of the couple who were Charles and Louise. "Thirty min­utes," she repeated, and ended the transmission before anyone could argue.

  She backtracked, deciding it would be simpler to pick up Peabody at her home and head straight out. When Peabody came on screen her hair was wet and she had a towel clutched to her breasts.

  "I'm picking you up in fifteen," Eve told her.

  "Somebody dead?"

  "No. I'll fill you in. Just-" McNab stepped out of what she saw now was the shower, and she thanked God the video cut off at his sternum. "In fifteen. And for the sake of all that's decent and holy, learn to block video."

  Peabody managed to pull it together in fifteen, Eve noted with satisfaction. She came quickly out of the door hustling on those airskids she favored. Dark green today, to go with a green-and-white-striped jacket that fell just past her hips.

  She jumped in the car, then her eyes went wide and glassy. "The coat! The coat!" Her hand shot out to rub leather, and Eve slapped it away.

  "No touching the coat."

  "Can I sniff it? Please, please? Please!"

  "Nose one full inch from sleeve. One sniff."

  Peabody complied, dramatically rolled her eyes. "Roarke got home early, right?"

  "Maybe I bought it for myself."

  "Yeah, right. Maybe little pink piggies fly on gossamer wings. Okay, if nobody else is dead, why are we on the clock early?"

  "Need to consult a medical. It's touchy with Mira-personal rela­tionship with vic-so I've got Louise as backup. We're heading there.'

  Out of her bag, Peabody dug lip dye. "Didn't have time to finish," she said when Eve slanted her a look. "And if we're going to see Louise and Charles?"

  "Probably."

  "I want to be spruced."

  "Do you have any interest whatsoever in the progress of the investi­gation?"

  "Sure. I can listen, access, deduce while I spruce. Deduce while I spruce," Peabody repeated in a jaunty rhythm.

  Eve ignored the lip dying, the hair brushing, the scent spritzing while she relayed the information and fought with traffic.

  "Off-the-record and potentially illegal experimentation," Peabody mused. "His son would know."

  "Agreed."

  "Admin?"

  "She's straight office drone. No medical training on her record, but we'll interview her with this angle. What I want first is a medical opinion. I want a doctor's eyes to see the data. Mira was too close to this guy."

  "You said fifty or so patients. Seems like too many for him to handle alone."

  "What I've got covers more than five years. Various stages of testing or prep, or whatever the hell it is. There were some groupings- A-one, -two, -three. Like that. But no, even with that schedule, he most likely had help. His son, certainly. Possibly lab techs, other doctors. If this placement business is fee-based, there have to be records of income, ind somebody who handled that end."

  "Daughter-in-law? She was his ward first."

  "We'll give that a push, but no medical training on record there, either. No business experience, no tech skills. Why is there never any parking around here?"

  "A question for the ages."

  Eve considered double-parking. Considered further the probability that her fairly new ride would get bashed by a pissed-off commuter, and circled around until she found a second-level street slot two blocks from Louise's building.

  She didn't mind the walk, especially in her icy new coat.

  THEY LOOKED LIKE A COUPLE OF SLEEPY CATS,

  Eve thought. All limber and loose, like they were ready to curl up together for a little morning nap in a block of sunlight.

  Louise wore some sort of long white tunic that struck Eve as a bit goddessy-but it suited her. Her feet were bare, the toes painted a shimmery pink. Charles hadn't bothered with shoes either, but at least he didn't go for pink toes. He'd chosen white as well, in roomy white pants and a generously sized shirt.

  They looked so rosy, Eve wondered if they'd managed to sneak in a quickie since her call. Then immediately wished her brain hadn't delved in that area.

  She liked them both, had even started to get used to the idea of them as a couple. But she didn't want to think about the coupling part.

  "Bright and early, Lieutenant Sugar." Charles kissed Eve on the cheek before she could evade. "Look at you." He took Peabody by the arms and gave her a quick, warm buss on the lips. "Detective Delish."

  Peabody pinked and fluttered until Eve jabbed a finger in her side. "Official business."

  "We're having coffee." Louise walked back into the living area, flopped on the sofa, lifted a cup. "Don't ask me anything official until I've had my first jolt. Between the clinic and the shelter, I put in fourteen full ones yesterday. Today is for sloth."

  "Did you know Wilfred Icove?"

  Louise sighed. "At least sit down, have some coffee that my gor­geous lover so gallantly arranged. Have a bagel."

  "I already had breakfast."

  "Well, I didn't." Peabody sat, plucked up a bagel. "She got me out of the shower."

  "You look great," Louise commented. "Cohabbing agrees with you. How are you feeling, physically?"

  "Good. Finished the PT, got a thumbs-up."

  "You did good." Louise patted Peabody's knee. "The injuries you sustained from the assault were damned serious, and it was only a few weeks ago. You worked hard to come back this fast.”

  "Sturdy constitution helps." Secretly, Peabody wished she were more delicate, more fine-boned, like Louise.

  "If we're all caught up now?" Eve narrowed her eyes.

  "Yes, I knew Dr. Icove, and know his son a little, professionally. What happened is a tragedy. He was a pioneer in his field, and very likely had decades left to work and enjoy life."

  "You knew him personally?"

  "Through my family somewhat." Louise's blood was wealthy blue. "I admired his work and his dedication. I hope you quickly find who killed him."

  "I'm looking through some of his case files, particularly at this point the ones he kept in his home office. He had his unit passcoded, his discs sealed, and the text coded.”

  Louise pursed her lips. "Very cautious."

  "In them, he refers to his patients by letter and number, never by name."
br />   "Extremely cautious. He had many important people, political types, celebrities, business moguls, and so on as patients-or so one assume-as he never revealed names."

  "Doubtful in this case. All female, all between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two."

  Louise's elegant eyebrows drew together. "All?"

  "More than fifty, all documented for treatment over the course or four to five years on these discs."

  Her attention was caught now as Louise straightened. "What kind of treatment?"

  "You tell me." Eve took out a hard copy of one of the discs, passed the several pages across the coffee table.

  As she read, Louise's brow knitted. She began to murmur to herself, shake her head. "Experimental, certainly, and vague on the details. These can't be his actual case notes. It's an overview: physical, mental, emotional, intelligence. Treating the whole patient, as was his method. One I agree with. But... Young female subject, excellent physical con­dition, high intelligence quotient, small corrections to vision and facial structure. Four years of study and treatments wrapped in a few pages. There has to be more."

  "Is the subject human?"

  Louise's eyes flicked up, then back to the notes again. "The vitals and treatments all indicate a human female. One who was tested regu­larly, and thoroughly, not only for defects and disease but for mental and artistic progress and prowess. There were fifty of these?"

  "That I've found, to date."

  "Placement," Louise said softly. "Educational placement? Employ­ment?"

  "Dallas doesn't think so," Charles commented with his eyes on Eve's.

  "Then what-" Louise broke off, reading the look that passed be­tween her lover and Eve. "Oh God."

  "You have to be tested to get an LC license," Eve began.

  "That's right." Charles picked up his coffee. "You're tested physically to ensure against disease or condition. You undergo some psychi­atric evals, to hopefully eliminate any sexual deviants or predators. And to keep your license current, you're required to have regular exams."

  "And there are various levels, with various fee scales."

  "Of course. The level of your license is determined not only by your preference, but your skills. Intelligence, knowledge of art and enter­tainment, your ... style. A street level, for instance, isn't required to be able to discuss art history with a client, or know Puccini from pig Latin."

  "The higher the level, the bigger the fee."

  "Correct."

  "And the higher the level placed, the bigger the placement fee for the agency that either trains or tests and certifies the LC."

  "Also correct."

  "It doesn't make sense," Louise interrupted. "First someone with Icove's resources, skills, and interests testing potential LCs? For what purpose? And it doesn't take years to train and certify. His fees would be nominal compared to his real work."

  "Boy needs a hobby," Peabody added, and considered another bagel.

  Charles played his fingers over the tips of Louise's hair. "She's not thinking traditional LCs, sweetie. Are you, Dallas? Not selling ser­vices, but the whole package."

  "Selling ..." Louise went pale. "Dallas, my God."

  "It's a theory. I'm working on a couple of them. You'd agree, as a doctor, that the security on these discs is more than usual."

  "Yes, but-"

  "That the notes themselves are sketchy, and also unusual."

  "I agree I'd have to see more to have an opinion to their purpose."

  "Where are the images?" Eve asked. "If you, as a doctor, were doc­umenting information such as this on a patient over the course of years, wouldn't you have images of that patient. At certain points? Certainly before and after procedures?"

  Louise said nothing for a moment, then let out a long breath. "Yes. I'd also clearly document the steps of any procedure, who assisted, the duration of the procedure. I would've listed the names of the patient as well as the names of any medical or lay staff who assisted in tests. There would, most likely, be personal observations and comments added. But these aren't thorough notes, certainly not medical charts."

  "Okay. Thanks." Eve held out her hand for the hard copies.

  "You think he may have been involved in some sort of... human auction? That's why he was killed."

  "It's a theory." Eve got to her feet. "A lot of doctors have God com­plexes."

  "Some," Louise said, coolly now.

  "Even God didn't create the perfect woman. Maybe Icove figured he could one-up God. Thanks for the coffee," Eve added, and let her­self out.

  "I think you pretty much ruined her day," Peabody commented as they walked to the elevator.

  "Might as well go for a streak and ruin Dr. Will's day next."

  A domestic droid opened the door of the Icoves' home. She'd been created to replicate a woman in her comfortable forties, with a pleasant face, a trim build.

  She showed them directly into the main living area, offered them a seat, refreshment, then stepped out. Moments later, Icove came in.

  There were shadows under his eyes and a weary pallor to his cheeks.

  "You have news?" he asked immediately.

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Icove, we don't have anything to tell you at this time. We do have some follow-up questions."

  "Oh." He rubbed the center of his forehead in a firm up-and-down motion. "Of course."

  As he crossed over to take a seat, Eve saw the young boy peek around the doorway. His hair was so blond it was nearly white and spiked up-as the current fashion demanded-from a youthful and pretty face. He had his mother's eyes, she noted. So blue they were nearly purple.

  "I think we might want to discuss this in private," Eve told Icove.

  "Yes. My wife and children are still at breakfast."

  "Not all of them." Eve inclined her head, and Icove turned in time to catch a glimpse of his son before the boy scooted back out of sight.

  "Ben!"

  The sharp command had the boy sliding into view again, chin on chest. But those eyes, Eve saw, where bright and avid despite the shamed posture.

  ''Haven't we discussed eavesdropping on private conversations?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody," Icove said, "my son, Ben."

  "Wilfred B. Icove the Third," the boy announced, straightening his shoulders. "Benjamin's my middle name. You're the police."

  Because Peabody knew her partner, she took the front line with the boy. "That's right. We're very sorry about your grandfather, Ben, and we’re here to talk to your father.”

  "Somebody killed my granddad. They stabbed him right in the heart."

  "Ben-"

  "They know." Ben's face was a study in frustration as he turned to his father. "Now they have to ask questions and follow leads and gather evidence. Do you have suspects?" he demanded.

  "Ben." Icove spoke more gently and wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. "My son doesn't want to follow family tradition and enter the medical field. He hopes to be a private investigator."

  "Cops have to follow too many rules," the boy explained. "PIs get to break them and they get big, fat fees and hang out with shady characters."

  "He enjoys detective book discs and games," Icove added with a light of amusement-and, Eve thought, pride-in his eyes.

  "If you're a lieutenant, you get to boss people around, and yell at them and stuff."

  "Yeah." Eve felt a smile twitch at her lips. "I like that part."

  There was the sound of footsteps moving fast down the hall. Avril appeared, apology on her face. "Ben. Will, I'm sorry. He got away from me."

  "No harm. Ben, go back into the breakfast room now with your mother."

  "But I want-"

  "No arguments."

  "Ben." Avril's voice was a murmur, but it worked. Ben's head drooped again as he dragged his feet out of the room.

  "Sorry for the interruption," Avril said, curved her lips in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then retreated.

  "We're keeping t
he children home for a few days," Icove explained. "The media doesn't always respect grief, or innocence."

  "He's a great-looking kid, Dr. Icove," Peabody put in. "He favors your wife."

  "Yes, he does. Both our children favor Avril." His smile warmed, became genuine. "Fortunate DNA. What do you need to know?"

  "We have some questions regarding some information accessed from discs recovered from your father's home office."

  "Oh?"

  "The data they're on was coded."

  There was a change-just a flicker-when puzzlement became shock, a shock masked by mild interest. "Medical notes often seem like code to the layman."

  "True enough. Even when the text was accessed, the contents are puz­zling. Your father appears to have taken notes on the treatment of some fifty patients, female patients from their late teens to early twenties."

  Icove's expression remained neutral. "Yes?"

  "What do you know about those patients, those .. . treatments, Dr. Icove?"

  "I couldn't say." He spread his hands. "Certainly not without read­ing the notes. I wasn't privy to all my father's cases."

  "These strike me as a special project, and one he took some care to keep secure. My impression was his field of interest was reconstructive surgery and sculpting."

  "Yes. For more than fifty years, my father dedicated his skills to that field, and led the way to-"

  "I'm aware of his accomplishments." Deliberately, Eve hardened her voice. "I'm asking about his interests, and his work, outside of that field, the field he's publicly known for. I'm asking about his sidelines, Dr. Icove. Those that involve testing and training young women."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  Eve took out the hard copies, passed them to him. "These give a glimmer?"

  He cleared his throat, read through them. "I'm afraid not. You say you found these on disc in his home office?"

  "That's right."

  "Possibly copies from a colleague." He lifted his head, but his eyes didn't quite meet Eve's. "There's nothing on here to indicate to me that these are my father's notes. They're very incomplete. Case studies of some sort, of course. And honestly, I fail to see what these might have to do with your investigation."