by J. D. Robb
Eve nodded to them as she and Peabody sealed up. “Any problem if we record this?”
“Not for me,” Hyer said.
“Record on. Let’s get started.”
16
WHEN EVE COMPLETED HER EXAMINATION OF the scene and the body, she stepped back out. “I’d like my EDD team to run the electronics. And I’d like my civilian consultant to take a look at the scene.”
“You going to tell me why?”
“I have two victims, male, who were killed by the same method. Those victims have an association with this institution.”
“You’re talking about the Icoves.”
Impatience rippled through her. “If you know, why are you wasting my time?”
“Just want to hear your angle. I see a body get that way by the same method used to kill two prominent doctors in New York, it gets me thinking. And I recall the picture flashed on of the suspect, and she’s a pretty young thing. I got a pretty young thing as my prime, too. Don’t look like the same pretty young thing, so maybe there’s more than one. Or maybe if I run those two images through the computer for a match, they will. So why does some woman—or women—who wants two city doctors dead come all the way out here to kill the head of a girls’ school?”
“We have reason to believe the killer or killers attended this institution.”
Hyer glanced back inside. “Must’ve been damn unhappy with her grade point average.”
“School’s a bitch. You’ve been sheriff a number of years. How many times have you been called out here?”
He had a thin mouth, but there was considerable charm in it when it curved up slow. “This would make one. Been out off duty plenty of times. The theater puts on plays three, four times a year. Open to the public. My wife likes that kind of thing. And they have a garden tour every spring. She usually drags me to that.”
“Does it seem odd to you that in all this time, you never got a call about some homesick kid climbing over the wall. Or a theft, an unattended death, vandalism.”
“Maybe it has. But I can’t come out and complain they’re not making trouble.”
“You ever know of one of the girls hooking up with a local boy, or going into town and getting into trouble?”
“Nope. They don’t go in, and yeah, I figured it odd. Enough that when my wife dragged me out here, I poked around a little, asked some questions. Nothing to go on,” he said with another glance around. “Nothing but a gut thing, you get me?”
“Yeah, I get you.”
“But it’s a snooty school and we’re small change, so there’s nothing I can pin that gut thing on. Now, there’s been a few times some of the young boys tried to get in, over the wall, over the gate. That’s natural enough. Security picks them up before they get on the grounds. I’m giving, New York,” he added. “I don’t feel like I’m getting.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you much. I’m under Code Blue.”
Now his eyes widened. “That’s higher than I expected.”
“I can tell you we have strong reasons to believe that there’s more going on here than education. Your gut’s not wrong, Sheriff. I need to let my team loose. I need to see the security discs and the student records. I need to interview witnesses.”
“Give me something more. Show of faith.”
“Wilfred Icove was murdered by a woman who attended this institution and subsequently vanished. There are no records of her after that date, and no missing persons was filed. We believe her official data was fabricated, by or with the knowledge of her victim. We believe she killed, or had a part in killing Wilfred Icove, Jr. And that she and an accomplice just dumped this homicide in your lap. This school is the breeding ground for that. I don’t think she’s finished. I think there’s data here that will help us both. I’ll give you everything I’m authorized to give. And when I’m able to give you more, you’ll get that, too.”
“You think this place is some sort of cult?”
“Not that simple. I’ve got two doctors with me. They could examine some of the students. One is a licensed counselor. She could help them with the trauma of the situation.”
“They got doctors and counselors on staff.”
“I’d like ours to handle it.”
“All right.”
“Thanks. Peabody, brief the team. You can help Sheriff Hyer with the ID match shortly. Have Roarke meet me at the scene in ten.”
She studied the security vid. It was a good alteration, Eve decided. The hair was so bold, it drew the eye, and the face was fuller. Softer. Cooler skin tone, different eye color. Shape of the mouth, too. Must’ve used an appliance for that.
“It’s her,” Eve said. “If you weren’t expecting her, if you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t make her. She’s good. You’ll want to run the program to be sure—and you’ve got her hands, her ears—but that’s her.”
Or maybe one of her, Eve thought. How could she be sure?
“Vic doesn’t make her,” Eve added. “It’s all . . .”
She trailed off, staring as Diana Rodriguez came down the stairs on the vid.
What was it like, she wondered, to see yourself walking toward you. The child you were.
She thought of herself at that age. A loner, marking time, with so many wounds under the mask it was a wonder she hadn’t bled to death.
She’d been nothing like this beautiful young girl who stopped and appeared to speak politely to the older women. Nothing near as poised, nothing near as confident.
Eve swallowed the exclamation when she saw Deena’s and Diana’s eyes meet.
She knows. The kid knows.
And she watched them each glance back as they walked in opposite directions and thought: Not just knows. Understands. Approves.
Well, why wouldn’t she? They’re the same person.
“Want me to run it forward?” Hyer asked her when Samuels and Deena walked into the sitting room.
“Huh? Yeah, please.”
“Nobody came near the door during the elapsed time,” he continued. “No transmissions in or out, either.” He stopped the disc, resumed at real time. “Here she comes.”
“Cool. The same as with Icove. She doesn’t hurry, she just . . . She took something from the room.”
“How you figure?”
“Her bag. Her purse, it’s heavier. Look how she’s got her body angled to adjust for the weight. Run it back, run it back to when she went inside, freeze and split the screen with her exit.”
He obliged, pulled on his bottom lip as they both studied. “Could be, could be. Missed it. Bag’s not big, so she couldn’t have taken anything bigger than—”
“Discs. What do you bet she took discs or records. She doesn’t kill to steal, not for profit. Vic had good jewelry on. It’d be information—that slides right in.”
She took Roarke to the murder scene. “What do you see?” she demanded.
“A nicely appointed sitting room. Female, but not overly fussy. Very neat, very upscale.”
“What don’t you see?”
“No security cameras, as there are in other areas. But,” he continued as he took out what appeared to be a memo book, “that’s what makes it private. And it is. No eyes in here.”
“Okay. So we have private. No eyes, soundproofed. She’d have an office, and maybe more than one. She’d have living quarters, and we’ll get to all that. But this is her little sanctuary, in the main building. She might secret data, journals, records, and so on elsewhere. But why have a little sanctuary if you don’t use it? Deena took something out of here, something she put in her handbag. But . . . what do you see?”
He took another, longer measure of the room. “Everything in its place. Very ordered and tasteful. Balanced. Much like, though in smaller scale, the Icove home. No signs it’s been searched or anything taken. How long did she have in here?”
“Eleven minutes.”
“Then, particularly considering she killed in that time frame, whatever she took was in plain view, or she k
new just where to find it.”
“I’m going with door number two, because she wouldn’t have been after a damn vase, or a souvenir. And our vic isn’t going to have any incriminating data in the open. This isn’t thrill killing, it’s purposeful. She knew the routine.”
Knew it, Eve thought. Practiced her way through it.
“Samuels met with parents or guardians of potential students in here. Not that they took in many from the outside, just enough to add income and diversity. Keep up a strong public rep. She interviewed potential staff in one of her offices. Deena could’ve gone that route, but she chose this one. She wanted in here. She wanted something in here in addition to terminating Samuels. Let’s find the hole.”
She went to a small desk first. It was obvious, but sometimes things were obvious for a reason.
“I’m going to have to convince Hyer to let me transport the body to New York.”
Roarke ran his fingers delicately over walls, around art. “Because?”
“I want Morris on it. Just Morris. I want to know if she had face and/ or body work. I want to run a match program on her with images of Wilson’s wife, Eva Samuels.”
He stopped long enough to look back at her. “You think she was a clone. Eva Samuels’s clone.”
“Yeah, I do.” She hunkered down to search under a table. “And when I was examining the body, I learned something.”
“What?”
“They bleed and die like anybody else.”
“If you’re right about Deena, they kill, like their naturally conceived counterparts. Ah, there we are.”
“Found it?”
“Seems I have.” He drew out the wall screen as she rose and crossed to him. “Now this is a beauty,” he murmured, dancing his fingers over the face of the wall vault. “Titanium core with a duraplast shell. Triple combination including voice code. Incorrect sequence will automatically reset it to an alternate combination and code, while triggering silent alarms in all or any of five selected locations.”
“And you know that by looking at it.”
“As I’d recognize a Renoir, darling Eve. Art is art, after all. I’ll need some time with it.”
“Take it, tag me when you’re in. I need to check in with the rest of the team and get some statements.”
She contacted Mira and met her outside the theater. “What’s your take?”
“They’re children, Eve. Young girls. Frightened, confused, excited.”
“Dr. Mira—”
“They’re children,” she repeated, and the strain showed in her voice. “However they came to be. They need to be comforted, protected, reassured.”
“What the hell do you think I’m going to do, round them up for mass extermination?”
“Some will want just that. They’re not us, they’re artificial. Abominations. Others will want to examine them, study them, as they would a mouse in a lab.”
“What do you think he did? I’m sorry it hurts you, but what do you think he did with them, all these years, but examine and study them, test and train them.”
“I think he loved them.”
“Oh, fuck that.” Eve spun around, strode a few paces away in an attempt to cool her blood.
“Was he right, was he moral?” Mira lifted her hands, as if to reach out. “No, not on any level. But I can’t believe they were nothing but experiments to him. Means to an end. They’re beautiful girls. Bright, healthy. They—”
“He made damn sure of that.” Eve whirled back. “Damn sure they met and maintained his specifications. Where are the ones who didn’t? And these?” She swung her arm toward the theater doors. “What are their choices. None. His choices, his vision, his standards, every one. What makes him different, at the core, than a man like my father? Breeding me, locking me up like a rat in a cage, training me. Icove had more brains, and we’ll assume his training methods didn’t include beatings, starvation, rape. But he created, imprisoned, and sold his creations.”
“Eve—”
“No! You listen to me. Deena might have been a reasoned adult when she killed him. She may not have been in fear for her life. But I know what she felt. I know why she drove that knife into his heart. Until he was dead, she was still in the cage. It won’t stop me from tracking her down, from doing my job to the best of my capabilities. But she didn’t kill an innocent. She didn’t assassinate a saint. If you’re not capable of putting aside your image of him as one, I can’t use you.”
“How objective are you, when you see him as a monster?”
“The evidence portrays him as a monster,” Eve snapped back. “But I’ll use that evidence in my attempts to identify, apprehend, and incarcerate his killer or killers. Right now I’ve got nearly eighty minor females in there—and this doesn’t speak to the nearly two hundred at the college—who may or may not have legitimate legal guardianship. They have to be accessed and interviewed, and yes, fucking A, they have to be protected. Because none of this is their fault. It’s his. While I’m dealing with them, I want you to go back, wait in the transpo until such time as I can arrange to have you taken back to New York.”
“Don’t you speak to me that way. And don’t treat me like one of the screwups you enjoy slapping back.”
“I’ll speak to you any way I damn well please, and you will obey my orders. I’m primary on the homicide investigations of both Wilfred B. Icoves. You’re here under my authority. And you are screwing up. You either go back to the transpo on your own, or I’ll have you escorted.”
She may have looked tired, but Mira went toe-to-toe. “You can’t interview those children without me. I’m a licensed counselor. You can’t interview minors without the presence of a licensed counselor without the express permission of said minor’s parents or legal guardians.”
“I’ll use Louise.”
“Louise isn’t NYPSD-authorized in this capacity. So to borrow a phrase, Lieutenant, bite me.”
Mira turned on her heel and stormed back inside.
Eve kicked the door behind her. When her ’link beeped, she yanked it out. “What, goddamn it.”
“I’m in,” Roarke told her. “And have a look.”
She scowled at her screen as he turned his ’link so she could view the empty vault. “Great. Terrific. Hit her offices next, pass anything you find to Feeney.”
“Happy to oblige. Oh, Lieutenant, you might want to yank out whatever foreign entity’s crawled up your ass before it ruins the line of your suit.”
“I’m too busy to be amused.” She snapped off the ’link, then marched into the theater. “I want Diana Rodriguez,” she told Mira, “in a private area.”
“There’s a small lounge one level down.”
“Fine. Bring her.” As she walked away, Eve took out her communicator. “Peabody. Report.”
“Computer match on Flavia and Frost. No result, as yet, on the APB out on her or the vehicle. I’m checking all transpo stations within a hundred-mile radius.”
Eve took a moment, cleared her mind. “Check on any flights leaving any local stations for New York City and the Hamptons. You have the list of other properties under the Icove name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Add them. Whatever you find, we need passenger lists. We need all private transpos to all or any of those locations.”
“On that.”
Eve broke off, beeped Feeney. “Give me something.”
“Working on it. School’s units have layers, more shields than the frigging Pentagon. But we’re knocking them out. Might have something for you on the exterior cams. Maybe a partial on the driver.”
“I’ll take it. Send it to me.”
“Let me play with it a little first. See if I can clean it up and enhance.”
“ASAP, then.”
She was calmer, Eve decided. That was good. The go-round with Mira had stirred her up. And had stirred up emotions and memories she’d worked viciously to suppress throughout the investigation. Couldn’t afford them, she reminded herself as she hunte
d up the lounge. Couldn’t afford to think about what she’d been, where she’d been, what had been done to her.
The lounge was bright, cheerful, equipped with choice vending machines, three AutoChefs, long, clean counters, colorful tables and comfortable chairs. There was an entertainment unit, and she noted a prime selection of vids.
She’d been kept in dirty rooms, often in the dark. Denied food. Denied companionship.
But a silk-lined cage, she thought, was still a cage.
She eyed one of the vending machines. She needed a hit, but there was no one around to run interference between her and the evil machine. She studied it, jingling loose credits in her pocket.
She’d nearly cracked when she heard footsteps. Instead, she settled at one of the colorful tables and waited.
The kid was a beauty. Gleaming dark hair, deep, dark eyes. Her face would fine down more, Eve supposed, lose some of the roundless of youth. She wasn’t quite gangly, but was closing in on that stage.
“Diana, this is Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
Eve dug out the credits. “Hey, kid, why don’t you get us something to drink. Whatever you want. I’ll have a Pepsi. Doctor?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
At least someone else had a foreign entity up her butt, Eve thought.
“I have academic and athletic credit,” Diana said as she approached Vending. “I’m happy to use them for our drinks. Diana Rodriguez,” she said to the machine. “Blue Level 505. One Pepsi and one orange fizzy, please. I have a guest.”
Good afternoon, Diana. Request granted. Your credits will be deducted.
“Would you like a glass and ice, Lieutenant Dallas?”
“No, just the tube, thanks.”
Diana brought both tubes to the table, sat, her movements neat and efficient. “Dr. Mira said you needed to speak to me about what happened to Ms. Samuels.”
“That’s right. Do you know what happened to Ms. Samuels?”
“She was killed.” Her voice remained polite, without a single tremor of upset or excitement. “Her personal assistant, Abigail, found her dead in her private quarters at about eleven-thirty this morning. Abigail was very upset, and she screamed. I was on the stairs, and I saw her run out and scream. Everything was very confused for a while, then the police came.”