''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?"