Origin in Death (In Death 21)

"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?"

"Then she's still got a choice. If you're that appalled, you report it. Could do it anonymously. Give the authorities just enough to make them investigate. You don't kill the father of your children because you're upset about his side work. You leave him, or you fry him legally. You kill two men like this? It's a personal act, caused by a personal act."

She shrugged. "I think. I'm going to talk to Mira."

"It's late. Let's get some sleep."

"I want to write this up first, while it's fresh in my mind."

He crossed to her, kissed her brow. "Don't drink any more coffee."

Alone, she wrote the report, added some case notes. Then some questions.

Avril Icove-living relatives?

Exact date and circumstances of Icove's guardianship?

Daily, weekly routines? Times out of the house alone? Where?