Origin in Death

15

At the center, Roarke allowed the efficient Carla Poole to guide them through elaborate imaging and simulations labs, into state-of-the-art ex­amination and procedure areas.

He noted the cameras, particularly the ones that were prominently displayed. And the security at every egress. He made comments, asked the occasional question, but let Louise take the lead.

«Your patient analysis facilities are superb.» Louise stood, looking around a large room equipped with a contour exam chair, medical and imaging computers, body and face scanners.

«We have twelve rooms for this purpose, each of which is individu­ally controlled and can be adjusted to meet patient or client needs or demands. The subject's vital signs, brain wave patterns, and so on are monitored, analyzed, and documented throughout the examination or consult.»

«And the VR options?»

«As you know, Doctor, any procedure, however minor, causes stress in the client or patient. We find offering a selection of VR programs helps the client relax during the examination. We can also personalize a program to allow the client to see and feel how he or she will appear post-treatment.»

«You're also associated with the adjoining hospital and emergency facilities.»

«Yes. In case of injury, if reconstruction is necessary or desired, the patient might be brought here after stabilization in our emergency sec­tor. A full medical and technical team is assigned to each patient, cho­sen by an analysis of that patient's needs. The same is provided for clients.»

«But a patient or client can certainly select his or her primary doctor.»

«Of course,» Poole said smoothly. «If, after our recommendation, the subject wishes alternate medical personnel, we bow to their wishes.»

«Observation privileges?»

«Limited due to our privacy policies. But we do permit, with the subject's consent, some observation for teaching purposes.»

«But the procedures are recorded.»

«As the law demands,» Poole said smoothly. «Those records are then sealed, to be opened only at patient request or due to litigation. Now I believe you'd be very interested in seeing one of our surgical rooms.»

«I would,» Louise agreed. «But I'm so interested in your research ar­eas. What the Icoves and this center accomplished, well, it's legendary. I'd love to have a look at the labs.»

«Of course.» She didn't miss a beat. «Some of those areas are re­stricted, due to the sensitivity of the research, contamination or secu­rity. But there are several levels I believe you'll find interesting.»

She did, and found the sheer volume of space, personnel, equipment astonishing. The lab area they were shown was fashioned like a sun­burst, with individual rays spreading out from a hub where six people worked at screens, facing out along their channel. High walls framed each ray, and counters, workstations, screens. The walls in each sector were color coded, and the techs within wore lab coats of the same hue.

There was no access, Roarke noted, between rays.

She led them to a clear door at the wide end of the blue ray, and used her security card and palm print for access.

«Each section here is specific to its own research area and team. I'm not able to explain all the work being done, but we have clearance for this. As you see, several medical droids are undergoing treatment or analysis. The droids here have been programmed not only to feed data into the core center, headed by each section's chief, but to internally ac­cess response and reaction on human patients. It was through this process that the technology for what is commonly called derma was developed. Its use on burn victims, as you know, Dr. Dimatto, was revolutionary.»

Roarke tuned them out, all the while portraying absolute attention. He had labs of his own, and recognized some of the sims and tests un­der way. He was more interested, just now, in the structure, the setup, the security.

And the fact that he recognized the chief tech of the blue ray from the alumni data of Brookhollow College.

Fifty-six perfect matches,» Eve concluded. «In addition to this sub­stantial evidence, we add that thirty-eight percent of Brookhollow graduates are now employed in some capacity at one of Icove's facili­ties. Another fifty-three percent are married or cohabitating, and have been so engaged from the year of their departure from the college.»

«Pretty high ratio of marriages or cohabbing,» Reo commented.

«Well over the national average,» Eve agreed, «and off the probabil­ity scale. The remaining nine percent of students, like Deena Flavia fell off the radar.»

«No data?» Whitney asked.

«None. Captain Feeney and Detective McNab will run search matches through imaging. Though there is no relation listed, on offi­cial data, both Avril Icove and Eva Samuels carried the same family name of Hannson. It's the conclusion of this investigative team, and all probabilities run, that entrance to the Icove residence on the night of Icove's murder was gained through inside assistance, and that Icove himself knew his killer with some degree of intimacy.»

«He knew Deena Flavia.» Reo nodded. «It makes sense.»

«No, I don't think so. I don't think Deena Flavia killed Wilfred Icove, Jr. I think his wife did.»

«She wasn't in the city at the designated time,» Reo pointed out. «Her alibi is solid.»

«Seems to be. But what if there's more of her?»

«Oh.» Reo's jaw dropped. «Holy, please pardon me, shit.»

«You think Icove cloned his own daughter-in-law?» Whitney sat back until his chair creaked. «Even if he went that far, the clone would be a child.»

«Not if he cloned an infant. His early work, his predominant inter­est, was in children. He set up facilities, specifically for children during the wars. A lot of injured children then. A lot of orphaned children. She was his ward, since childhood, which separates her from the rest of the field. Something about her was special to him, or remarkable. Could he then resist creating her, replicating her? Dr. Mira.»

«Given what we know and suspect, no. She was, in a very real sense, his child. He had the skill, the knowledge, the ego, and the affection. And she would know,» she continued before Eve could ask. «His af­fection would also demand she knew. She would have been trained, programmed if you will, to accept this, perhaps even to celebrate it.»

«And if that programming broke down?» Eve asked. «If she no longer accepted?»

«She may have been compelled to eliminate what bound her to that secret, that training, that life. If she was no longer able to accept what had been done to her as a child, by the man she should have been able to trust most, she may have killed.»

Quincy held up a hand. «Why aren't there—if this data is correct— more of her at the school?»

«If this data is correct,» Mira repeated, and seemed to Eve to be holding on to the hope that it was flawed, «she married his son, gave him grandchildren. His son may have requested there be no further ar­tificial twinning on his wife—or either or both of them may have her cells preserved for a future procedure. A kind of insurance. A kind of immortality.»

«Dr. Mira.» Tibble folded his hands, tapped them on his bottom lip. «In your professional opinion, does Lieutenant Dallas's theory have weight?»

«Given the data, the evidence, the circumstances, the personalities of those involved, I would come to the same conclusions as the lieutenant.»

Tibble got to his feet. «Quincy, let's go get Lieutenant Dallas her warrant. Lieutenant, arrange for transportation for your team and APA Reo. Jack, you're with me. Let's see what we can do about keep­ing this mess from exploding in our faces.»

He blew out a breath. «I'm not yet calling any federal agency. At this time, this continues to be a homicide investigation. Any criminal activity discovered through that investigation falls, until we're boxed, within the aegis of the NYPSD. If you find what you're looking for. Dallas, if it becomes necessary to shut those schools down, to take minors into protective custody, we're going to have to alert Federal.»

«Understood, sir. Thank you.»

She waited until Tibble, Whitney, and Quincy left the room. «He bought us some time, so let's use it. Peabody, field kits. Feeney, we need portable electronics—scanners, keys, data analyzers and retrievers— whatever you've got in your bag of tricks. The best you've got. We've taken a lot of time here, so I'm tapping my source. We'll meet up on the main helipad, twenty minutes.»

«Already on the way. Kid.» Feeney jerked a thumb toward the door for McNab.

McNab headed out, then stopped and turned back. «I know this is inappropriate, but I gotta say, this is freaking arctic.»

He zipped out before Eve could dress him down, but she figured she could leave that to Feeney.

«I'm not part of your on-site team,» Mira began. «I'm consult, and I know those limitations. But it would be a great favor to me if I could go with you. I may be able to help. And if not… it would be a great favor to me.»

«You're in. Twenty minutes.»

She pulled out her 'link, contacted Roarke on his personal.

«Just got me,» he said. «We've only just left the Center.»

«You can fill me in later, I'm going to New Hampshire. I need fast transport, big enough to carry six people and portable electronics. And I need it here.»

«I'll have a jet-copter to you within thirty.»

«Main helipad, Central. Thanks.»

She was buzzed when she pushed open the door to the roof and the primary helipad. On other towers and flats, the traffic copters or emergency air vehicles were a constant hum and clatter. She hoped to Christ they didn't shake their way to New Hampshire.

Wind tugged at her hair and sent Peabody's new 'do into wild waves. «Give me what you've got on cloning.»

«I got a lot,» Peabody shouted back. «Organized discs into history, debates, medical theory and procedure.»

«Just give me some basics. I want to know what I'm looking for,»

«Lab work, probably a lot like what you'd see in infertility centers and surrogate facilities. Refrigeration and preservation systems for cells and eggs. Scanning equipment to test for viability. See, when you just bang and breed, the kid gets half its genes from the egg, half from the sperm.»

«I know how banging and breeding work.»

«Yeah, yeah. But see, in clonal reproduction, all the genes come from one person. You have a cell from the subject, and you remove the nu­cleus and implant it in a fertilized egg that's had its nucleus removed.»

«Who thinks of this stuff?»

«Wacky scientists. Anyway, then they have to get the egg going. It can be triggered by chemicals or electricity so it develops into an embryo, which, if successful and viable, can be implanted in a female womb.»

«You know, that's just gross.»

«If you leave out the single-cell bit, it's not that different from in vitro conception. But the thing is, if the embryo is successfully brought to term, the result is an exact dupe of the subject who donated the original cell nucleus.»

«Where do they keep the women?»

«Sir?»

«Where do they keep the women who get implanted? They can't be students. It had to start somewhere. And not all students are clones. You can't have a bunch of women with Mavis bellies walking around campus. Have to be housing, wouldn't there? They'd have to monitor them throughout gestation. They'd have to have facilities for labor and delivery, for whatever you call it after the kid comes out.»

«Neonatal. And pediatrics. Yeah, they would.»

«And security, to ensure nobody changes their mind or blabs. Like, 'Hey, guess what? I gave birth to myself yesterday.'»

«That is gross.»

«And data fixers, crunchers, hackers. Techs who have the skill to generate IDs that'll pass the system checks. That doesn't even touch the network for moving clones out of the facility and into the mainstream. And where's the damn money? Roarke's got them donating big fat chunks. Where's the operating money?»

She turned as Feeney and McNab came through the door. Each carried a large EDD field bag.

«Got the works,» Feeney told her. «Any on-site contingency. Warrant come through?»

«Not yet.» Eve looked at the moody sky. It was going to be a nasty ride.

Feeney pulled a bag of cashews out of his pocket, offered them around. «You gotta wonder why, when there's so many fricking people in the world anyway, some asshole would make a bunch more just be­cause he can.»

Eve bit into a nut and grinned.

«Takes the fun out of it, too.» McNab opted for a square of gum over cashews. «You eliminate the good part right off. There's no 'Oh, Harry, look at our beautiful, bouncing baby. Remember that night we both got shit-faced and said to hell with contraception?' I mean, hey, if you're going to be wiping some kid's butt for a couple years, you ought to get the bang at the start.»

«And there's no sentiment,» Peabody added, and popped a cashew. «None of the 'Honey, he's got your eyes, and my chin.'»

«And oddly,» Eve added, «your admin's nose.»

Feeney spewed out cashew crumbs.

They all sobered when Mira came through the door with Reo.

She looked worn, Eve thought. Shadowed and tired. Taking her was probably a mistake, shoving the whole thing in her face.

«My boss, Quincy, your bosses, working on a judge now,» Reo told Eve. «Hope to have it signed and sealed while we're in transit.»

«Good.» Eve nodded toward the east. «I hope that's ours.» She shifted, stepped over, and spoke quietly to Mira. «You don't have to do this.»

«I do. I think I do. Truth isn't always comfortable, but we have to live with it. I need to know what that truth is. Since I was younger than you are now, Wilfred was a kind of standard for me. His skill and accomplishments, his devotion to healing, to improving lives. He was a friend, and today I'm doing this rather than attending his memorial.»

She looked directly into Eve's eyes. «And I have to live with it.»

«Okay. But if you need to take a step back, any time, nobody's going to think less.»

«Stepping back isn't an option for people like you and me, is it, Eve? We step forward because that's what we've promised to do.» She patted Eve's arm. «I'll be fine.»

The copter was big, black, sleek as a panther. It stirred the air—and Eve smelled rain in it—then set down on the pad. It didn't surprise her to see Roarke at the controls. It barely irritated.

He flashed a smile as she climbed aboard. «Hello, Lieutenant.»

«What a ride!» Louise was already unstrapping from the copilot's seat to move rear. «I'm inappropriately excited about this whole business.»

«Then sit with McNab,» Eve ordered. «And the two of you can gig­gle all the way. Just why are you and Louise included in this?»

«Because it's my copter—and,» he added, «we can give you a run­down on our trip to the center on the way.»

«Something definitely off there,» Louise called up as Feeney and McNab stowed equipment.

«Mmm, plush.» Reo rubbed a hand over the arms of her chair, the APA shrugged at Eve's narrowed look. «If she can be inappropriate, so can I. Cher Reo, APA,» she said and offered Louise her hand.

«Louise Dimatto, M.D.»

«Eve Dallas, AK. Ass-kicker. Strap in,» Eve ordered. «Let's move.

«Ladies, gentlemen, the air's a bit rough so you'll want to keep your seats until it smoothes out.» Roarke tapped controls, waited for his screen to show him air clearance. Then he boosted the copter into a straight vertical that had Eve's stomach rolling over and pitching toward Ninth Avenue.

«Shit, shit, shit.» She muttered it under her breath, then sucked in air and braced. The copter punched forward, slapping her back. The first drops of rain splattered the windshield, and she prayed, sincerely, that she wouldn't boot her morning bagel.

She heard McNab's delighted «Yee-haw!» as they streaked, shook, and scooped through the sky. She imagined choking the life out of him to take her mind off what she was doing.

«Peabody, before we get official, let me say your hair is charming.»

«Oh.» She colored a little as she lifted a hand to the new, flippy ends. «Really?»

«Absolutely.» Roarke heard Eve's low growl beside him. «Avril Icove, as acting CEO, met us in her father-in-law's office.»

«What?» Eve's eyes—she didn't remember squeezing them shut— popped open. «What?»

He'd known that would distract her from her fear and queasiness. «She's acting CEO, until the board designates a successor, and arranged to meet with us privately. She claims not to be a businesswoman, nor to have any desire to become one. I believed her. She also asked that if I had any plans to buy up a controlling interest in Unilab or the Center, that I give the facility a window of time to recover from the loss of its two main spearheads.»

«She seemed sincere.» Louise leaned forward against her safety straps. «The controlled grief seemed equally sincere. She also, diplo­matically, spoke of believing the Center would benefit from someone with Roarke's skills and vision.»

«You figured she'd be willing to see you take over?»

«I do.» Roarke adjusted for the turbulence. «She has no medical or business training. But I doubt her board would be as amenable, which is why she met us privately. Develop a relationship, a foundation, with the general before the coup.»

«But she needs time so she can get what she needs out of it, or cover it up, or break it down. What the hell does she want?»

«That I can't tell you, but the COO, a Brookhollow alumni, was very careful about the areas we toured.»

«If you're taking it at face value, the privacy obsession might not make you blink,» Louise explained. «But if you're looking for under­currents, it leads to all manner of questions.»

«Particularly the hidden cameras in exam and procedure areas.»

Eve measured Roarke. «If they were hidden, how do you know they're there?»

He gave her a look caught between smug and pitying. «Because, Lieutenant, I happened to have a sensor with me.»

«How'd you get it through security?

«Perhaps because this particular canny device looks like, and reads like, a simple memo book. In any case, every area we toured had them, and they were active during our visit. You're going to find, at the cen­ter, a substantial subsecurity and data sector.»

«Then there was the lab,» Louise put in. «Architecturally interest­ing, elaborate, superbly equipped. And remarkably inefficient.»

«How?»

Louise explained the setup while rain slapped the windscreen. «You might have different security levels,» she continued. «You might have separate floors or tiers for specific areas of research and testing. You would certainly, on sensitive work, require high clearance. But this setup had no logical flow.»

«Separate clearance required for every ray,» Eve repeated.

«Exactly. And a separate chief, each completely isolated from the other lines.»

«Standard security cams in view,» Roarke added. «An equal number hidden for area scans. And, most interesting, every station fed data into its hub. Not results, but every step, every byte of data.»

Eve thought of the police lab. The chief tech could access any sector, review and/or study any test in progress. But the place was like a hive, a maze of rooms, glass walls. While some sectors required high clear­ance, most areas connected with the busy bees buzzing not only in their own chambers but in others as well.

«Keep each line focused on its work. Limit or eliminate fraternizing and shop talk. Deny access to all but the top level. Not inefficient if you want to keep dicey stuff wrapped.»

She rolled it around in her head, then peered through the rain. «There'd be room there to close off a sector from the rest. Room for… what do you call the having-a-baby area of medicine.»

«Obstetrics,» Louise answered.

«The patient room I saw was like a high-end hotel suite. So maybe you keep your human incubators in-house, in style, segregated from the general population. Peabody, run a list. See what graduates got themselves medical degrees—highlight obstetrics and pediatrics.»

«Warrant's coming through.» Reo had a small, bulky briefcase unit in her lap. As it started to hum, her face brightened. «We're good to go.»

«Need to practice, though,» Eve mumbled. «Practice makes perfect. School's all about practice. Gotta have something going there.»

«Hopefully, we'll soon see.» Roarke tapped controls. «Starting de­scent.»

She saw it shimmer out through the damp mists and splattering rain. Red brick and domes and sky walks. Stone walls and denuded trees. The dull blue of a swimming pool covered for the season, the bright green and white of tennis courts. Paths snaked through the gardens and grounds, for scooters, she thought, for walks or bikes or mini-shuttles. She saw horses, and to her shock what she recognized as cows in an outdoor enclosure.

«Cows. Why are there cows?»

«Animal husbandry, I imagine,» Roarke commented.

The term gave her a horror flash of humans marrying bovines. She shook it off.

«Cops. We've got cops. Three units, and an ME van. Goddamn it.»

Not state, she decided, trying to get a bead on the vehicles and uni­forms as Roarke angled toward the helipad. County, she decided. Probably county. She yanked out her PPC and did a quick search for the local police.

«James Hyer, sheriff. Age fifty-three, born and bred this county. Did four years regular army, right out of school. Had the badge twenty years, current status the last twelve. Married eighteen years, one off­spring, male—a Junior—age fifteen.»

She studied his ID image as well as his basic data to try to get a bead on him as well. Fleshy face, ruddy. Maybe liked the outdoors and the local brew. Military haircut, light brown. Eyes light blue, plenty of crow's-feet. So he didn't go in for the face treatments, looked his age and maybe a few extra.

She was already yanking off her safety strap as Roarke touched down. She was out, striding toward the school before the two uniforms were able to reach the pad.

«This is a secured area,» one of them began. «You're going to need to—«

«Lieutenant Dallas.» Eve flipped up her badge. «NYPSD. I need to speak with Sheriff Hyer. Is he on-scene?»

«This isn't New York.» The second uniform stepped forward— leading, Eve thought dryly, with his balls. «The sheriff's busy.»

«That's funny, so am I. APA Reo?»

«We have a warrant to enter any and all of these facilities,» Reo be­gan, and held up the copy she'd printed out. «To search same for evi­dence pertaining to two homicides in the State of New York, borough of Manhattan.»

«We have a secured scene,» the second uniform repeated, and planted his feet.

«Name and rank,» Eve snapped.

«Gaitor, Deputy, James County Sheriffs Department.» He sneered when he said it, and Eve allowed him to keep his skin, due to the possibility that he was just dirt stupid.

«You're going to want to check with your superior, Deputy Gaitor, or I will detain you and charge you with obstruction of justice.»

«You don't have any authority here.»

«This warrant gives me authority to fill out its terms and require­ments, which were agreed to by the State of New Hampshire. So you're going to contact your boss, Gaitor, within the next ten seconds, or I'm going to take you down, cuff you, and toss your idiotic, puffed-up ass in the nearest confinement facility.»

She saw it in his eyes, saw the twitch of his hand. «You reach for that weapon, Deputy, and you won't have use of your hand for a week. But you won't need it as I'll have twisted your undersized dick into a pret­zel so even the thought of jerking off will cause you unspeakable pain.»

«Jesus, Max, ease back.» The first deputy took his fellow by the arm. «I contacted the sheriff, Lieutenant. He's coming out. We can walk over and meet him.»

«Appreciate it.»

«I love watching her work,» Roarke commented to Feeney.

«Was kind of hoping that asshole would reach for his weapon. Bet­ter show that way.»

«Maybe next time.»

Gaitor strode ahead, intercepting a man Eve recognized as Hyer. Hyer listened, shook his head. Then he pulled off his hat, rubbed his hand over his head before jabbing a finger toward one of the patrol cars.

Gaitor peeled off, stiff-legged. Hyer walked toward Eve.

«What's New York doing dropping out of the sky in that big, black son of a bitch?»

«Search warrant, relating to two homicides on my turf. Lieutenant Dallas,» she added, offering a hand. «Homicide, NYPSD.»

«Jim Hyer, sheriff. And ain't this a kick in the gonads? You threaten to manhandle and detain my deputy, New York City?»

«I did.»

«I'm betting he earned it. Got us a hell of a thing here. School presi­dent found dead as a split trout inside her private quarters.»

«That would be Samuels, Evelyn?»

«It would.»

«And would cause of death be stabbing? Single wound, medical scalpel, to the heart.»

His eyes leveled, considered hers. «That would be one hundred per­cent correct. Gonna have to get you a stuffed ladybird as your prize this afternoon. We going to do some tit for tat here, New York City?»

«No problem for me. Peabody? My partner, Detective Peabody. I have with me the captain of our EDD sector and an EDD detective, two doctors, an APA, and an expert consultant, civilian. We'll be at your disposal on your homicide, Sheriff, and will share the data that will link yours to ours.»

«Can't ask for better than that. You want to see the body, I expect.»

«I do. If the rest of my team can be shown where to wait, my partner and I will take a look at your scene.»

«Freddie, take care of these nice tourists. It's the damnedest thing.» he continued as they walked toward the main building of the Acad­emy. «Victim had an appointment with some rich woman from out of state. Witness statements—those we've taken so far—and secu­rity cameras show them doing a quick tour, then going into the victim's quarters. Refreshments were ordered prior and already in place. Eleven minutes later, the woman walks out, shuts the door, strolls out of the building and into the car she came with. Driver heads out, and they're gone.»

He snapped a finger. «We got the vehicle, make, model, and its plates from the cameras. Duly registered in the name of the woman. We got her cold on the discs. Name of Desiree Frost.»

«It'll be bogus,» Eve told him.

«Is that a fact?»

Schools never failed to give Eve the jitters, but she walked with Hyer across the great hall. It was silent as a tomb.

«Where do you have the students, the staff?»

«Moved the whole kit and caboodle to the theater in another build­ing. They're secure.»

They walked up the wide steps, stopped at the doorway of the scene Eve saw, with some relief, that the body had not yet been moved. Inside were three people, two still wearing the protective suits of crime scene and the third examining the body.

«What we got here is Dr. Richards, our local ME, and Joe and Billy—they're forensics.»

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.»