Origin in Death (In Death #21)(12)

Roarke could do that, too, Eve thought. No matter how casually attired, he could radiate authority in a finger snap.

"Lieutenant, Detective. My wife will be here in another moment. She's checking on the children. We deactivated the domestics for the day."

He moved to a floor cabinet, opening it to reveal a mini AutoChef. "Avril said she offered you refreshment but you declined. I'm having coffee, if you'd like to change your minds."

"Coffee'd be good, thanks. Just black."

"Sweet and light for me," Peabody added. "We appreciate you seeing us, Dr. Icove. We know this is difficult."

"Unreal, more like." He programmed the unit. "It was horrible at the Center, there in his office. Seeing him like that, knowing nothing could be done to bring him back. But here, at home ..."

He shook his head, drew out cups. "It's like a strange, sick dream. I keep thinking my 'link will buzz and it'll be Dad, wondering why we don't all have dinner on Sunday."

"Did you often?" Eve asked. "Have dinner together."

"Yes." He passed the coffee to her, to Peabody. "Once a week, sometimes twice. He might just drop by to see the kids. The woman? Have you found the woman who . .."

"We're looking. Dr. Icove, records indicate everyone on your father's personal staff at the Center has been with him three years or longer. Is there anyone else, anyone he had cause to dismiss or who left unhappily?"

"No, none that I know of."

"He'd work with other doctors and medical staff on cases."

"Certainly, a surgical team, psychiatrists, family services, and so on."

"Can you think of anyone in that area of his work he may have had issue with, or who may have had issue with him?"

"I can't. He worked with the best because he insisted on doing superior work, and giving his patients the very finest resources."

"Still he had unhappy patients and clients in his practice."

Icove smiled a little, humorlessly. "It's impossible to please everyone, and certainly to please everyone's lawyer. But my father and I, in turn, vet our patients very carefully, in order to weed out those who want more than can be given, or who are psychologically inclined to litigate. Even so, as I told you before, my father was semiretired."

"He was consulting with the woman who called herself Dolores Nocho-Alverez. I need his case notes."

"Yes." He sighed, heavily. "Our lawyers aren't happy, want me to wait until they do some motions and so on. But Avril convinced me it's foolish to think of legalities. I've ordered them turned over to you. I have to ask, Lieutenant, that the contents be considered highly confidential."

"Unless it pertains to the murder, I'm not interested in who had their face retrofitted."

"I'm sorry I was so long." Avril hurried into the room. "The children needed me. Oh, you're having coffee after all. Good." She sat beside her husband, took his hand in hers.

"Mrs. Icove, you spent a lot of time in your father-in-law's company, for many years."

"Yes. He was my guardian, and a father to me." She pressed her lips together. "He was an extraordinary man."

"Can you think of anyone who would want to kill him?"

"How could I? Who would kill a man so devoted to life?"

"Did he seem worried about anything recently? Concerned? Upset?"

Avril shook her head, looked over at her husband. "We had dinner together here two nights ago. He was in great spirits."

"Mrs. Icove, do you recognize this woman?" Eve took the print out from her file bag, offered it.

"She .. ." Avril's hand trembled, had Eve poised on alert. "She killed him? This is the woman who killed Wilfred." Tears swam into her eyes. "She's beautiful, young. She doesn't look like someone who could . . . I'm sorry."

She handed the photo back, wiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I wish I could help. I hope when you find her you ask her why. I hope-"

She stopped again, pressed a hand to her lips, made a visible effort to steady herself. "I hope you ask her why she did this thing. We deserve to know. The world deserves to know."

Wilfred Icove's apartment was on the sixty-fifth floor, three blocks from his son's home and a brisk five from the center he had built.

They were admitted by the building concierge, who identified herself as Donatella.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard it, simply couldn't." She was a toned and polished forty, at Eve's gauge, in a sharp black suit. "Dr. Icove was the best of men, considerate, friendly. I've worked here ten years, the last three as concierge. I've never heard a single bad word said about him."

"Somebody did more than say it. Did he have a lot of visitors?"

The woman hesitated. "It's not gossip, I suppose, under the circumstances. He socialized, yes. His family, naturally, visited here regularly. Individually and in a group. He might have small dinner parties for friends or associates here, though more often, he used his son's home for that. He did enjoy the company of women." Eve nodded to Peabody, who pulled out the photo.

"How about this one?" Peabody asked, and the concierge took it, studied it carefully.