Origin in Death (In Death #21)(56)

clomped on just behind her. "That place is a racket."

"Why? What have you got?"

"What I don't have is an asymmetrical nose that unbalances the proportions of my jaw, chin, brow ratio. That's crap."

Frowning, she studied him. "I don't see anything wrong with your nose."

"There isn't."

"It's right in the middle of your face where it belongs." She got off the glide on their level, pointed to the soft drink machine, then passed him credits.

"Get me a tube of Pepsi."

"You're going to have to interact with the vending machines again sooner or later."

"Why? Did they give you a hard sell?" she asked. "Pressure you, push you to sign a contract."

"Depends on your point of view. I figured you wanted me to play some rich ass**le, so I sprang for the electro-imaging analysis. Five bills, and I'm putting in for it."

"Five? Five? Shit, Baxter." She thought of her budget, grabbed her tube and the spare credits she'd given him. "Buy your own drink."

"You wanted me in, getting a good look at the client areas and routine." He pouted over the credits, then just plugged in his code and came up with a cream soda. "You're lucky I didn't go for phase two and the full-body imaging program. That's a grand. They put you up on-screen, magnified. My pores looked like moon craters, for crissake. And they're drawing these lines over me, showing how my nose is off and my ears should be closer to my head. My ears are fine. And talking about derma resurfacing. Nobody's resurfacing my derma."

Eve just leaned against the wall and let him go.

"And after they're done destroying your self-esteem, they show you how you'd look after. I played like: Wow, I gotta have that, ever, though there was no difference. Hardly. Barely noticeable. It was -tribute to my prevarication skills. I sweet-talked the tech into showing me around, and the place is plush. Ought to be, for what they charge. The quote on the work they want to do on me? Twenty large. Two-oh and look at me." He threw out his arms. "I'm a damn good-looking son of a bitch."

"Get over yourself, Baxter. Did you feel anything off?"

"Place was like a tomb. Penthouse of tombs if you get me. All the staff-everyone-wearing a black armband. I asked the tech what was up, and she got teary. Sincerely. She told me about the murders, at which time I pulled out my thespian skills. She thinks it's a failed medical student turned serial killer targeting doctors out of professional jealousy."

"I'll be sure to put that one in the hat. Did you speak to one of the surgeons?"

"Being charming as well as a damned handsome son of a bitch, I got her to squeeze me into a Dr. Janis Petrie's consult schedule. Or as I call. her, Dr. Bombshell. She's a walking ad for her trade, and touted to be one of their best. I got the murders into the conversation again, making like I was nervous to be there, or to consider treatment there, with what was going on."

He took a slug of cream soda. "Damp eyes again. She assured me that the Icove Center was the finest reconstructive and sculpting facility in the country, and that even with the tragedies, the center was in good hands. My continued nerves got me a tour through security with two guards. It's solid. Couldn't talk my way into any of the staffer med areas. Absolutely no patients, clients or potentials, allowed."

"Good enough for now. I'll let you know if there's more." She stepped away, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Nothing wrong with your nose."

"Fucking A."

"But maybe the ears are a little off, now that I think about it."

She left him frantically trying to see his reflection in the vending machine.

When she turned into the bull pen, Peabody sprang up from her desk and hotfooted after her. The minute they were in Eve's office, Peabody tried the hangdog look.

"Have I been punished enough?"

"There is no punishment great enough for your crimes."

"How about if I tell you I think I've found a supporting link between Wilson and Icove for your theory on their partnership in questionable medical procedures?"

"You may, should the information warrant, be eligible for parole."

"I think it's good. Nadine is so thorough I think my brains started leaking out my ears sometime during hour three, but she saved us a lot of time we'd have spent generating the same information."

Then Peabody folded her hands as if in prayer. "Please, sir, may I have coffee."

Eve jerked a thumb at the AutoChef.

"I waded through Icove, the early years," Peabody continued as she programmed. "Education, his research into reconstructive areas, his innovations therein. He did a lot of work with kids. Good work, Dallas. He earned degrees up the wazoo, awards, grants, fellowships. Married a wealthy socialite whose family was known for their philanthropic philosophies. Had a son."

She stopped to drink a little coffee and make a long ahhhh sound. "So along come the Urban Wars. Chaos, strife, rebellion, and he volunteers his time, skill, and considerable funds to hospitals."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know."

"Wait. I have to put it in context. Icove and Wilson were instrumental in forming Unilab-which provided and provides mobile research and laboratory facilities for groups like Doctors Without Borders and Right to Health. Unilab won a Nobel Peace Prize for its won. That was right after Icove's wife was killed in an explosion in London where she was volunteering in a children's shelter. Over fifty casualties mostly kids. Icove's wife was five months pregnant."