Origin in Death (In Death #21)(8)

There was a beat of silence. Slowly, with great care, Icove lowered himself into a chair. "You think I'd kill my own father, for money r"

"It would be helpful if we could eliminate that area of investigation."

"I'm already a very wealthy man myself." He bit off the words as his color rose. "Yes, I'll inherit a great deal more, as will my wife and my children. Other substantial sums will go to various charities, and to the Wilfred B. Icove Foundation. I want to request another investigator on this matter immediately."

"You can," Eve said easily. "You won't get one. And you'll be asked exactly the same questions. If you want your father's murderer brought to justice, Dr. Icove, you'll cooperate."

"I want you to find this woman, this Alverez woman. I want to see her face, to look into her eyes. To know why-"

He broke off, shook his head. "I loved my father. Everything I have, everything I am, began with him. Someone took him from me, from his grandchildren. From the world."

"Does it bother you to be known as Dr. Will rather than your full title?"

"Oh, for God's sake." This time he put his head in his hands. "No. Only the staff call me that. It's convenient, less confusing."

Won't be any confusion anymore, Eve thought. But if Dr. Will had plotted and planned and paid for his father's death, he was wasting his time in the medical field. He'd double his fortune in vids.

"Your field is competitive," Eve began. "Can you think of a reason why someone might want to eliminate some of the competition?"

"I can't." He left his head in his hands. "I can hardly think at all. I want my wife, and my children. But this facility will continue without my father. He built it to last, he built toward the future. He always looked ahead. There was nothing to be gained by his death. Nothing."

There's always something, Eve thought as they headed back to Central. Spite, financial gain, thrills, emotional satisfaction. Murder always offered a reward. Why else would it remain so popular?

"Round us up, Peabody."

"Respected, even revered physician, one of the fathers of reconstructive surgery as we know it in this century, is killed, efficiently and in a controlled manner in his office. An office in a facility that has strong security. Our primary suspect for this crime is a woman who walked into that office, by appointment, and left again in a timely fashion. While reputedly a citizen and resident of Spain, she has no passport on record. The address given on her official documentation does not exist."

"Conclusions?"

"Our primary suspect is a professional, or a talented amateur, who used a false name and information to gain entry to the victim's office. Motive, as yet, murky."

"Murky?"

"Well, yeah. It sounds chillier than unknown, and like we're going to clear the air and see it."

"How'd she get the weapon through security?"

"Well." Peabody looked out the window, through the rain to an animated billboard celebrating vacation packages for sun-washed beaches. "There's always a way around security-but why risk it? Place like that has to have scalpels around. Could've got an assist on the inside, had one planted. Or she might've gotten in at another time, copped one, planted it herself. They've got tight security, yeah, but they've also got privacy issues. So no security cams in patient rooms or in the hallways in patient areas."

"They've got patient areas, waiting areas, gift shop areas, office areas, operating and exam areas. And that's not counting the attached hospital and emergency areas. Place is a fricking maze. You're cool enough to walk in, stab a guy in the heart, and walk out again, you do your recon. She knew the layout. She's been in there before, or done a hell of a lot of sims."

Eve threaded through the sluggish traffic and into the garage at Cop Central. "I want to review the security discs. We'll run our suspect through IRCCA and imaging. Maybe we'll pop a name or an alias. I want full background on the vic, and a financial from the son. Let's eliminate him from the field. Or not. Maybe we'll find unexplained and large sums of money transferred recently."

"He didn't do it, Dallas."

"No." She parked, slid out of the car. "He didn't do it, but we run it anyway. We'll talk to professional associates, lovers, ex-lovers, social acquaintances. Let's get the why of this."

She leaned back against the wall of the elevator as they started up. "People like suing doctors, or bitching about them-especially over elective stuff. Nobody gets out clean. Somewhere along the line, he's botched a job, or had a patient pissed at him. He's lost one, and had the grieving family blaming him. Payback seems the most likely here. Killing the guy with a medical instrument. Symbolism, maybe. Heart wound, same deal."

"Seems to me heavier symbolism would have been to cut up his face, or whatever body part was involved if it was payback on a procedure."

"Wish I didn't agree with you."

Cops and techs and Christ knew who else started piling on when they reached the second level, main. By the time they hit five, Eve had had enough, muscled her way off, and switched to a glide.

"Hold on. I need a boost." Peabody hopped off, arrowed toward a vending area. Thoughtfully, Eve trailed after her.