Origin in Death (In Death #21)(9)

"Get me a thing."

"A what thing?"

"I don't know, something." Brow knitted, Eve scanned her choices. How come they put so much health crap in a cop shop? Cops didn't want health crap. Nobody knew better that they weren't going to live forever.

"Maybe that cookie thing with the stuff inside."

"Gooey Goo?"

"Why do they give this stuff such stupid names? Makes me embarrassed to eat it. Yeah, the cookie thing."

"Are you still not interacting with Vending?"

Eve kept her hands in her pockets as Peabody plugged in her credits and choices. "I work with a mediator, nobody gets hurt. If I interact with one of these bastards again, someone will be destroyed."

"That's a lot of venom for an inanimate object that dispenses Gooey Gos."

"Oh, they live, Peabody. They live and they think their evil thoughts. Don't believe otherwise."

You have selected two Gooey Goos, the scrumptious crispy treat with the gooey center. Go with the Goo!

"See," Eve said darkly as the machine began to list the ingredients and caloric content.

"Yeah, I wish they'd shut the hell up, too, especially about the calories." She passed one of the bars to Eve. "But it's programmed in, Dallas. They don't live or think."

"They want you to believe that. They talk to each other through their little chips and boards, and are probably plotting to destroy all humankind. One day, it'll be them or us."

"You're creeping me out, sir."

"Just remember, I warned you." Eve bit into the cookie as they turned toward Homicide.

They split the duties, with Peabody veering off to her desk in the bull pen and Eve heading into her office.

She stood in the doorway a moment, studying it as she chewed. There was room for her desk and chair, one unsteady visitor's chair, a filing cabinet. She had a single window that wasn't much bigger than one of the drawers in the filing cabinet.

Personal items? Well, there was her current candy stashed, where it had-to date-gone undetected by the nefarious candy thief who plagued her. There was a yo-yo-which she might play with occasionally while thinking her thoughts. With her door locked.

It was good enough for her. In fact, it suited her fine. What the hell would she do with an office even half the size of either of the doctors Icove? More people could come in and bother her if there was actually room for that. How would she get anything done?

Space, she decided, was another symbol. I'm successful so I have all this room. The Icoves obviously believed in that route. Roarke, too, she admitted. The man loved to have his space, and lots of toys and goodies to fill it up.

He'd come from nothing, and so had she. She supposed they just had different ways of compensating for it. He'd bring gifts back from this business trip. He always managed to find time to buy things, and seemed amused with her discomfort at the constant shower of gifts.

What about Wilfred B. Icove? she wondered. What had he come from? How did he compensate? What were his symbols?

She sat at her desk, turned to her computer, and began the process of learning about the dead.

While she gathered data on her computer, she tagged Feeney, Captain of the Electronic Detectives Division.

He came on-screen, hangdog face, wiry ginger hair. His shirt looked as if he'd slept in it-which was, always, oddly comforting to Eve.

"Need a run through IRCCA," she told him. "Big-deal face and body sculptor went out in his office this morning. Last appointment looks like our winner. Female, late twenties, name and address- which is Barcelona, Spain-"

"Ole," he said dourly, and made her smile. "Gee, Feeney, I didn't know you spoke Spanish." "Had that vacation at your place in Mexico, picked up a few things." "Okay, how do you say 'bull's-eye in the heart with a small-bladed instrument'?"

"Ole."

"Good to know. No passport under the listed name of Nocho-Alverez, Dolores. Addy in sunny Spain is bogus. She got in and out clean through heavy security."

"You smelling pro?"

"I've got a whiff, but no motive on my horizon. Maybe one of your boys can match her through the system, or through imaging."

"Shoot me a picture, see what we can do."

"Appreciate it. Sending now."

She clicked off, sent the ID image, then, crossing fingers that her unit could handle another simultaneous task, fed the security disc from the Center into a slot to review.

Eve hit her AutoChef up for coffee, sipped as she scanned. "There you are," she murmured, and watched the woman currently known as Dolores walk to a security station at the main level. She wore slim pants, a snug jacket, both in flashy red. Mile-high heels in the same shade.

Not afraid to be noticed, are you, Dolores, Eve mused.

Her hair was glossy black, wore long and loosely curled around a face with cut-glass cheekbones, lush lips-also boldly red-and heavy-lidded eyes nearly as dark as her hair.

She passed through security-bag scan, body scan-without a hitch, then strolled at an easy, hip-swaying pace toward the bank of elevators that would take her to Icove's level.

No hesitation, Eve noted, no hurry. No attempt to evade the cameras. No sweat. She was cool as a margarita sipped under a pretty umbrella on a tropical beach.

Eve switched to the elevator disc and watched the woman ascend- serenely. She made no stops, made no moves, until she exited on Icove's floor.