Rapture in Death (In Death #4)(37)

“Naturally.”

Eve drummed her fingers on the table again. She preferred Mira’s take, but weighing the options, decided to expand.

“Apparent self-termination. No known motive, no known predisposition, no chemical inducement, no family history. Behavioral patterns up to point of termination normal. No substantiated signs of depression or personality fluctuations. Subject is a sixty-two-year-old male, professional, high-end education, successful, financially solvent, bisexual, with long-term same-sex marriage.”

“Physical disabilities?”

“None. Clean health card.”

Reeanna’s eyes narrowed in concentration, either over the profile or the dessert she was slowly spooning into her mouth. “Any psychological defects, treatment?”

“No.”

“Interesting. I’d love to see the brain wave pattern. Available?”

“Currently classified.”

“Hmm.” Reeanna sipped her latte contemplatively. “Without any known physical or psychiatric abnormalities, no chemical addictions or usage, I’d lean toward a brain blip. Possible tumor. Yet I assume none showed up in autopsy?”

Eve thought of the pinprick, but shook her head. “Not a tumor, no.”

“There are cases of predisposition that slide through genetic scanning and evaluation. The brain is a complicated organ and still baffles even the most elaborate technology. If I could see his family history… Well, to take a wild guess, I’d say your man had a genetic time bomb that went undetected through normal analysis. He’d reached the point in his life where the fuse ran short.”

Eve cocked a brow. “So he just blew?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Reeanna leaned forward. “We’re all coded in, Eve, in the womb. What we are, who we are. Not just the color of our eyes, our build, our skin tones, but our personalities, our tastes, our intellect, and our emotional scale. The genetic code is stamped on us at the moment of conception. It can be altered to a certain extent, but the basis of what we are remains. Nothing can change it.”

“We are what we’re born?” Eve thought of a filthy room, a blinking red light, and a young girl curled into a corner with a bloody knife.

“Precisely.” Reeanna’s smile beamed out.

“You don’t take into account environment, free will, the basic human drive to better oneself?” Mira objected. “To consider us merely physical creatures without heart, soul, and a range of choices to be made over a lifetime lowers us to the level of animals.”

“And so we are,” Reeanna said with a sweep of her fork. “I understand your viewpoint as a therapist, Dr. Mira, but mine, as a physiologist, runs down a different lane, so to speak. The decisions we make throughout our life, what we do, how we live, and what we become were printed on our brains while we swam in the womb. Your subject, Eve, was fated to take his life at that time, in that place, and in the manner he chose. Circumstances might have altered it, but the results would have been the same, eventually. It was, in essence, his destiny.”

Destiny? Eve thought. Had it been hers to be raped and abused by her own father? To become less than human, to fight her way through that abyss?

Mira shook her head slowly. “I can’t agree. A child born in poverty on the edge of Budapest, taken from the mother at birth and raised in privilege, with love and care in Paris, would reflect that upbringing, that education. The emotional nest,” she insisted, “and the basic human drive to better oneself can’t be discounted.”

“I agree, to a point,” Reeanna qualified. “But the stamp of the genetic code — that which predisposes us to achievement, failure, good or evil, if you will — overrides all else. Even with the most loving and nurturing of backgrounds, monsters breed; and in the toilets of the universe, goodness, even greatness survives. We are what we are — the rest is window dressing.”

“If I subscribe to your theory,” Eve said slowly, “the subject in question was fated to take his life. No circumstances, no twists or turns of environment would have prevented it.”

“Precisely. The predisposition was there, lurking. Likely an event set it off, but it may have been a minor thing, something easily passed off in another brain pattern. Research still under way at the Bowers Institute has complied strong evidence of genetic brain patterns and their unassailable influence on behavior. I can get you discs on the subject, if you like.”

“I’ll leave the head studies to you and Dr. Mira.” Eve shoved her coffee aside. “I’ve got to get back to Cop Central. I appreciate the time, Dr. Mira,” she said as she rose. “And the theories, Reeanna.”

“I’d love to discuss them further. Any time.” Reeanna lifted a hand and shook Eve’s warmly. “Do give my best to Roarke.”

“I will.” Eve shifted slightly on her feet when Mira rose to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I hope you will, and not just when you’ve a case to discuss. Tell Mavis hello for me when you see her.”

“Sure.” Hitching her bag on her shoulder, Eve swung her way out, pausing briefly to sneer at the maitre d’.

“A fascinating woman.” Reeanna slid her tongue in one long, slow lick over the back of her spoon. “Controlled, a little angry underneath, straight focused, and unused and vaguely uncomfortable with casual displays of affection.” She laughed lightly at Mira’s lifted brow. “Sorry, professional pitfall. It drives William mad. I didn’t mean any offense.”