“A what?”
“Now you’re joking, right?” Livvy looked at him across the top of the car.
Chris ducked to slide into the passenger seat, so she couldn’t catch his expression, although she thought she’d heard some amusement in his voice.
“732 MacPherson Circle, Potomac Falls. Normal speed,” Livvy said.
“Okay. Give me the long version,” Chris said.
Livvy cleared her throat. “The missing man, Dr. Milo Josephson, was last seen entering his home last Thursday evening at about 8 pm. The neighbor who saw him says this was typically the time he got home, although he frequently spent the night at his girlfriend’s.”
She’d expected some initial reaction at the name, but there wasn’t any that she could see, and she wondered if Chris could have forgotten. Fifty-five years was a long time.
“He called his clinic Friday morning to ask that his appointments for the day be cancelled. Then he didn’t show up again on Monday, and one of his clients came in for an appointment for an enhancement and got upset because he wasn’t there. Absolutely heartwarming, how the staff missed him. Apparently he’s quite the charmer.”
Chris was staring straight ahead, looking thoughtful. In the lengthening silence in the car, Livvy found herself wishing she could turn off the automatic drive just to have something to do.
“Josephson,” Chris said finally. “I’ve always wondered when he’d bob back to the surface.”
“Meg Dalton filled me in on the history.”
“So we have a doctor who is brilliant, in a sick way, and he has all of the skills needed to do both Longevity and other molebiol procedures. And he’s apparently missing,” Chris said.
“Someone with the moral laxity to prove useful in someone else’s perverse plan,” Livvy said. “You don’t think he was actually kidnapped?”
“That’s doubtful. His history… if Meg filled you in, you know already that he’d be willing enough to co-operate in just about anything. This is sloppy, though. If he’d given an appropriate warning at work, or even a reasonable excuse at work and taken care of his appointments, we wouldn’t be involved.”
“Autodrive zone ending. Left turn in 500 meters,” said the car.
“He always did have a disregard for anything and anyone not directly useful in his experiments. I suppose someone could have kidnapped him out of revenge, or spite. But I doubt it. He’s working for someone, and they called him out on something urgent.”
Livvy took the wheel and held it tightly.
“Destination on left,” said the car.
“And this is the girlfriend. I’ll bet she’s a real sweetheart, too. I’ve always considered it one of the highlights of the Laws, that they actually discourage some people from reproducing,” Livvy said through clenched teeth as the car jerked to a stop.
For someone who had put effort into making her face look anything but fierce, Livvy managed to create an expression with an impressively feral quality.
“My, my, my,” Isabella said in a husky drawl, “you two should have children together.”
The girlfriend, it turned out, was Isabella Meadows, the actress. Chris remembered the name from her career as an ingénue when he was young, which meant that she was close to his age but had probably started getting resets as soon as they were available, settling her biological age at around 28. His memory was of someone fresh-faced. A fragile blonde. In the years since, like Livvy, Isabella had had a lot of work done on top of good material, and the coloration was now superbly smoky-eyed and platinum, but the effect was magnificently statuesque rather than lovely. Although her eyes sparkled suggestively, not much else in her face moved.
They had been ushered into her presence by a straight-backed and graying woman in a black dress and starched white apron, through a stately late 19th century home that had also had a lot of work done to add all the modern conveniences of voice-op doors and lights, while still hanging onto all its marble and mahogany. The entryway alone could have encompassed Chris’ efficiency, with enough overhead space remaining to still contain a/assive diamond and crystal chandelier. In the reception room, as Chris found himself calling it, Isabella was sitting in a cream brocade-covered Empire-style armchair that allowed her to create an impressive display of her crossed legs.
Neither Chris nor Livvy reacted to Isabella’s suggestion, and Isabella laughed.
“You must forgive me. Guessing people’s chronos when I meet them is a hobby of mine, and your reactions, or lack of them, help.
“Let me see,” she went on. Her eyes had quickly flicked over Livvy, assessing her in the way one woman checked out another when she was both dismissing her and admiring her style, but she took her time with Chris, surveying him from head to toe.
“A natural,” she said, then looked more carefully. “No, of course, your position with the city entitles you to resets, and you are a dedicated man. You have chosen to avoid enhancements – how fortunate for you that you have so little need, and how rare. Where have you been all these years? But as I said, you are dedicated, so I’m going to guess you started getting resets when you could, which would put your chrono at close to 100. Marvelous. A contemporary.”
She leaned forward as though talking to Livvy alone, in confidence, although she kept her eyes on Chris. “You must keep an eye on this one, my dear. He has no idea, which makes him that much more attractive. What we used to call ruggedly handsome.”
Isabella leaned back again and took a cigarette out of a silver case shaped like a seashell, then lit it with a companion silver lighter shaped like a different type of shell.
“As for you, my dear, there is still a subtle enthusiasm that cannot be feigned, but you also have experience to give you confidence and poise, even when I make a suggestion that would bring a blush to most women accompanied by such a handsome man. Therefore, perhaps 50?” she asked, looking up at Livvy through her lashes and a fine veil of smoke.
Chris didn’t notice Livvy react to that either – her magnificent turquoise eyes had, in fact, seemed to have lost the need to blink – but Isabella responded with satisfaction. “Ah, I thought so. I’m an actress. I read people, and I am seldom wrong.
“But how delicious. Detectives.”
The serving woman delivered an ornate silver tray with some iced water and tea, and hot coffee, all in silver urns. There were tiny cookies on a gold-rimmed plate. Isabella herself poured for them, displaying a languid fluency that nevertheless did not achieve elegance, and Chris glanced at Livvy to find her looking at him with lifted eyebrows. It was quite a performance.
“But allow me to stop wasting your time. You’re here to talk to me about Milo. I have no idea where he is. I wasn’t expecting him and he never called, so I didn’t even realize he was missing until your office called.”
“So the last time you saw him was when…? Thursday?” Chris asked.
“Let me think,” Isabella said. She lifted a beautifully manicured hand, placed her index finger against her lips and tapped them twice. “Yes, Thursday. No, no. Wednesday. He came by after work, had dinner with me, and stayed the night. He does that, or we go out, several times a week. We’ve known each other almost 60 years.”
“And was there anything he said or did during his visit on Wednesday that was at all unusual?”
“No,” she said.
“And he hasn’t mentioned any travel plans lately?” Chris asked, and waited while Isabella seemed to mull over her options.
Chris noticed a small change in her breathing. “Isabella?”
“You’re a dear.” She drew and exhaled twice and stubbed out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray before answering. “In the end, audiences wanted new young faces, or aging faces, and I had to make a choice. So I gave it up. Do you think they will still want me when I’m 200 years old and my allotment is gone and and I have to start aging? Enhancements and surgery…” here she shuddered, “can only do so much.” She looked from Chris to Livvy and back again.