«You tell me.» Eve took out a hard copy of one of the discs, passed the several pages across the coffee table.
As she read, Louise's brow knitted. She began to murmur to herself, shake her head. «Experimental, certainly, and vague on the details. These can't be his actual case notes. It's an overview: physical, mental, emotional, intelligence. Treating the whole patient, as was his method. One I agree with. But… Young female subject, excellent physical condition, high intelligence quotient, small corrections to vision and facial structure. Four years of study and treatments wrapped in a few pages. There has to be more.»
«Is the subject human?»
Louise's eyes flicked up, then back to the notes again. «The vitals and treatments all indicate a human female. One who was tested regularly, and thoroughly, not only for defects and disease but for mental and artistic progress and prowess. There were fifty of these?»
«That I've found, to date.»
«Placement,» Louise said softly. «Educational placement? Employment?»
«Dallas doesn't think so,» Charles commented with his eyes on Eve's.
«Then what—« Louise broke off, reading the look that passed between her lover and Eve. «Oh God.»
«You have to be tested to get an LC license,» Eve began.
«That's right.» Charles picked up his coffee. «You're tested physically to ensure against disease or condition. You undergo some psychiatric evals, to hopefully eliminate any sexual deviants or predators. And to keep your license current, you're required to have regular exams.»
«And there are various levels, with various fee scales.»
«Of course. The level of your license is determined not only by your preference, but your skills. Intelligence, knowledge of art and entertainment, your… style. A street level, for instance, isn't required to be able to discuss art history with a client, or know Puccini from pig Latin.»
«The higher the level, the bigger the fee.»
«Correct.»
«And the higher the level placed, the bigger the placement fee for the agency that either trains or tests and certifies the LC.»
«Also correct.»
«It doesn't make sense,» Louise interrupted. «First someone with Icove's resources, skills, and interests testing potential LCs? For what purpose? And it doesn't take years to train and certify. His fees would be nominal compared to his real work.»
«Boy needs a hobby,» Peabody added, and considered another bagel.
Charles played his fingers over the tips of Louise's hair. «She's not thinking traditional LCs, sweetie. Are you, Dallas? Not selling services, but the whole package.»
«Selling…« Louise went pale. «Dallas, my God.»
«It's a theory. I'm working on a couple of them. You'd agree, as a doctor, that the security on these discs is more than usual.»
«Yes, but—«
«That the notes themselves are sketchy, and also unusual.»
«I agree I'd have to see more to have an opinion to their purpose.»
«Where are the images?» Eve asked. «If you, as a doctor, were documenting information such as this on a patient over the course of years, wouldn't you have images of that patient. At certain points? Certainly before and after procedures?»
Louise said nothing for a moment, then let out a long breath. «Yes. I'd also clearly document the steps of any procedure, who assisted, the duration of the procedure. I would've listed the names of the patient as well as the names of any medical or lay staff who assisted in tests. There would, most likely, be personal observations and comments added. But these aren't thorough notes, certainly not medical charts.»
«Okay. Thanks.» Eve held out her hand for the hard copies.
«You think he may have been involved in some sort of… human auction? That's why he was killed.»
«It's a theory.» Eve got to her feet. «A lot of doctors have God complexes.»
«Some,» Louise said, coolly now.
«Even God didn't create the perfect woman. Maybe Icove figured he could one-up God. Thanks for the coffee,» Eve added, and let herself out.
«I think you pretty much ruined her day,» Peabody commented as they walked to the elevator.
«Might as well go for a streak and ruin Dr. Will's day next.»
A domestic droid opened the door of the Icoves' home. She'd been created to replicate a woman in her comfortable forties, with a pleasant face, a trim build.
She showed them directly into the main living area, offered them a seat, refreshment, then stepped out. Moments later, Icove came in.
There were shadows under his eyes and a weary pallor to his cheeks.
«You have news?» he asked immediately.
«I'm sorry, Dr. Icove, we don't have anything to tell you at this time. We do have some follow-up questions.»
«Oh.» He rubbed the center of his forehead in a firm up-and-down motion. «Of course.»
As he crossed over to take a seat, Eve saw the young boy peek around the doorway. His hair was so blond it was nearly white and spiked up—as the current fashion demanded—from a youthful and pretty face. He had his mother's eyes, she noted. So blue they were nearly purple.
«I think we might want to discuss this in private,» Eve told Icove.
«Yes. My wife and children are still at breakfast.»
«Not all of them.» Eve inclined her head, and Icove turned in time to catch a glimpse of his son before the boy scooted back out of sight.
«Ben!»
The sharp command had the boy sliding into view again, chin on chest. But those eyes, Eve saw, where bright and avid despite the shamed posture.
«Haven't we discussed eavesdropping on private conversations?»
«Yes, sir.»
«Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody,» Icove said, «my son, Ben.»
«Wilfred B. Icove the Third,» the boy announced, straightening his shoulders. «Benjamin's my middle name. You're the police.»
Because Peabody knew her partner, she took the front line with the boy. «That's right. We're very sorry about your grandfather, Ben, and we're here to talk to your father.»
«Somebody killed my granddad. They stabbed him right in the heart.»
«Ben—«
«They know. » Ben's face was a study in frustration as he turned to his father. «Now they have to ask questions and follow leads and gather evidence. Do you have suspects?» he demanded.
«Ben.» Icove spoke more gently and wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. «My son doesn't want to follow family tradition and enter the medical field. He hopes to be a private investigator.»
«Cops have to follow too many rules,» the boy explained. «PIs get to break them and they get big, fat fees and hang out with shady characters.»
«He enjoys detective book discs and games,» Icove added with a light of amusement—and, Eve thought, pride—in his eyes.
«If you're a lieutenant, you get to boss people around, and yell at them and stuff.»
«Yeah.» Eve felt a smile twitch at her lips. «I like that part.»
There was the sound of footsteps moving fast down the hall. Avril appeared, apology on her face. «Ben. Will, I'm sorry. He got away from me.»
«No harm. Ben, go back into the breakfast room now with your mother.»
«But I want—«
«No arguments.»
«Ben.» Avril's voice was a murmur, but it worked. Ben's head drooped again as he dragged his feet out of the room.
«Sorry for the interruption,» Avril said, curved her lips in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then retreated.
«We're keeping the children home for a few days,» Icove explained. «The media doesn't always respect grief, or innocence.»
«He's a great-looking kid, Dr. Icove,» Peabody put in. «He favors your wife.»
«Yes, he does. Both our children favor Avril.» His smile warmed, became genuine. «Fortunate DNA. What do you need to know?»
«We have some questions regarding some information accessed from discs recovered from your father's home office.»