«Oh?»
«The data they're on was coded.»
There was a change—just a flicker—when puzzlement became shock, a shock masked by mild interest. «Medical notes often seem like code to the layman.»
«True enough. Even when the text was accessed, the contents are puzzling. Your father appears to have taken notes on the treatment of some fifty patients, female patients from their late teens to early twenties.»
Icove's expression remained neutral. «Yes?»
«What do you know about those patients, those… treatments, Dr. Icove?»
«I couldn't say.» He spread his hands. «Certainly not without reading the notes. I wasn't privy to all my father's cases.»
«These strike me as a special project, and one he took some care to keep secure. My impression was his field of interest was reconstructive surgery and sculpting.»
«Yes. For more than fifty years, my father dedicated his skills to that field, and led the way to—«
«I'm aware of his accomplishments.» Deliberately, Eve hardened her voice. «I'm asking about his interests, and his work, outside of that field, the field he's publicly known for. I'm asking about his sidelines, Dr. Icove. Those that involve testing and training young women.»
«I'm afraid I don't understand.»
Eve took out the hard copies, passed them to him. «These give a glimmer?»
He cleared his throat, read through them. «I'm afraid not. You say you found these on disc in his home office?»
«That's right.»
«Possibly copies from a colleague.» He lifted his head, but his eyes didn't quite meet Eve's. «There's nothing on here to indicate to me that these are my father's notes. They're very incomplete. Case studies of some sort, of course. And honestly, I fail to see what these might have to do with your investigation.»
«I determine what has to do with my investigation. What I found on discs in your father's possession deals with more than fifty unidentified young women who were subjected to tests and evaluations, some surgeries, over a course of years. Who are they, Dr. Icove? Where are they?»
«I don't care for your tone, Lieutenant.»
«I get that a lot.»
«I assume these women were part of a voluntary test group which interested my father. If you knew anything about reconstructive surgery, or sculpting, you'd be aware that the body isn't merely the box that holds the prize. When the body is seriously injured, it affects the brain, the emotions. The human condition must be treated as a whole. A patient who loses an arm in an accident loses more than a limb, and must be treated for that loss, must be treated and trained to adjust to it and live a contented and productive life. Quite possibly my father was interested in this particular case study as a means to observe individuals, over the course of a span of years, who were being tested and evaluated on every level.»
«If this study took place in the Center, you'd be aware of it?»
«I'm sure that I would.»
«You and your father were close,» Peabody said.
«We were.»
«It seems if he was interested enough in a project like this one. enough to keep records in his home office, he would have discussed it with you at some point. Father to son, colleague to colleague.»
Icove started to speak, then stopped, seemed to rethink. «It's possible he intended to. I can't speculate on that. Nor can I ask him. He's dead.
«Killed,» Eve pointed out, «by a woman. A strong physical specimen, like those documented on the discs.»
She heard him suck in a shocked breath, watched that shock, and a hint of fear, widen his eyes. «You… You actually believe one of the patients documented on those discs killed my father?»
«Physically, the suspect fits the documented descriptions of most of the subjects. Height, weight, body type. One or more of these patients may have objected to what's termed 'placement.' Potential motive. It would also explain why your father agreed to the appointment.»
«What you're suggesting is ludicrous, out of the question. My father helped people, he improved lives. He saved them. The president of the United States contacted me personally with condolences. My father was an icon, but more, he was a man who was loved and respected.»
«Someone disrespected him enough to shove a scalpel into his heart. Think about that, Dr. Icove.» Eve rose. «You know how to reach me.»
«Knows something,» Peabody commented when they were out on the sidewalk.
«Oh yeah. What do you figure our chances are of getting a search warrant for the surviving doctor's house?»
«With what we've got? Slim.»
«Let's see if we can get more before we spin that wheel.»
She hit Feeney next, back at Central, and got a frown on his mopey face.
«Got into the unit, no problem. What you got in there's medical mumbo. Can't see anything hinky about it. But it turns out Jasmina Free's tits didn't come from God, and neither did those pillow lips of hers, or her chin. Or her damn ass either.»
«Who's Jasmina Free?»
«Jesus, Dallas. Vid goddess. Starred in last summer's biggest blockbuster, Endgame. »
«I was a little busy over the summer.»
«Took an Oscar last year for Harm None. »
«I guess I was a little busy last year, too.»
«Thing is, girl's an eyepopper. Now that I know most of it came from the sculpting knife, it spoils things.»
«Sorry to rain on your prurient fantasies, Feeney, but I'm a little busy now, too, just trying to close a case.»
«Giving you what I got, aren't I?» he grumbled. «A lot of other high-dollar names on his client list. Some just getting a couple of tweaks, others going the full-body and face route.»
«Full names listed?»
«Yeah, sure. It's his patient list.»
«Right.» She nodded. «Interesting. Keep going.»
«I took a look around, poking for some underlayment. See if the doc had any sideline in changing faces and whatnot for new ID purposes.»
«That's a good thought.»
«Didn't find any. Came up and up. You know what Jasmina paid for –nose tits? Twenty grand each.» A faint smile ghosted around his mouth. «Guess I gotta say, money well spent.»
«You're scaring me, Feeney.»
He shrugged. «The wife thinks it's midlife crisis, but she doesn't mind. Man doesn't appreciate a good rack—God– or man-made—he might as well apply for a self-termination permit.»
«You say. Lot of high-powered, famed names on his patient and consult lists. So it's interesting that he keeps coded files in his home office.»
She filled him in, then gave him copies on the off chance he might see or find anything on them she'd missed.
When he left her office, Eve was curious enough to look up Jasmina Free on Icove's records.
Thoughtfully she studied the images. As Louise had verified, there were several, before and after, every procedure, various angles. She didn't see anything wrong with the breasts in the before, but was forced to admit they were a reckoning force in the after.
Now that she saw the image she recognized the vid star. She supposed people in Free's profession looked at tit jobs and lip fattening as job security.
A lot of young girls fantasized about being vid stars, she supposed. Or music stars like Mavis.
Placement.
Create perfect specimens then place them in their fantasy. But what teenager has the money for that?
Rich parents. The newest underground method of fulfilling your little darling's fondest wish.
Happy birthday, honey! We got you some rocking new breasts.
Not much more out there than Roarke's Frankenstein theory.
Following through, she brought up Free's official data.
Born twenty-six years ago in Louisville, Kentucky, one of three children. Father a retired city cop.
Forget that theory as applies to Free, Eve decided. Cops didn't make enough for big doctor's fees.