She kept going up, and straight into her office. Roarke came through the adjoining door.
«If I came home and a cop met me at the door,» she began, «and told me you'd been murdered, what do you figure I'd do?»
«Fall into a pit of despair from which you would drown for the rest of your sad, empty life.»
«Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get serious.»
«I rather liked that one.» He leaned on the doorjamb. «First, I imagine you would kick the unfortunate messenger—and anyone else stupid enough to get in your path—out of your way. To see for yourself. I would hope you'd weep an ocean of hot and bitter tears over my body Then you'd find out everything that could be found out and hunt my killer down like a rabid dog to the ends of the earth.»
«Okay.» She sat on the edge of her desk and studied him. «What if I didn't love you anymore?»
«Then my life would no longer be worth living, and I'd have probably self-terminated or simply died of a broken, battered heart.»
She had to grin at him, then sobered and shook her head. «She didn't love him. The widow. She put on a dignified show, but she didn't have all the lines, and she didn't— What's it when actors…« She threw out her arms, put a horrified expression on her face, slapped her arm-crossways over her chest.
«Miming? Please don't do that again. It's rather frightening.»
«Not miming. People should be allowed—no, they should be required to chase mimes down the street with bats. Emote, that's the word. Avril didn't emote believably. See there was a tone when she talked about him, and another when she talked about her kids. She loves the kids. She didn't love their father, or not anymore. Not through and through. Peabody figures she had some side action.»
«Seems reasonable. You don't?»
«When do I have time for side action when you're nailing me every chance you get?»
He reached out, gave her hair a quick tug. «Quick tonight, aren't you?»
«Must be the buzz, because I've got one going on this. Maybe she had a side dish. And maybe she's that smart and that quick and calculating. Duplicating her father-in-law's murder to muddy the waters. But I'm thinking it is what it looks like. Connected murders by or on behalf of the same parties. And she's in it.»
«Why? Money, sex, fear, power, rage, jealousy, revenge. Aren't those the headliners?»
«Power's in there. They were powerful men, killed with a tool of their own trade. If it's rage, it's ice cold. I don't see fear, and money doesn't give me the buzz. Jealousy's unlikely. Revenge—that's the unknown.»
«The money's plentiful, and well channeled. I haven't, as yet, found any that's questionable. Their accounts are ordered, extremely well organized and maintained.»
«There's more somewhere.»
«Then I'll find it.»
«Here's the gist.»
Eve ran it through for him quickly. As she spoke, he came in, opened a recessed door, and took out brandy. He poured a snifter for himself, and knowing his wife, ordered her a cup of black coffee. He hoped it would be her last of a long day.
She didn't like them, her victims, he thought. It wouldn't stop her from pursuing whoever was responsible for their deaths, but it wasn't punishing her as murder often did.
It was the puzzle that gave her the buzz she'd spoken of, the buzz she'd use and burn through until she found the answers.
But the dead, this time, didn't haunt her. The girls she believed they'd used would. And for them, he knew, she'd burn through until she found those answers and exhausted herself.
«It's not impossible the system was compromised,» he said when she'd finished. «Depends on the skill of your B-and-E man.» He passed her the coffee. «But in that neighborhood, at that time of the evening you'd have to have extreme skill. Particularly extreme if when EDI examines the system they still find no sign of tampering.»
«It's more likely she had the codes, and a voice box or clearance We've taken in the droids, too, and EDD will take them apart, see if any were compromised. If Icove's orders were countermanded by the wife at some point earlier today, one of the droids could have opened the door for the killer, then had its memory washed.»
«It would show. Unless, again, you're extremely skilled.»
«He wasn't eating—Icove. No appetite. So if his tummy rumbled okay, he wants a little bite. But he's working in his office. Sequestered there. Wiping data, I'll bet your fine ass.»
She paced now, walking it through. «He doesn't go downstairs to the kitchen to order a tray of food. It's not efficient. And you know what it is—a pretty tray with pretty fruit, artfully arranged cheese and whatnot. It's wifely.»
«I wouldn't know,» Roarke said dryly. «I don't believe my wife has ever artfully arranged cheese on a tray for me.»
«Bite me. You know what I'm saying. It's female and fussy. The sort of thing fussy females do to cajole somebody to eat. But it wasn't the wife. She's in the Hamptons, eating ice cream with the kiddies, entertaining the neighbors. Making damn straight sure somebody can swear on a mountain of Bibles she was somewhere else when that scalpel went into Icove's heart. So maybe Icove was fooling around and somehow his side dish and his wife are in league.»
«Back to sex.»
«Yeah. Maybe he was cheating on both of them. Maybe his sainted father was a perv and diddled with all three. But that's not it.» She shook her head. «It doesn't feel like sex. It's the project. It's the work. She lied to me about knowing about his work, knowing about any long-term private research. That was the missed beat in her routine. There was the rage, just a flicker. I saw it in her eyes.»
She sipped her coffee. «She could've planted the weapon at the Center. Who's going to question Dr. Will's wife if she wanders around? Easy enough to palm a scalpel, conceal one. She's the main link between the two victims. Former ward of one, wife of the other. Maybe, if this project goes back far enough, she was part of it.»
«It's a long time to wait to take your revenge,» Roarke pointed out. «A lot of emotional ties during that time. She couldn't have been forced to marry and live with, have children with Will Icove, Eve. It had to be her choice. If she's involved, isn't it more likely she found out about this project—objected, was appalled or enraged?»
«Then she's still got a choice. If you're that appalled, you report it. Could do it anonymously. Give the authorities just enough to make them investigate. You don't kill the father of your children because you're upset about his side work. You leave him, or you fry him legally. You kill two men like this? It's a personal act, caused by a personal act.»
She shrugged. «I think. I'm going to talk to Mira.»
«It's late. Let's get some sleep.»
«I want to write this up first, while it's fresh in my mind.»
He crossed to her, kissed her brow. «Don't drink any more coffee.»
Alone, she wrote the report, added some case notes. Then some questions.
Avril Icove—living relatives?
Exact date and circumstances of Icove's guardianship?
Daily, weekly routines? Times out of the house alone? Where?
When?
Possible connection to woman known as Dolores Nocho-Alverez. Any body or face work? Last visit to the Center prior to father-in-law's death.
I'm what he wanted.
What, if anything, did she take to the Hamptons. She sat back, let it circle through her mind another time or two. Wished for coffee.
She shut down and walked to the bedroom. He'd left the light on low, so she wouldn't come into the dark. Eve stripped, dragged on a nightshirt. When she slid into bed, he drew her into his arms to spoon.
«I wanted more coffee.»
«Of course you did. Go to sleep.»
«She didn't want them to suffer.»
«All right.»
She started to drift, warm in his arms. «She wanted them dead, but she didn't want them to suffer. Love. Hate. It's complicated.»