He scooted his stool over to his workstation, gestured over his shoulder for her to follow. "This is his brain," he said, tapping a finger on the organ floating in clear liquid and attached to wire thin cables that fed into the mainframe of his computer. "Abby Normal."
"I beg your pardon."
Morris chuckled, shook his head. "Obviously you don't make time to watch enough classic videos. That's from a takeoff on the Frankenstein myth. What I'm saying is, this brain is abnormal."
"He had brain damage?"
"Damage – well, it seems an extreme word for what I've found. Here, on the screen." He swiveled around, tapped some keys. A close-up view of Fitzhugh's brain flashed on. "Again, on the surface, completely as expected. But we show the cross section." He tapped again, and the brain was sliced neatly in half. "So much went on in this small mass," Morris murmured. '"Thoughts, ideas, music, desires, poetry, anger, hate. People speak of the heart, Lieutenant, but it's the brain that holds all the magic and mystery of the human species. It elevates us, separates us, defines us as individuals. And the secrets of it – well, it's doubtful we'll ever know them all. See here."
Eve leaned closer, trying to see what he indicated with the tap of a finger on the screen. "It looks like a brain to me. Unattractive but necessary."
"Not to worry, I nearly missed it myself. For this imaging," he went on while the monitor whirled with color and shapes, "the tissue appears in blues, pale to dark, the bone white. Blood vessels are red. As you can see, there are no clots or tumors that would indicate neurological disorders in the making. Enhance quadrant B, sections thirty-five to forty, thirty percent."
The screen jumped and a section of the image enlarged. Losing patience, Eve started to shrug, then leaned in. "What is that? It looks like… What? A smudge?"
"It does, doesn't it?" He beamed again, staring at the screen where a faint shadow no bigger than a flyspeck marred the brain. "Almost like a fingerprint, a child's oily finger. But when you enhance again" – he did so with a few brief commands, popping the image closer – "it's more of a tiny burn."
"How would you get a burn inside your brain?"
"Exactly." Obviously fascinated, Morris swiveled toward the brain in question. "I've never seen anything like that tiny pinprick mark. It wasn't caused by a hemorrhage, a small stroke, or an aneurism. I've run all the standard brain imaging programs and can find no known neurological cause for it."
"But it's there."
"Indeed, it is. It could be nothing, no more than a faint abnormality that caused the occasional vague headache or dizziness. It certainly wouldn't be fatal. But it is curious. I've sent for all of Fitzhugh's medical records to see if there were any tests run or any data on this burn."
"Could it cause depression, anxiety?"
"I don't know. It flaws the left frontal lobe of the right cerebral hemisphere. Current medical opinion is that certain aspects, such as personality, are localized in this specific cerebral area. So it does appear in the section of the brain that we now believe receives and deploys suggestions and ideas."
He moved his shoulders. "However, I can't document that this flaw contributed to death. The fact is, Dallas, at the moment, I'm baffled but fascinated. I won't be releasing your case until I find some answers."
A burn in the brain, Eve mused as she uncoded the locks on Fitzhugh's condo. She'd come alone, wanting the emptiness, the silence, to give her own brain time to work. Until she had cleared the scene, Foxx would have other living quarters.
She retraced her steps upstairs, studied the grisly bath again.
A burn in the brain, she thought again. Drugs seemed the most logical answer. If they hadn't showed on tox, it could be it was a new type of drug, one that had yet to be registered.
She walked into the relaxation room. There was nothing there but the expensive toys of a wealthy man who enjoyed his leisure time.
Couldn't sleep, she mused. Came in to relax, had a brandy. Stretched out in the chair, watched some screen. Her lips pursed as she picked up the VR goggles beside the chair. Took a quick trip. Didn't want to use the chamber for it, just kicked back.
Curious, she slipped on the goggles, ordered the last scene played. She was popped into a swaying white boat on a cool green river. Birds soared overhead, a fish bulleted up, flashed silver, and dove again. On the banks of the river were wildflowers and tall, shielding trees. She felt herself floating, let her hand dip into the water to trail a quiet wake. It was nearly sunset, and the sky was going pink and purple in the west. She could hear the low hum of bees, the cheerful chirp of crickets. The boat rocked like a cradle.
Stifling a yawn, she pulled the goggles off again. A harmless, sedative scene, she decided and set the goggles down. Nothing that would have induced a sudden urge to slash one's wrists. But the water might have prompted the urge for a hot bath, so he'd taken one. And if Foxx had crept in, had been quiet enough, quick enough, he could have done it.
It was all she had, Eve decided, and took out her communicator to order a second interview with Arthur Foxx.
CHAPTER SIX
Eve studied the reports on the knock-on-doors from uniforms. Most of them were what she'd expected. Fitzhugh and Foxx were quiet, kept to themselves, yet friendly with their neighbors in the building. But she latched on to the statement of the droid on doorman duty that placed Foxx at leaving the building at twenty-two thirty and returning at twenty-three hundred hours.
"He didn't mention he went out, did he, Peabody? Not a word about a little jaunt in the evening on his own."
"No, he didn't mention it."
"Have we got the security discs logged yet from the lobby and elevator cameras?"
"I loaded them in. They're under Fitzhugh ten-fifty-one on your unit."
"Let's take a look." Eve booted her machine, leaned back in her chair.
Peabody scanned the monitor over her shoulder and resisted mentioning that both of them were now officially off duty. It was exciting, after all, working side by side with the top homicide detective at Cop Central. Dallas would sneer at that, Peabody thought, but it was true. She'd been following the career of Eve Dallas for years, and there was no one she admired or wished more to emulate.
The biggest shock of Peabody 's life was that somehow, over the course of a few short months, they had come to be friends as well.
"Stop." Eve sat up straight as the transmission froze. She studied the classy blonde entering the building at twenty-two fifteen. "Well, well, there's our Leanore, slipping by."
"She had the time fairly close. Ten fifteen."
"Yeah, she's on the mark." Eve ran her tongue around her teeth. "What do you think, Peabody? Business or pleasure?"
"Well, she's dressed for business." Peabody cocked her head and allowed a faint trail of envy to curl up her spine at Leanore's spiffy three-piece suit. "She's carrying a briefcase."
"A briefcase – and a bottle of wine. Enhance quadrant D, thirty to thirty-five. An expensive bottle of wine," Eve murmured when the screen popped and displayed the label clearly. "Roarke's got some of that little number in the wine cellar. I think it goes for about two hundred."
"A bottle? Wow."
"A glass," Eve corrected, amused when Peabody goggled. "Something doesn't fit. Resume normal size and speed, shift to elevator camera. Hmm. Yeah, yeah, she's primping," Eve murmured, watching as Leanore took a gold compact out of her embossed briefcase, powdered her nose, freshened her lipstick as the elevator climbed. "And lookie there, just flipped open the top three buttons of her blouse."
"Getting ready for a man," Peabody said, and shrugged when Eve slanted a look at her. "I'd guess."