The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [15]
And all tidy and ordered, like a stage set.
“She studied art at some fancy school, according to her records.” Eve slid her hands into her pockets. “Icove was named her legal guardian through parental stipulation in her mother’s will. She was six. After she graduated from college, she married Junior. They lived, primarily, in Paris for the first six months, during which she painted professionally, and had a successful showing.”
“Before or after her father’s unfortunate demise?”
“After. They came back to New York, to this residence, had two kids—she took professional-mom status after number one. She continues to paint, portraits being her primary interest, but rarely takes commissions, and donates the proceeds to the Icove Foundation, thereby keeping her professional mother status.”
“You got a lot of data in a short amount of time.”
“Straightforward,” Eve said with a shrug. “No criminal on her, not even minor brushes. No previous marriage or cohab, no other children on record.”
“If you factor out the dead parents, dead in-laws, it’s a pretty perfect life.”
Eve glanced around the room again. “Sure looks that way.”
When Icove stepped in she was facing the doorway. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have heard him. The carpet was thick, and his shoes made no sound over it. He wore loose pants and a pullover rather than his suit. And still managed to look as if he were wearing one, Eve noticed.
Roarke could do that, too, Eve thought. No matter how casually attired, he could radiate authority in a finger snap.
“Lieutenant, Detective. My wife will be here in another moment. She’s checking on the children. We deactivated the domestics for the day.”
He moved to a floor cabinet, opening it to reveal a mini AutoChef. “Avril said she offered you refreshment but you declined. I’m having coffee, if you’d like to change your minds.”
“Coffee’d be good, thanks. Just black.”
“Sweet and light for me,” Peabody added. “We appreciate you seeing us, Dr. Icove. We know this is difficult.”
“Unreal, more like.” He programmed the unit. “It was horrible at the Center, there in his office. Seeing him like that, knowing nothing could be done to bring him back. But here, at home . . .”
He shook his head, drew out cups. “It’s like a strange, sick dream. I keep thinking my ’link will buzz and it’ll be Dad, wondering why we don’t all have dinner on Sunday.”
“Did you often?” Eve asked. “Have dinner together.”
“Yes.” He passed the coffee to her, to Peabody. “Once a week, sometimes twice. He might just drop by to see the kids. The woman? Have you found the woman who . . .”
“We’re looking. Dr. Icove, records indicate everyone on your father’s personal staff at the Center has been with him three years or longer. Is there anyone else, anyone he had cause to dismiss or who left unhappily?”
“No, none that I know of.”
“He’d work with other doctors and medical staff on cases.”
“Certainly, a surgical team, psychiatrists, family services, and so on.”
“Can you think of anyone in that area of his work he may have had issue with, or who may have had issue with him?”
“I can’t. He worked with the best because he insisted on doing superior work, and giving his patients the very finest resources.”
“Still he had unhappy patients and clients in his practice.”
Icove smiled a little, humorlessly. “It’s impossible to please everyone, and certainly to please everyone’s lawyer. But my father and I, in turn, vet our patients very carefully, in order to weed out those who want more than can be given, or who are psychologically inclined to litigate. Even so, as I told you before, my father was semiretired.”
“He was consulting with the woman who called herself Dolores Nocho-Alverez. I need his case notes.”
“Yes.” He sighed, heavily. “Our lawyers aren’t happy, want me to wait until they do some motions and so on. But Avril convinced me it’s foolish to think of legalities. I’ve ordered them turned over to you. I have to ask, Lieutenant, that the contents be considered highly confidential.”
“Unless it pertains to the murder,