The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [69]
“She’s smart, but not a genius. Smart enough not to make it look like a break-in. More confusing,” she said when Feeney raised his brows. “The wife’s solid in the Hamptons. According to her, to the domestics, nobody outside the household had the codes or was authorized. So that leaves us with a ghost. We gotta look at the wife. Look again, but she’s got several independent witnesses who put her miles away while her husband was getting his heart cut open. We’re looking for an accomplice, for a connect between her and Dolores. And so far, there’s zip.
“Except there’s this project.”
“And the school.”
Eve nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m going to have to take a trip to New Hampshire. What do people do in New Hampshire?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” Feeney frowned at the plate that slid out of the order slot. On it was a mushy triangle on the brown side of orange.
“Is that supposed to be pumpkin pie?” Eve asked. “It looks more like a slice of—”
“Don’t say it.” Gamely, Feeney grabbed his fork. “I’m eating it.”
Figuring Peabody would be at it hours yet, Eve went from lunch to Whitney’s office to update him.
“You think a school with a reputation like Brookhollow is a front for what, sex slavery?”
“I think it pertains.”
Whitney dragged his fingers through his short crop of hair. “If memory serves, it was on my wife’s list of potential colleges for our daughter.”
“Did you apply?”
“Most of that process is, thankfully, a blur. Mrs. Whitney would remember.”
“Sir, speaking of Mrs. Whitney . . .” Touchy, touchy. “I’ve sent Baxter in on an informal recon, under, as a potential client. Get him in, tour the facilities, check out the system. However, I wondered, should it become necessary, would Mrs. Whitney agree to talk with me about her, um, experience?”
He looked, for a moment, as pained as Eve felt. “She won’t care for it, but she’s a cop’s wife. If you need a statement, she’ll give you one.”
“Thank you, Commander. I doubt I will. I hope I won’t.”
“So, Lieutenant, do I. More than you know.”
From there, she went to Mira’s office, wheedled her way past the admin between patients. She didn’t sit, though Mira gestured to a chair.
“You okay?” Eve asked her.
“A bit dented, actually. Both of them gone. I knew Will, enjoyed him and his family on the occasions we got together.”
“How would you characterize his relationship with his wife?”
“Affectionate, a bit old-fashioned, happy.”
“Old-fashioned in what sense?”
“My impression is that he very much headed the house. That it ran around his needs and routine, but my impression is also that the dynamic suited them. She’s a very loving and devoted mother, and enjoyed being a doctor’s wife. She has talent, but seemed happy to dabble with her art rather than passionately pursue it.”
“And if I told you she had a part in the murders?”
Mira’s eyes blinked, then widened. “On the basis of my professional evaluation of her character, I would disagree.”
“You saw them socially—now and then. You saw them as they wanted to be seen. Would you agree?”
“Yes, but . . . Eve, my profile of the killer indicates a cool-headed, efficient, highly controlled individual. My impressions of Avril Icove—and these come over years—is of a soft-hearted, mild-tempered woman who was not only content with her life but enjoyed living it.”
“He raised her for his son.”
“What?”
“I know it. Icove molded her, educated her, trained her, he all but fucking created her as the perfect mate for his son. He wasn’t a man to settle for less than perfect.”
She sat now, leaned forward. “He sent her to school—small, exclusive, private, where he had control. He, and his friend and associate, Jonah Wilson. A geneticist.”
“Wait.” Mira held up both hands. “Wait. Are you talking about gene manipulation? She was five or more when Wilfred took over her guardianship.”
“Maybe, or maybe there was an interest in her long before. There’s a relationship between her and Wilson’s wife. They share a family name, yet there’s no data on the connection. There had to be a relationship between her mother and Icove,