In Death 21 - Origin in Death

caught her breath, stared straight ahead. "We'll never speak of this again."
    "That'd be best."
    When Eve walked back into her office carrying her share of the victim's office discs, Dr. Mira was standing by her desk.
    Must be the day for sharp-dressing doctors, Eve thought.
    Mira was elegant in one of her trademark suits, this one a rosy pink with a short, nipped-in jacket that buttoned to the throat. Her mink-colored hair was swept back and sort of rolled at the nape of her neck. Small triangles of gold glinted at her ears.
    "Eve. I was just about to leave you a memo."
    Sorrow, Eve noted, in those soft blue eyes, in that smooth, pretty face. "What is it?"
    "Do you have a moment?"
    "Sure. Sure. You want-" She started to offer coffee, remembered Mira favored herbal tea. And her AutoChef didn't stock any. "Anything?"
    "No, thanks. No. You're primary on Wilfred Icove's murder."
    "Yeah, caught it this afternoon. I was already on-scene on another matter. I was thinking of running what I've got on the suspect by you, and . . . And you knew him," Eve realized.
    "Yes, I did. I'm . . . staggered," she decided, and sat in the visitor's chair. "Can't get my head around it. You and I should be used to it, shouldn't we? Death every day, and it doesn't always pass by those we know, those we love or respect."
    "Which was it? Love or respect."
    "Respect, a great deal of it. We were never romantically involved."
    "He was too old for you anyway."
    A smile wisped around Mira's mouth. "Thank you. I met him years ago. Years, when I was just starting my practice. A friend of mine was involved with an abuser. She finally broke things off, began to get her life back together. He abducted her, then he raped her, sodomized her. He beat her unconscious and threw her out of his car near Grand Central. She was lucky to live through it. Her face was shattered, her teeth broken, broken eardrum, crushed larynx, a medley of pain and potential disfigurement. I went to Wilfred, to ask him to take her as a patient. I knew he was reputed to be the best in the city, if not the country."
    "And he did."
    "Yes, he did. More, he was so kind, and so endlessly patient with a woman who'd had her spirit and her courage shattered as much as her body. Wilfred and I spent considerable time together over my friend, and became friends ourselves. His death, like this-it's very hard to accept. I understand a personal connection like this might influence you to keep me a step back. I'm asking you not to."
    Eve considered a minute. "You ever drink coffee?"
    "Now and again."
    She went to the AutoChef, programmed two cups. "I could use some help understanding the vic and getting a profile on the killer. If you tell me you're able to work the case, then you're able to work the case."
    "Thank you."
    "Did you see the victim much in the last few years?"
    "Not really." Mira accepted the coffee. "A few times a year socially. Dinner, or a dinner party, cocktails, the occasional medical conference. He had offered me the position of head of psychiatric at his center, and was disappointed, perhaps a little annoyed, when I declined. So we haven't consulted professionally in some time, but maintained a social relationship."
    "You know the family."
    "Yes, his son's another brilliant mind, and seems the perfect choice to carry on his father's work. His daughter-in-law is a talented artist."
    "Doesn't do much with it now."
    "No, I suppose not. I have one of her early works. Two grandchildren, about nine and six, I believe. Girl and boy. Wilfred doted on them. He always had new holos or photographs to show off. He adores children. The center here has the finest pediatric reconstructive department in the world, in my opinion."
    "He have enemies?"
    Mira sat back. She looked tired, Eve noted. Grief, she knew, could sap the system, or energize it.
    "There are some who envy him-his talent, his vision-and some who've questioned it along the way. But no, I don't know of any in our community who would have wished him harm. No one in the social circle I shared with him either."
    "Okay. I might need some help going through his medical files. Interpreting the lingo."
    "I'm happy to give you as much time as you need. It certainly isn't my area of expertise, but I can help you understand his notes, I'd think, and his case files."
    "It looks professional. Looks like a hit."
    "Professional?" Mira set the untouched coffee aside. "That seems impossible. Even ludicrous."
    "Maybe not. Doctors who build