In Death 21 - Origin in Death

his heart. Think about that, Dr. Icove." Eve rose. "You know how to reach me."
    "Knows something," Peabody commented when they were out on the sidewalk.
    "Oh yeah. What do you figure our chances are of getting a search warrant for the surviving doctor's house?"
    "With what we've got? Slim."
    "Let's see if we can get more before we spin that wheel."
    She hit Feeney next, back at Central, and got a frown on his mopey face.
    "Got into the unit, no problem. What you got in there's medical mumbo. Can't see anything hinky about it. But it turns out Jasmina Free's tits didn't come from God, and neither did those pillow lips of hers, or her chin. Or her damn ass either."
    "Who's Jasmina Free?"
    "Jesus, Dallas. Vid goddess. Starred in last summer's biggest blockbuster, Endgame."
    "I was a little busy over the summer."
    "Took an Oscar last year for Harm None."
    "I guess I was a little busy last year, too."
    "Thing is, girl's an eyepopper. Now that I know most of it came from the sculpting knife, it spoils things."
    "Sorry to rain on your prurient fantasies, Feeney, but I'm a little busy now, too, just trying to close a case."
    "Giving you what I got, aren't I?" he grumbled. "A lot of other high-dollar names on his client list. Some just getting a couple of tweaks, others going the full-body and face route."
    "Full names listed?"
    "Yeah, sure. It's his patient list."
    "Right." She nodded. "Interesting. Keep going."
    "I took a look around, poking for some underlayment. See if the doc had any sideline in changing faces and whatnot for new ID purposes."
    "That's a good thought."
    "Didn't find any. Came up and up. You know what Jasmina paid for -nose tits? Twenty grand each." A faint smile ghosted around his mouth. "Guess I gotta say, money well spent."
    "You're scaring me, Feeney."
    He shrugged. "The wife thinks it's midlife crisis, but she doesn't mind. Man doesn't appreciate a good rack-God- or man-made-he might as well apply for a self-termination permit."
    "You say. Lot of high-powered, famed names on his patient and consult lists. So it's interesting that he keeps coded files in his home office."
    She filled him in, then gave him copies on the off chance he might see or find anything on them she'd missed.
    When he left her office, Eve was curious enough to look up Jasmina Free on Icove's records.
    Thoughtfully she studied the images. As Louise had verified, there were several, before and after, every procedure, various angles. She didn't see anything wrong with the breasts in the before, but was forced to admit they were a reckoning force in the after.
    Now that she saw the image she recognized the vid star. She supposed people in Free's profession looked at tit jobs and lip fattening as job security.
    A lot of young girls fantasized about being vid stars, she supposed. Or music stars like Mavis.
    Placement.
    Create perfect specimens then place them in their fantasy. But what teenager has the money for that?
    Rich parents. The newest underground method of fulfilling your little darling's fondest wish.
    Happy birthday, honey! We got you some rocking new breasts.
    Not much more out there than Roarke's Frankenstein theory.
    Following through, she brought up Free's official data.
    Born twenty-six years ago in Louisville, Kentucky, one of three children. Father a retired city cop.
    Forget that theory as applies to Free, Eve decided. Cops didn't make enough for big doctor's fees.
    Of course, being a humanitarian, he could have taken some of them on for free. But she read through the data, found no gaps.
    Still, it was a thought to go down on her list. Something else to fiddle with.
    Curious, she brought up Lee-Lee Ten's data. She and Will Icove had seemed pretty damn chummy.
    Born in Baltimore, no sibs. Raised by mother after termination of legal cohab with father. First professional modeling, age six months.
    Six months? What the hell did a six-month-old model? she wondered.
    Modeled, did screen ads, baby bits in vids.
    Jesus, Eve thought, reading. The woman had worked her entire life. No placement possibilities there, she decided. None of Icove's records listed placements before the age of seventeen.
    But she ran the name through the Center's records and noted Lee-Lee had had a number of "tune-ups" over the years.
    Was no one satisfied with the package God put her in?
    She ran probabilities on her computer, toying with various scenarios. Nothing rang for her. She got coffee, then settled in to wade through Icove's many