In Death 21 - Origin in Death

Eve said. "If you weren't expecting her, if you weren't looking, you wouldn't make her. She's good. You'll want to run the program to be sure-and you've got her hands, her ears-but that's her."
    Or maybe one of her, Eve thought. How could she be sure?
    "Vic doesn't make her," Eve added. "It's all.. ."
    She trailed off, staring as Diana Rodriguez came down the stairs on the vid.
    What was it like, she wondered, to see yourself walking toward you. The child you were.
    She thought of herself at that age. A loner, marking time, with so many wounds under the mask it was a wonder she hadn't bled to death.
    She'd been nothing like this beautiful young girl who stopped and appeared to speak politely to the older women. Nothing near as poise; nothing near as confident.
    Eve swallowed the exclamation when she saw Deena's and Diana’s eyes meet.
    She knows. The kid knows.
    And she watched them each glance back as they walked in opposite directions and thought: Not just knows. Understands. Approves.
    Well, why wouldn't she? They're the same person.
    "Want me to run it forward?" Hyer asked her when Samuels and Deena walked into the sitting room.
    "Huh? Yeah, please."
    "Nobody came near the door during the elapsed time," he continued. "No transmissions in or out, either." He stopped the disc, resumed at real time. "Here she comes."
    "Cool. The same as with Icove. She doesn't hurry, she just.. . She took something from the room."
    "How you figure?"
    "Her bag. Her purse, it's heavier. Look how she's got her body angled to adjust for the weight. Run it back, run it back to when she went inside, freeze and split the screen with her exit."
    He obliged, pulled on his bottom lip as they both studied. "Could be, could be. Missed it. Bag's not big, so she couldn't have taken anything bigger than-"
    "Discs. What do you bet she took discs or records. She doesn't kill to steal, not for profit. Vic had good jewelry on. It'd be information- that slides right in."
    She took Roarke to the murder scene. "What do you see?" she demanded.
    "A nicely appointed sitting room. Female, but not overly fussy. Very neat, very upscale."
    "What don't you see?"
    "No security cameras, as there are in other areas. But," he continued as he took out what appeared to be a memo book, "that's what makes it private. And it is. No eyes in here."
    "Okay. So we have private. No eyes, soundproofed. She'd have an office, and maybe more than one. She'd have living quarters, and we'll get to all that. But this is her little sanctuary, in the main building. She might secret data, journals, records, and so on elsewhere. But why have a little sanctuary if you don't use it? Deena took something out of here, something she put in her handbag. But... what do you see?"
    He took another, longer measure of the room. "Everything in its place. Very ordered and tasteful. Balanced. Much like, though in smaller scale, the Icove home. No signs it's been searched or anything taken. How long did she have in here?"
    "Eleven minutes."
    "Then, particularly considering she killed in that time frame, whatever she took was in plain view, or she knew just where to find it."
    "I'm going with door number two, because she wouldn't have been after a damn vase, or a souvenir. And our vie isn't going to have any incriminating data in the open. This isn't thrill killing, it's purposeful. She knew the routine."
    Knew it, Eve thought. Practiced her way through it.
    "Samuels met with parents or guardians of potential students in here. Not that they took in many from the outside, just enough to add income and diversity. Keep up a strong public rep. She interviewed potential staff in one of her offices. Deena could've gone that route, but she chose this one. She wanted in here. She wanted something in here in addition to terminating Samuels. Let's find the hole."
    She went to a small desk first. It was obvious, but sometimes things were obvious for a reason.
    "I'm going to have to convince Hyer to let me transport the body to New York."
    Roarke ran his fingers delicately over walls, around art. "Because?"
    "I want Morris on it. Just Morris. I want to know if she had face and or body work. I want to run a match program on her with images or Wilson's wife, Eva Samuels."
    He stopped long enough to look back at her. "You think she was a clone. Eva Samuels's clone."
    "Yeah, I do." She hunkered down to search under a table. "And when I was examining the body, I learned something."
    "What?"
    "They bleed and die like