Snappy was Morris's style of dress, and it suited his sharp face and avid eyes.
They passed through the doors into Holding, where Morris walked to the bank of drawers. There was a puff of vapor as he unlocked one.
"Dr. Wilfred B. Icove, aka Icon. He was a brilliant man."
"You knew him?"
"Reputation only. I attended some of his lectures over the years. Fascinating. As you can see, we have a male, approximately eighty years of age. Excellent muscle tone. The single wound punctured the aorta. Common surgical scalpel."
He moved over to Imaging and flipped on a screen to show her the wound and surrounding area magnified. "One jab, bull's-eye. No defensive wounds. Tox screen clear of illegals. Basic vitamins and health meds. Last meal, consumed approximately five hours before death, consisted of a whole-wheat muffin, four ounces of orange juice-the real deal-rose hip tea, some banana, and some raspberries. Your vic was a fan of his field of practice and has had superlative work done, face and body. Muscle tone indicates he believed in working for his health and youthful appearance."
"How long did it take him to die?"
"A minute or two, though essentially he was dead instantly."
"Even with something as sharp as the scalpel, it would take a good solid jab to pierce through the suit, the shirt, flesh, and into the heart- not to mention accuracy."
"Correct. Whoever did this was up close and personal, and knew what they were doing."
"Okay. Sweepers got nothing on-scene. Frigging place is hydro-cleaned nightly. No prints on the weapon. It was coated." Idly, Eve drummed her fingers on her thighs while she studied the body. "I watched her walk through the building-security discs. She never touched a thing. They don't do audio, so no shot at a voice print. Her ID's bogus. Feeney's running her image through IRCCA, but since I haven't heard from him, I'd say he's not having any luck so far."
"Smooth operator."
"She's that. Thanks for the drink, Morris." To make him laugh, she batted her eyes.
"What kind of name is Amaryllis?" Eve demanded when she and Peabody were back in the car.
"Floral. You're jealous."
"I'm what?"
"You and Morris have a thing. Most of us have a little thing for Morris, who is oddly sexy. But the two of you have a special thing, and here comes Southern Belle Barbie getting him worked up."
"I don't have a thing for Morris. We're friendly associates. And her name was Amaryllis, not Barbie."
"The doll, Dallas. You know, Barbie doll. Jeez, didn't you ever have dollies?"
"Dolls are like small dead people. I have enough dead people, thanks. But yeah, now I get you. Ammy for short? How can you be a cop with a name like that? Hello, my name is Ammy, and I'll be arresting you today. Please."
"It's a nice little thing you've got with Morris."
"There is no thing, Peabody."
"Right, like you never thought of doing him on one of the slabs in there." When Eve choked on her Pepsi, Peabody shrugged. "Okay, that's just me, then. Hey look, it stopped raining, which is a big change of subject before I further humiliate myself."
Eve 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?"