"I would," Louise agreed. "But I'm so interested in your research areas. What the Icoves and this center accomplished, well, it's legendary. I'd love to have a look at the labs."
"Of course." She didn't miss a beat. "Some of those areas are restricted, due to the sensitivity of the research, contamination or security. But there are several levels I believe you'll find interesting."
She did, and found the sheer volume of space, personnel, equipment astonishing. The lab area they were shown was fashioned like a sunburst, with individual rays spreading out from a hub where six people worked at screens, facing out along their channel. High walls framed each ray, and counters, workstations, screens. The walls in each sector were color coded, and the techs within wore lab coats of the same hue.
There was no access, Roarke noted, between rays.
She led them to a clear door at the wide end of the blue ray, and used her security card and palm print for access.
"Each section here is specific to its own research area and team. I'm not able to explain all the work being done, but we have clearance for this. As you see, several medical droids are undergoing treatment or analysis. The droids here have been programmed not only to feed data into the core center, headed by each section's chief, but to internally access response and reaction on human patients. It was through this process that the technology for what is commonly called derma was developed. Its use on burn victims, as you know, Dr. Dimatto, was revolutionary."
Roarke tuned them out, all the while portraying absolute attention. He had labs of his own, and recognized some of the sims and tests under way. He was more interested, just now, in the structure, the setup, the security.
And the fact that he recognized the chief tech of the blue ray from the alumni data of Brookhollow College.
Fifty-six perfect matches," Eve concluded. "In addition to this substantial evidence, we add that thirty-eight percent of Brookhollow graduates are now employed in some capacity at one of Icove's facilities. Another fifty-three percent are married or cohabitating, and have been so engaged from the year of their departure from the college."
"Pretty high ratio of marriages or cohabbing," Reo commented.
"Well over the national average," Eve agreed, "and off the probability scale. The remaining nine percent of students, like Deena Flavia. fell off the radar."
"No data?" Whitney asked.
"None. Captain Feeney and Detective McNab will run search matches through imaging. Though there is no relation listed, on official data, both Avril Icove and Eva Samuels carried the same family name of Hannson. It's the conclusion of this investigative team, and all probabilities run, that entrance to the Icove residence on the night of Icove's murder was gained through inside assistance, and that Icove himself knew his killer with some degree of intimacy."
"He knew Deena Flavia." Reo nodded. "It makes sense."
"No, I don't think so. I don't think Deena Flavia killed Wilfred Icove, Jr. I think his wife did."
"She wasn't in the city at the designated time," Reo pointed out. "Her alibi is solid."
"Seems to be. But what if there's more of her?"
"Oh." Reo's jaw dropped. "Holy, please pardon me, shit."
"You think Icove cloned his own daughter-in-law?" Whitney sat back until his chair creaked. "Even if he went that far, the clone would be a child."
"Not if he cloned an infant. His early work, his predominant interest, was in children. He set up facilities, specifically for children during the wars. A lot of injured children then. A lot of orphaned children. She was his ward, since childhood, which separates her from the rest of the field. Something about her was special to him, or remarkable. Could he then resist creating her, replicating her? Dr. Mira."
"Given what we know and suspect, no. She was, in a very real sense, his child. He had the skill, the knowledge, the ego, and the affection. And she would know," she continued before Eve could ask. "His affection would also demand she knew. She would have been trained, programmed if you will, to accept this, perhaps even to celebrate it."
"And if that programming broke down?" Eve asked. "If she no longer accepted ?"
"She may have been compelled to eliminate what bound her to that secret, that training, that life. If she was no longer able to accept what had been done to her as a child, by the man she should have been able to trust most, she may have killed."
Quincy held up a hand. "Why aren't there-if this data is correct- more of her at the school?"
"If this data is correct," Mira repeated, and seemed to Eve to be holding on to the hope that it was flawed, "she married his son, gave him grandchildren. His son may have requested there be no further artificial twinning on his wife-or either or both of them may have her cells preserved for a future procedure. A kind of insurance. A kind of immortality."
"Dr. Mira." Tibble folded his hands, tapped them on his bottom lip. "In your professional opinion, does Lieutenant Dallas's theory have weight?"
"Given the data, the evidence, the circumstances, the personalities of those involved, I would come to the same conclusions as the lieutenant."
Tibble got to his feet. "Quincy, let's go get Lieutenant Dallas her warrant. Lieutenant, arrange for transportation for your team and APA Reo. Jack, you're with me. Let's see what we can do about keeping this mess from exploding in our faces."
He blew out a breath. "I'm not yet calling any federal agency. At this time, this continues to be a homicide investigation. Any criminal activity discovered through that investigation falls, until we're boxed, within the aegis of the NYPSD. If you find what you're looking for. Dallas, if it becomes necessary to shut those schools down, to take minors into protective custody, we're going to have to alert Federal."
"Understood, sir. Thank you."