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Doctors, lawyers, students, engineers, she mused. She earmarked one not currently employed with a minor illegals offense on his record.
“He’s not a drone,” she said, half to herself. “Not somebody who’s pulling an eight-hour shift. He needs time for his hobby and he’s got money. He’s a professional or he’s just living on his portfolio. Whoa, wait. Computer, magnify current photographic image.”
She stepped closer to the screen as the face filled it. And stared into Kevin Morano’s eyes. “This one rings with me. Yeah, I know those eyes. Kevin. Yeah, there you are, Kevin. Let’s see . . . So Mama worked on the project. No father listed. She was a PR exec. Owns her own firm now. London based, with offices in New York, Paris, and Milan. He’s an only child, and was born thirteen months after the project got off the ground. Interesting. Really interesting how a PR exec files a sexual harassment suit, drops it again within six weeks, agrees to have the records sealed. And walks away with a kid and enough money to start an international firm.”
She glanced back at Roarke. “Woman who runs her own public relations firm with that scope, she’d probably need a pretty slick image. Polished, sophisticated.”
“It follows.”
“Woman has a kid, then after a little scandal in the workplace heads off here and there establishing herself an international company.”
“The payoff from McNamara and company must have been considerable.”
Eve nodded. “But why’d she go through with the pregnancy? Why have the kid?”
“Perhaps she wanted a child.”
“What for? Look at his schooling. She started him full-time at three. All private facilities. Boarding schools. And you can bet your ass someone else was doing the baby thing for the first three years. She didn’t found that company while she was changing diapers and carting a kid around.”
“Some parents have been known to,” Roarke pointed out.
“Beats me how. But if she was into the mother thing, she wouldn’t have shipped him off when he was still sucking his thumb.”
“I tend to agree with you, though our experience in this particular area’s limited. If I were to speculate, I’d wonder if the payoff wasn’t linked to her going through with the pregnancy.”
“Buy her off, buy the kid,” Eve surmised. “It’s a continuation of the project in a way. Long-term results. I’m going to have a really fascinating talk with McNamara tomorrow. Look at Morano’s educational scope. Very heavy on the computer tech studies. It fits. He’s our compugeek. I need the image from the security discs, Moniqua Cline’s file.”
Behind her, Roarke did the transfer and display, split screen.
“You got a morph program on there?”
“Yes. I know what you want—one minute.” Anticipating her, Roarke sat again, went to work. He started with the hair, copying the killer’s bronze mane onto Kevin’s unobtrusive brown. He altered the shape of the face, defining cheekbones, lengthening the jaw. Then deepened the skin tone to a sun-washed bronze.
“Magic,” Eve noted as the two images mirrored each other. “Won’t hold up in court. Lawyers’ll tear morph ID to shreds. Even with Moniqua testifying about the name, they can wiggle. She was seriously drugged at the time and so on. But it’s him. The eyes are the same. He changed the color, but he couldn’t change what’s in them. Because what’s in them is nothing. Nothing at all. Copy and save imagery. Morano, Kevin, data back on the screen. Who are you, Kevin?”
MORANO, KEVIN, DOB 4 APRIL, 2037. HAIR BROWN, EYES BLUE. HEIGHT FIVE FOOT ELEVEN INCHES. WEIGHT ONE HUNDRED FIFTY. CURRENT RESIDENCES: NEW YORK CITY, LONDON, ENGLAND. EMPLOYMENT: FREELANCE COMPUTER PROGRAMMER. EDUCATION: EASTBRIDGE EARLY CHILDHOOD PREPARATORY. MANSVILLE PREPARATORY. ADVANCED EDUCATION: HARVARD TECHNOLOGY. GRADUATED, SUMMA CUM LAUDE, 2058. NO SIBLINGS. MARITAL STATUS: SINGLE. NO CRIMINAL RECORD.
“He’s twenty-two,” she stated. “He’s only twenty-two. And so is McNamara’s grandson, who also went to Eastbridge, Mansville Prep, then on to Harvard Medical. Graduated summa cum laude in 2058. No siblings,” she added. “But I bet under the skin, Kevin is his brother. Give me his data, with image.”
“Dallas?” Mavis peeked in the doorway. “We’re set in here.”
“Hold it.” Eve held up a hand as Lucias’s data rolled on-screen. “Nearly the same height and weight, too. Give me the image from Grace Lutz’s—”
“I’m ahead of you,” Roarke told her.
“He’s better at it,” she said as the images ran side by side. “Better at hiding what’s behind his eyes. Morph him. It doesn’t show on him the same way. He’s smarter, more controlled, more sure of himself. He’d be the dominant.”
When Trina came to the door, Mavis shushed her. “She’s working. Frigid to watch.”
“I can turn Kevin. Oh yeah, I scoop him up tomorrow, lock him into Interview, squeeze his balls till they turn purple. He’ll roll on his buddy.”
She paced back, studied the faces, considered. “Maybe I can fast-talk my way into a search and seize tonight, take them both, take them by surprise. But if they don’t have the lab on premises, if they don’t do any of their work in-house, they could get rid of a lot of evidence before I track it down.”
“You have DNA from two of the victims,” Roarke reminded her.
“Can’t force them to give DNA samples unless I charge them, can’t charge them with what I’ve got. If I slide under and get prints or DNA without authorization, I lose them in court. I’m not losing them. We wait till tomorrow,” she decided. “Then we close them down.”
“Isn’t she the ult?” Mavis asked Trina.
