Page 6 of Perfection
“Like I don’t?”
“Will you do it? Please?”
He glanced around the room, taking in the perfect environment of a model GEI child. Just two weeks ago he’d bounced this sweet, laughing girl on his knee. Something horribly strange was going on, and dammit, for little Isabelle D-Gastion, he would set aside his personal feelings and unearth the truth. He’d work with those high-and-mighty scientists even if it killed him.
“Don’t worry. This one’s mine.” No way he’d be satisfied with anyone else handling the case anyway. A door clacked shut downstairs, and then voices echoed through the house—probably the forensic team. “But you owe me a pizza,” he added.
“Deal,” she said without hesitation. She tucked her hair behind her ear and forced out a heavy sigh. “Guess we should let go of this hatred sometime.”
“Never.”
“Did the captain ask for any geneticist in particular?”
He lifted the test bag. “Wouldn’t you know, he wants that hardnose B-Zaika.” He didn’t know her personally, but the lead scientist of the Seville Genetics Center was always on the news. He could envision her beautiful smile as she spoke with a slight English accent while hawking her latest creation to the public.
With an exaggerated consoling pat on the back, she said, “Sorry.”
“Sure.” He thought he heard a good-humored snicker behind him as they stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall. God knew they needed something to ease the sting of leaving that poor little girl behind.
A pair of sweepers arrived first. They would check all the electronics in the room. Next came the ME and a couple of uniforms. York acknowledged Shishido, the officer in charge of the forensics team, and then addressed the group. “Test for foreign substances, poison. Check the toys, gel books, clothes, everything. Whatever killed her may be on everything she touched. Take their Nanny Sally back to our lab, too. I want an e-specialist to go over all security and electronics. And we’re going to want to talk with anyone who has access to the house.”
The others nodded. He passed the command to Vi with a look and went downstairs as she took the team into the bedroom. B-Gastion sat where York had left him. There were people moving around him now, technicians going over every inch of the place and more uniforms documenting everything, all searching for evidence that would tell them what had killed a GEI child.
Fredrick started to rise, but York motioned for him to stay put. Better to remain out of the techs’ way. “You done with that?” he asked, indicating the recorder ring.
Slowly, the dazed man nodded and handed it over.
York slipped it back onto his finger. “I’ll need to talk to Isabelle’s mother, of course, and your staff. I’ll need a list of your enemies. People not happy with your policy, whoever you can think of who might want to cause trouble or hurt you.” His voice softened. “And if you think of anything else, or if there’s anything I can do, call me.”
B-Gastion rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. “Thank you.”
York gave a curt nod. “I’ll be back later.”
Vi was waiting for him at the gigantic double panel doors. As he walked closer, all the anger and frustration, pain and memories twisted into a colossal knot in his chest. He’d forgotten rule number one:don’t allow people to get too close because it hurts like hell.
He thought he’d learned that lesson. He’d thought he was numb.
God, he’d thought wrong. His dismay about investigating the death of a child weighed on him. With a white-knuckled grip on the brass handle, he glanced at his partner and threw open the door. “Get set for the piranhas.”
They’d gotten in behind the cover of the landscaping, exiting would not be so easy.
Vi stepped quickly out, almost breaking into a run. York matched her pace. This was standard in such situations, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They had not gotten far before they were bombarded by reporters. York halted within inches of bursting through the wall of news people lining the pristine lawn. “Get the hell out of my way.”
No one budged. Fine. He’d enjoy mowing them down. It was that kinda day.
A cluster of tiny drone cameras, Tracers, hovered overhead. At times like this, York detested procedure. In his experience, rules weren’t necessarily the quickest route to satisfactory solutions.
“Move,” he bit out more loudly. Dealing with these dipshit reporters wasted time he didn’t have. A child was dead, for God’s sake. They needed answers ASAP.
Unexpected images from the time surrounding his son’s death attacked his mind with strobe-light speed. A final wheeze of breath. An unnatural stillness. The scent of incense at the funeral. He fisted his hands, fingernails digging into his palms.
Danny.
He thrust his hands into his pockets and slammed his son’s memory back into its box. That had been another life. Another ambition. Another person. Since Danny’s death, York had taken strong measures to avoid cases like this, even going so far as requesting that Avery keep him off child death investigations. Yet here he was, right in the thick of one. Assigned to work with a GEI geneticist to uncover the truth.
A tall reporter, his expression aggressive, tried to block York. “I heard it was the child. Was she in an accident?”
“Take it somewhere else.” York gave the man a chance to comply before he tore the Tracer controller, branded with theChicago Timeslogo, from the guy’s hands and flung it away from them. Above, a single drone spiraled out of the pack, plummeted, and crashed into the sleek marble courtyard fountain.
