"I agree that his personality pattern leans toward an excess of ego and his temperament has a high caliber of the artiste under siege." Mira sighed. "I wish you'd sit down. You're making me tired."
Eve dropped into a chair, scowled. "There, I'm sitting. Explain."
Mira had to smile. The sheer drive and unrelenting focus was admirable. "Do you know, Eve, I can never understand why impatience is so attractive on you. And how, with such a high volume of it, you still manage to be thorough in your work."
"I'm not here for analysis, Doctor."
"I know. I only wish I could convince you to agree to regular sessions. But that's another subject, for another time. You have my report, but to summarize my findings, the subject is egocentric, self-congratulatory, and one who habitually rationalizes his antisocial behavior as art. He's also brilliant."
Dr. Mira signed a little, shook her head. "A truly fine mind. He was nearly off the scale in the standard Trislow and Secour tests."
"Good for him," Eve muttered. "Let's put his brain on disc and give him a few suggestions."
"Your reaction is understandable," Mira said mildly. "Human nature is resistant to any sort of mind control. Addicts rationalize by deluding themselves that they're in control." She rolled her shoulders. "In any case, the subject has an admirable, even astonishing skill for visualization and logic. He's also fully aware, and smug if you will, about those skills. Under the surface charm, he is – to use your unscientific term – a prick. But I cannot, in good conscience, label him a murderer."
"I'm not worried about your conscience." Eve set her teeth. "He's able to design and operate equipment that is capable of influencing behavior in targeted individuals. I have four dead bodies whose minds I believe – no, I know – were influenced to self-termination."
"And logically, there should be a connection." Mira sat back, reached over, and programmed tea for Eve. "But you don't have a sociopath in holding, Eve." She passed Eve a fragrant, steaming cup they both knew she didn't want. "As there is, of yet, no clear motive for these deaths, and if they were indeed coerced, it's my considered opinion that it's a sociopath who is responsible."
"So what separates him?"
"He likes people," Mira said simply, "and wants, quite desperately, to be liked and admired by them. Manipulative, yes, but he believes he's created a great boon to humankind. One he'll make a profit on, certainly."
"So, maybe he just got carried away." Isn't that what he called his use of Roarke the night before? Eve thought. He'd just gotten carried away. "And maybe he isn't as much in control of his equipment as he thinks."
"That's possible. From another angle, Jess enjoys his work; he needs to be a party to the results of it. His ego requires that he see, experience at least a part of what he's caused."
He wasn't in the damn closet with us, Eve thought, but was afraid she understood Mira's meaning: the way Jess had looked for her, at her when they'd come back to the party, the way he'd smiled. "This isn't what I want to hear."
"I know that. Listen to me." Mira set her cup aside. "This man is a child, an emotionally stunted savant. His vision and his music are more real to him, certainly more important than people, but he doesn't discount people. Overall, I simply find no evidence that he would risk his freedom and his freedom of expression to kill."
Eve sipped tea out of reflex rather than desire. "If he had a partner?" she speculated, thinking of Feeney's theory.
"It's possible. He wouldn't be a man who would happily share his accomplishments. Still, he has a great need for both adulation and financial success. It might be possible, if he found himself in need of assistance on some level of his design, he entered into a partnership."
"Then why didn't he roll over?" Eve shook her head. "He's a coward; he'd have rolled. No way he'd take the heat for this alone." She sipped again, letting her thoughts play out. "What if he were genetically imprinted toward sociopathic behavior? He's intelligent, canny enough to mask it, but it's simply part of his makeup."
"Branded at conception?" Mira nearly sniffed. "I don't subscribe to that school. Upbringing, environment, education, choices both moral and immoral form us into what we are. We are not born monsters or saints."
"But there are experts in the field who believe we are." And she had one, Eve mused, at her disposal.
Mira read her easily enough and couldn't prevent the prick to her pride. "If you wish to consult with Dr. Ott on this matter, it's your privilege. I'm sure she'd be thrilled."
Eve wasn't sure whether to wince or smile. Mira very rarely sounded testy. "That wasn't meant as an insult to your skills, Doctor. I need a hammer here; you can't provide it."
"Let me tell you what I think about the branding at birth issue, Lieutenant. It's a cop-out, plain and simple. It's a crutch. I couldn't help setting fire to that building and burning hundreds of people alive. I was born an arsonist. I couldn't stop myself from battering that old woman to death for her handful of credits. My mother was a thief."
It quite simply infuriated her to think of that ploy being used to blot out responsibility – and on the other side to scar those who were defenseless against the monsters who bore them.
"It excuses us from humanity," she continued, "from morality, from right and wrong. We can say we were marked in the womb and never had a chance." She angled her head. "You of all people should know better."
"This isn't about me." Eve set her cup down with a snap. "It isn't about where I came from or what I made myself. It's about four people, that I'm aware of, who weren't given a choice. And someone has to answer for that."
"One thing," Mira added as Eve rose. "Are you focused on this man because of personal insults to you and those you love, or because of the dead you represent?"
"Maybe it's both," Eve admitted after a moment.
She didn't contact Reeanna, not yet. She wanted a little time to let it stew in her mind. And she was delayed by finding Nadine Furst in her office.
"How'd you get past desk security?" Eve demanded.
"Oh, I have my ways." Nadine swung her leg, beamed a friendly smile. "And most of the cops around here know you and I have a history."
"What do you want?"
"I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee."
Grudgingly, Eve turned to the AutoChef, pumped up two cups. "Make it fast, Nadine. Crime is rampant in our city."
"And that keeps us both in business. What did you get called out on last night, Dallas?"
"Excuse me?"
"Come on. I was at the party. Mavis was terrific, by the way. First you and Roarke take off." She sipped delicately. "It didn't take a sharp reporter like me to get an inkling of what that was about." She wiggled her brows, chuckling when Eve simply stared. "But your sex life isn't news – at least on my beat."
"We were running out of shrimp patties. We ran down to the kitchen and made some up. It would have been so embarrassing."
"Yeah, yeah." Nadine waved that away and concentrated on her coffee. Even in the upper echelons of Channel 75 they rarely had access to such potent brew. "Then I notice, being the keen observer that I am, that you sweep Jess Barrow off and out at the end of the set. Never came back. Either of you."
"We're having a mad, illicit affair," Eve said dryly. "You may want to turn that over to the gossip desk."
"And I'm boinking a one-armed sex droid."
"You always were an explorer."