Conspiracy in Death

"She'll need you, Peabody." He broke transmission.

He left Eve sleeping. Information was power, he thought. He intended for her to have all the power he could gather.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Detective…"

"Captain," Feeney said, sizing up the slickly groomed man in the Italian suit. "Captain Feeney, filling in temporarily for Lieutenant Dallas as primary. I'll be conducting the interview."

"Oh." Waverly's expression showed mild puzzlement. "I hope the lieutenant isn't unwell."

"Dallas knows how to take care of herself. Peabody, on record."

"On record, sir."

"So official." After a slight shrug, Waverly smiled and sat behind his massive oak desk.

"That's right." Feeney read off the revised Miranda, cocked a brow. "You get that?"

"Of course. I understand my rights and obligations. I didn't think I required a lawyer for this procedure. I'm more than willing to cooperate with the police."

"Then tell me your whereabouts on the following dates and times." Referring to his notebook, Feeney read off the dates of the three murders in New York.

"I'll need to check my calendar to be sure." Waverly swiveled a sleek black box, laid his palm on top to activate it, then requested his schedule for the times in question.

Off duty and clear during first period. Off duty and clear during second period. On call and at Drake Center monitoring patient Clifford during third period.

"Relay personal schedule," Waverly requested.

No engagements scheduled during first period. Engagement with Larin Stevens, booked for overnight during second period. No engagements scheduled during third period.

"Larin, yes." He smiled again, with a twinkle. "We went to the theater, had a late supper at my home. We also shared breakfast, if you understand my meaning, Captain."

"That's Stevens," Feeney said briskly as he entered the name in his book. "You got an address?"

All warmth fled. "My assistant will provide you with it. I'd like the police co

"Pretty awkward for the dead, too, Doctor. We'll check out your friend and your patient. Even if they clear you for two of the periods, we've still got one more."

"A man's entitled to spend the night alone in his own bed occasionally, Captain."

"Sure is." Feeney leaned back. "So, you pop hearts and lungs out of people."

"In a ma

"What about your co

Waverly raised a brow. "I don't believe I know that facility."

"It's a free clinic downtown."

"I'm not associated with any free clinics. I paid my dues there during my early years. You'll find most doctors who work or volunteer at such places are very young, very energetic, and very idealistic."

"So you stopped working on the poor. Not worth it?"

Unoffended, he folded his hands on the desk. Peeking out from under his cuff was the smooth, thin gold of a Swiss wrist unit. "Financially, no. Professionally, there's little chance for advancement in that area. I chose to use my knowledge and skill where it best suits me and leave the charity work for those who are suited to it."

"You're supposed to be the best."

"Captain, I am the best."

"So, tell me – in your professional opinion…" Feeney reached in his file, drew out copies of the crime scene stills and laid them on the highly polished surface of the desk. "Is that good work?"

"Hmm." Eyes cool, Waverly turned the photos toward him, studied them. "Very clean, excellent." He shifted his gaze briefly to Feeney. "Horrible, of course, on a human level, you understand, but you asked for a professional opinion. And mine is that the surgeon who performed here is quite brilliant. To have managed this under the circumstances, with what certainly had to be miserable conditions, is a stu

"Could you have done it?"

"Do I possess the skills?" Waverly nudged the photos back toward Feeney. "Why, yes."

"What about this one?" He tossed the photo of the last victim on top of the others, watched Waverly glance down and frown.

"Poorly done. This is poorly done. One moment." He pulled open a drawer, pulled out microgoggles, and slipped them on. "Yes, yes, the incision appears to be perfect. The liver has been removed quite cleanly, but nothing was done to seal off, to maintain a clear and sterile field. Very poorly done."

"Fu

"Cold son of a bitch," Feeney muttered later. He paused in the corridor, checked his wrist unit. "Let's find Wo, chat her up, see about getting a look at where they keep the pieces of people they pull out. Jesus, I hate these places."

"That's what Dallas always says."

"Keep her out of your head for now," he said shortly. He was working hard to keep her out of his and do the job. "If we're going to help her close this, you need to keep her troubles out of your head."

Face grim, he strode down the corridor, then glanced over as Peabody fell into step beside him. "Make an extra copy of all data and interview discs."

She met his gaze, read it, and for the first time during the long morning, smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Christ, stop sirring me to death."

Now Peabody gri

The shadows in his eyes lifted briefly. "Going to whip me into shape, too, Peabody?"

Behind his back, Peabody wiggled her brows. She didn't think it would take her much time to do just that. She fixed her face into sober lines when he knocked on Wo's door.

An hour later, Peabody was staring, horrified and fascinated, at a human heart preserved in thin blue gel.

"The facilities here," Wo was saying, "are arguably the finest in the world for organ research. It was at this facility, though it was not as expansive as it is today, that Dr. Drake discovered and refined the anti-cancer vaccine. This portion of the center is dedicated to the study of diseases and conditions, including aging, that adversely affect human organs. In addition, we continue to study and refine techniques for organ replacement."

The lab was as large as a heliport, Feeney decided, sectioned off here and there with thin white partitions. Dozens of people in long coats of white, pale green, or deep blue worked at stations, ma

It was quiet as a church. None of the open-air background music some large facilities employed whispered through the lab, and when he inhaled, the air tasted faintly of antiseptic. He made certain he breathed through his nose.

They stood in a section where organs were displayed in the gel-filled bottles, the labels attached to the bases.

At the near door, a security droid stood silently, in case, Feeney thought with a sneer, somebody got the sudden urge to grab a bladder and run for it.

Jesus, what a place.

"Where do you get your specimens?" Feeney asked Wo, and she turned to him with a frigid look.

"We do not remove them from live, unwilling patients. Dr. Young?"

Bradley Young was thin, tall, and obviously distracted. He turned from his work at a sheer white counter populated with scopes and monitors and compu-slides. He frowned, pinched off the magni-clip he wore perched on his nose, and focused pale gray eyes.

"Yes?"

"This is Captain Feeney and his… assistant," she supposed, "from the police department. Dr. Young is our chief research technician. Would you explain how we go about collecting our specimens here for research?"