In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

elevated all the way downtown.
    She headed straight to the conference room when she arrived at Central and, grumbling when she found it empty, sat down to man the computer herself.
    She had, by her calculations, an hour to work before she had to head to Drake and keep her first interview appointments.
    Peabody had her doctors lined up like arcade ducks. Eve intended to knock them off one at a time before the end of the day. With any luck, she mused, any luck at all, she'd ring a few bells.
    She brought up data:
    Drake Center, New York
    Nordick Clinic, Chicago
    Sainte Joan d'Arc, France
    Melcount Center, London
    Four cities, she thought. Six bodies known.
    After hammering her way through the data McNab had accessed, she narrowed her search down to these health and research centers. All had one interesting thing in common: Westley Friend had worked at, lectured at, or endorsed each of them.
    "Good work, McNab," she murmured. "Excellent job. You're the key, Friend, and you're another dead man. Just who's friend were you? Computer, any personal or professional connection between Friend, Dr. Westley, and Cagney, Dr. Colin."
    Working....
    "Don't be in such a hurry," she said mildly. "All similar connections between subject Friend and Wo, Dr. Tia; Waverly, Dr. Michael; Vanderhaven, Dr. Hans." Enough of a list for now, she decided. "Engage."
    Recalibrating... working....
    "You do that little thing," she murmured and pushed away from the desk to get a cup of coffee. She winced at the smell instantly. She'd gotten spoiled, she thought, as the sludgy brew sat nastily in the mug. There'd been a day when she'd slugged down a dozen cups of Cop Central poison without a complaint.
    Now, even looking at it made her shudder.
    Amused at herself, she set it aside and wished to God that Peabody would report in so she could get some decent coffee out of her office.
    She was considering making a dash for it herself, when Peabody walked in, closed the door behind her.
    "You're late again," Eve began. "This is a bad habit. How the hell am I supposed to..." She trailed off, focusing on Peabody's face. Sheet white with eyes huge and dark. "What is it?"
    "Sir. Bowers -- "
    "Oh, fuck Bowers." Eve snatched up the miserable coffee and gulped. "I don't have time to worry about her now. We're working murder here."
    "Somebody's working hers."
    "What?"
    "Dallas, she's dead." Peabody took a concentrated breath, in and out, to help slow the rapid thump of her heart. "Somebody beat her to death last night. They found her a couple of hours ago, in the basement of her building. Her uniform, weapon, ID, had all been stripped and taken from the scene. They ID'd her by prints." Peabody swiped a hand over white lips. "Word is there wasn't enough left of her face to make her visually."
    Very carefully, Eve set down her cup. "It's a positive ID?"
    "It's her. I went down and checked after I heard it in the bullpen. Prints and DNA match. They just confirmed."
    "Jesus. Jesus Christ." Staggered, Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes, tried to think.
    Data is complete.... Display, vocal or hard copy?
    "Save and file. God." She dropped her hands. "What have they got on it?"
    "Nothing. At least nothing I could dig out. No witnesses. She lived alone, so nobody was expecting her. There was an anonymous call reporting trouble at that location. Came in about oh five-thirty. A couple of uniforms found her. That's all I know."
    "Robbery? Sexual assault?"
    "Dallas, I don't know. I was lucky to get this much. They're shutting it in fast. No data in, no data out."
    There was a sick ball in her stomach, a slick weight rolling there she didn't quite recognize as dread. "Do you know who's primary?"
    "I heard Baxter, but I don't know for sure. Can't confirm."
    "Okay." She sat, tunneled her fingers through her hair. "If it's Baxter, he'll give me what data he can. Odds are, it's not connected to ours, but we can't discount it." Eve lifted her gaze again. "Beaten to death?"
    "Yeah." Peabody swallowed.
    She knew what it was to be attacked with fists, to be helpless to stop them. To feel that stunning agony of a bone snapping. To hear the sound of it just under your own scream. "It's a bad way," she managed. "I'm sorry for it. She was a wrong cop, but I'm sorry for it."
    "Everybody's pretty shaken up."
    "I don't have much time here." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll tag Baxter later, see if he can fill in some details. But for now, we've got to put this aside. I've got the