In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

interviews starting in less than an hour now, and I need to be prepared."
    "Dallas, you need to know... I heard your name come up."
    "What? My name?"
    "About Bowers," she began, then broke off in frustration as the 'link beeped.
    "Hold on. Dallas."
    "Lieutenant, I need you upstairs, immediately."
    "Commander, I'm prepping for a scheduled interview session."
    "Now," he said briefly and broke transmission.
    "Damn it. Peabody, look through the data I just accessed, see what rings, and make a hard copy. I'll review it on the way to interview."
    "Dallas -- "
    "Hold the gossip until I have time." She moved fast, her mind on the upcoming interviews. She wanted to wangle a tour of the center's research wing. One of the questions that had popped into her mind the night before might be answered there.
    Just what did medical facilities do with damaged or diseased organs they removed? Did they study them, dispose of them, experiment on them?
    This collector had to have a purpose. If that purpose somehow tied in with legal and approved medical research, it would make more sense. It would give her a handle.
    Research had to be funded, didn't it? Maybe she should be following the money. She could put McNab to work tracing grants and donations.
    Distracted, she walked into Whitney's office. The little ball of dread in her stomach rolled again, hard, when she saw Webster, her commander, and Chief Tibble waiting.
    "Sir."
    "Close the door, Lieutenant." No one sat. Whitney remained standing behind his desk. Eve had a moment to think he looked ill before Tibble stepped forward.
    He was a tall man; striking, tireless, and honest. He looked at Eve now with dark eyes that remained steady and gave away nothing. "Lieutenant, I want to advise you that you're entitled to have your advocate present at this time."
    "My advocate, sir?" She let herself glance at Webster, then back at her chief. "That won't be necessary, sir. If IAB has more questions for me, I'll answer them without the buffer. I'm aware there was a media broadcast last night where accusations and statements about my character and professional behavior were attacked. They are groundless. I'm confident any internal investigation would prove them to be so."
    "Dallas," Webster began, then closed his mouth when Tibble pinned him with a look.
    "Lieutenant, are you aware that Officer Ellen Bowers was murdered last night?"
    "Yes, sir. My aide just informed me."
    "I need to ask you your whereabouts last evening between eighteen-thirty and nineteen hundred hours."
    She'd been a cop for eleven years and couldn't remember ever being sucker punched so effectively. Her body jerked before she could control it, her mouth went dry. She heard her own breath catch, then release.
    "Chief Tibble, am I to understand I'm a suspect in the murder of Officer Bowers?"
    His eyes never wavered. She couldn't read what was in them. Cop's eyes, she thought with a quick shimmer of panic. Tibble had good cop's eyes.
    "The department requires verification of your whereabouts during the time in question, Lieutenant."
    "Sir. Between eighteen-thirty and nineteen hundred hours, I was en route from Central to my home. I believe I logged out at eighteen-ten."
    Saying nothing, Tibble walked to the window and stood with his back to the room. Dread was an ache now, which spread in the gut with tiny, scrabbling claws. "Commander, Bowers was causing me difficulties, potentially serious ones, which I handled through proper channels and through proper procedure."
    "That's documented, Lieutenant, and understood." He kept his hands behind his back, linked together with frustration. "Proper procedure must be followed. An investigation into the murder of Officer Bowers is under way, and at this time, you are a suspect. It is my belief that you'll be cleared quickly and completely."
    "Cleared? Of beating a fellow cop to death? Of abandoning everything I believe in and I've worked for? And why would I have done this?" Panic had a line of sweat, icy cold, snaking down her spine. "Because she tried to smear me in the department and in the media? For Christ's sake, Commander, anyone could see she was on self-destruct."
    "Dallas." This time Webster stepped forward. "You threatened her with physical harm, on record. Call your advocate."
    "Don't tell me to call my advocate," she snapped. "I haven't done anything but my job." Panic was growing teeth now, edgy and sharp. All she could do was fight it with temper. "You want me in interview,