In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

Webster? Fine, let's go. Right here, right now."
    "Lieutenant!" Whitney whipped the word out, watched her head snap around, the fury in her eyes hot and open. "The department must conduct internal and external investigations into the matter of the death of Officer Bowers. There is no choice." He let out a long breath. "There is no choice," he repeated. "While this investigation is open and active, you are suspended from duty."
    He nearly winced when he saw her eyes go from hot and alive to blank and dazed. Nearly cringed when he saw every ounce of color drain out of her face. "It is with regret, Lieutenant, great personal regret, that I ask you to turn in your weapon and your shield."
    Her mind had gone dead, utterly dead, as if some electrical current had been shut off. She couldn't feel her hands, her feet, her heart. "My shield?"
    "Dallas." He stepped to her, his voice gentle now, his eyes storming with emotion. "There's no choice. You are suspended from duty, pending the results of the internal and external investigations in the matter of the death of Officer Ellen Bowers. I must ask for your weapon and your badge."
    She stared into his eyes, couldn't look anywhere else. Inside her head was a scream: dull, distant, desperate. Her joints felt rusty as she reached down for her badge, then over to release her weapon. Their weight in her hand made it shake.
    Putting them in Whitney's was like ripping out her own heart.
    Someone said her name, twice, but she was walking out of the room, blind, heading toward the glide fast, her boots clicking on scarred tile. Dizzy, she gripped the rail until her knuckles went white.
    "Dallas, goddamn it." Webster caught up to her, grabbed her arm. "Call your advocate."
    "Get your hand off me." The words were weak, shaky, and she couldn't find the strength to pull away. "Get it off and stay away."
    "You listen to me." He dragged her clear of the glide, pushed her against a wall. "Nobody in that room wanted this. There's no choice. Goddamn it, you know how it works. We clear you, you get your badge back. You take a few days' vacation. It's going to be that simple."
    "Get the fuck away from me."
    "She had diaries, discs." He spoke quickly, afraid she'd break and run. "She put down all kinds of shit about you." He was crossing the line and didn't give a damn. "It has to be looked into and dismissed. Somebody beat her to pieces, Dallas, to fucking pieces. It'll be all over the media within the hour. You're tied to her. If you're not automatically suspended pending, it looks like cover-up."
    "Or it looks like my superiors, my department, my colleagues believe me. Don't touch me again," she warned in a voice that shook so badly he stepped back.
    "I've got to go with you." He spoke flatly now, furious that his own hands weren't steady. "To see that you clear only personal items from your office, and to escort you from the building. I need to confiscate your communicator, your master and vehicle codes."
    She closed her eyes, fought to hold on. "Don't talk to me."
    She managed to walk. Her legs felt like rubber, but she put one in front of the other. God, she needed air. Couldn't breathe.
    Dizzy, she braced a hand on the doorway of the conference room. It seemed to swim in front of her eyes, as if she was looking into water. "Peabody."
    "Sir." She sprang up, stared. "Dallas?"
    "They took my badge."
    Feeney was across the room like a bullet from a gun. He had one hand on Webster's shirt and the other already fisted and ready. "What kind of bullshit is this? Webster, you prick bastard -- "
    "Feeney, you have to take the interviews." She laid a hand on his shoulder, not so much to stop him from laying into Webster, but for support. She didn't know how much longer she had before she folded. "Peabody's got... Peabody's got the schedule, the data."
    His fingers uncurled, closed gently over hers, and felt them tremble. "What's this about?"
    "I'm a suspect." It was so odd to hear the words, hear her own voice float. "In the Bowers's homicide."
    "That's a fucking crock."
    "I have to go."
    "Wait just one damn minute."
    "I have to go," she repeated. She looked at Feeney with eyes dazed with shock. "I can't stay here."
    "I'll take you, Dallas. Let me take you."
    She looked at Peabody, shook her head. "No. You're with Feeney now. I can't -- stay here."
    She bolted.
    "Feeney, Jesus." Eyes swimming, Peabody turned to him. "What do we do?"
    "We fix it, goddamn it, son of a bitch, we fix it. Call Roarke," he