In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

McNab?"
    "He's back at Central, running data."
    "I'll be in touch."
    "Roarke wait. Tell Dallas... tell her whatever you think she needs to hear."
    "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 connection to my personal friends kept to a minimum. It's very awkward."
    "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 manner of speaking." The smile was back, digging charming creases into his cheeks. "The Drake has some of the finest organ transplant and research facilities in the world."
    "What about your connections with the Canal Street Clinic?"
    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 stunning achievement."
    "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