In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

or off must be logged in and out."
    "You take these things out of here?"
    "On occasion, certainly." Looking baffled, he glanced at Dr. Wo, who merely waved a hand for him to continue. "Other facilities might request a specific specimen with a specific flaw for study. We have a loan and a sale policy with several other centers around the world."
    Click, Feeney thought, and took out his book. "How about these?" he asked, and read off Eve's list.
    Again, Young glanced at Wo, and again received a go-ahead signal. "Yes, those are all what we would consider sister facilities."
    "Ever been to Chicago?"
    "A number of times. I don't understand."
    "Captain," Wo interrupted. "This is becoming tedious."
    "My job's not filled with high points," he said easily. "How about giving me the data on the organs you checked in here within the last six weeks."
    "I -- I -- that data is confidential."
    "Peabody," Feeney began, keeping his eyes on the suddenly nervous Young, "start warrant procedures."
    "One moment; that won't be necessary." Wo gestured Peabody back in a way that had Peabody's eyes narrowing. "Dr. Young, get the captain the data he requested."
    "But it's confidential material." His face set suddenly in stubborn lines. "I don't have clearance."
    "I'm clearing it," she snapped. "I'll speak with Dr. Cagney. The responsibility is mine. Get the data."
    "We appreciate your cooperation," Feeney told her.
    She turned dark, cold eyes on him when Young left to retrieve the data. "I want you out of this lab and this center as soon as possible. You're disrupting important work."
    "Catching killers probably doesn't rate as high on your scale as poking at livers, but we all gotta earn our pay-check. You know what this is?" He took the sealed pin out of his pocket, held it at eye level.
    "Of course. It's a caduceus. I have one very much like it."
    "Where?"
    "Where? At home, I imagine."
    "I noticed some of the docs around here wearing one. I guess you don't wear yours to work."
    "Not as a rule, no." But she reached up, as if out of habit, running her fingers on her unadorned lapel. "If you're done with me now, I have a great deal of work."
    "We're done, for now. But I have a couple of more interviews set for tomorrow. I'd like to see your pin, if you'd bring it in."
    "My pin?"
    "That's right. Someone lost one recently." He lifted the one he held a little higher. "I need to make sure it wasn't you."
    She tightened her lips and walked away.
    "A lot of steam in that one, Peabody. We'll take a closer look at her when we get back to Central."
    "She used to be president of the AMA," Peabody remembered. "Waverly's current president. The AMA put pressure on East Washington to put pressure on the mayor to put pressure on us to kick the case."
    "Wheels in wheels," Feeney murmured. "Let's get this data back and see what rolls out of them. Now, what's the deal with Vanderhaven?"
    "His interview was scheduled next, but he canceled. Professional emergency." She glanced around to be certain no one was within hearing distance. "I called his office, said I was a patient, and was told the doctor had taken leave for the next ten days."
    "Interesting. Sounds like he doesn't want to talk to us. Get his home address, Peabody. We'll pay a house call."
    Roarke was studying data of his own. It had been child's play for him to slide into Baxter's computer and access information on Bowers's murder.
    It was a pity that, as yet, there was little information to be had.
    But there was plenty, of the vile and hysterical variety, to be found in Bowers's logs and diaries.
    He ran a search on them, using Eve's name, and found bits and pieces stretching back for years. Comments, accusations when Eve had been promoted to detective, when she received commendations. Roarke raised both eyebrows when he read Bowers's statement that Eve had seduced Feeney in order to bag him as her trainer. And then the lurid speculation on her affair with her commander to insure she was assigned important cases.
    But these, and others that popped from time to time, were mild compared with the diatribes that began on the day Bowers and Eve had clashed over the body of a sidewalk sleeper.
    That obsession, Roarke mused, had festered over time until that one moment, that single twist of fate that had burst it and spilled the poison over both of them.
    Now one was dead.
    He looked toward the screen where he could monitor the bedroom and see his wife sleeping.
    And the other broken.
    Still scanning, he