"That's what Dallas always says."
"Keep her out of your head for now," he said shortly. He was working hard to keep her out of his and do the job. "If we're going to help her close this, you need to keep her troubles out of your head."
Face grim, he strode down the corridor, then glanced over as Peabody fell into step beside him. "Make an extra copy of all data and interview discs."
She met his gaze, read it, and for the first time during the long morning, smiled. "Yes, sir."
"Christ, stop sirring me to death."
Now Peabody grinned. "She used to say that, too. Now she's used to it."
The shadows in his eyes lifted briefly. "Going to whip me into shape, too, Peabody?"
Behind his back, Peabody wiggled her brows. She didn't think it would take her much time to do just that. She fixed her face into sober lines when he knocked on Wo's door.
An hour later, Peabody was staring, horrified and fascinated, at a human heart preserved in thin blue gel.
"The facilities here," Wo was saying, "are arguably the finest in the world for organ research. It was at this facility, though it was not as expansive as it is today, that Dr. Drake discovered and refined the anti-cancer vaccine. This portion of the center is dedicated to the study of diseases and conditions, including aging, that adversely affect human organs. In addition, we continue to study and refine techniques for organ replacement."
The lab was as large as a heliport, Feeney decided, sectioned off here and there with thin white partitions. Dozens of people in long coats of white, pale green, or deep blue worked at stations, manning computers, compu-scopes, or tools he didn't recognize.
It was quiet as a church. None of the open-air background music some large facilities employed whispered through the lab, and when he inhaled, the air tasted faintly of antiseptic. He made certain he breathed through his nose.
They stood in a section where organs were displayed in the gel-filled bottles, the labels attached to the bases.
At the near door, a security droid stood silently, in case, Feeney thought with a sneer, somebody got the sudden urge to grab a bladder and run for it.
Jesus, what a place.
"Where do you get your specimens?" Feeney asked Wo, and she turned to him with a frigid look.
"We do not remove them from live, unwilling patients. Dr. Young?"
Bradley Young was thin, tall, and obviously distracted. He turned from his work at a sheer white counter populated with scopes and monitors and compu-slides. He frowned, pinched off the magni-clip he wore perched on his nose, and focused pale gray eyes.
"Yes?"
"This is Captain Feeney and his… assistant," she supposed, "from the police department. Dr. Young is our chief research technician. Would you explain how we go about collecting our specimens here for research?"
"Of course." He ran a hand over his hair. It was thin, like his bones, like his face, and the color of bleached wheat. "Many of our specimens are more than thirty years old," he began. "This heart for example." He moved across the blinding white floor to the container where Peabody had been standing. "It was removed from a patient twenty-eight years ago. As you can see, there is considerable damage. The patient had suffered three serious cardiac arrests. This heart was removed and replaced with one of the first runs of the NewLife unit. He is now, at the age of eighty-nine, alive, well, and living in Bozeman, Montana."
Young smiled winningly. He considered that his finest joke. "The specimens were all either donated by patients themselves or next of kin in the event of death, or acquired through a licensed organ broker."
"You can account for all of them."
Young just stared at Feeney. "Account for?"
"You got paperwork on all of them, ID?"
"Certainly. This department is very organized. Every specimen is properly documented. Its donor or brokerage information, its date of removal, the condition at time of removal, surgeon, and team. In addition, any specimen that is studied on premises 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.