Conspiracy in Death (In Death #8)(67)

Very carefully, Eve set down her cup. "It's a positive ID?"

"It's her. I went down and checked after I heard it in the bullpen. Prints and DNA match. They just confirmed."

"Jesus. Jesus Christ." Staggered, Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes, tried to think.

Data is complete.... Display, vocal or hard copy?

"Save and file. God." She dropped her hands. "What have they got on it?"

"Nothing. At least nothing I could dig out. No witnesses. She lived alone, so nobody was expecting her. There was an anonymous call reporting trouble at that location. Came in about oh five-thirty. A couple of uniforms found her. That's all I know."

"Robbery? Sexual assault?"

"Dallas, I don't know. I was lucky to get this much. They're shutting it in fast. No data in, no data out."

There was a sick ball in her stomach, a slick weight rolling there she didn't quite recognize as dread. "Do you know who's primary?"

"I heard Baxter, but I don't know for sure. Can't confirm."

"Okay." She sat, tunneled her fingers through her hair. "If it's Baxter, he'll give me what data he can. Odds are, it's not connected to ours, but we can't discount it." Eve lifted her gaze again. "Beaten to death?"

"Yeah." Peabody swallowed.

She knew what it was to be attacked with fists, to be helpless to stop them. To feel that stunning agony of a bone snapping. To hear the sound of it just under your own scream. "It's a bad way," she managed. "I'm sorry for it. She was a wrong cop, but I'm sorry for it."

"Everybody's pretty shaken up."

"I don't have much time here." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll tag Baxter later, see if he can fill in some details. But for now, we've got to put this aside. I've got the 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."