Conspiracy in Death (In Death #8)(72)

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."