J. Robb - Conspiracy in Death

"What's her prognosis?"

"I don't know yet. They're not talking." She looked up at Roarke. "I can't let you in."

"I'll wait."

"I'll be quick," Peabody promised. "Watch for it."

She strode away, squaring her shoulders back to add authority. Eve moved smoothly to the end of the corridor, shifted slightly to bring Louise's door into view.

She saw Peabody glance at her wrist unit, shrug, then jerk her thumb to indicate she'd take over duty while the uniform took a break. He didn't hesitate. Sprung, he hurried down the hallway toward food, coffee, and a chair.

"I won't be long," Eve promised. She made the dash, slipped through the door Peabody opened.

The room was larger than she'd expected, and the light was dim. Feeney nodded and flipped the shield on the wide window, closing off the view from outside.

Louise was propped in the hospital bed, the bandages wrapped around her head no whiter than her cheeks. Scanners and TVs ran from her to machines and monitors that hummed and beeped and blinked with lights.

She stirred as Eve approached the bed and opened eyes that were deeply bruised and blurry. A smile ghosted around her mouth.

"I sure as hell earned that half million."

"I'm sorry." Eve wrapped her fingers around the bed guard.

"You're sorry." With a weak laugh, Louise lifted her right hand. The wrist was cased in a clear stabilizer. "Next time, you get your head bashed in, and I'll be sorry."

"Deal."

"I got the data. I put it on a disc. It's – "

"I've got it." Feeling helpless, Eve leaned over, laid her hand over Louise's uninjured one. "Don't worry."

"You've got it? What the hell did you need me for?"

"Insurance."

Louise sighed, closed her eyes. "I don't know how much good it'll do you. I think it goes deep. Scary. Christ, they gave me primo drugs here, I'm about to go flying."

"Tell me who hurt you. You saw them."

"Yeah. So stupid. I was pissed. Put the disc away for safe keeping, then figured I'd handle it myself. Confront the enemy on my turf. Fading out here, Dallas."

"Tell me who hurt you, Louise."

"I called her in, let it rip. Next thing… caught me off guard. Never thought… Jan. Faithful nurse. Go get the bitch for me, Dallas. I can't kick her ass until I can stand up."

"I'll get her for you."

"Get all the bastards," she mumbled, then drifted off.

"She was coherent," Eve said to Feeney, hardly aware she still held Louise's hand. "She wouldn't have been that coherent if there was brain damage."

"I'd say the lady has a hard head. Jan?" He took out his memo pad. "Nurse at the clinic? I'll pick her up."

Eve slid her hand away, shoved it into her pocket as she battled impotence. "Will you let me know?"

His eyes met hers over Louise. "First thing."

"Good. Great. I'd better get out before I'm tagged." She stopped with her hand on the door. "Feeney?"

"Yeah."

"Peabody's a good cop."

"That she is."

"If I don't get back, ask Cartright to take her."

His throat closed, so he swallowed hard. "You'll be back, Dallas."

She turned, met his eyes again. "If I don't get back," she said evenly, "ask Cartright to take her. Peabody wants Homicide, she wants to make detective. Cartright can bring her along. Just do that for me."

"Yeah." His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, okay. Goddamn it," he muttered when she'd slipped out the door. "Goddamn it."

Roarke gave her the silence he thought she needed on the drive home. He was certain, in her mind, she was riding with Feeney and Peabody, standing beside the door of Jan's apartment, issuing the standard police order and warning.

And because she'd need to, kicking in the door.

"You could use some sleep," he said when they were home and inside. "But I imagine you need to work."

"I've got to do this."

"I know." The hurt was back in her eyes, the weariness back in her face. "I've got to do this." He drew her into his arms, held her.

"I'm okay." But she wallowed in him, for just a moment. "I can deal with whatever happens as long as we close this one out. I couldn't accept whatever I'll have to accept if we don't put this one away."

"You will." He stroked a hand over her hair. "We will."

"And if I start to sulk again, just slap me around."

"I do so enjoy beating my wife." He closed his hand over hers and started upstairs. "Best to use the unregistered equipment. I've had a unit working on searching for buried records at the lab. We may have hit."

"I've got the disc Louise made. I didn't give it to Feeney." She waited while he uncoded the door. "He didn't ask for it."

"You've chosen your friends well. Ah, hard at work." He glanced at the console, smiling slowly as he scanned the readouts from his scan of the lab at the Drake. "And it appears we've found something. Some interesting megabites of unregistered, unaccounted-for data. I'll need to work on this. He'll have covered this well, as he did his own log, but I know how his mind travels now."

"Can you run this on the side?" She handed him the disc. When he popped it into a secondary unit, then sat down at the main controls, she frowned. "Pop the Friend information on one of the screens. And I guess you want coffee?"

"Actually, I'd rather a brandy. Thanks."

She rolled her eyes and went to retrieve it. "You know, if you'd bring in some droids instead of leaving everything to that tight-assed snot Summerset – "

"You're moving perilously close to sulking."

She clamped her mouth shut, poured brandy, ordered coffee for herself, and sat down to work with her back to him.

She studied the data on Westley Friend's death first. There had been no suicide note. According to his family and closest friends, he had been depressed, distracted, edgy during the days before his death. They had assumed it was due to the stress of his work, the lecture tours, the media and advertising schedule he kept to endorse NewLife products.

He'd been found dead in his office in the Nordick Clinic, at his desk, with the pressure syringe on the floor beside him.

Barbs, she mused, eyes narrowed. The same method as Wo.

There were no coincidences, she told herself. But there were patterns. There were routines.

At the time of his death, she read, he had been heading a team of prominent doctors and researchers involved in a classified project.

She noted with grim satisfaction that Cagney's, Wo's, and Vanderhaven's names were listed as top team members.

Patterns, she thought again. Conspiracies.

Just what was your secret project, Friend, and why did it kill you?

"It goes deep," Eve murmured. "It goes long, and they're all in it."

She turned back to Roarke. "Hard to find a killer when they come in bulk. How many of them have a part in this or knew and turned a blind eye? Close ranks." She shook her head. "And it doesn't end with doctors. We're going to find cops, politicians, executives, investors."

"I'm sure you're right. It won't help you, Eve, to take it personally."

"There's no other way to take it." She leaned back on the desk. "Run Louise's disc, will you?"

Louise's voice slid out. "Dallas, looks like you owe me five hundred K. I can't say I'm positive what – "

"Mute that, would you?" Roarke picked up his brandy and worked the keyboard one-handed. "It's distracting."

Eve gritted her teeth, hit mute. This taking orders crap, she decided, had to stop. The sudden thought flashed that they might reinstate her but bust her down to detective or uniform. She barely resisted lowering her head to the console and screaming.

She took a deep breath, then another. Then focused on the monitor.

I can't say I'm positive what it all means, but I have some theories, and don't like any of them. You'll see from the records that follow that regular calls have gone out from the main 'link here at the clinic to the Drake. While we might contact some department there on occasion for a consult, there are too many, too often, and all from the main 'link. Rotation doctors use this office 'link. Only nurses and clerical staff use the main regularly. There are also calls to the Nordick in Chicago. Unless we had a patient who had used that facility and whose records would be there, we would have little reason to contact an out-of-state. Possibly, in rare cases, to reach a specialist. This same principle applies to the centers in London and Paris. You'll find only a few calls there.