by J. D. Robb
“The door’s unlocked here. I’m going in.”
“Do you want backup, Lieutenant?”
“Not yet. Stay on me.”
She slipped inside, soundlessly, shut the door at her back. She kept to her defensive crouch, sweeping her weapon and her gaze through the room.
Fancy furniture, ugly and overdone in her mind, a rumpled suit jacket, a half-empty bottle. Drapes drawn. Quiet.
She stepped farther into the room, but kept near the wall, guarding her own back as she circled. No one hid behind the furniture, behind the drapes. The small kitchen was empty and apparently unused.
She stepped to the doorway of the bedroom, again crouched, again sweeping her weapon. The bed was made, heaped with decorative pillows and apparently hadn’t been slept in. Her gaze moved to the closet, the firmly shut carved doors.
She sidestepped toward it, then heard the sounds from the bathroom. Quick, heavy breathing, grunts of effort, a distinctly female chuckle. It passed through her mind that Louis might be having a quick roll with the LC of his choice, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance.
But she didn’t relax her guard.
She stepped left, shifted her weight, and swung to the doorway.
The smell hit her an instant before she saw it.
“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”
“Lieutenant?” Peabody’s voice, ringing with concern, piped out of her pocket.
“Back off.” Eve leveled her weapon at the woman. “Drop the knife and back off.”
“Sending backup now. Give me your situation, Lieutenant.”
“I’ve got a homicide. Really fresh. I said back the hell off.”
The woman only smiled. She straddled Louis, or what was left of him. Blood pooled on the floor, splattered the white tiles, coated her hands and face. The stench of it, and the gore, was thick as smoke.
Louis, Eve noted, was well beyond hope. He’d been gutted and disemboweled. And he was busily being eviscerated.
“He’s already dead,” the woman said pleasantly.
“I can see that. Put down the knife.” Eve took a step closer, gesturing with the weapon. “Put it down and move away from him. Slow. Face down on the floor, hands behind your back.”
“It had to be done.” She slid her leg over the body until she was kneeling beside it, like a mourner over a grave. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Yeah.” Even through the mask of blood, Eve had made the face. And she’d remembered the voice, the sweetness of it. “Mirium, right? First-degree witch. Now, drop the fucking knife and kiss the floor. Hands behind you.”
“All right.” Obligingly, Mirium set the knife aside, barely glancing at it when Eve trapped it under her heel, sent it skidding across the room well out of reach. “He told me to be quick. In and out. I lost track of time.”
Eve tugged her restraints from her rear pocket, snapped them in place over Mirium’s wrists. “He?”
“Chas. He said I could do this one all by myself, but to be fast.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I wasn’t fast enough.”
With her mouth thin, Eve looked down at Louis Trivane. No, she thought I wasn’t fast enough. “You copy that, Peabody?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pick up Charles Forte for questioning. Do it personally, and take two uniforms for backup. Don’t approach him alone.”
“Affirmative. Do you have the situation under control there, Lieutenant?”
Eve stepped back from the blood running in a rivulet toward her boots. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got it.”
She showered and changed before the interviews. The ten minutes it took was necessary. She’d all but bathed in Louis Trivane’s blood before she’d released his body to the ME. If anyone in the lockers noticed the elegant little flower on her ass, there was no comment.
The buzz on the state of this particular crime scene had already swarmed through the station.
“I’m taking Mirium first,” Eve told Feeney as she studied the dainty woman through the one-way glass.
“You could take a break, Dallas. Word is, it was pretty rough over there this morning.”
“You always think you’ve seen it all,” she murmured. “But you never do. There’s always something else.” She blew out a breath. “I want to do it now. I want to close this.”
“Okay. Duet or solo?”
“Solo. She’s going to talk. She’s on something…” Eve shook her head. “Maybe she’s just plain crazy, but I think she’s using. I’m going to get her to sign for a chemi-scan. The PA doesn’t like confessions given under the influence.”
“I’ll order one up.”
“Thanks.” She moved past him, walked into the room. Mirium’s face had been washed clean of blood. She wore a baggy disposable shift in police station beige. And still managed to look like a young, eager fairy.
Eve set the recorder, entered standard, then sat. “You know I’ve got you tagged, Mirium, so we don’t have to take that dance. You murdered Louis Trivane.”
“Yes.”
“What are you on?”
“On?”
“Doesn’t look like straight Zeus, you’re too mellow. Will you agree to a drug scan?”
“I don’t want to.” Her pretty mouth pouted; her dark eyes sulked. “Maybe later I’ll change my mind.” She pursed her lips and plucked at the thin skirt of the shift. “Can I get some of my own clothes? This thing’s itchy, and it offends the eye.”
“Yeah, we’re real worried about that right now. Why did you kill Louis Trivane?”
“He was evil. Chas said so.”
“By Chas you’re referring to Charles Forte.”
“Yes, but no one calls him Charles. It’s just Chas.”
“And Chas told you Louis was evil. Did he ask you to kill Louis?”
“He said I could. Other times I just got to watch. But this time I got to do it myself. There was a lot of blood.” She lifted a hand, studied it carefully. “Gone now.”
“What other times, Mirium?”
“Oh, other times.” She moved her shoulders. “Blood purifies.”
“Did you assist or witness other murders?”
“Sure. Death is a transition. I got to do this one. It was a very powerful act. I cut the demon out of him. Demons exist, and we fight them.”
“By killing the people they inhabit.”
“Yes. He said you were smart.” Mirium beamed at her out of slanted black eyes. “But you’ll never touch him. He’s too far removed from your law.”
“Let’s go back to Louis. Tell me about it.”
“Well, I have a friend on staff at the Luxury. All I had to do was screw him, and that was okay. I like to screw. Then I slipped one of the master codes in my pocket. You can get in most anywhere with a master. I put on one of the maids’ dresses, so no one would bother me, and I went right on in Louis’s suite. I took him towels. He was in the bathroom. He’d been sick, I could smell it. Then I stabbed him. I went for the throat, just like I was supposed to. Then I guess I got into it.”
She moved her shoulders again, sent Eve a mischievous smile. “It’s kind of like punching a knife through a pillow, you know. And it makes this sucky noise. Then I cut the demon out of him, and you came. I guess I’d finished, anyway.”
“Yeah, I guess you had. How long have you known Chas?”
“Oh, a couple of years. We like to make it in the park, in the daytime, because you never know if somebody’s going to come along and see.”
“How does Isis feel about that?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know.” Mirium rolled her eyes. “She wouldn’t like it.”
“How does she feel about the murders?”
Mirium’s brows knit and her eyes unfocused for a moment. “The murders? She doesn’t know. Does she? No, we wouldn’t tell her about that.”
“So it’s just between you and Chas.”
“Between me and Chas.” Her eyes fluttered, stayed blank. “I guess. Sure.”
“Have you told anyone el
se in the coven?”
“The coven?” She laid her fingers on her lips, tapped them. “No, no, it’s our secret. Our little secret.”
“What about Wineburg?”
“Who?”
“In the parking garage. The banker. Do you remember?”
“I didn’t get to do that.” She bit her bottom lip now, shook her head. “No, he did that. He was supposed to bring me the heart, but he didn’t. He said there wasn’t time.”
“And Lobar?”
“Lobar, Lobar.” Her fingers kept tapping. “No, that was different. Wasn’t it? I can’t remember. I’m getting a headache.” Her voice turned petulant. “I don’t want to talk anymore now. I’m tired.” She laid her hands down on her folded arms and closed her eyes.
Eve watched her for a moment. There wasn’t any point in pushing now, she decided. She had enough.
Eve signaled a uniform. Mirium murmured sulkily as Eve slipped the restraints back into place. “Take her down to Psych. Get Mira to do the evaluation, if possible; make a note to request permission for a drug scan.”
“Yes, sir.” Eve stepped to the door behind them, pushed a call button. “Have Forte brought to Interview Room C.”
It occurred to her that she would like to lay her head on pillowed arms herself. Instead, she turned down the corridor into the observation area. Peabody stood beside Feeney.
“I want you in on this, Peabody. What did you think of her, Feeney?”
“She’s whacked.” He held out his bag of nuts. “Whether it’s psych or induced, I dunno. Looks like a mix of both to me.”
“That was my take. How come she seemed so damn normal the other night?” Then she pulled her hands through her hair and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying that. She was standing naked in the woods letting Forte kiss her crotch.”
She lowered her hands, pressed them to her eyes, then dropped them. “His father never used a partner. That was never hinted at. He worked alone.”
“So, he’s got a different style,” Feeney said. “Whacked or not, the girl pinned Forte.”
“It doesn’t feel right to me,” Peabody murmured, and Eve turned to her with a mildly interested glance.
“What doesn’t feel right, Officer?”
Detecting the light trace of sarcasm, Peabody lifted her jaw. “Wiccans don’t kill.”
“People kill,” Eve reminded her. “And not everybody takes their religion seriously. Had any red meat lately?”
The flush worked up from under Peabody’s starched uniform collar. Free-Agers were strict vegan and used no animal by-products. “That’s different.”
“I walked in on a murder,” Eve said shortly. “The woman with the knife in her hand identified Charles Forte as her accomplice. That’s fact. I don’t want you to take anything but fact into that interview room. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody stiffened her shoulders. “Perfectly.” But she stood in place a moment longer when Eve strode off.
“She’s had a rough morning,” Feeney said sympathetically. “I got a quick scan of the first crime scene shots. It doesn’t get any rougher.”
“I know.” But she shook her head, watching as Charles Forte was led into the room behind the glass. “But it just doesn’t feel right.”
She turned away, headed around the corner, and stepped into the interview room just as Eve was reading Forte his rights.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand your rights and obligations?”
“No, no, I understand them. I don’t understand why I’m here.” There was puzzlement and a vague sense of disappointment as he turned his gaze toward Peabody. “If you’d wanted to speak with me again, you had only to ask. I would have met you, or come in voluntarily. It wasn’t necessary to send three uniformed officers to my home.”
“I thought it was necessary,” Eve answered shortly. “Do you want counsel or representation at this time, Mr. Forte?”
“No.” He shifted in agitation, tried to ignore the fact that he was inside a police facility. Like his father. “Just tell me what you want to know. I’ll try to help you.”
“Tell me about Louis Trivane.”
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Do you usually send your handmaids out to murder strangers?”
“What?” His face went white as he pushed himself to his feet. “What are you talking about?”
“Sit down.” Eve snapped the order out. “Louis Trivane was murdered two hours ago by Mirium Hopkins.”
“Mirium? That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.”
“It’s very possible. I walked in while she was cutting out his liver.”
Chas swayed, then sank onto his chair. “There’s a mistake. It couldn’t be.”
“I think the mistake was yours.” Eve rose, wandered over, then leaned over his shoulder. “You should pick your weapons more carefully. When you use defective ones, they can turn on you.”
“I don’t know what you mean. May I have some water? I don’t understand this.”
Eve jerked a thumb to Peabody, signaling her to pour a glass. “Mirium told me everything, Chas. She told me that you were lovers, that you neglected to bring her Wineburg’s heart as promised, and that you’d allowed her to execute Trivane herself. Blood purifies.”
“No.” He lifted the glass in both hands and still slopped water over the edge as he tried to drink. “No.”
“Your father liked to slice people up. Did he show you how it was done? How many other defective tools have you used? Did you dispose of them after you’d finished with them? Keep any souvenirs?”
She continued to hammer at him while he sat, just sat, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
“Was this your version of a religious war, Chas? Eliminate the enemy? Cut out the demons? Your father was a self-styled Satanist, and he’d made your life a misery. You couldn’t kill him, you can’t get to him now. But there are others. Are they substitutes? When you kill them, are you killing him, hacking him to pieces because of what he did to you?”
He squeezed his eyes tight, began to rock. “God. My God. Oh God.”
“You can help yourself here. Tell me why, tell me how. Explain it to me, Chas. I may be able to cut you a break. Tell me about Alice. About Lobar.”
“No. No.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were streaming. “I’m not my father.”
Eve didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from the desperate plea in his eyes. “Aren’t you?” Then she stepped back and let him sob.
chapter nineteen
She worked him for an hour, relentlessly pushing, then backtracking, then shifting directions. She kept the death photos on the table, dealt out like grisly playing cards.
How many more, she demanded. How many more images of the dead should there be?
Through it all, he wept and denied, wept and was silent.
When she turned him over to holding, his eyes stayed on hers until he was led around the corner and away. But it was the look in Peabody’s eyes that caught her and had her waiting until they were alone.
“Problem, Officer?”
Observing the interrogation had been like watching a wolf toy and tear at a wounded deer. Peabody drew a breath, braced. “Yes, sir. I didn’t like your interview technique.”
“Didn’t you?”
“It seemed overly harsh. Cruel. Using his father, over and over again, directing him to look at the stills.”
Eve’s stomach was raw, her nerves scraped clean, but her voice was cool, her hands steady, as she gathered up the stills. “Maybe I should have asked him politely to please confess so we could all go home and get back to our comfy lives. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I’ll make a note to try it the next time I have a murder suspect in interview.”
Peabody wanted to wince, managed not to. “It just seemed to me, Lieutenant, particularly since the suspect had no representation—”
“Did I read
him his rights, Officer?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Did he verify that he understood those rights?”
Peabody pulled back, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”
“Can you estimate, Officer Peabody, how many interviews you’ve conducted on homicide cases?”
“Sir, I—”
“I can’t,” Eve snapped, and her eyes went from cool to hot. “I can’t, because there’s been too fucking many of them. You want to take a look at the stills again? You want to see this guy with his guts spilled out all over the tiles? Maybe it’ll toughen you up a little, because if my interview techniques upset you, Peabody, you’re in the wrong career.”
Eve strode to the door, then whirled back while Peabody stood where she was at rigid attention. “And I expect my aide to back me up, not question me because she happens to have a soft spot for witches. If you can’t handle that, Officer Peabody, I’ll approve your request for transfer. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody let out a shaky breath as Eve’s boots clicked down the corridor. “Understood,” she said to herself and shut her eyes.
“A little rough on her,” Feeney commented when he caught up.
“Don’t you start on me.”
He only held up a hand. “Isis came in voluntarily. I put her in Room B.”
With a jerk of the head, Eve changed directions and pulled open the door of Room B.
Isis stopped her restless pacing and spun around. “How could you do this to him? How could you bring him here? He’s terrified of places like this.”
“Charles Forte is being held for questioning in the stabbing death of Louis Trivane, among others.” In contrast to Isis’s raised and furious voice, Eve’s was cold and flat. “He has not yet been charged.”
“Charged?” Her golden skin paled. “You can’t believe Chas had anything to do with a murder. Trivane? We don’t know any Louis Trivane.”
“And you know everyone Forte knows, Isis?” Eve set the file on the table, kept her hand on it as if to remind herself what was inside. “You know everything he does and thinks and plans?”
“We are as close as it’s possible for human bodies and minds and souls to be. There is no harm in him.” The temper drained out of her. Now her voice trembled. “Let me take him home. Please.”