Ceremony in Death

by J. D. Robb

  Eve met the pleading eyes straight on, forced herself not to feel. “Did you know, being as close as it’s possible, that he’d decided to get equally close, bodily speaking, with Mirium?”

  “Mirium?” Isis blinked once, then nearly laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “She told me herself. She smiled when she told me.” Remembering that, bringing that image back, dried up any sympathy. “She smiled as she straddled what was left of Louis Trivane, while his blood was smeared all over her hands and her face and the knife she held.”

  As her legs went weak, Isis reached out blindly to brace a hand on the back of a chair. “Mirium killed someone? That’s impossible.”

  “I thought all things were possible in your sphere. I walked in on her little ceremony myself.” Eve’s fingers curled on the file, but she didn’t open it. There was still pity, after all, for the woman who loved and believed. “She was very cooperative, happily told me that Forte had allowed her to kill Trivane herself. Unlike the others, where she only observed.”

  Using her hand to keep her balance, Isis stepped unsteadily around the chair, eased herself into it. “She’s lying.” There was a lance in her heart, quivering there. “Chas has nothing to do with this. How could I have missed this part of her?” Closing her eyes, Isis rocked herself gently. “How could I not have seen? We initiated her, we took her in. We made her one of us.”

  “Can’t see everything, can you?” Eve angled her head. “I think you should be more worried about your vision as it applies to Charles Forte.”

  “No.” She opened her eyes again. There was misery in them, but behind it was a steel Eve recognized. “There’s no one I see more clearly than Chas. She’s lying.”

  “She’ll be tested. In the meantime, you may want to rethink allowing yourself to be used as his alibi. He’s betrayed your trust,” Eve said, stepping closer. “It could have been you, Isis, at any time. Mirium’s younger, probably more biddable. I wonder how much longer he’d have pretended to let you run the show.”

  “How can you not understand what there is between us when you have it yourself? Do you think the word of some disturbed young woman would make me doubt the man I love? Would it make you doubt Roarke?”

  “It’s not my personal life that’s in dire straits here,” Eve said evenly. “It’s yours. If you care for him so much, then cooperate with me. It’s the only way to stop him, and to get him help.”

  “Help?” Isis’s mouth twisted. “You don’t want to help him. You want him to be guilty, you want him to be punished, because of where he came from. Because of his father.”

  Eve looked down at the folder in her hands, the plain tan cover that hid the terrible images of terrible death. “You’re wrong.” She spoke quietly now, almost to herself. “I wanted him to be innocent. Because of his father.”

  Then she lifted her gaze, met Isis’s. “The warrant will have come through by now. We’ll search your shop and your apartment. Whatever we find can be used against you as well.”

  “It won’t matter.” Isis forced herself to stand. “You won’t find anything to help you.”

  “You’re entitled to be present during the search.”

  “No. I’ll stay here. I want to see Chas.”

  “You’re not related or legally married—”

  “Dallas.” Isis interrupted quietly. “You have a heart. Please listen to it and let me see him.”

  Yes, she had a heart. And it ached to see the plea in the eyes of a strong woman. “I can give you five minutes through security glass.” As she wrenched the door open, she set her teeth. “Tell him to get a lawyer, for God’s sake.”

  In the storeroom of Spirit Quest and in a workroom in the apartment above, were dozens of bottles and containers and boxes. They were filled with liquid and powder and leaves and seeds. She found organized records detailing the contents and their uses.

  Eve ordered everything sent to the lab for analysis.

  She found knives, carved handles and plain, long-bladed and short. She tagged a sweeper, ordered him to scan for traces of blood. Ceremonial robes and street clothes were scanned as well.

  She blocked out the voices—sweepers never worked quietly—and went about her job with focused efficiency.

  And there, under a neatly folded stack of robes kept fresh in a chest smelling of rosemary and cedar, she found the balled-up and bloody black robe.

  “Here.” She signaled to a sweeper. “Scan it.”

  “Nice sample.” The sweeper snapped her gum, ran the nozzle of her shoulder unit over the cloth. “Mostly on the sleeves.” Behind her protective goggles, the sweeper’s eyes were mildly bored. “Human,” she confirmed. “A neg. Can’t tell you much more with a portable.”

  “That’s enough.” Eve slid the robe into a bag, sealed and labeled it for evidence. “Wineburg was A negative.” She looked at Peabody as she handed the bag to her. “Careless of him, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Dutifully, Peabody stored the bag in her evidence kit. “It would seem so.”

  “Lobar was O positive.” She moved to another chest, hauled back the domed lid. “Keep looking.”

  Twilight had settled with its dim light and fitful breezes when she climbed back in her car. Since the tension was still simmering between her and Peabody, she didn’t bother to speak but engaged her car ’link instead.

  “Lieutenant Dallas for Dr. Mira.”

  “Dr. Mira is in session,” the receptionist said politely. “I’ll be happy to log your message.”

  “Has she tested Mirium Hopkins?”

  “One moment while I check the logs.” The receptionist slid her gaze to the side, then back. “That session has been rescheduled for eight thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Rescheduled, why?”

  “The log notes indicate that the subject complained of severe head pain, and on examination by the physician on duty, was medicated.”

  “Who was the physician on duty?” Eve asked through clenched teeth.

  “Dr. Arthur Simon.”

  “Simon Says; figures.” Disgusted, Eve whipped her car around a slow-moving maxibus packed with commuters. “He’ll give you a double tranq for a hangnail.”

  The receptionist grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but the subject was already medicated before her scheduled testing. Dr. Mira is unable to proceed until morning.”

  “Fine. Terrific. Ask her to let me know as soon as she’s done.” Eve broke transmission. “Son of a bitch. I’m going in to take a look at her, myself. Deliver the bags to the lab, Peabody, with a request for rush—for what good that does. Then you’re off duty.”

  “You’ll interview Forte again tonight.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sir, I request to be present during interview.”

  “Request denied,” Eve said shortly as she pulled into the garage at Central. “I said you’re off duty.” She shoved out of the car and walked away.

  It was midnight and her own head was aching viciously. The house was quiet when she slipped in, dragged herself up the stairs. It didn’t surprise her to see Roarke, awake and on the bedroom ’link. She glanced at the monitor as she passed through and recognized the young, eager face of one of the engineers assigned to the Olympus Resort.

  It made her think of the last few days of her honeymoon. There had been death there, as well. Big surprise, she thought as she leaned over the sink and splashed her face with cold water. There was never any escaping it.

  She toweled off, then walked to the bed to sit and remove her boots. When they hit the floor, the effort of undressing further seemed beyond her. She crawled onto the bed and lay across it, facedown.

  Roarke listened to his engineer with half an ear while he watched her. He knew the signs, the shadowed eyes, the pale skin, the slow, deliberate movements. She’d worked herself to the breaking point again—a habit that both fascinated and frustrated him.

  “I’ll get back to you on that tomorrow,” he said and abrupt
ly ended transmission. “You’ve had a bad one, Lieutenant.”

  She didn’t stir when he straddled her and began to knead her neck and shoulders. “I know there’s been worse,” she murmured. “I just can’t think of when right now.”

  “Louis Trivane’s murder has been all over the news.”

  “Goddamn vultures.”

  He unhooked her weapon harness, wiggled it off her, and set it aside. “A prominent attorney gets himself hacked up in an exclusive private club, it’s news.” Competently, he worked his thumbs up her spine. “Nadine’s called here several times.”

  “Yeah, she’s buzzed Central, too. I don’t have time for her.”

  “Mmm.” He tugged her shirt free of her slacks, and used the heels of his hands. “Did you walk in on it, or was that added for entertainment value?”

  “No, I walked in on it. Maybe if that idiot droid at the desk hadn’t—” She broke off, shook her head. “I was too late. She’d already opened him up. She was still working on him, like a kid with a science project. She implicated Charles Forte.”

  “That’s out, too.”

  “Of course it is,” she said with a sigh. “You can’t plug all the leaks.”

  “You have him in custody?”

  “We’re questioning him. I’m questioning him. He denies everything. I found physical evidence in his apartment, but he still denies everything.”

  Denies, she thought, while looking shocked, dislocated, terrified.

  “Oh shit.” She turned her head, pressed her face into the spread. “Oh shit.”

  “Come on.” He kissed the top of her head lightly. “Let’s get you undressed and into bed.”

  “Don’t baby me.”

  “Try to stop me.”

  She started to shift, then moved quickly before she’d realized her intent or the need. She had her arms around him, her face buried against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed tight as if to block out visions.

  “You’re always here. Even when you’re not.”

  “We’re not alone, anymore. Either of us.” Because he thought she needed it, he lifted her onto his lap. “Talk to me. You’ve got more than murder and evidence on your mind.”

  “I’m not a good person.” She blurted it out before she could stop herself. “I’m a good cop, but I’m not a good person. I can’t afford to be.”

  “That’s nonsense, Eve.”

  “It’s not. It’s true. You just don’t want to see it, that’s all.” She pulled back so she could look at him. “When you love somebody, you can handle the little faults, but you don’t want to see the big ones. You don’t want to admit what the person you’ve attached yourself to is capable of, so you pretend it’s not there.”

  “What are you capable of that I’m blind to?”

  “I beat Forte into pulp. Not physically,” she continued, dragging her hair away from her face. “That’s too easy, that’s too clean. I ripped him to pieces emotionally. I wanted to. I wanted him to tell me what he’d done so I could finish it, close it away. And when Peabody had the balls to tell me she disapproved of my interview techniques, I trounced her. I sent her off duty so I could go back in and hammer at him again.”

  He was silent a moment, then rose to turn the covers down. “So let me recap. You walked in on a mutilation in progress, took the killer into custody, a killer who implicated Charles Forte in this and in other murders. This is a matter of days after you discover a mutilated body on your doorstep.”

  “It can’t be personal.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, but that’s bullshit. To continue,” he said, coming around to unbutton her shirt, “you then take Charles Forte in for interview, a man you suspect with good cause is responsible for several violent deaths. You play hardball, something which your aide whom you’re training, and who, though highly competent, has considerably less experience than yourself in these matters, disapproves of. A police officer who did not walk into a room and find a woman gleefully carving a man into pieces. The news reports were quite specific,” he told her.

  “And,” he added before Eve could speak, “you then reprimanded your aide when she questioned your judgment, subsequently sending her off duty so that you could resume your interrogation. Does that about sum it up?”

  Frowning, she studied the top of his head as he bent to pull off her slacks. “You’re making it black and white. It’s not.”

  “It never is.” He swung her legs into bed, pushed her down gently. “I’ll tell you what it makes you, Eve. It makes you a good cop, a dedicated one. And a human one.” He undressed, slipped into bed beside her. “And that being the case, it’s probably best if I divorce you and get on with my life.” He pulled her close until her head cozied into the curve of his shoulder. “Obviously, up till now, I’ve been blind to your hideous character flaws.”

  “You make me sound like an idiot.”

  “Good, I intended to.” He kissed her temple, ordered the lights to dim. “Now, go to sleep.”

  She turned her head so that she could smell his skin on her way to sleep. “I don’t think I can let you have that divorce,” she said on a sigh.

  “No?”

  “Uh-uh. No way I’m giving up the coffee.”

  Eve arrived at her office at eight A.M. She had already been by the lab to harass them, which had, in part, cheered her. Her ’link was beeping with an incoming when she opened the door.

  And Peabody stood at attention beside her desk.

  “You’re early, Peabody.” Eve moved to the ’link, coded in, and waited for the messages to dispense. “You’re not on for thirty minutes.”

  “I wanted to speak to you, Lieutenant, before I came on duty.”

  “All right.” Eve put the messages on hold, turned to give Peabody her full attention. “You look like hell,” she commented.

  Peabody kept her gaze steady. She knew how she looked. She hadn’t eaten or slept. Symptoms, she knew that were embarrassingly similar to those she displayed when a love affair ended badly. And this, she’d realized during the long night, was worse than any breakup with a man.

  “I would like to formally apologize, Lieutenant, for statements made after the Forte interview. It was insubordinate and incorrect to question your methods. I hope that my lack of judgment in this matter will not influence you to dismiss me from this case, or from this division.”

  Eve sat, leaned back in a chair that creakily begged for lubricant. “Is that all, Officer Peabody?”

  “Yes, sir. Except to say—”

  “If you’ve got more to say, pull the stick out of your butt first. You’re off duty and off the record.”

  Peabody’s shoulders slumped slightly, but in defeat rather than relaxation. “I’m sorry. Watching him fall to pieces that way got to me. I wasn’t able to divorce myself from the situation and view it objectively. I don’t believe—don’t want to believe,” she corrected, “that he’s responsible. It tainted my viewpoint.”

  “Objectivity’s essential. And, more often than any of us want to admit, impossible. I wasn’t completely objective either, which is why I overreacted to your comments. I apologize for that.”

  Surprise and relief spread through her. Peabody found them both easier to swallow than crow and fear. “Will you keep me on?”

  “I’ve got an investment in you.” Leaving it at that, Eve turned back to her ’link.

  Behind Eve’s back, Peabody closed her eyes tightly, dug for composure. She took a breath, swallowed hard, and found it. “So, does this mean we’ve made up?”

  Eve slanted a look at Peabody’s hopeful grin. “Why don’t I have any coffee?” She engaged the ’link, let her messages run. The first had barely begun when Peabody set a steaming cup at her elbow.

  “Come on, Dallas, come on. Give me a break. I can go on with an update any time, day or night. Get back to me damn it. Just a couple details.”

  “Not going to happen, Nadine,” Eve murmured and zipped through the next three messages from the reporter, all inc
reasingly desperate.

  There was a communication from the ME, with the autopsy report. Eve downloaded and ordered a hard copy print. Finally, a relay from the lab which verified the blood on the robe was Wineburg’s.

  “I can’t see it,” Peabody said quietly. “Why can’t I see it? It’s all there.” She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “It’s all right there.”

  “We charge him and book him.” Eve rubbed a finger up and down the center of her forehead. “Murder one on Wineburg. We’ll hold off on the conspiracy to murder on Trivane until Mira’s done the testing. Have him brought up for interview again, Peabody. We’ll see how many more we can pin to him.”

  “Why Alice?” Peabody asked. “Why Frank?”

  “He didn’t do them. They’re not his.”

  “Separate cases? You still think Selina’s responsible for them?”

  “I know she is. But we’re a long way from proving it.”

  She spent the day going over reports, filing her own. By noon, when she faced Chas in interview again, she was ready to try a different tack.

  She studied his chosen representative, a young, sad-eyed woman who, by Eve’s estimate, could barely be old enough to have passed the bar. She didn’t bother to sigh as she recognized the woman from the initiation ceremony.

  A lawyer witch, she mused. And wondered if that would be considered a redundancy.

  “This is your chosen counsel, Mr. Forte?”

  “Yes.” His face was a sickly gray, his eyes shades darker. “Leila has agreed to help me.”

  “Very well. You’ve been charged with murder, Mr. Forte.”

  “I’ve requested a bail hearing,” Leila began and passed Eve some paperwork. “It’s scheduled for two P.M. today.”

  “You won’t get bail.” Eve handed the papers to Peabody. “And it won’t delay this very long.”

  “I didn’t even know the man who was killed,” Chas began. “I’d never seen him before that night. I was with you.”

  “Which puts you on the scene at the time, giving you opportunity. Motive?” She leaned back. “You were there, you knew he was about to break, to talk. His blood wasn’t the first to spill, was it, Mr. Forte?”