Ceremony in Death (13 page)

She needed Feeney, she thought grumpily. Feeney could tickle the computer and trick additional data. Instead, she was going to have to go to Roarke and add another layer to his involvement.

“Well, shit.” She pulled up in front of Spirit Quest, frowned at the Closed sign on the door. “Run up for a look-see, Peabody. Maybe she’s inside.”

“Got an umbrella or a rain shield?”

Eve arched a brow. “Are you trying to be funny?”

Peabody only sighed, then pushed out of the car. She plodded and splashed through the rain, peered into windows. Shivering a little, she turned back, shook her soaking head, then groaned when Eve jerked a thumb toward the apartment over the shop. Resigned, Peabody trudged around the side, climbed a set of rickety metal stairs. Moments later, she was back, streaming water.

“No answer,” she told Eve. “Minimal security. Unless you count the swatch of Saint-John’s-wort over the entrance.”

“She has a swatch of warts? That’s disgusting.”

“Not warts.” Despite her wet uniform and dripping hair, Peabody indulged in a good laugh. “It’s a plant. Saint-John’s-wort.” Amused enough, she dug into her pocket for her sprig. “Like this. It’s for protection. Guards against evil.”

“You carry plants in your pocket, Officer?”

“I do now.” Peabody pushed it back in her pocket. “Want some?”

“No, thanks, I prefer trusting my weapon to guard against evil.”

“I consider this my clutch piece.”

“Whatever works for you.” Eve scanned the area. “Let’s try that cafe place across the street. Maybe they know why she’s closed in the middle of a business morning.”

“Maybe they’ve got decent coffee,” Peabody said and sneezed twice, hard. “If I catch a cold, I’ll kill myself. It takes me weeks to throw one of those suckers off.”

“Maybe you need a plant to cart around that wards off common germs.” Leaving it at that, Eve hopped out of the car, coded the locks, and jogged across the street into Coffee Ole.

The stab at a Mexican theme wasn’t bad, she decided. Bright colors — heavy on orange — gave it a sunny appearance even on a filthy day. It might have fallen far short of Roarke’s gorgeous villa on the west coast of Mexico, but it had a certain tacky charm with its plastic flowers and papier-mache bulls. Bright mariachi music piped through the speakers.

Either the rain or the ambiance had brought in a crowd. But as Eve scanned the room, she noted that the people packed around tables weren’t wolfing down plates of enchiladas. Most were huddled over single stingy cups of what smelled remotely like overboiled soy coffee.

“Baseball’s closing in on the league titles, isn’t it, Peabody?”

Peabody sneezed again. “Baseball? I guess. Arena ball’s my game.”

“Uh-huh. Seems to me there a pennant race going on. Pivotal game today. I imagine lots of money’s going to change hands.”

Peabody’s head was starting to feel stuffy — a very bad sign — but it was still clear enough for her to latch on. “You figure this is a front, an illegal betting parlor.”

“Just a hunch. We may be able to use it.” She sidled up to the counter, tagged a harassed-looking man. Short of stature, dark of complexion, weary of eye.

“Eat in or carry out?”

“Neither,” she began, then relented as she heard Peabody sniffle. “One coffee, for her. And a couple of answers.”

“I’ve got coffee.” He swiveled around to plug thick dark brew into a cup barely bigger than a thimble. “I got no answers.”

“Maybe you should hear the questions.”

“Lady, I got a full house here. I serve coffee. I got no time for conversation.” He dumped the cup on the counter and would have backed away, but Eve snagged his wrist. “What are the house odds on the game today?”

His eyes shifted left and right before settling on her face. But he’d spotted Peabody and her uniform. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know, if me and my pal here settle in for a few hours, your business is going into the recycler. Personally, I don’t give a good damn about your business, any of your business. But I could.” Still holding his wrist, she turned her head and stared hard at two of the men seated at the counter.

It took less than ten seconds for them to decide to drink coffee elsewhere. “How long do you think it’d take me to clear this place out?”

“What do you want? I make my contribution. I’m covered.”

She let him go. It annoyed her to find out that he had cop protection. Didn’t surprise her, just annoyed. “I’m not going to interfere unless you irritate me. Tell me about the shop across the street. Spirit Quest.”

He snorted, visibly relaxed. She wasn’t after him. Feeling cooperative, he refilled Peabody’s cup, then picked up a rag and wiped the counter. He ran a clean place. “The witch? She don’t come in here. Don’t drink coffee, if you know what I mean.”

“She’s closed today.”

“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes to try to see through the window, through the rain. “Not usually.”

“When did you see her last?”

“Shit.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Let’s see. Seems I saw her yesterday. Closing time? Yeah, yeah, she closes about six, and I was washing the front windows. You gotta keep on the windows in this city. Dirt just jumps right on them.”

“I bet. She closed about six. Then what?”

“Went off with that guy she lives with. Walking. They don’t got transpo.”

“You haven’t seen her today?”

“Now that you mention it, guess not. She lives up above, you know. Me, I live across town. Keep business and personal life separate, that’s my motto.”

“Any of her people ever come over here?”

“Nah. Some of her customers, sure. And some of mine go over there looking for lucky charms. We bump along okay. She ain’t no problem for me. Even bought the wife a birthday present over there. Pretty little bracelet, colored stones. Kinda stiff in the price, but women like that glitter shit.”

He tossed the rag aside and ignored the request for coffee from down the counter. “Look, she in trouble? She’s okay in my book. Weird maybe, but ain’t no harm in her.”

“What do you know about the girl who used to work there? Young girl, about eighteen. Blonde.”

“The spooky one? Sure, I used to see her come and go. Always looking over her shoulder that one, like somebody was going to jump out and say boo.”

Someone did, Eve thought. “Thanks. If you see Isis come back today, give me a call.” She slipped a card onto the counter along with credits for the coffee.

“No problem. Wouldn’t like to see her get in trouble, though. She’s okay for a whacko. Hey.” He lifted a finger as Eve started to turn. “Speaking of whackos, I saw one a couple of nights ago when I was closing up.”

“What sort of whacko?”

“Just a guy. Well, might have been a woman. Couldn’t tell ‘cause they was all wrapped up in this black robe, hood and everything. Just standing there on the curb, staring across the street at her place. Just standing and staring. Gave me the creeps. I walked the other way. Twice as far to the bus stop, but I didn’t like the feel of it. And you know what? I looked back, and there wasn’t no one there. Nothing but a damn cat. Whacko, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eve murmured. “Whacko.”

“I saw a cat,” Peabody began when they headed back to the car, “on the street when Alice was killed.”

“There are lots of cats in the city.”

But Eve remembered the one on the ramp. Sleek and black and mean. “We’ll follow up with Isis later. I want to check with the ME before I feed the statement to the media.” She uncoded the car as Peabody sneezed again. “Maybe he’ll have something for that cold.”

Peabody rubbed her hand under her nose. “I’d just as soon stop by a pharmacy, if you don’t mind. I don’t want Dr. Death treating me until absolutely necessary.”

After she was back in her office and Peabody was off changing into a dry uniform and dosing herself with a small fortune of over-the-counters, Eve studied the autopsy report on Lobar.

She’d had the time of death right in the prelim, and the cause. Then again, she mused, it was tough to miss a mile-wide gash in the throat and a crater in the chest. And, fancy that, there had been traces of a hallucinogen, a stimulant, and a mind hazer — all of the illegals variety — in his bloodstream.

So he’d died sexually fulfilled and zoned. Some, she imagined, would say that wasn’t such a bad deal. But then, most of them hadn’t had a knife raked over their throats.

She lifted the sealed weapon, studied it. No prints, of course, and none expected. No blood on it but for the victim’s. She studied the carved black handle, scanning the symbols and letters that meant nothing to her. It appeared to be old and rare, but she doubted that would help her pin ownership. The blade was under legal limit, required no registration.

Still, she would check antique shops, knife shops, and, she supposed, witch shops. That would only take weeks, she thought in disgust, and was unlikely to lead anywhere.

Since she had twenty minutes before she had to face the media, she turned to her machine and got started. She’d no more than plugged in the description of the weapon when Feeney walked in, shut her door.

“Heard you had a rude awakening this morning.”

“Yeah.” Her stomach clutched, not in memory of what had come into her home, but at knowing she would have to weigh every word with him. “Not the kind of package I like to receive.”

“You need help on it?” He smiled wanly. “I’m looking for busy work.”

“I’ve got it covered for now, but I’ll let you know.”

He paced to her narrow window, back to her door. He looked exhausted, she thought. So tired. So sad.

“What’s the story? Did you know the guy?”

“Not really.” Oh, Christ, what did she do here? “I’d talked to him once about a case I was on. Didn’t pan out. Could be he knew more than he was telling me. It’s going to be hard to say now.” She took a deep breath, hating herself. “I figure it was someone who wanted to take a swipe at me or Roarke. Most cops can keep their home addresses quiet. I can’t.” She shrugged.

“Price you pay for falling for a public figure. You happy?” he said abruptly and turned to study her face.

“Sure.” She wondered if guilt was plastered on her forehead like a neon sign.

“Good. Good.” He paced again, jiggling the bag of nuts he habitually carried in his pocket and no longer seemed to have the appetite for. “It’s tough to be on the job and make a decent personal life. Frank did.”

“I know.”

“Alice’s viewing is tonight. You going to make it?”

“I don’t know, Feeney. I’ll try.”

“It rips me, Dallas. It really rips me. My wife’s with Brenda now. She’s wrecked. Just wrecked. I couldn’t handle it anymore so I came in. But I can’t focus.”

“Why don’t you go back home, Feeney?” She rose, reached out to touch his arm. “Just go home. Maybe you and your wife could go away for a few days. You’ve got the time coming. Get away from this.”

“Maybe.” His eyes were bleak, heavy with bags. “But where do you go to get away from what’s always there?”

“Listen, Roarke’s got this place in Mexico. It’s great.” She was fumbling and knew it, desperate to give. “It’s got a monster view, and it’s fully equipped. It would be.” She managed a smile. “It’s Roarke’s. I’ll square it with him. You can go there, take your family.”

“Take the family.” He repeated it slowly, finding the idea was almost soothing. “Maybe I will. You never seem to make time to be with your family. I’ll think about it,” he decided. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. It’s Roarke. It’s just there.” She turned blindly toward her desk. “I’m sorry, Feeney, I’ve got to get it together for a media statement.”

“Sure.” He worked up a smile for her. “I know how much you love that. I’ll let you know about using the place.”

“Yeah, do that.” She stared hard at her screen until he went out. She’d followed orders, she reminded herself. She’d done the right thing.

So why did it make her feel like a traitor?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She made the tail end of the viewing, grateful that Roarke had come with her. It was too familiar, the same memorial parlor, the same scents, many of the same people.

“I hate this,” she murmured. “Sanitized death.”

“It comforts.”

Eve looked over to where Brenda was supported by her mother and her son while tears ran slowly down her cheeks. She had the glazed and delicate look of the heavily medicated.

“Does it?”

“It closes,” he corrected and took her cold hand in his. “For some.”

“When it’s my turn, don’t do this. Recycle the parts, burn the rest. Get it done.”

He felt the fist clutch around his heart and gave her hand a hard squeeze. “Don’t.”

“Sorry. I tend to have morbid thoughts in places like this. Well.” Her room scan stopped when she spotted Isis. “There’s my witch.”

Roarke followed her gaze and studied the imposing woman with flame-colored hair and wearing a simple robe of pure white. She stood by the viewing box beside a man a full head shorter than she. He wore a plain, almost conservative suit, also in white. Their fingers were linked.

“The man with her?”

“I don’t know him. Might be a member of her sect or whatever. Let’s check it out.”

They moved across the room and by tacit agreement, flanked the couple. Eve looked down at Alice first, at the young face, composed now. Death had a way of relaxing the features. After the insult had passed.

“She’s not here.” Isis spoke quietly. “Her spirit still searches for peace. I’d hoped… I’d hoped to find her here. I’m sorry I missed you today, Dallas. We were closed in Alice’s memory.”

“You weren’t at home, either.”

“No, we gathered at another place, for our own ceremony. The man across the street told me you’d been looking for me.” A faint smile wisped around her mouth. “He was concerned that I had a cop on my trail. He has a good heart, despite a certain imbalance.”

She stepped back to introduce the man beside her. “This is Chas. My mate.”

Training kept Eve’s eyes bland, but she was surprised. He was as ordinary as Isis was spectacular. His hair was a washed-out blond, thin in texture. His body was almost fragile, narrow in the shoulders, short in the leg. His square, unremarkable face was stopped just short of homely by a pair of surprisingly lovely deep gray eyes. When he smiled, it was with a sweetness that demanded a smile in return.

“I’m sorry to meet you under such sad circumstances. Isis told me you were a very strong and purposeful soul. I see she was right, as always.”

She nearly blinked at his voice. It was a deep, creamy baritone any opera singer would have wept for. She caught herself watching his mouth move and imagining a ventriloquist’s dummy. It wasn’t a voice that should have come out of that body and that face.

“I need to talk to you both as soon as possible.” She glanced around, wished for a discreet way to slip out and conduct an interview. It would have to wait. “This is Roarke.”

“Yes, I know.” Isis offered a hand. “We’ve met before.”

“Have we?” His smile was politely curious. “I can’t imagine forgetting meeting a beautiful woman.”

“Another time, another place.” Her eyes stayed on his. “Another life. You saved mine once.”

“That was wise of me.”

“Yes, it was. And kind. Perhaps someday you’ll revisit the county of Cork and see a small stone dance alone in a fallow field… and you’ll remember.” She slipped the silver cross she wore off her neck, handed it to him. “You gave me a talisman then. Similar to this Celtic cross. I suppose that’s why I wore it tonight. To close a circle.”

The metal was warmer against his hand than it should have been, and it stirred something in cloudy memory he didn’t care to explore. “Thank you.” He slipped it into his pocket.

“One day I may return the favor you did me.” She turned to Eve then. “I’ll speak with you whenever you like. Chas?”

“Of course, whenever it’s convenient for you, Lieutenant Dallas. Will you attend our ceremony? We’d very much like to share it with you. Night after next. We have a small place upstate. It’s quiet and private and, when the weather cooperates, perfect for outdoor rites. I hope you — ”

He broke off, his stunning eyes going dark. His thin body shifting to what Eve recognized immediately as a guard stance. “He’s not one of us,” he said.

She glanced around, spotted a man in a dark suit. His face was cell-block white and framed by a black wedge of hair. The suit was expensive, his skin wan, making him appear both sickly and successful.

He started toward the viewing box, saw the group already there. In one jerky move he turned on his heel and hurried out.

“I’ll check it out.”

She was moving quickly when Roarke caught up with her. “We’ll check it out.”

“It would be better if you stayed inside with them.”

“I’m staying with you.”

She only shot him a frustrated look. “Don’t cramp my style.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The retreating man was nearly at a run as he hit the door. Eve only had to touch his arm to have him jolt. “What? What do you want?” He whirled, pressing the door for release, backing out of it into the rainy night. “I haven’t done anything.”

“No? He sure looks guilty for an innocent man, doesn’t he?” She took a firmer grip on his arm to keep him from rabbiting away. “Maybe you should show me some ID.”

“I don’t have to show you anything.”

“It’s not necessary,” Roarke said smoothly. He’d gotten a better look now. “Thomas Wineburg, isn’t it? Of Wineburg Financial. You’ve nabbed yourself a deadly type here, Lieutenant. A banker. Third generation. Or is it fourth?”

“It’s fifth,” Wineburg said, struggling to look down his narrow nose at what his family would consider new and not quite decent money. “And I’ve done nothing to warrant being accosted by a police officer and a financial rogue.”

“I’m the cop,” Eve decided glancing at Roarke. “You must be the financial rogue.”

“He’s just mad because I don’t use his bank.” Roarke flashed a wolfish grin. “Aren’t you, Tommy?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, then, you can talk to me. What’s the rush?”

“I — I have an appointment I’d forgotten. I’m quite late.”

“Then a couple more minutes won’t matter. Are you a friend of the deceased’s family?”

“No.”

“Oh, I get it, you just like to while away a rainy evening at a viewing parlor. I’ve heard that’s the coming thing for singles.”

“I — I’d mistook the address.”

“I don’t think so. What did you come to see? Or who?”

“I — ” His eyes widened when Isis and Chas stepped out. “Stay away from me.”

“I’m sorry, Dallas. We were concerned when you didn’t come back.” Isis turned her exotic eyes on Wineburg. “Your aura is dark and muddy. You dabble without belief. Toy with power beyond your scope. If you don’t change your path, you damn yourself.”

“Keep her away from me.” Straining against Eve’s grip, Wineburg cringed back.

“She’s not hurting you. What do you know about Alice’s death, Wineburg?”

“I don’t know anything.” His voice went shrill. “I don’t know anything about anything. I mistook the address. I have an appointment. You can’t hold me.”

No, she couldn’t, but she could scare the hell out of him. “I could take you down to Central, play with you awhile before your representative managed to get there. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I haven’t done anything.” To Eve’s surprise and mild disgust, he began to sob like a baby. “You have to let me go. I’m not part of this.”

“Part of what?”

“It was just for sex. That’s all. Just for sex. I didn’t know anybody would die. Blood everywhere. Everywhere. Dear God. I didn’t know.”

“Where? What have you seen?”

He continued to sob, and when she started to shift her grip, he rammed his bony elbow hard into her gut, sending her flying violently back into Roarke so that they both hit the pavement.

Later, she could curse herself for letting him catch her off guard with his sniveling. But for now, she scrambled up, struggling to suck in air and gave chase.

Son of a bitch. She could only think it. He’d knocked the wind out of her and prevented her from swearing aloud or shouting out an order for him to freeze.

She reached for her weapon just as he dove into an underground garage and darted into the forest of vehicles.

“Shit.” She had enough air for that, then snarled at Roarke as he rushed in behind her. “Get out. Damn it, he’s probably not armed, but you’re sure as hell not. Call it in if you want to do something.”

“The day I let a pissant banker knock me on my ass and walk away has not come.” He veered off to circle around and left her scowling at him.

The security lights were blinding, but the opportunity for cover was endless. Echoes of running footsteps bounced off the floor and walls and ceiling. Trusting instinct, she moved left.

“Wineburg, you aren’t helping yourself. You’ve got assaulting an officer on you now. You come out without making me dig you out, I might cut you a break.”

Crouched, she swung toward the narrow opening between cars, scanned under, behind, moved on.

“Roarke, hold still a minute, goddamn it, so I can tag location.” The echoes softened a bit, allowing her to strain her ears and venture farther to the left at running speed. He was heading up, she decided, hoping to lose himself on the next level.

She darted up the first ramp, then whirled and braced, weapon aimed, when footsteps pounded behind her. “I should have known,” was all she said as Roarke passed her. She dug in and continued pursuit. “He’s heading up,” she snapped out. “He keeps going, he’ll corner himself. All the idiot has to do is stop, lay low. It would take a fucking platoon to find him in here.”

“He’s scared. When you’re scared, you run away.” He glanced at Eve, and felt ridiculously exhilarated as they hit the next ramp. “Or some do.”

Then the footsteps silenced. Eve threw out an arm to hold Roarke in place, held her breath as she strained to hear. “What is that?” she whispered. “What the hell is that sound?”

“Chanting.”

Her heart jumped. “Jesus Christ.” She broke into a fresh run just as one long, terrified scream ripped the air. It seemed to go on, endlessly, high and inhuman and horrible. Then it snapped off into silence. She dragged out her communicator without breaking stride. “Officer needs assistance. Officer needs assistance, parking garage, Forty-ninth and Second. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve in pursuit of… Goddamn it.”

“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, please say again.”

She didn’t bother to stare at the body spread in a growing pool of blood on the concrete floor. One glance at the terrified, wide eyes and the carved hilt of a knife plunged into the heart had been enough to determine death.

Wineburg had run the wrong way.

“I need backup, immediately. I’ve got a homicide. Perpetrator or perpetrators possibly still on premises. Dispatch all available units to this address for blockade and search. I need a field kit and my aide.”

“Received. Units en route. Dispatch out.”

“I’ve got to look,” she said to Roarke.

“Understood.”

“I don’t have my clutch piece or I’d give it to you. I need you to stay here, with the body.”

Roarke looked down at Wineburg and felt a stir of pity. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“I need you to stay here,” she repeated. “In case they come back this way. Don’t be a hero.”

He nodded. “You, either.”

She took one last glance at the body. “Fuck,” she said wearily. “I should have had a better grip on him.”

She moved off slowly, scanning cars and corners, but without much hope.

He’d watched her work before, studied and admired the efficient, concentrated field she created around the dead. Roarke wondered if she fully understood why she did it, or how she could, while examining a lifeless, violently dispatched body with such clear-cut objectivity, see through the pity that haunted her eyes.

He’d never asked her. He doubted he ever would.

He watched her order Peabody to record the scene from a different angle, saw her jerk her thumb at a uniform — obviously a rookie who wasn’t holding up well. Sending him off on an errand, Roarke imagined, so he could be sick in private.

Some of them never got used to the blood or the smell of bladder and bowels releasing with death.

The lights were viciously bright, merciless, really. The heart wound had bled profusely. She’d worn heels and a little black suit to the viewing. Of course, she would ruin both now. She was kneeling beside the body, tearing her stockings on the concrete and removing the murder weapon now that the scene had been duly recorded.

She sealed it, bagged it for evidence, but he’d gotten a good look at it. The handle was a deep brown, possibly horn of some sort. Yet there had been no mistaking its similarity to the one left at the last murder. An athame. The knife of ritual.

“Bad business.”

Roarke made a sound of assent as Feeney walked up to him. The man looked uncharacteristically fragile, Roarke observed. Eve was right to be concerned about him.

“You know anything about it? I’m not getting much buzz except that Dallas was talking to him outside, he ran, and ended up dead.”

“That’s about it. He seemed nervous about something. Apparently he had reason to be.” It wasn’t a place they could go together, Roarke decided and shifted away from it. “I hope you’ll take Eve up on the offer of the house in Mexico.”

“I’ll talk it over with my wife. I appreciate it.” Then he moved his shoulders. “I guess she doesn’t need me here. I should get home.” But he studied the scene another minute. Behind the fatigue in his eyes lurked the cop. “Screwy business. Some guy getting stuck in here. Fancy knife took out that stiff left at your place last night, too, right?”

“The other had a black handle. Some sort of metal, I think.”

“Yeah, well…” He rocked back on his heels a moment. “I’d better head home.”

He crossed to Eve, careful to avoid getting too close in his untreated shoes. She looked up, distracted, wiping the blood off her sealed hands with a rag.

And she watched him walk away until he was out of sight.