Ceremony in Death (12 page)

“Tough when you’re sitting on it.”

“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Automatically, Peabody wiped off the grin and assumed a blank, professional expression. “I don’t see Nadine,” she murmured.

“She’s around.” Eve hit the remote for the gates. “Furst wouldn’t miss this one.” She timed it, opening the gates seconds before the nose of the car would have brushed iron. Reporters streamed forward, engulfing the car, aiming their cameras, shouting their questions. One or two were ballsy or stupid enough to step onto private property. Eve took note, switched the volume on her outside speakers to blast.

“The investigation is ongoing,” she announced. “There will be an official statement at noon. Any media representative who trespasses on this property will not only be prosecuted but will be blocked from all data.”

She all but slammed the gates on scrambling feet. “Where the hell are the uniforms I left on duty?”

“Probably eaten alive by now.” Peabody stared through the reporter who plastered himself against her side of the windshield. “This one’s kind of cute, Lieutenant. Try not to damage his face.”

“His choice.” She kept driving. Someone bounced off her fender and cursed. There was a slight bump, and a very loud scream.

“That’s ten points for the foot,” Peabody commented, secretly thrilled. “See if you can swipe that one there. The woman with the yard of legs in the green suit. That’ll get you five more.”

The reporter clinging to the windshield slid off as Eve juggled the wheel. “Missed her. Well, can’t win them all.”

“Peabody.” Eve shook her head, hit the accelerator, and headed downtown. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

She wanted to see Whitney first, but wasn’t surprised to find Nadine waiting in ambush at the first-level interior glide at Central.

“Busy night, Dallas.”

“That’s right, and I’m still busy. There’ll be a press release by noon.”

“You can give me something now.” Nadine elbowed her way onto the glide. She wasn’t a big woman, but she was a sneaky one. You didn’t get to be one of the top on-air reporters in the city without some quick moves. “Just a nibble, Dallas. Something I can take to the public for my ten o’clock bumper.”

“Dead guy,” Eve said shortly, “identification withheld until next of kin are notified.”

“So you know who he was. Got any leads on who opened his throat?”

“My professional opinion would be someone with a sharp implement,” Eve said dryly.

“Um-hmm.” Nadine’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a rumor rolling around that there was a message left at the scene. And that it was a ritual killing.”

Goddamn leaks. “I can’t comment on that.”

“Wait a minute.” At the top of the glide, Nadine took Eve’s arm. “You want me to hold something, you know I’ll hold it. Give me something, and let me work.”

Trusting the media was a dicey business, but she’d trusted Nadine before. To their mutual benefit. As a research tool, Eve knew Nadine was a finely honed instrument. “If it was a ritual killing, which is not substantiated and not for broadcast, my next step would be to gather all pertinent data on established cults and their members — registered and otherwise — in the city.”

“There are all kinds of cults, Dallas.”

“Then you’d better get busy.” She shook her arm free before dropping one more crumb. “Funny, cult must be the root word for occult. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

“Maybe it is.” Nadine swung to the downward glide. “I’ll let you know.”

“That was tidy,” Peabody decided.

“Let’s hope it stays that way. I’m for Whitney. I want you to find out the names of every uniform that was on scene this morning. I want to have a talk about internal security with every one of them.”

“Ouch.”

“Damn right,” Eve muttered and stalked to the elevator.

Whitney didn’t make her wait. She noted as she took her seat in his office that he didn’t appear to have slept any more than she the night before.

“Internal Affairs is beefing on the Wojinski matter. They’re pushing for an official investigation.”

“You can’t hold them off.”

“Not past end of shift today.”

“My report should help.” She took a disc out of her bag. “There is absolutely no evidence that DS Wojinsky was using illegals. There’s every indication that he was running his own sting on Selina Cross. His reasons were personal, Commander, but even IAD should understand them. I have Alice’s statement, recorded, and fully transcribed in the report. In my opinion, she had been drugged, and her… naivete exploited. She was used sexually. She became involved with the cult established by Selina Cross and Alban. And when she broke with them, she was threatened, and she was frightened. Eventually, she went to Frank.”

“Why did she break loose?”

“She claims she witnessed the ritual slaying of a child.”

“What?” His knuckles went white as he surged up from his desk. “She witnessed a murder, reported this to Frank, and he didn’t file?”

“She waited some time before telling him, Commander. There was no evidence to support her allegations. I can’t substantiate them now. But I can say that Alice believed she saw the killing. And she was terrified for her life. She also felt she was responsible for the death of her grandfather. She believed, strongly, that he had been murdered because of his private investigation of Selina Cross. Her claim was that Selina Cross has expert knowledge of chemicals and essentially poisoned Frank.”

“We don’t have enough to prove foul play.”

“Not yet. Alice was certain she would be next, and she died the same night she gave her statement to me. She also claimed Cross was a shape-shifter.”

“Excuse me?”

“She believed that Cross could take other forms. A raven, for one.”

“She thought Cross could become a crow and fly? Jesus, Dallas, the boys in IAD are going to love that one.”

“It doesn’t have to be real for her to have believed it. She was a terrified young girl, tormented by these people. I found a black feather on her windowsill the night she died — a simulated feather, and there was a threatening message on her ‘link. They were tormenting her, Commander. There’s no mistake there. What Frank did, he did to try to protect his family. Maybe he went about it wrong, but he was a good cop. He died a good cop. IAD isn’t going to change that.”

“We’ll make sure they don’t.” He locked the disc away. “For now, this stays here.”

“Feeney — “

“Not at this time, Lieutenant.”

Damn if she’d be brushed off like a fly, she thought, and set her jaw, “Commander, my investigation to this point discloses absolutely no connection between DS Wojinski’s private investigation and Captain Feeney. I can find no evidence that Feeney tampered with any records for Frank.”

“Do you actually believe Feeney would leave evidence, Dallas?”

She kept her eyes level. “I’d know if he was involved. He’s grieving for both his friend and his goddaughter, and he doesn’t know anything other than the official line on either. He doesn’t know, Commander, and he has a right to.”

It was going to cost them, Whitney knew. All of them. But it couldn’t be helped. “I can’t take his personal rights into consideration, Lieutenant. Believe me, IAD won’t. All data here is on need-to-know only. It’s a rough spot. You’ll have to handle it.”

It ate a hole in her gut, but she nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

“What connection is this to the body left outside your home this morning?”

Left with no choice, she fell back on training and delivered data. “Robert Mathias, known as Lobar, white male, eighteen years. My report on cause of death is the throat wound, but the body was also mutilated. The victim was a member of Cross’s cult. I also interviewed him last night at his place of employment. A club called The Athame, owned by Selina Cross.”

“People you talk to are ending up dead very quickly, Dallas.”

“He was Cross’s alibi for the night Alice was killed. Hers and Alban’s. He corroborated this during questioning.” She opened her bag. “He wasn’t killed at the scene, and he was left there in a manner designed to indicate a ritual killing.” She placed one of the death stills on Whitney’s desk.

“The murder weapon was likely the knife he’s got stuck in his groin. It’s an athame — a ritual knife. Supposedly, Wiccans dull the blade and use it only for symbolism.” She took out another shot, a close-up of the note. “The message appears to indicate the murder was done by an enemy of the Church of Satan.”

“Church of Satan,” Whitney muttered. The death photo didn’t sicken him, it tired him. He’d seen far too many. “The ultimate oxymoron. Someone took a dislike to the practices and took him out.”

“The scene was set that way. It’s possible, and I’ve got a couple of lines I can tug on that angle.”

He looked up from the photo. “You’re thinking Cross had a hand in this. She’d execute her own alibi.”

“She’d execute her own progeny if she had any. I think she’s smart,” Eve continued. “And I think she’s crazy. I’ll be consulting with Mira on that end. But I also think she’d get a real bang out of doing this, out of rubbing it in my face. She didn’t need him anymore. I had his statement.”

Whitney nodded, pushed the photos back to her. “Talk to her again. And this Alban.”

“Yes, sir.” She put the photos away. “There’s more. It’s… delicate.”

“What?”

“I’ve deleted any reference to this from the official report. Slightly altered the timing. For the record, Roarke and I were awakened by the security alarm, which was tripped when the body was placed against the perimeter wall. Off the record, we didn’t discover the body initially. Jamie Lingstrom did.”

“Jesus,” Whitney said after a long minute. He pressed his fingers over his eyes. “How?”

Eve cleared her throat and gave a quick and concise report of everything that took place after the alarm. She concluded with what Jamie had told her at the breakfast table.

“I don’t know how much of that you want to feed to IAD. Jamie’s statement corroborates Alice’s contention that Frank was trying to trap Cross.”

“I’ll filter out what I can.” He continued to rub his eyes. “First his granddaughter, now his grandson.”

“I think I shook him enough to keep him in line.”

“Dallas, teenagers are remarkably hard to shake. I’ve been there.”

“I do want him to have some protection, as well as surveillance. Using my own judgment, I’m arranging for this privately.”

Whitney lifted a brow. “You mean Roarke’s arranging it?”

Eve folded her hands. “The boy will be watched.”

“We’ll leave it at that.” He leaned back. “A homemade, hand-held jammer, you said? One the kid jerry-rigged that managed to bypass the outer layers of the security on that fortress you live in?”

“So it would seem.”

“Where is it? You didn’t give it back to him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she said as if she’d been slapped on the wrist. “Roarke has it.” And as she completed the sentence, and the thought, her training slipped enough for her to wince.

“Roarke has it.” Despite the situation, Whitney threw back his head and laughed. “Oh that’s rich. You gave the wolf the key to the henhouse.” He caught her narrow-eyed scowl and muffled the next chuckle. “Just trying for a little levity, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Ha ha. I’ll get it back.”

“No offense, Dallas, but if you’re taking bets, I’ve got a hundred I’ll put on Roarke. In any case, unofficially, the department appreciates his assistance and cooperation.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t relay that. It’ll only go to his head.” Recognizing dismissal, she rose. “Commander, Frank was clean. IAD is going to confirm that. Whether his death was of natural causes or induced is going to be more difficult to establish. I could use Captain Feeney.”

“You know you don’t need Feeney on this, Dallas, not in an investigative sense. I appreciate your feelings, but this stays here until further notice. You might find yourself sitting in this chair one day,” he said and watched her brow furrow in surprise. “Difficult decisions sit here with you. And giving unpleasant orders is every bit as frustrating as taking them. Keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.” She walked out, knowing that she didn’t want his chair, his rank, or his responsibilities.

CHAPTER TEN

Her first duty was to inform Lobar’s next of kin. Once it was done, Eve spent a few moments pondering family. They hadn’t cared. The woman’s face on-screen had stayed blank, as if Eve had informed her of the death of a stranger rather than a son she had birthed and raised. She had thanked Eve politely, asked no questions, agreed that the remains be sent home when released.

They would, she’d said, give him a decent, Christian burial.

She imagined they would have done the same for a family pet.

What calcified the feelings to that extent? she wondered. If there had been feelings to begin with. What made one mother grieve so pitifully, as Alice’s mother was, and another take the news of her child’s death without a single tear?

What had her own mother felt on her birth? Had she been happy, or simply relieved to have the nine-month intruder finally evicted from her body?

She had no memory of a mother, not even some shadowy female form in her life. Only of her father, of the man who had dragged her from place to place, kept her in locked rooms. Who had raped her. And the memories of him, after so many years of denial, were much too clear.

Perhaps some people were fated to survive without family, she thought. Or simply to survive them.

Because her thoughts were dark, it was with mixed feelings she called Dr. Mira’s office for a consultation. After she’d managed to intimidate Mira’s assistant into squeezing her in the next day, she grabbed her bag, beeped Peabody, and headed out.

She didn’t miss Peabody’s wary expression as they pulled up in front of Selina’s apartment, but she ignored it. It was starting to rain, a nasty, surprisingly cold drip out of suddenly leaden skies. The wind was up, whistling down the long canyon of street and biting where it struck exposed flesh.

On the opposite sidewalk, a man rushed east, huddled under a black umbrella. He turned quickly into a shop with a grinning skull and the words The Arcane painted on the door.

“Perfect day to pay a visit to Satan’s handmaid.” Peabody strained for false cheer and surreptitiously fingered a bit of Saint-John’s-wort she’d stuck in her pocket. Her mother’s advice for protection against black magic. The stalwart Peabody had discovered she believed in witches after all.

They went through the same routine with security, only the wait was longer and more unpleasant as the rain began to stream down in earnest. Nasty forks of lightning jabbed at the sky, their tines bright bloodred at the edges.

Eve glanced up, then back at her aide. Her smile was hard and cold. “Yeah, perfect.”

They trailed water into the lobby, into the elevator, and into the foyer of Selina Cross’s apartment.

And it was Alban who greeted them. “Lieutenant Dallas.” He offered a beautifully sculptured hand graced with a single ring of thick brushed silver. “I’m Alban, Selina’s companion. I’m afraid she’s meditating at the moment. I hesitate to disturb her.”

“Let her meditate. You’ll do for now.”

“Well then, come in and sit down. Please.” His manner was sophisticated, faintly formal, and at odds with the barechested black leather unisuit he wore. “Can I get you something? Some tea perhaps to ward off the chill. Such an interesting change in the weather.”

“Nothing.” Eve thought she’d have preferred a quick hit of Zeus to anything brewed in that place.

The gloom suited it, she decided. The dank light, the wicked hiss of rain and wind on the windows. Then there was Alban, with his pretty poet’s face and warrior god body. A perfect fallen angel.

“I’d like your whereabouts for last night between the hours of three hundred and five hundred hours.”

“Three and five a.m.?” He blinked as if translating the military time. “Last night — or this morning, rather. Why, here. I think we got back from the club a bit before two. We haven’t been out yet today.”

“We?”

“Selina and myself. We had a coven meeting, which concluded around three. We cut it a little short as Selina wasn’t feeling herself. Normally, we might entertain afterwards, or continue with a smaller, more private rite.”

“But you didn’t do so last night.”

“No. As I said, Selina wasn’t feeling well, so we went to bed early. Early for us,” he explained with a smile. “We’re night people.”

“Who attended the coven meeting?”

His smile shifted into a serious, almost studious expression. “Lieutenant, religion is a private matter. And still in this day and age, one such as ours is persecuted. Our membership prefers discretion.”

“One of your membership was indiscreetly murdered last night.”

“No.” He rose, slowly, keeping his hand braced on the arm of his chair as if unsteady. “I knew it was something horrible. She was so disturbed.” He took a deep breath as if preparing both mind and body. “Who?”

“Lobar.” Selina said the name as she stepped through a narrow archway. She was deathly pale, her cat’s eyes shadowed. She wore her black hair loose today, with a wide dip over generous breasts. “It was Lobar,” she repeated. “I saw it just now, in the smoke, Alban.” She pressed a hand to her head, swayed.

“Quite a show,” Eve murmured as Alban rushed across the room to catch her, to hold her against him. “You saw it in the smoke.” Eve cocked her head. “That’s handy. Maybe I should take a look at the smoke myself, see who cut his throat.”

“There’s nothing in the smoke for you but your own ignorance.” Leaning on Alban, Selina walked slowly to the sofa. She sat with a rustle of her robes, lifted a hand to Alban’s. “I’m all right.”

“My love.” He brought her hand to his lips. “I’ll get you a soother.”

“Yes, yes, thank you.”

She bowed her head while he went quietly out. Oh, it was hard to keep a cat grin off her face, to stop the glorious images from playing back in her brain of the rite, the sacrifice, the blood.

And only she and Alban knew of the excitement, the power of that moment when Lobar had been offered to the master.

Only she fully understood the thrill of making that sacrifice with her own hand. She shuddered once with dark pleasure, stirred by the memory. The way Lobar’s eyes had met hers, the way the athame had fit cold in her hand. Then the hot fountain of blood when she’d used it.

Imagining the shock, the fury Eve must have felt when she’d found Lobar so carefully positioned at the entrance to her own sanctuary, Selina nearly snickered. She pressed her fingers to her lips a moment, as if holding back a sob.

Alban was a genius, she thought, for truly only a genius would have created such beautiful irony.

“Visions can be a blessing or a curse.” She continued in a voice strained with weariness. “I prefer to think of them as blessings, even when they cause me sorrow. Lobar is a heavy loss.”

“Laying it thick, aren’t you?”

Selina’s head shot up, and her eyes glimmered with something more of hate than grief. “Don’t mock my feelings, Dallas. Do you think power such as mine means I don’t have them? I feel, I experience. I bleed,” she added and, with a lightning movement, raked one of her long, lethal nails over her own palm. Blood welled dark and red.

“A demonstration wasn’t necessary,” Eve said easily. “I know you bleed. Lobar certainly did.”

“His throat. Yes, that’s what I saw in the smoke.” She reached out for Alban when he came in, carrying a shallow silver bowl. “But there was more. Something else.” She took the bowl, tipped it up to her lips. “Mutilation. Oh, how they despise us.”

“They?”

“The weak and the white.”

She took a black swatch of cloth from the pocket of her robe, passed it to Alban. He lifted her injured hand, raised it to his lips. With quick efficiently, he bound up her wounded palm. Selina never spared him a glance.

“Those who view our master with hate,” she continued. “And more, those who practice the magic of the foolish.”

“So, in your opinion, this was a religious murder?”

“Of course; I have no doubt.” She finished the soother, set the bowl aside. “Do you?”

“Quite a number of them; but then, I have to investigate the old-fashioned way. I can’t call up the devil and ask for a consult. Lobar was here last night.”

“Yes, until nearly three. He would have taken the mark soon.” Selina sighed, idly running her red-tipped nails up and down Alban’s arm. “One of his last acts was to join his body with mine.”

“You had sex with him last night.”

“Yes. Sex is an important part of our rituals. I chose him last night.” She shuddered again because the choice had been hers. And the deed. “Something must have told me.”

“A bird maybe. A big black bird.” Lifting a brow, Eve studied Alban. “So, it’s no problem with you to watch while other men have sex with your… companion. Most men are a little territorial. They might harbor unhealthy resentments.”

“We don’t believe in monogamy. We find it limiting and foolish. Sex is pleasure, and we don’t put restrictions on our pleasures. Consensual sex in a private home or licensed club isn’t against your laws, Lieutenant.” He smiled. “I’m sure you engage in it yourself.”

“You like to watch, Alban?”

His brows lifted. “Is that an invitation?” At Selina’s quick chuckle, he shifted and took her hand. “There, you’re feeling better now.”

“Grief passes, doesn’t it, Selina?”

“It must,” she agreed, nodding at Eve. “Life is to be lived. You’ll look for who did this, and perhaps you’ll find them. But the punishment of our master is greater and more terrible than any you could invent.”

“Your master isn’t my concern. Murder is. Since you have an interest in the deceased, maybe you’ll let me take a look around.”

“Get a warrant, and you’re welcome.” The tranq had clouded her eyes, but her voice was strong enough when she stood. “You’re more a fool than I originally thought if you believe I had anything to do with this. He was one of ours. He was loyal. It is against the law to harm a loyal member of the cult.”

“And he talked to me last night in a privacy booth. Did the smoke tell you what he told me, Selina?”

Her eyes shifted, darkened. “You’ll have to find other waters to fish in, Dallas. I’m tired, Alban. Show them out.” She glided a way, back through the arch.

“There’s nothing we can do for you, Lieutenant. Selina needs to rest.” He glanced toward the arch, worry in his eyes. “I need to tend her.”

“Got you trained, does she?” With light disdain coating her voice, Eve rose. “Do you do tricks, too?”

Sadly, he shook his head. “My devotion to Selina is personal. She has powers, and the powerful have needs. I meet hers, gratefully.” He walked back into the foyer, opened the door. “We would like to take Lobar’s body when it’s possible. We have our death ceremony.”

“So does his family, and they come ahead of you.”

“What do we have on this Alban?” Eve demanded the moment they were outside in the now drenching rain.

“Next to nothing.” Peabody ducked into the car and immediately felt more at ease. She knew it was foolish to hope she never had to go back inside that building, but she hoped in any case. “No priors, next to no background. If he was born with a name other than Alban, it doesn’t pop.”

“There’s more. There’s always more.”

Not so, Eve thought, drumming her fingers against the wheel. She’d once investigated another suspicious character and had found little to nothing. His only name was Roarke.

“Look again,” she ordered and pulled away from the curb.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she continued while Peabody plugged in her data unit. “There’s next to no traffic on this block. Turn the corner…” She did so and immediately hit a snarl of nasty and comforting vehicular traffic, bumping badtemperedly through the rain. People hustled along sidewalks and glides, huddled in doorways. Two glide-cart operators on opposing corners hunched under ratty awnings and scowled at each other.

“People have instincts they’re not even aware of.” Still less than comfortable, Peabody glanced back, as if expecting something not quite human might be scrabbling behind them. “There’s a bad feeling around that building.”

“It’s brick and glass.”

“Yeah, but places tend to take on the personalities of the people who live in them.”

A car turned the corner ahead, blasting its horn at the sea of pedestrians who streamed across against the go light. Insults were cheerfully hurled both verbally and through equally graphic hand signals. Someone spat.

Steam poured up through the vents from the underground system in dirty clouds. It tangled thickly with the smoke belching from a ratty and obviously under code glida grill fighting its way through the mass of wet humanity. A level up, the nearest skywalk shuddered to a halt and sent all its passengers into a riot of cursing and complaints.

Overhead, a tourist blimp blasted out a spiel of the advantages and highlights of living in an urban wonderland.

Peabody took a cleansing breath, pleased to be back in the midst of the arrogant and crowded New York she understood. “Take Roarke’s place,” she continued. “It’s grand and elegant and intimidating, but it’s also sexy and mysterious.” She was too busy riddling with the unit to notice the amused look Eve shot her. “My parents’ place? It’s all open and warm and a little confused.”

“What about your place, Peabody? What’s that?”

“Temporary,” Peabody said definitely. “Dallas, your car unit isn’t cooperating here. I should be able to transfer data to —” She broke off as Eve leaned over, smacked the dash above the car screen. An image popped on, wobbling drunkenly. “That’s some better,” Peabody decided and requested a run on Alban.

Alban — no known alternate name — born 3-22-2020 Omaha, Nebraska.

“Funny,” Eve interrupted, “he didn’t look corn fed.”

ID number, the computer continued with a definite hiccup in its program, 31666-LRT-99. Parents unknown. Marital status, single. No known means of support. No financial data available.

“Interesting. Sounds like he’s leeching off Selina. Criminal records, all arrests.”

No criminal record.

“Education?”

Unknown.

“Our boy’s wiped, or had somebody wipe records,” Eve told Peabody. “You don’t get to be nearly forty years old without generating more data than this. He’s got connections somewhere.”