Ceremony In Death

CHAPTER TWELVE

In his midtown office high above the city, Roarke dealt with his last meeting of the morning. As originally scheduled, he should be concluding this business in Rotterdam, but he had arranged to take the meeting holographically so as to remain close to home. Close to Eve.

He sat at the head of his gleaming conference table, aware that his image sat at a similar one an ocean away. His assistant sat on his left, feeding him the necessary hard copy for his approval and signature. His translator sat on his right, as backup, should there be any problem with the computer headset's language program.

The board of ScanAir filled the other seats. Or their images did. It had been a very good year for Roarke Enterprises and its subsidiaries. It had not been a good year nor a good several years for ScanAir. Roarke was doing them the favor of buying them out.

From the stony expressions on several holographic faces, they were not entirely grateful.

The company needed to be right-sized, which meant several of the cushier positions would be adjusted in salary and responsibility. Some would be eliminated altogether. He had already hand-picked several men and women who were willing to relocate to Rotterdam and whip the skyline back into shape.

As the computer-generated translation of the contract droned in his ears, he watched the faces, the body language. Occasionally, he conferred with his translator for subtleties and syntax.

He already knew every phrase, every word of the buyout agreement. He wasn't paying what the board had hoped for. Then again, they had hoped his examination of the company wouldn't turn up some of the more delicate – and well-hidden – financial difficulties.

He couldn't blame them for that. He would have done the same. But his examinations were always thorough and turned up everything.

He signed his name on each copy, added the date, then passed the contracts to his assistant for her to witness and seal. She rose, fed the contacts into a laser fax. Seconds later, the copy was across the ocean and being signed by his counterpart.

"Congratulations on your retirement, Mr. Vanderlay," Roarke said pleasantly when the countersigned and witnessed copies were faxed back to him. "I hope you'll enjoy it."

This was acknowledged by a brief nod and a short formal statement. The holograms winked off.

Roarke eased back, amused. "People aren't always grateful when you give them large quantities of money, are they, Caro?"

"No, sir." She was tidy, with hair shockingly white and gloriously styled. She rose, taking both the hard copy and the record disc of the transaction for filing. Her trim, rust-colored suit showed off beautifully shaped legs. "They'll be less grateful when you turn ScanAir into a financial success. Within a year, I'd say."

"Ten months." He turned to the translator. "Thank you, Petrov, your services were invaluable, as always."

"My pleasure, sir," He was a droid, created by one of Roarke's science arms. His body was slim, garbed in a well-cut dark suit. His face was attractive, but not distractingly so, and formed to simulate trustworthy middle age. Several of his line were leased by the UN.

"Give me an hour, Caro, before the next. I have some personal business to tend to."

"You have a one o'clock lunch with the department heads of Sky Ways to discuss the absorption of ScanAir, and the publicity strategies."

"Here, or off site?"

"Here, sir, in the executive dining hall. You approved the menu last week." She smiled. "In anticipation."

"Right. I remember. I'll be there." He moved through the side door and into his office. Before going to the desk, he engaged locks. It wasn't strictly necessary. Caro would never come in unannounced, but it paid in certain areas to be cautious. The work he intended to do couldn't go on his log. He would have preferred to handle it at home, but he was squeezed for time. And so, he thought, was Eve.

At his desk unit, he engaged the jamming field that would block any scan by CompuGuard. The law frowned on unauthorized hacking, and the penalties were stiff.

"Computer, membership data, Church of Satan, New York City branch, under direction of Selina Cross."

Working… That data is protected under religious privacy act. Request denied.

Roarke only smiled. He'd always preferred a challenge. "Oh well, I think we can change your mind about that." Prepared to enjoy himself, he slipped off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Downtown, Eve paced Dr. Mira's pretty, designed-to-soothe office. She was never completely relaxed there. She trusted Mira's judgment; she always had. More recently, she had come to trust the doctor on a personal level. As much as it was possible. But it didn't make her relax.

Mira knew more about her than anyone. More, Eve suspected than she knew about herself. Facing someone with that kind of intimate knowledge wasn't relaxing.

But she hadn't come to talk about personal matters, Eve reminded herself. She was here to talk murder.

Mira opened the door and stepped in. Her smile was slow and warm and personal. She always looked so… perfect, Eve decided. Never too glossy, never undone, never less than competent. Today, instead of her customary suit, Mira wore a slim, pumpkin-colored dress with a single-button matching coat of the same above-the-knee length. Her shoes were of a slightly darker tone and boasted the skinny heels that Eve always marveled a woman would wear by choice.

Mira offered both hands, a gesture of affection that simultaneously baffled and pleased Eve.

"It's good to see you back in fighting shape, Eve. No problem with the knee?"

"Oh?" With a faint frown Eve glanced down, remembering the injury she'd suffered while closing a recent case. "No. The MTs did a good job. I'd forgotten about it."

"A side affect of your job." Mira settled in one of her scoop chairs. "I'd think it would be a bit like childbirth."

"Excuse me?"

"The ability to forget the pain, the trauma to both body and mind, and go on to do the same thing again. I've always believed women make good cops and doctors because they're inherently resilient that way. Won't you sit, have some tea, tell me what I can do for you?"

"I appreciate you fitting me in." Eve sat, shifted restlessly. She always felt inclined to bare her soul once she was settled in this room with this woman. "It's about a case I'm working on. I can't give you many details. There's an internal block."

"I see." Mira programmed tea. "Tell me what you can."

"One subject is a young woman, eighteen, very bright, and apparently very impressionable."

"It's an age for explorations." Mira took out the tea steaming fragrantly in delicate china cups, offered one to Eve.

Eve would drink it, but she wouldn't particularly like it. "I suppose. The subject has family. Close family. Though the father is out of the picture, there is extended family – grandparents, cousins, that kind of thing. She wasn't – isn't," Eve corrected, "alone."

Mira nodded. Eve had been alone, she thought, brutally alone.

"The subject had an interest in ancient religions and cultures, was studying same. Over the past year, she developed a certain interest in the occult."

"Hmm. That's also fairly typical. Youth often explores various creeds and beliefs in order to find and cement their own. The occult, with its mystique and its possibilities is very attractive."

"She became involved in Satanism."

"As a dabbler?"

Eve frowned. She'd expected Mira to show some surprise or disapproval. Instead, she was sipping tea with that slight attentive smile playing around her mouth. "If that means was she toying with it, I'd say she went deeper."

"Initiated?"

"I'm not sure what that involves."

"Depending on the sect, there would be slight variations. Broadly, it would entail a waiting period, the taking of vows, a physical mark on the body, generally on or near the genitalia. The initiate would be accepted into the coven with a ceremony. There would be an altar, a human one, probably female, within a circle. The princes of hell would be called while the initiate or initiates knelt. Symbolism would include flame, smoke, the ringing of a bell, graveyard dirt, preferably from an infant. They would be given water or wine mixed with urine to drink, then the high priest or priestess would mark the initiate with a ceremonial knife."

"An athame."

"Yes." Mira smiled, as though pleased with a bright student. "And though it's illegal, if the coven is able, they will then sacrifice a young goat. With some, the blood of the goat is mixed with wine and consumed. Once done, the coven engages in sex. The altar may be used by all or many. It would be considered both a duty and a pleasure."

"Sounds like you've been there."

"No, but I was allowed to observe a sabbat ceremony once. It was quite fascinating."

"You don't actually believe that stuff." Stunned, Eve set the cup aside. "Calling up the devil."

Mira lifted a smoothly arched brow. "I believe in good and evil, Eve, and I don't by any means discount the likelihood of an ultimate good, or an ultimate evil. In my profession, and yours, we see too much of both to deny it."

Humans committed evil, Eve thought. Evil was human. "But devil worship?"

"Those who choose to focus their lives – and shall we say souls – on this creed generally do so for its freedom, its structure, and its celebration of selfishness. Others are seduced by the promise of power. And many by the sex."

"It was just sex." That's what Wineburg had said, had sobbed, Eve remembered, before he died.

"Your young woman, Eve, was likely drawn in first by the intellect. Satanism is centuries old, and like most pagan religions, predates Christianity. Why does it survive, and in some eras even prosper? It's filled with secrets and sins and sex, its rites are mysterious and elaborate. She would have wondered, and coming from a close and likely sheltered homelife, was at an age ripe for rebellions against the status quo."

"The ceremony you described was similar to one she described to me. But she had only begun to observe and she was sexually used. She was a virgin, and was, I suspect drugged."

"I see. There are always sects that diverge from the established rules of law. Some can be dangerous."

"She had blanks, time losses, and became almost slavishly devoted to two of the members. She backed away from her family and her studies. Until she witnessed the ritual murder of a child."

"Human sacrifice is an old practice, and a deplorable one." Mira sipped delicately. "If drugs were involved, it's highly possible she was made an addict, dependent upon these people. That would explain the blanks. I take it the murder she witnessed shocked her away from the cult and its rituals."

"She was terrified. She didn't go to her family, didn't report the incident. She ran to a witch."

"A white witch? A Wiccan?"

Eve compressed her lips. "She did what I expect would be considered a religious one eighty. Started burning white candles instead of black. And she lived in terror, claimed that one of the membership could turn into a raven."

"Shape-shifting." Thoughtfully, Mira rose to program more tea. "Interesting."

"She believed they would kill her, had killed someone close to her, though that death is for now officially listed under natural causes. I have no doubt they tormented her, found a way to play on her delusions and fears. I'm thinking some of that came from her own sense of guilt and shame."

"You could be right. Emotions influence the intellect."

"Just how much?" Eve demanded. "Enough for her to see things that weren't there? Enough for her to run from an illusion into the path of an oncoming car and kill herself?"

Mira sat again. "She's dead then. I'm sorry. Are you quite sure she ran from an illusion?"

"A trained observer was on the scene. There was nothing there. Except," Eve added with a twist of her lips, "a black cat."

"The traditional familiar. That alone might have been enough to push her over the edge. Even if the cat was planted in order to frighten her, you would have a difficult time terming it homicide."

"They played on her mind, drugged her, possibly used hypnosis. They tormented her with tricks and 'link transmissions. Then they pushed her over. Damned if that isn't murder. And I will make it stick."

"Taking religion, particularly religions the masses don't wish to acknowledge, into court won't be easy."

"I don't care about easy. The people behind this cult are dirty. And I believe they have killed four people in the last two weeks."

"Four." Mira paused, set the cup down. "The body that was left near your home. The details in the media were sketchy. It's connected?"

"Yeah. He was an initiate, and he had his throat slit by an athame. It was left in him, stuck in his groin with a note that condemned Satanism. He was strapped to an inverted pentagram."

"Mutilation and murder." Mira pursed her lips. "If it was Wiccans, it's very much out of character. Very much against their creed."

"People do things out of character and against their creeds all the time," Eve said impatiently. "But at this time, I suspect a member or members of his own cult. Another man was killed last night with an athame. We held it from the morning reports, but it'll be all over the media within a couple of hours. I was on scene, chasing him down. I didn't run fast enough."

"He was killed quickly, without ritual? With a police officer in pursuit?".Mira shook her head. "A desperate or arrogant move. If this was committed by the same people, it shows a growing boldness."

"And maybe a taste for it. Blood becomes addictive. I want to know where the weaknesses are in the kind of personality who runs a cult like this. I've got a female, long yellow sheet involving illegal sex and drug trafficking. Bisexual. She heads up the club, lives well. Her companion is a well-built male who caters to her. She likes to show off," Eve added, remembering the fire trick. "She claims to be clairvoyant. She's edgy, with a slippery temper."

"Pride would likely be the first weakness. If she's in a position of power and authority, she would likely take disrespect badly. Is she clairvoyant?"

"Are you serious?"

"Eve." Mira sighed lightly. "Psychic abilities exist, and always have. Studies have established that."

"Yeah, yeah." Eve waved a hand in dismissal. "The Kijinsky Institute, for one. I've got a detailed report on the white witch from there. They claim she's off the charts."

"And you don't agree with the Kijinsky Institute?"

"Crystal balls and palm reading? You're a scientist."

"Yes, I am, and as such, I accept that science is fluid. It changes as we learn more about the universe and what inhabits it. Many well-respected scientists believe that we're born with what we can term this sixth sense, or a heightened sense, if you will. Some develop it, some block it. Most of us retain at least some level. We'd call it instinct, hunches, intuition. You rely on that yourself."

"I rely on evidence, on facts."

"You have hunches, Eve. And your intuition is a finely crafted tool. And Roarke." She smiled when Eve's brows drew together. "A man doesn't rise so high so young without a strong instinct for making the right move at the right time. Magic, if you want to use a more romantic term, exists."

"You're telling me you believe in mind reading and spell casting?"

"I can intuit what's going through your mind right now." Mira chuckled, finished her tea. "Mira, you're thinking, is full of shit."

Eve's lips curved in a reluctant smile of her own. "Close enough."

"Let me say this, since I believe it's part of what you came here for. Witchcraft, black and white, has existed since the dawn of humanity. And where there is power, there is benefit, and there is abuse. That, too, is the nature of humanity. We can't, through all our scientific and technical skill, destroy one without damaging the other. Power requires tending, as do beliefs, so we have our ceremonies and our rituals. We need the structure, the comfort, and yes, the mystery of them."

"I don't have any problem with ceremonies and rituals, Dr. Mira. Unless they cross the line of the law."

"I would agree. But the law can also be fluid. It changes, adapts."

"Murder stays murder. Whether it's accomplished with a stone spear or a laser blast." Her eyes were dark and fierce. "Or whether it's done with smoke and mirrors. I'll find the perpetrator, and no magic in the world is going to stop me."

"No." A small, niggling fear – what might have been called a hunch – knotted in Mira's gut. "I would agree with that as well. You're not without power, Eve, and you'll match yours against this." She folded her hands. "I can provide you with a more detailed analysis on both Satanism and Wicca, if it might help."

"I like to know what I'm dealing with. I'd appreciate it. Can you give me a profile of a typical member of both cults?"

"There isn't a typical member, any more than there are typical members of the Catholic faith or of Buddhism, but I can generalize certain personality types who are often attracted to the occult. The Wiccan the young woman went to, is she a suspect?''

"She's not the prime, but she's a suspect. Revenge is a strong motive, and if Satanists keep ending up with a ritual knife in vital organs, I won't overlook revenge." Unable to resist, Eve ran her tongue over her teeth. "But I suppose she'd be more likely to put a curse on them."

"Check the nails and hair of your victims, or of any subsequent ones. If a curse is involved, there should be signs of recent snippings."

"Yeah? I'll do that." Eve rose. "I appreciate the help."

"I'll get you a report by tomorrow."

"Great." She started out, paused. "You seem to know a lot about all of this. Is it the kind of thing you study for psychiatry?"

"To some extent, but I have a more personal interest and studied fairly extensively." Her lips curved. "My daughter is Wiccan."

Eve's jaw dropped. "Oh." What the hell did she say now? "Well. I guess that explains it." Uncomfortable, she dug her hands into her pockets. "Around here?"

"No, she lives in New Orleans. She finds it less restrictive there. I may be a bit unobjective on the matter, Eve, under the circumstances, but I think you'll find it's a lovely faith, very earthy and generous."

"Sure." Eve edged for the door. "I'm going to observe a meeting tomorrow night."

"You'll have to let me know what you think. And if you have questions I'm unable to answer, I'm sure my daughter would be happy to speak with you."

"I'll let you know." She headed to the elevator, blowing out a long breath. Mira's daughter was a witch, for Christ's sake, she thought. That was a hell of a capper.

– =O=-***-=O=-

She headed back to Central with the intention of rounding up Peabody, then heading to Wineburg's townhouse. She wanted to get a look at his lifestyle, his logs, and his personal records. She had a feeling a drone like him would have kept some private list of names and places.

The sweepers had already been through, routinely, and had turned up nothing of particular interest. But she could get lucky.

She passed Peabody in the bullpen as she swung through. "My vehicle, fifteen minutes. I want to check my messages, make a couple of calls."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant – "

"Later," Eve said shortly, hurrying by and missing Peabody's wince.

The reason for it was waiting in her office.

"Feeney?" She tugged her jacket off, tossed it on a chair. "You decide to head to Mexico? You're going to need to call Roarke for the details. He should be – ''

She broke off when Feeney stood up, walked over, and shut her door. It had only taken one look at his face to know.

"You lied to me." There was a quaver in his voice that came as much from hurt as anger. But his eyes were flat and cold. "You fucking lied to me. I trusted you. You've been investigating Frank behind my back. Over his own dead body."

There was no point in denying, less in asking how he'd found out. She'd known he would. "There was going to be an internal investigation. Whitney wanted me to clear him, and that's what I've done."

"Internal investigation my ass. Nobody was cleaner than Frank."

"I know that, Feeney. I was – "

"But you investigated. You went through his records, and you did it around me."

"That's the way it had to be."

"Bullshit. I goddamn trained you. You'd still be in uniform if I hadn't put you here. And you back stab me." He stepped closer, fists clenched at his sides.

She preferred him to use them.

"You've got Alice's file open, suspected homicide. She was my goddaughter, and you don't tell me you think some son of a bitch killed her? You block me out of the investigation, you lie to me. You looked right in my face and lied to me."

Her stomach had gone to ice. "Yes."

"You think she'd been drugged and raped and murdered, and you don't take me in?"

He'd gotten into the records, the reports, she realized. They'd been sealed and coded, but that wouldn't have stopped him if he'd gotten a whiff. And, she decided, he'd gotten one the night before, over Wineburg's body.

"I couldn't," she said in a flat voice. "Even if I hadn't been under orders, I couldn't. You were too close. You can't objectively assist on an investigation involving family."

"What the hell do you know about family?" he exploded and made her jerk.

Yes, she'd have preferred his fists.

"Orders?" he continued, bitterness spewing out and scalding her. "Fucking orders? Is that your line, Dallas? Is that your reason for treating me like some lame rookie? 'Take a vacation, Feeney. Use my rich husband's fancy house in Mexico.' " His lips peeled back in a sneer. "That would have been fine for you, wouldn't it? Get me out of your way, shuffle me off and out from underfoot because I'm useless to you on this one."

"No. God, Feeney – "

"I've gone through doors with you." His voice was abruptly quiet, and made her throat burn. "I trusted you. I'd have put my back up against yours anytime, anyplace. But no more. You're good, Dallas, but you're cold. The hell with you."

She said nothing when he walked out, leaving her door swinging open. Could say nothing. He'd nailed it, she decided. And he'd nailed her.

"Dallas." Peabody rushed the door. "I couldn't – "

Eve cut her off, simply lifting a finger, turning her back. Slowly, with slow even breaths, she pulled her guts back in. Even then, they ached. She could still smell him in the room. That stupid cologne his wife always bought him.

"We're going to do a follow-up sweep of Wineburg's townhouse. Get your gear."

Peabody opened her mouth, closed it again. Even if she'd known what to say, she didn't imagine it would be welcome. "Yes, sir."

Eve turned back. Her eyes were blank, cool, composed. "Then let's move."