Ceremony In Death

Eve watched her for a moment. There wasn't any point in pushing now, she decided. She had enough.

Eve signaled a uniform. Mirium murmured sulkily as Eve slipped the restraints back into place. "Take her down to Psych. Get Mira to do the evaluation, if possible; make a note to request permission for a drug scan."

"Yes, sir." Eve stepped to the door behind them, pushed a call button. "Have Forte brought to Interview Room C."

It occurred to her that she would like to lay her head on pillowed arms herself. Instead, she turned down the corridor into the observation area. Peabody stood beside Feeney.

"I want you in on this, Peabody. What did you think of her, Feeney?"

"She's whacked." He held out his bag of nuts. "Whether it's psych or induced, I du

"That was my take. How come she seemed so damn normal the other night?" Then she pulled her hands through her hair and laughed. "I can't believe I'm saying that. She was standing naked in the woods letting Forte kiss her crotch."

She lowered her hands, pressed them to her eyes, then dropped them. "His father never used a partner. That was never hinted at. He worked alone."

"So, he's got a different style," Feeney said. "Whacked or not, the girl pi

"It doesn't feel right to me," Peabody murmured, and Eve turned to her with a mildly interested glance.

"What doesn't feel right, Officer?"

Detecting the light trace of sarcasm, Peabody lifted her jaw. "Wiccans don't kill."

"People kill," Eve reminded her. "And not everybody takes their religion seriously. Had any red meat lately?"

The flush worked up from under Peabody's starched uniform collar. Free-Agers were strict vegan and used no animal by-products. "That's different."

"I walked in on a murder," Eve said shortly. "The woman with the knife in her hand identified Charles Forte as her accomplice. That's fact. I don't want you to take anything but fact into that interview room. Understood?''

"Yes, sir." Peabody stiffened her shoulders. "Perfectly." But she stood in place a moment longer when Eve strode off.

"She's had a rough morning," Feeney said sympathetically. "I got a quick scan of the first crime scene shots. It doesn't get any rougher."

"I know." But she shook her head, watching as Charles Forte was led into the room behind the glass. "But it just doesn't feel right."

She turned away, headed around the corner, and stepped into the interview room just as Eve was reading Forte his rights.

"I don't understand."

"You don't understand your rights and obligations?"

"No, no, I understand them. I don't understand why I'm here." There was puzzlement and a vague sense of disappointment as he turned his gaze toward Peabody. "If you'd wanted to speak with me again, you had only to ask. I would have met you, or come in voluntarily. It wasn't necessary to send three uniformed officers to my home."

"I thought it was necessary," Eve answered shortly. "Do you want counsel or representation at this time, Mr. Forte?"

"No." He shifted in agitation, tried to ignore the fact that he was inside a police facility. Like his father. "Just tell me what you want to know. I'll try to help you."

"Tell me about Louis Trivane."

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I don't know anyone by that name."

"Do you usually send your handmaids out to murder strangers?''

"What?'' His face went white as he pushed himself to his feet. "What are you talking about?"

"Sit down." Eve snapped the order out. "Louis Trivane was murdered two hours ago by Mirium Hopkins."

"Mirium? That's ridiculous. That's impossible."

"It's very possible. I walked in while she was cutting out his liver."

Chas swayed, then sank onto his chair. "There's a mistake. It couldn't be."

"I think the mistake was yours." Eve rose, wandered over, then leaned over his shoulder. "You should pick your weapons more carefully. When you use defective ones, they can turn on you."

"I don't know what you mean. May I have some water? I don't understand this."

Eve jerked a thumb to Peabody, signaling her to pour a glass. "Mirium told me everything, Chas. She told me that you were lovers, that you neglected to bring her Wineburg's heart as promised, and that you'd allowed her to execute Trivane herself. Blood purifies."

"No." He lifted the glass in both hands and still slopped water over the edge as he tried to drink. "No."

"Your father liked to slice people up. Did he show you how it was done? How many other defective tools have you used? Did you dispose of them after you'd finished with them? Keep any souvenirs?"

She continued to hammer at him while he sat, just sat, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

"Was this your version of a religious war, Chas? Eliminate the enemy? Cut out the demons? Your father was a self-styled Satanist, and he'd made your life a misery. You couldn't kill him, you can't get to him now. But there are others. Are they substitutes? When you kill them, are you killing him, hacking him to pieces because of what he did to you?"

He squeezed his eyes tight, began to rock. "God. My God. Oh God."

"You can help yourself here. Tell me why, tell me how. Explain it to me, Chas. I may be able to cut you a break. Tell me about Alice. About Lobar."

"No. No." When he lifted his head, his eyes were streaming. "I'm not my father."

Eve didn't flinch, didn't look away from the desperate plea in his eyes. "Aren't you?" Then she stepped back and let him sob.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

She worked him for an hour, relentlessly pushing, then backtracking, then shifting directions. She kept the death photos on the table, dealt out like grisly playing cards.

How many more, she demanded. How many more images of the dead should there be?

Through it all, he wept and denied, wept and was silent.

When she turned him over to holding, his eyes stayed on hers until he was led around the corner and away. But it was the look in Peabody's eyes that caught her and had her waiting until they were alone.

"Problem, Officer?"

Observing the interrogation had been like watching a wolf toy and tear at a wounded deer. Peabody drew a breath, braced. "Yes, sir. I didn't like your interview technique."

"Didn't you?"

"It seemed overly harsh. Cruel. Using his father, over and over again, directing him to look at the stills."

Eve's stomach was raw, her nerves scraped clean, but her voice was cool, her hands steady, as she gathered up the stills. "Maybe I should have asked him politely to please confess so we could all go home and get back to our comfy lives. Don't know why I didn't think of it. I'll make a note to try it the next time I have a murder suspect in interview."

Peabody wanted to wince, managed not to. "It just seemed to me, Lieutenant, particularly since the suspect had no representation – "

"Did I read him his rights, Officer?"

"Yes, sir, but – "

"Did he verify that he understood those rights?"

Peabody pulled back, nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

"Can you estimate, Officer Peabody, how many interviews you've conducted on homicide cases?"

"Sir, I – "

"I can't," Eve snapped, and her eyes went from cool to hot. "I can't, because there's been too fucking many of them. You want to take a look at the stills again? You want to see this guy with his guts spilled out all over the tiles? Maybe it'll toughen you up a little, because if my interview techniques upset you, Peabody, you're in the wrong career."

Eve strode to the door, then whirled back while Peabody stood where she was at rigid attention. "And I expect my aide to back me up, not question me because she happens to have a soft spot for witches. If you can't handle that. Officer Peabody, I'll approve your request for transfer. Understood?"