J. Robb - Ceremony In Death

"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.

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.