Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [10]
“Is your dental plan up to date?”
“I’ll check on that and get back to you.” With a wink, Carter and several others piled out.
“Carter puts the moves on anything female,” Peabody said conversationally, worried that Eve continued to stare straight ahead. “Too bad he’s an asshole.” No response. “Ah, Forenski’s kind of cute,” Peabody continued. “He doesn’t have a steady personal partner, does he?”
“I don’t poke into the private lives of fellow officers,” Eve snapped back, and strode out onto the garage level.
“You don’t mind poking into mine,” Peabody said under her breath. She waited while Eve uncoded her car locks, then climbed into the passenger seat. “Am I to log in destination, sir, or is it a surprise?” Then she blinked when Eve simply laid her head against the wheel. “Hey, are you all right? What’s going on, Dallas?”
“Log in home office.” Eve drew a breath, straightened. “I’ll fill you in on the way. All information you’re given and all records on the ensuing investigation are to be coded and sealed.” Eve maneuvered out of the garage and onto the street. “All said information and records are confidential. You are to report only to me or the commander.”
“Yes, sir.” Peabody swallowed the obstruction that had lodged in her throat. “It’s internal, isn’t it? It’s one of us.”
“Yeah. Goddamn it. It’s one of us.”
Her home unit didn’t have the eccentricities of her official computer. Roarke had seen to that. The data scrolled smoothly on-screen.
“Detective Marion Burns. She’s been undercover at The Athame for eight months, working as a bartender.” Eve pursed her lips. “Burns. I don’t know her.”
“I do, slightly.” Peabody scooted her chair a bit closer to Eve’s. “I met her when I was…you know, during the Casto thing. She struck me as a solid, eyes-on-the-job sort. If memory serves, she’s third generation cop. Her mother’s still on the job. Captain, I think, in Bunko. Her grandfather went out line of duty during the Urban Wars. I don’t know why she’d have fingered DS Wojinski.”
“Maybe she reported what she saw, or maybe it’s something else. We’ll have to find out. Her report to Whitney’s pretty cut and dried. At one hundred thirty hours, September 22, 2058, she observed DS Wojinski seated at a private booth with known chemical dealer Selina Cross. Wojinski exchanged credits for a small package, which appeared to contain an illegal substance. The conversation and exchange lasted fifteen minutes, at which time Cross moved to another booth. Wojinski remained in the club another ten minutes, then left. Detective Burns tailed the subject for two blocks at which time he engaged a public transport.”
“So she never saw him use.”
“No. And she never saw him return to the club that night or on any subsequent night during her watch. Burns goes top of our list for questioning.”
“Yes, sir. Dallas, since Wojinski and Feeney were tight, wouldn’t it follow that Wojinski would have confided in him? Or failing that, that Feeney would have noticed…something.”
“I don’t know.” Eve rubbed her eyes. “The Athame. What the hell’s an athame?”
“I don’t know.” Peabody pulled out her palm PC and requested the data. “Athame, ceremonial knife, a ritual tool normally fashioned of steel. Traditionally the athame is not used for cutting, but for casting or banishing circles in earth religions.”
Peabody glanced up at Eve. “Witchcraft,” she continued. “That’s quite a coincidence.”
“I don’t think so.” She took the note from Alice out of her desk drawer, passed it to Peabody. “Frank’s granddaughter slipped this to me at the viewing. Turns out she works at some shop called Spirit Quest. Do you know it?”
“I know what it is.” Troubled now, Peabody set the note down. “Wiccans are peaceful, Dallas. And they use herbs, not chemicals. No true Wiccan’s going to buy, sell, or use Zeus.”
“How about digitalis?” Eve cocked her head. “That’s kind of an herb, isn’t it?”
“It’s distilled from foxglove. It’s been used medicinally for centuries.”
“It’s what, like a stimulant?”
“I don’t know that much about healing, but yeah, I’d think.”
“So’s Zeus.