Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [112]
She moved her shoulders again, sent Eve a mischievous smile. “It’s kind of like punching a knife through a pillow, you know. And it makes this sucky noise. Then I cut the demon out of him, and you came. I guess I’d finished, anyway.”
“Yeah, I guess you had. How long have you known Chas?”
“Oh, a couple of years. We like to make it in the park, in the daytime, because you never know if somebody’s going to come along and see.”
“How does Isis feel about that?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know.” Mirium rolled her eyes. “She wouldn’t like it.”
“How does she feel about the murders?”
Mirium’s brows knit and her eyes unfocused for a moment. “The murders? She doesn’t know. Does she? No, we wouldn’t tell her about that.”
“So it’s just between you and Chas.”
“Between me and Chas.” Her eyes fluttered, stayed blank. “I guess. Sure.”
“Have you told anyone else in the coven?”
“The coven?” She laid her fingers on her lips, tapped them. “No, no, it’s our secret. Our little secret.”
“What about Wineburg?”
“Who?”
“In the parking garage. The banker. Do you remember?”
“I didn’t get to do that.” She bit her bottom lip now, shook her head. “No, he did that. He was supposed to bring me the heart, but he didn’t. He said there wasn’t time.”
“And Lobar?”
“Lobar, Lobar.” Her fingers kept tapping. “No, that was different. Wasn’t it? I can’t remember. I’m getting a headache.” Her voice turned petulant. “I don’t want to talk anymore now. I’m tired.” She laid her hands down on her folded arms and closed her eyes.
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 dunno. Looks like a mix of both to me.”
“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 pinned Forte.”
“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