Ceremony in Death - J. D. Robb [74]
“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.
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