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“She told me herself. She smiled when she told me.” Remembering that, bringing that image back, dried up any sympathy. “She smiled as she straddled what was left of Louis Trivane, while his blood was smeared all over her hands and her face and the knife she held.”
As her legs went weak, Isis reached out blindly to brace a hand on the back of a chair. “Mirium killed someone? That’s impossible.”
“I thought all things were possible in your sphere. I walked in on her little ceremony myself.” Eve’s fingers curled on the file, but she didn’t open it. There was still pity, after all, for the woman who loved and believed. “She was very cooperative, happily told me that Forte had allowed her to kill Trivane herself. Unlike the others, where she only observed.”
Using her hand to keep her balance, Isis stepped unsteadily around the chair, eased herself into it. “She’s lying.” There was a lance in her heart, quivering there. “Chas has nothing to do with this. How could I have missed this part of her?” Closing her eyes, Isis rocked herself gently. “How could I not have seen? We initiated her, we took her in. We made her one of us.”
“Can’t see everything, can you?” Eve angled her head. “I think you should be more worried about your vision as it applies to Charles Forte.”
“No.” She opened her eyes again. There was misery in them, but behind it was a steel Eve recognized. “There’s no one I see more clearly than Chas. She’s lying.”
“She’ll be tested. In the meantime, you may want to rethink allowing yourself to be used as his alibi. He’s betrayed your trust,” Eve said, stepping closer. “It could have been you, Isis, at any time. Mirium’s younger, probably more biddable. I wonder how much longer he’d have pretended to let you run the show.”
“How can you not understand what there is between us when you have it yourself? Do you think the word of some disturbed young woman would make me doubt the man I love? Would it make you doubt Roarke?”
“It’s not my personal life that’s in dire straits here,” Eve said evenly. “It’s yours. If you care for him so much, then cooperate with me. It’s the only way to stop him, and to get him help.”
“Help?” Isis’s mouth twisted. “You don’t want to help him. You want him to be guilty, you want him to be punished, because of where he came from. Because of his father.”
Eve looked down at the folder in her hands, the plain tan cover that hid the terrible images of terrible death. “You’re wrong.” She spoke quietly now, almost to herself. “I wanted him to be innocent. Because of his father.”
Then she lifted her gaze, met Isis’s. “The warrant will have come through by now. We’ll search your shop and your apartment. Whatever we find can be used against you as well.”
“It won’t matter.” Isis forced herself to stand. “You won’t find anything to help you.”
“You’re entitled to be present during the search.”
“No. I’ll stay here. I want to see Chas.”
“You’re not related or legally married—”
“Dallas.” Isis interrupted quietly. “You have a heart. Please listen to it and let me see him.”
Yes, she had a heart. And it ached to see the plea in the eyes of a strong woman. “I can give you five minutes through security glass.” As she wrenched the door open, she set her teeth. “Tell him to get a lawyer, for God’s sake.”
In the storeroom of Spirit Quest and in a workroom in the apartment above, were dozens of bottles and containers and boxes. They were filled with liquid and powder and leaves and seeds. She found organized records detailing the contents and their uses.
Eve ordered everything sent to the lab for analysis.
She found knives, carved handles and plain, long-bladed and short. She tagged a sweeper, ordered him to scan for traces of blood. Ceremonial robes and street clothes were scanned as well.
She blocked out the voices—sweepers never worked quietly—and went about her job with focused efficiency.
And there, under a neatly folded stack of robes kept fresh in a chest smelling of rosemary and cedar, she found the balled-up and bloody black robe.
“Here.” She signaled to a sweeper. “Scan it.”
“Nice sample.” The sweeper snapped her gum, ran the nozzle of her shoulder unit over the cloth. “Mostly on the sleeves.” Behind her protective goggles, the sweeper’s eyes were mildly bored. “Human,” she confirmed. “A neg. Can’t tell you much more with a portable.”
“That’s enough.” Eve slid the robe into a bag, sealed and labeled it for evidence. “Wineburg was A negative.” She looked at Peabody as she handed the bag to her. “Careless of him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Dutifully, Peabody stored the bag in her evidence kit. “It would seem so.”
“Lobar was O positive.” She moved to another chest, hauled back the domed lid. “Keep looking.”
Twilight had settled with its dim light and fitful breezes when she climbed back in her car. Since the tension was still simmering between her and Peabody, she didn’t bother to speak but engaged her car ’link instead.
“Lieutenant Dallas for Dr. Mira.”
