In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death

goes back to ancient times, the strict code of nonviolence."
    "Nonviolence?" Eve narrowed her eyes. "What about curses, casting spells, and sacrifices? Naked virgins on the altar and black roosters getting their heads chopped off?''
    "Fiction depicts witches that way. You know, 'Double, double, toil and trouble.' Shakespeare. Macbeth."
    Eve snorted. "'I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too.' " The Wicked Witch of the West. Classic vid channel.
    "Good one," Peabody admitted. "But both examples feed into the most basic of misconceptions. Witches aren't ugly, evil crones mixing up cauldrons of goop or hunting down young girls and their friendly, talking scarecrows. Wiccans like to be naked, but they don't hurt anything or anyone. Strictly white magic."
    "As opposed to?"
    "Black magic."
    Eve studied her aide. "You don't believe in that stuff? Magic and spells?"
    "Nope." Revived with coffee, Peabody turned back to the computer. "I know some of the basics because I have a cousin who shifted to Wicca. He's into it big time. Joined a coven in Cincinnati."
    "You've got a cousin in a coven in Cincinnati." Laughing, Eve set her own coffee aside. "Peabody, you never cease to amaze me."
    "One day I'll tell you about my granny and her five lovers."
    "Five lovers isn't abnormal for a woman's lifetime."
    "Not in her lifetime; last month. All at the same time." Peabody glanced up, deadpan. "She's ninety-eight. I hope to take after her."
    Eve swallowed her next chuckle as her tele-link beeped. "Dallas." She watched Commander Whitney's face swim on-screen. "Yes, Commander."
    "I'd like to speak with you, Lieutenant, in my office. As soon as possible."
    "Yes, sir. Five minutes." Eve disengaged, shot a hopeful glance at Peabody. "Maybe we've got something going. Keep working on those files. I'll contact you if we're heading out."
    She started out, stuck her head back in. "Don't eat my candy bar."
    "Damn," Peabody said under her breath. "She never misses."
    Whitney had spent most of his life behind a badge and a large part of his professional life in command. He made it his business to know his cops, to judge their strengths and weaknesses. And he knew how to utilize both.
    He was a big man with workingman hands and dark, keen eyes that some considered cold. His temperament, on the surface, was almost terrifyingly even. And like most smooth surfaces, it coated something dangerous brewing beneath.
    Eve respected him, occasionally liked him, and always admired him.
    He was at his desk when she stepped into his office, lines of concentration puckering his brow as he read over some hard copy. He didn't glance up, merely gestured toward a chair. She sat, watched an air tram rumble by his window, baffled as always by the number of passengers with binoks and spy glasses.
    What did they expect to see behind the windows where cops worked? she wondered. Suspects being tortured, weapons discharged, victims bleeding and weeping? And why would the fantasy of such misery entertain them?
    "I saw you at the viewing last night."
    Eve shifted her thoughts and attention to her commander. "I imagine most every cop in Central made an appearance."
    "Frank was well-liked."
    "Yes, he was."
    "You never worked with him?"
    "He gave me some pointers when I was a rookie, helped out on legwork a couple of times, but no, I never worked with him directly."
    Whitney nodded, kept his eyes on hers. "He was partnered with Feeney, before your time. You were partnered with Feeney after Frank shifted from the streets to a desk."
    She began to get an uncomfortable feeling in the gut. Something here, she thought. Something's off. "Yes, sir. This has hit Feeney pretty hard."
    "I'm aware of that, Dallas. Which is why Captain Feeney isn't here this morning." Whitney propped his elbows on his desk, linked his fingers, folded his fingers over. "We have a possible situation, Lieutenant. A delicate situation."
    "Regarding DS Wojinski?"
    "The information I'm going to relay to you is confidential. Your aide can be apprised per your discretion, but no one else on the force. No one in the media. I am asking you, ordering you," he corrected, "to essentially work alone on this matter."
    The discomfort in her stomach spread into little licks of fear as she thought of Feeney. "Understood."
    "There is some question regarding the circumstances of DS Wojinski's death."
    "Question, Commander?''
    "You'll require some background data." He laid his folded hands on the edge of the desk. "It