In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death

chose some fresh strawberry jam for his croissant.
    "I'm going to nail her, I swear to God, I'm going to nail her. For all of them. I need to connect Wineburg to her. If I can do that, I can harass her some more. May not be enough to get me a warrant to toss her place, but I can keep on her ass."
    "Well, then." Roarke wiped his fingers with a pale blue linen cloth, set it aside. "I should be able to help you with that."
    As she continued to pace and mutter, he rose, walked to a dresser, took a sealed disc from a drawer. "Lieutenant?"
    "What? I'm thinking."
    "Then I won't interrupt your train of thought with the list of membership from Cross's cult." With a half smile on his face, he tapped the disk against his palm and waited for her eyes to clear and shoot to him.
    "The list? You got the membership roster? How?"
    He cocked his head. "You don't really want to know how, do you?"
    "No." She said it immediately. "No, I guess I don't. Just tell me he's on it." She closed her eyes briefly. "Just tell me Wineburg's on the list."
    "He certainly is."
    Her grin flashed quick and fever bright. "I love you."
    Roarke handed her the disc. "I know you do."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Feeney wanted to see Whitney first. So he made it early, and he made it personal. They, too, went back together a long way, Feeney thought as he pulled up in front of the neat two-level home in the 'burbs. He'd been here socially over the years. The commander's wife loved to throw parties.
    His mood wasn't sociable now as he strode up the pebbled walk toward the quiet house in the wakening neighborhood. A few yards down, a dog was barking in high, monotonous yips. The bark had none of the faintly metallic ring that said droid, but held a vibrancy of flesh and blood. The kind of dog that shit in the yard, Feeney thought with a shake of his head, and scratched at fleas.
    Leaves skittered playfully along the street, most of them making beelines for lawns. Lawns that were, in a neighborhood like this, tended like a religion.
    Feeney, himself, didn't get 'burb life, where you had to rake and mow and water or hire someone to rake and mow and water. He'd raised his family in the city, used the public parks. Hell, you had to pay for them, anyway. He moved his shoulders restlessly, not quite comfortable with the morning silence.
    Anna Whitney answered his knock, and though she couldn't have been expecting company at that hour, she was already decked out in a trim jumpsuit. Her light hair waved stylishly, and her makeup was subtle and perfect. Her lips curved in welcome. Her eyes may have flickered with surprise and curiosity, but she was too much the cop's wife to ask questions.
    "Feeney, how nice to see you. Come in, please, have some coffee. Jack's just having his second cup in the kitchen."
    "Sorry to disturb you at home, Anna. I need a few minutes of the commander's time."
    "Of course. And how's Sheila?" she asked as she led the way down the hall toward the kitchen.
    "She's fine."
    "She looked just wonderful the last time I saw her. Her new stylist is terrific. Jack, you've got company for coffee." She breezed into the kitchen, caught the surprise, then the speculation in her husband's eyes. She knew enough to make a quick exit. "I'll let you two chat. I've got a million things to do this morning. Feeney, you give Sheila my best, now."
    "I will. Thanks." He waited until the door swung closed, never taking his eyes off Whitney's. "Goddamn it, Jack."
    "This should be discussed in my office, Feeney."
    "I'm talking to you." Feeney jabbed a ringer. "To someone I've known twenty-five years. To someone who knew Frank. Why'd you cut me out of this? Why did you order Dallas to lie to me?"
    "That was my decision, Feeney. The investigation had to be on a need-to-know basis."
    "And I didn't need to know."
    "No." Whitney folded his big hands. "You didn't need to know."
    "Frank and I raised some of our kids together. Alice was my godchild. Frank and I rode as partners for five fucking years. Our wives are like sisters. Who the hell are you to decide I don't need to know he's being investigated?"
    "Your commander," Whitney said shortly and pushed his still steaming coffee aside. "And the reasons you just stated are the very reasons I made the decision."
    "You pushed me aside. You know damn well my division should have been involved. You needed records."
    "Records were part of the problem," Whitney said evenly. "There was no record of a heart defect in his medical files, no record