Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(89)

He felt a moment of relief, sweet in its intensity. He wanted to call his wife, hear his children’s voices, see their faces.

A movement reflected in the glass had him whirling, had his heart bounding into his throat. “How did you get in here?”

“Housekeeping, sir.” The dark woman in the trim black-and-white maid’s uniform held a stack of fluffy towels. She smiled.

“I don’t want housekeeping.” He passed a shaking hand over his face. “I’m expecting someone shortly. Just leave the towels and…” His hand slid slowly to his side. “I know you. I know you.”

Through the smoke, he thought through the cracked ice of fresh terror. One of the faces in the smoke.

“Of course you do, Louis.” Her smile never wavered as she dropped the towels and revealed the athame she held. “We f**ked just last week.”

He had time to draw breath for a scream before she plunged the knife into his throat.

Eve strode out of the elevator, bristling with annoyance. The reception droid had kept her waiting five full minutes while he checked her ID. He’d given her a hassle over taking her weapon into the club. She’d been considering just using it on him to shut him up when the day manager had bustled out full of apologies.

The fact that they’d both been aware he’d been apologizing to Roarke’s wife rather than Eve Dallas had only irritated her.

She’d deal with him later, she promised herself. See how the Luxury Club would like a full-scale inspection by the Department of Health, maybe a visit from Vice to check out their LCs. She had strings she could pull to insure the management a couple of days of minor hell.

She turned toward 5-C, started to punch the buzzer under the peep screen. Her gaze flickered over the security light. It beeped green for disengaged.

She drew her weapon. “Peabody?”

“Here, sir.” Though her voice was muffled against Eve’s shirt pocket.

“The door’s unlocked here. I’m going in.”

“Do you want backup, Lieutenant?”

“Not yet. Stay on me.”

She slipped inside, soundlessly, shut the door at her back. She kept to her defensive crouch, sweeping her weapon and her gaze through the room.

Fancy furniture, ugly and overdone in her mind, a rumpled suit jacket, a half-empty bottle. Drapes drawn. Quiet.

She stepped farther into the room, but kept near the wall, guarding her own back as she circled. No one hid behind the furniture, behind the drapes. The small kitchen was empty and apparently unused.

She stepped to the doorway of the bedroom, again crouched, again sweeping her weapon. The bed was made, heaped with decorative pillows and apparently hadn’t been slept in. Her gaze moved to the closet, the firmly shut carved doors.

She sidestepped toward it, then heard the sounds from the bathroom. Quick, heavy breathing, grunts of effort, a distinctly female chuckle. It passed through her mind that Louis might be having a quick roll with the LC of his choice, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance.

But she didn’t relax her guard.

She stepped left, shifted her weight, and swung to the doorway.

The smell hit her an instant before she saw it.

“Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Lieutenant?” Peabody’s voice, ringing with concern, piped out of her pocket.

“Back off.” Eve leveled her weapon at the woman. “Drop the knife and back off.”

“Sending backup now. Give me your situation, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve got a homicide. Really fresh. I said back the hell off.”

The woman only smiled. She straddled Louis, or what was left of him. Blood pooled on the floor, splattered the white tiles, coated her hands and face. The stench of it, and the gore, was thick as smoke.

Louis, Eve noted, was well beyond hope. He’d been gutted and disemboweled. And he was busily being eviscerated.

“He’s already dead,” the woman said pleasantly.

“I can see that. Put down the knife.” Eve took a step closer, gesturing with the weapon. “Put it down and move away from him. Slow. Face down on the floor, hands behind your back.”

“It had to be done.” She slid her leg over the body until she was kneeling beside it, like a mourner over a grave. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Yeah.” Even through the mask of blood, Eve had made the face. And she’d remembered the voice, the sweetness of it. “Mirium, right? First-degree witch. Now, drop the f**king knife and kiss the floor. Hands behind you.”

“All right.” Obligingly, Mirium set the knife aside, barely glancing at it when Eve trapped it under her heel, sent it skidding across the room well out of reach. “He told me to be quick. In and out. I lost track of time.”

Eve tugged her restraints from her rear pocket, snapped them in place over Mirium’s wrists. “He?”

“Chas. He said I could do this one all by myself, but to be fast.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

With her mouth thin, Eve looked down at Louis Trivane. No, she thought I wasn’t fast enough. “You copy that, Peabody?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pick up Charles Forte for questioning. Do it personally, and take two uniforms for backup. Don’t approach him alone.”

“Affirmative. Do you have the situation under control there, Lieutenant?”