“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 his face to know.
“You lied to me.” There was a quaver in his voice that came as much from hurt as anger. But his eyes were flat and cold. “You fucking lied to me. I trusted you. You’ve been investigating Frank behind my back. Over his own dead body.”
There was no point in denying, less in asking how he’d found out. She’d known he would. “There was going to be an internal investigation. Whitney wanted me to clear him, and that’s what I’ve done.”
“Internal investigation my ass. Nobody was cleaner than Frank.”
“I know that, Feeney. I was—”
“But you investigated. You went through his records, and you did it around me.”
“That’s the way it had to be.”
“Bullshit. I goddamn trained you. You’d still be in uniform if I hadn’t put you here. And you back stab me.” He stepped closer, fists clenched at his sides.
She preferred him to use them.
“You’ve got Alice’s file open, suspected homicide. She was my goddaughter, and you don’t tell me you think some son of a bitch killed her? You block me out of the investigation, you lie to me. You looked right in my face and lied to me.”
Her stomach had gone to ice. “Yes.”
“You think she’d been drugged and raped and murdered, and you don’t take me in?”
He’d gotten into the records, the reports, she realized. They’d been sealed and coded, but that wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d gotten a whiff. And, she decided, he’d gotten one the night before, over Wineburg’s body.
“I couldn’t,” she said in a flat voice. “Even if I hadn’t been under orders, I couldn’t. You were too close. You can’t objectively assist on an investigation involving family.”
“What the hell do you know about family?” he exploded and made her jerk.
Yes, she’d have preferred his fists.