Ritual in Death Read Free Page A

from the guests, then clear them out.
    She sat on the floor with Jackson. “I need a sample of the blood you’re wearing, Jack.”
    “There’s so much of it.” His body jerked every few seconds, as if in surprise. “It’s not mine.”
    “No.” She took several samples—face, arms, chest, back, feet. “What were you doing in 606?”
    “What?”
    “Suite 606. You were in there.”
    “I don’t know. Was I?”
    “Who’s the woman?”
    “There were a lot of women, weren’t there?” Again he shuddered in pain. “Were you there? Do you know what happened?”
    “Look at me, goddamn it.” Her voice was like a slap, shocked him back to her. “There’s a woman in 606. Her throat’s slashed.”
    “Did I do it? Did I hurt somebody?” He pressed his forehead to his knees. “My head. My head. Somebody’s screaming in my head.”
    “Do you belong to the Asant Group?”
    “I don’t know. What is it? I don’t know. Who are you? What’s happening?”
    With a shake of her head, Eve rose as the med-techs she’d ordered stepped in. “I want him examined. I want a blood sample. I need to know what he’s on. When you’re done, he’ll be transported to Cop Central.”
    “Whose blood is it?”
    “You’re too late for her.” She walked back into the living area to leave them to it just as her partner came in the main door.
    Peabody’s hair was pulled back in a stubby little tail that left her square face unframed and seemed to enlarge her brown eyes. She wore baggy dark pants and a white tee with a red jacket tossed over it. She carried a field kit.
    “Who died?”
    “An as yet unidentified female. Prime suspect is in there.” Eve jerked her head. “Naked and covered with what is most likely her blood.”
    “Wow. Must’ve been a hell of a party.”
    “It happened on the other side. Let’s go work the scene.”
    Outside the doors of 606 they coated hands and feet with Seal-It while Eve gave Peabody the rundown.
    “He just walked into the cocktail party? And doesn’t remember anything?”
    “Yes, and so it seems. He doesn’t come off as faking it. Both pupils are big as the moon. He’s disoriented, motor skills are off, and he appears to have one major headache.”
    “Stoned?”
    “Be my first guess, but we’ll see what the MTs have to say about it.” Eve unsealed the door, and now used the key Roarke had acquired for her.
    When she stepped in, the sturdy Peabody blanched. “Man. Oh crap.” She bent over at the waist, pressed her hands to her thighs and took long, slow breaths.
    “Don’t you boot on my crime scene.”
    “Just need a minute. Okay.” She kept breathing. “Okay. Black magic. Bad juju.”
    “Don’t start that shit. We’ve got a bunch of assholes who had an orgy, topped it off with ritual murder using Satan as an excuse. Used the private elevator,” Eve added, gesturing toward it, “most likely, coming and going. We’ll want the security discs for that. Cleaned up after they did her. Evidence of that in the bathrooms, of which there are six in this place. Beds show signs of being used, and food and drink were consumed. Since I doubt the pentagram is part of the room’s original decor, somebody drew it on the floor. A question might be ‘Why?’ Why use a fancy, high-dollar hotel suite for your annual satanic meeting?
    “Let’s get her prints, get an ID and a time of death.” Since Peabody still looked pale, Eve opted to take the body herself. “Do a run on Pike, Jackson. His prints came up with age thirty-three, and an addy on West Eighty-eighth. He’s a doctor. See if he’s got a sheet.”
    Eve stepped over to the body, doing what she could to avoid the blood. Not to preserve her shoes, but the scene. The air chilled, teased gooseflesh on her arms, and once more she felt, sensed, a pulsing.
    She lifted the victim’s hand to the Identi-pad, scanned the prints.
    “Marsterson, Ava, age twenty-six, single. Mixed-race female with an address on Amsterdam. Employed