Payback in Death, page 2
“Roarke’s in the field?”
“Aye, didn’t they drag him off—and his own fault for being an early riser. A Brody trait.”
“Is it? He’s up before dawn pretty much every day. ’Link meetings, holo-meetings with somebody on the other side of the world.”
“It is, yes. The farmer in us, I suppose.”
“It’s hard to see farmer in Roarke.”
Sinead sent a smile over her shoulder. “But he plows and plants and tends and harvests right enough.”
“You could say that.” Eve drank more coffee. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“And you, you guard the fields and those who work them, and keep the predators at bay. It’s a fine match you’ve made.”
In short order, she put a plate in front of Eve.
“I see his face still, the first time he knocked on my door. The grief in his eyes—my sister’s eyes. Sure Siobhan’s were as green as mine, but the look in them, the shape of them. My sister’s child. And I see his face as so much lifted from him when he saw you land in the near field. And I knew, as he looked at you, he’d found the love she never did.”
She set aside a dish towel. “I wonder if I could speak to you about things on my mind.”
“Sure. Is there a problem?”
“It’s not the now, but the before. I’ll have some tea and sit while you eat.”
Sinead took her time about it, and Eve realized she sensed nerves.
“Sure I thought this a good time, with just the two of us, to say what so troubles me.” She sat, sighed. “We didn’t fight for him, you see, for our Roarke. Just a babe, and with that bastard Patrick Roarke. My sister’s child, and we didn’t fight for him.”
Because she thought it helped those nerves, Eve ate. “That’s not what I heard. Patrick Roarke nearly killed your brother when he went to Dublin to try to find out what happened to your sister.”
“He did, oh sweet Jesus, he did, and would see us all in the ground, he warned, if any of us came back. In those times, those hard times, Patrick Roarke had cops and more in both his hands and his back pocket. Still, we knew of the baby and let him go. We let Siobhan’s son go. And as time went on, we thought—on my life, we believed—Roarke himself knew of us, of his mother. And more time went on, and we heard—some time after it happened—that Patrick Roarke was dead. I thought of my children, not much younger than my sister’s child.”
“You thought he knew,” Eve said as Sinead stared into her tea. “And if he’d wanted contact, he’d reach out to his mother’s family, since Patrick Roarke couldn’t stop him. You thought—why wouldn’t you?—maybe he’s his father’s child, and I have my own to protect.”
Tears swirled, but Sinead didn’t shed them when she nodded. She sipped some tea as she gathered herself to say more.
“And that became a kind of comfort as more time passed. You’d hear of Roarke—the young man who made fortunes—you’d hear of deeds done in shadows—rumors of them. His life in New York City. A kind of empire, isn’t it?”
“And not really ‘kind of.’”
“I’d wonder, when I let myself wonder, what kind of man he was. Like his father? Ruthless, murderous, heartless? I might see a picture of him at some fancy place with some beautiful woman on his arm. I’d think: Where is Siobhan, where is my sister in this man? I couldn’t find her in him, you see. I couldn’t see her in him a’tall, so easier still to turn away, to let go.”
She sighed again. “Then I saw a picture of him with you, this policewoman with serious eyes. Not so glamorous as others, but more memorable to my thinking. And when I looked at him standing with you, I thought: Ah, well now, oh aye, there she is, there’s a bit of my sister after all. Who is this woman who brought Siobhan out in him?”
“She was always there, Sinead.”
Those tears shimmered over the Brody green. “I know that now. I think I knew that the moment I opened the door to him. But—”
“You opened the door to him,” Eve interrupted. “You let him in. You gave him family. Regrets aren’t just useless in this case, they’re just wrong.”
“We let him go.”
“You took him in,” Eve corrected, “when he needed you, and opened a door he hadn’t known existed. One he thought you’d shut in his face. His years in Dublin, with that fucker Patrick Roarke, and beyond that made him what he is. Who he is. Regret what you did or didn’t? You regret who he made himself.”
Blinking at the tears, Sinead sat back. “That’s very Irish of you.”
“Is it?” With a shrug, Eve polished off her breakfast. “Just strikes me as logic.”
“You love him, very much.”
“He’s a complicated, irritating, arrogant, fascinating, generous man. I love him, very much, even when he pisses me off. Which is fairly regularly. And yet. Do you know what he gave me for our anniversary?”
Now Sinead smiled, dashed away a tear that got through. “I was hoping you’d tell me, or show me. I imagine it’s blindingly gorgeous.”
“To me it is. He researched, developed, and is manufacturing what’s called Thin Shield. It’s a lightweight, flexible body armor that can be worn as a lining in a coat, jacket, vest, uniform. He gave them to my entire bullpen. He’s giving the next round of them to the NYPSD.”
For a moment, Sinead said nothing. “He loves you, very much.”
“Yeah, how about that? I’ll never figure out why, so I’ve learned to take it. You’ll never figure out the what-ifs, the if-only, Sinead, so regrets are useless. And they disrespect the man he is. That’s Siobhan’s son.”
“You’ve lifted a weight off my heart. That’s pure truth.”
“Good, because it didn’t belong there.”
“Hearing you say so makes a difference. You trusted us with him.”
After a beat, Sinead’s eyes widened. She grinned as she ticked a finger in the air. “Ah. I see. You looked into us.”
“I’m a cop,” Eve said simply. “And watch out, because Sean’s heading in that direction.”
“So it seems. You … investigated us?”
“You better believe I checked you out. Every one of you. And there are a hell of a lot of you.” Eve nudged her plate aside. “You’re an exceptional family.”
“More exceptional now. I’ll say again.” Reaching out, she gripped one of Eve’s hands. “I’m grateful to you, and for you, Eve.”
“Roarke’s out in some field, probably stepping in cow shit in his five-thousand-dollar boots.”
“Oh Jaysus, not so dear as all that, surely.”
“Conservative estimate.” Rising, she helped herself to another mug of coffee. “And the idea of it really brightens up my day. So gratitude right back.”
“I’ve a mind to go out, cut some flowers. I feel light and happy thanks to our talk here. Will you walk with me?”
“Are you going near any cows?”
“Ah, we’ll keep a good distance there.”
“Then I’m game.”
* * *
Maybe it surprised her how much she enjoyed several days on a farm in the Irish countryside, not far from the wild Irish coast. But the people brought the pleasure. She considered the many dogs and cats normal, even acceptable.
Cows and sheep within a stone’s throw of the house? Not so much. But she learned to sleep through the insistent call of the rooster, and kept her distance from the rest of the stock.
On the other hand, Roarke dived right in, tromping through fields in those five-thousand-dollar boots—they’d never be the same—riding on weird-looking machines.
She wondered, seriously, if he’d gone over the top when he milked a cow.
Machines did the real work, but you still had to get up close and personal. And because he wanted to see how it was done the old-fashioned way, his uncle obliged him.
So she stood, well back, in the doorway of the milking parlor, watching possibly the richest man in the known universe sit on a three-legged stool at the enormous back end of a cow who munched on a bunch of hay.
With his hair tied back in work mode, he used those clever and elegant hands to yank on a cow tit. A huge cow tit, the sort of tit she firmly believed had no place in a civilized world.
When milk squirted out of it and into a pail, she had to hold back a shudder. In contrast, Roarke grinned and kept on going.
“Will you have a go at it then, Eve? Our Gertie here’s gentle as a lamb.”
“Absolutely not. No. Never.” Plus, she’d heard the sounds lambs could make, and didn’t consider them gentle.
“It’s satisfying,” Roarke told her.
“Yeah, I bet. What man wouldn’t want to get his hands on a tit that big?”
When Robbie roared with laughter, she stepped back. “I’ll just leave the two of you to it.”
And when the three weeks away ended, she figured they’d done it all—and more. From the quiet of sun-soaked Greece to the quiet of green-soaked Ireland.
And cows aside, she’d enjoyed every second of it.
Chapter Two
Arriving in New York equaled noise, heat drenched in humidity, snarling, bad-tempered traffic, and sidewalks flooded with people.
A perfect welcome home. Eve loved every grimy or shiny, every rude or welcoming, every high-class or low-class square inch of it.
“It was good,” she said. “Everything was as good as it gets. So’s this.”
“Home’s always best.”
Roarke drove through traffic, the stop and go of it, with the same ease he’d milked a damn cow. They’d sent their luggage ahead, so it was just the two of them for a little while longer.
“And home on a Sunday means neither of us have to get back at it until tomorrow. I vote for pizza, a whole lot of wine, then popcorn and a vid and a whole lot of sex.”
“Do you now?”
“Gotta stretch the vacaying to the last minute.”
“I couldn’t agree more with any and all of that.”
They drove through the gates, and she looked at the towers, the turrets, the spread of the house Roarke built, at the expanse of lawn, the summer green of the trees, the vibrant flowers and shrubs.
“Yeah, home’s best.”
Still best, she thought when they went in, to find Summerset, in his habitual funeral black, waiting in the foyer. Galahad sat beside him, but instead of padding over to greet them, he just gave them the hard eye.
Eve crouched down. “Come on, you know you missed me.”
He looked deliberately away, then back, then sort of sashayed over as if granting a favor.
But when she gave him that first long stroke, he purred, then rubbed his pudgy body against her knees.
“Welcome home,” Summerset said. “You both look as if the time away did you more than good.”
“It did. And all’s well here?”
“Yes, it is. Your family’s well, I hope, one and all.”
“They are, and send you their best.”
“The bags you marked for me are unpacked, and the others upstairs. Except for the lieutenant’s gift to you.” Summerset gestured toward the main parlor. “As you requested.”
Taking Eve’s hand, Roarke walked into the parlor.
The painting hung in a place of prominence over the mantel.
Surprised, Eve turned to him. She’d expected him to hang it in his office, maybe the library. “Here? You’re sure about that?”
“It’s personal, but not private. It’s family, so I’m sure, yes.”
“It’s a precious gift. I’m honored to be included in it,” Summerset added.
Eve just shrugged. “You’re his real father, so…” She scooped up the cat. “See? We didn’t leave you out, either.”
The painted Galahad sat between Eve and Roarke, looking pudgy yet dignified.
“I’m going to head up and unpack.” But she lingered another moment. “It looks good there.”
She set down the cat so he jogged up the steps beside her. The minute she walked into the bedroom, he made a beeline for the bed, leaped up, sprawled out.
Obviously, all was forgiven.
She sat beside him, gave him a belly rub. “I missed you, too. You’d probably have gone for the villa in Greece—luxury’s your speed. But you wouldn’t have gone for the farm, trust me. Too much competition, to start—dogs and cats swarming. Too much outside for you, with big-ass cows and weird-eyed sheep. You’re an urbanite, pal. It takes one to know one.”
“So are we all,” Roarke agreed. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to do what the family does every bloody day. A bit of a lark for me to have a hand at it for a very short time, but the farmer’s life? It’s a hard one. And one they love.”
When he sat, Galahad shifted his affections.
They unpacked and, by tacit agreement, both stayed out of their offices and had pizza on the patio as the sun set.
“Maybe we scratch the popcorn and vid.” She sat back, sipped a little more wine. “It’s barely nine, but it doesn’t feel like it.”
“There’s the earth on its axis moving around the sun again.”
“Yeah, you ought to find a way to fix that. We can skip straight to the sex.”
“How could I argue with that?”
“I figured that would get your vote.” She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the night. “I’m going to have a shitload to catch up on tomorrow. You, too.”
“The price we pay.”
“Worth it. I did miss the cat, and New York pizza, but worth it. What time’s your first meeting?”
He smiled at her. “You’ll still be sleeping.”
“Figured. Then let’s go get this vacation capped off.”
They walked inside, then up to the bedroom, where the cat already stretched across the bed.
“Some things don’t change,” she commented.
And as they turned to each other, the communicator on her dresser signaled.
“No, they bloody don’t.”
“What the serious fuck? I’m not on the roll until oh-eight hundred.”
She snatched it up. “Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Official request for your assistance from Webster, Lieutenant Donald. Unattended death, 14 Leonard Street, apartment 321. Will you respond as primary?
“Crap. Affirmative. Responding now. Dallas out.”
She looked over at Roarke. “I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Understood. I’ll drive—and don’t wonder if I’m going with you because he once tried putting moves on you, and in our house. That’s all done. We’ll consider it our alternate way of capping off our vacation.”
“Fine.” She strapped on the weapon she’d put on the dresser for the morning. “What the hell is IAB doing at an unattended death?”
“I suppose we’ll find out.”
She grabbed her badge, her ’link, the rest of her pocket paraphernalia. “I’m going to see who lives—and possibly died—there while you drive.”
They left the cat on the bed and went out to the car Roarke had remoted from the garage to the front of the house. She pulled out her PPC, started the search while he sped down the drive, through the gates.
“Shit. Shit. Martin and Elizabeth Greenleaf have that unit. Captain Martin Greenleaf, IAB—retired. I know—or maybe knew—him some. He’s Webster’s guru or mentor, father figure. I know they’re tight. He was tight with Greenleaf and his wife.”
“He requested you because, as you said, it’s important. I assume he didn’t just tag you so as to keep it official?”
“Yeah, yeah. Still stretching it some. And he wouldn’t have stretched it if it’s, or looks like, natural causes, or an accident. Or maybe he would,” she considered. “Because they were tight, and he just reacted.”
“You’ll sort it out.”
“Yeah.” She looked at him again. “Welcome the hell home.”
“Well then, it is our home and our life here, isn’t it then? It’s what we do, who we are. I wouldn’t change it. Would you?”
“No.” That part came easy. “But I didn’t expect to dive right back into murder. And he wouldn’t have asked for me, especially this way, if he didn’t think murder. And I can’t go into whatever this is influenced by what he thinks or feels.”
“He’d know that, wouldn’t he?”
“He should. Crap, crap, Captain Greenleaf, or his wife. Or somebody else in their apartment. But odds of somebody else don’t fly.”
“Because?”
“What I know of Greenleaf is by the book, and the book is sacred. No deviation. And I have to wipe that out, go in blank. That’s how it has to be.
“Webster’s been taking a lot of time off-planet.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Bollocks to that. He’s spending that time at the Olympus Resort, and with Darcia Angelo. Olympus is basically yours, and she’s your top cop there. You know.”
“She does her job, and well. Her off time is her own. And yes, he visits often enough. They made a connection—we saw it for ourselves.”
“Pretty damn quick connection.”
Amused, he shot her a look. “And didn’t we?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. Yeah, okay. Listen, I’m going to need you to be Peabody,” she said, referring to her partner. “Either assisting me if I need you to, or keeping Webster out of my way. Can you do the second part without punching him in the face?”
“It’s been a bit of time since I punched him in the face, or elsewhere,” Roarke said easily. “We came to an understanding.”
“Great.” When he turned onto Leonard, she felt a wave of relief. “He called in uniforms. That’s a good step. Follow procedure, secure the scene.”
“I’ll get your field kit from the trunk and put on my Peabody.”
A good, solid building, she noted, brick, pre-Urbans. A decent neighborhood, good security on the entrance. And a uniform standing there now.
She badged him as they walked up the short steps to the doors.
“Lieutenant.”
“What do you know, Officer?”
“My partner and I responded to a nine-one-one by Lieutenant Webster. Ambulance also requested, but the victim was DOS. Lieutenant Webster ordered me to take the entrance door, and my partner to remain on scene with him to ensure it remained secure. DB is male, mid-seventies, at a desk in what appears to be a home office. No visible signs of forced entry.”
