J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

"Hers in particular?"

"Hers, and several others I'd been close to when I lived in Dublin."

"Let's just put this on the table." Eve drew Farrell's attention back to her, where she wanted to keep it. "I received a transmission, expertly jammed and so far untraceable, from an individual who claimed his game was vengeance sanctioned by God, and he'd chosen me for his opponent. He gave me a Bible quote, and a riddle, and upon following them I discovered the mutilated body of Thomas Brennen in his New York residence. Subsequently I learned that Roarke had known Thomas Brennen when they had both lived in Dublin."

"I've spoken with his widow myself," Farrell put in. "She said you were kind to her."

Eve lifted her brows. "We hardly ever kick widows around in the morgue anymore. It's bad for public relations."

Farrell drew a breath and watched two tourist trams, bright in their green and white paint, pass her windows. "Point taken, Lieutenant."

"Good. The following day I received another transmission, another set of clues, and found the body of Shawn Conroy. This pattern, and the fact that the second murder took place in one of Roarke's empty rental units, indicated that there was a connection to Roarke."

"And following that you followed the path from yet another transmission and discovered the body of Jennie O'Leary in a hotel which Roarke also owns."

"That's correct. A detective from our electronics division subsequently followed the transmission bounce, covering several points, one of which initially indicated that the transmission originated in our home. However, there was an echo which proved this to be false. At this time we are analyzing the echo and are confident that we will pinpoint the exact origin."

"And at this time your prime suspect is a man in Roarke's employ, a man who also lived in Dublin at one time. Summerset," she continued, smiling thinly at Roarke. "We've been able to access very little background information on him."

"You're a bit behind, Inspector," Eve said dryly. "Upon further investigation and personality testing, Summerset is no longer prime. Indications are that he was being used to mislead the investigation."

"Yet the direction of all points back to Dublin, which is why you're here."

"I received the cooperation of Roarke and Summerset. I believe that the motives for these crimes have their roots in the rape/murder of Summerset's minor daughter, Marlena, nearly twenty years ago. She was abducted and held by a group of men who threatened to harm her if Roarke didn't agree to their demands. However, his agreement was ignored and her body was dumped at the front door of the residence where Roarke, Summerset, and Marlena lived."

"This happened here, in Dublin?"

"Blood was and is shed," Roarke said coolly, "even in your tidy streets, Inspector."

Farrell's eyes hardened as she swiveled to her computer. "When?"

It was Roarke who gave her the year, the month, the day, and then the hour.

"Marlena Summerset."

"No. Kolchek. Her name was Marlena Kolchek." As Summerset's had been during that period, Roarke thought, but no records of Basil Kolchek exist. Not any longer. Summerset had come into existence only weeks after Marlena's death. "Not all children use their father's last name."

Farrell sent him one quiet look, then called for the file.

"This matter was investigated and ruled death by misadventure. Investigating officer…" She trailed off, sighed. "Inspector Maguire. You knew him?'' she asked Roarke.

"Yes, I knew him."

"I did not, not personally. But his reputation is not one this department has pride in. You knew the men who murdered this girl."

"I knew them. They're dead."

"I see." Her gaze flickered. "Their names, please."

As Roarke listed each, Farrell pulled files, scanned them.

"They were not sterling citizens of our city," she murmured. "And they died badly. One could say… vengefully."

"One could," Roarke agreed.

"Men who choose that lifestyle often die badly," Eve put in. "It's my belief that due to the link to Marlena's murder, this killer has set out to avenge one or more of their deaths in the mistaken belief that Roarke was responsible. Those who died in New York also knew Marlena and the true circumstances of her death. Summerset was her father and maintains a close personal relationship with Roarke. I've distracted him for the moment, but we have another day or two at best before he kills the next."

"Do you have any idea who will be next?"

"Nineteen years, Inspector," Roarke said. "I've contacted everyone I can think of who might be a target. But even that didn't help Jennie."

"I can access official data on the families of these men," Eve began, "but it's not enough. I need a personal take from a professional eye. I need a cop's view, a cop who knows them, their styles, their minds. I need a workable list of suspects."

"Do you have a profile on your man?"

"I do."

Farrell nodded. "Then let's get to work."

"Career criminals," Farrell commented, tapping a slim black pointer against her palm. They'd moved into a small, windowless conference room with a trio of wall screens. She gestured toward the first image. "Ryan here, a bad one, I put him in the nick myself five years back on armed robbery and assault. He's vicious, but more a bully than a leader. He's been out for six months – but it's doubtful he'll stay that way. He doesn't fit your profile." Across the room Eve had tacked stills to a wide board, victims on one side, possible suspects on the other. Taking Farrell's word, she removed Ryan.

"O'Malley, Michael."

"He was in the system the night Conroy was murdered." Eve frowned at the data beside the image. "Drunk driving."

"He has a problem with the bottle it seems." Farrell scrolled down, noted the dozens of violations for drunk and disorderly, driving while intoxicated, disturbing the peace. "And a wife beater as well. A darling man."

"He used to get pissed-faced then knock around the girl he was courting. Annie, I think her name was."

"Annie Murphy. And she married him and gets knocked around even today." Farrell sighed.

"A creep but not the killer." Eve pulled down his still. "How about charmer number three."

"Now here's a likely one. I've had dealings with Jamie Rowan, and he's not a bonehead. Smart, smug. His mother's family came from money that bought him a fine education. He has a taste for the high life."

"Handsome son of a bitch," Eve commented.

"That he is, and well aware of his charms. A gambling man is Jamie, and when those who lose don't pay quick enough, he has one of his spine crackers pay a visit. We questioned our boy here for accessory to murder just last year. It was one of his men right enough who did the deed on his orders. But we couldn't stick it."

"Does he ever crack spines himself?"

"Not that we've ever proved."

"We'll keep him up, but he looks too cool to me, more of a button pusher. Did you know him, Roarke?"

"Well enough to bloody his eye and loosen a few of his teeth." Roarke smiled and lighted a cigarette. "We would have been about twelve. He tried to shake me down. Didn't work."

"Those are the last three of your main possibles. So now we're down to – what?" Farrell took a quick count of the stills. "An even dozen. I'm inclined toward Rowan here, or Black Riley. The smartest of the lot."

"Then we'll put them at the top. But it's not just brains," Eve continued, walking around the conference table. "It's temperament, and it's patience. And ego. And it's certainly his personal religion."

"Odds are for Catholic if he's from one of these families. Most are churchgoers, attending Mass like the pious of a Sunday morning, after doing as they please on a Saturday night."