J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

His eyes were dark and cold on hers, but she saw the fear riding just behind the pride. "I am not in the habit of depending on the police department."

"If your story's clean, you wouldn't be sitting here if you had." Their eyes held as she leaned forward. "You're aware that there have been three murders and that you were under suspicion for those three murders. Though the evidence is circumstantial, and your testing results were negative, you weren't sitting on a garden bench there."

She wanted to shake him for being stupid, for disliking her so intensely he hadn't asked for help even when she would have had no choice but to give it. "Now, you claim to have gotten an anonymous call and end up on the scene of an attempted murder."

"It isn't a claim, it's a fact. I couldn't risk someone else I cared for being hurt." It was as much as he could bear to give, that one reminder of his daughter. "I wouldn't risk it. When the transmission came through, I acted as I thought I had to act."

It would have been easier if she hadn't understood. She eased back again. ' "The scene and method of this attempted murder follows the same pattern as the three more successful murders."

She reached down into the bag she'd brought in and took out a small glass jar. It wasn't Patrick Murray's eye that floated in it. The surgeons had hope they could reattach it. But the simulation carried the same impact.

She watched as Summerset stared at the small, floating organ, then turned her head away.

"Do you believe in an eye for an eye?"

"I thought I did." His voice trembled, then he steadied it. "I don't know what I believe."

Saying nothing, she reached down again and picked out the statue of the Madonna. "The Virgin. Marlena was innocent. She was pure."

"She was fourteen. Only fourteen." Tears swam in his eyes, paining them both. "I have to believe she's at peace. To survive I have to believe. Do you think I could do what's been done here, in her name?" He closed his eyes, desperate for control. "She was gentle, and unspoiled. I won't answer any more questions about her. Not to you."

She nodded and rose. But before she turned he caught the pity dark and deep in her eyes. He'd opened his mouth without any idea what he would say, when she spoke again.

"Are you aware that electronics play a primary part in said crimes, and that your incoming log is worth squat?"

Again he opened his mouth, closed it again. What kind of woman was it, he wondered, who could go from melting compassion to whiplash in less than a blink. This time he took a deeper drink. "The transmission came in, just as I've said."

Steady again, Eve came back, sat. The image of Marlena was ruthlessly blocked from her mind. "Did you attempt to contact Audrey Morrell and access her status?''

"No, I – "

"How did you travel to the Mermaid Club?"

"I took my personal vehicle and, following the instructions I was given, parked near the side entrance of the club on Fifteenth Street."

"How did you get in?"

"The side door was unlocked."

"What happened then?"

"I called out. No one answered, but the music was very loud. All the lights were on. I went into the lounge area. I saw him right away, in the tank. He – I think he was moving. I thought I saw his lips move. His eye – his eye was gone and his face was battered."

He began to lose color as he spoke, as the image played back in his head. "Water was still going into the tank. I didn't know how to shut it off. I started up the ladder, thinking I could pull him out. Then you came in."

"How were you going to pull him out when he was cuffed to the tank floor?"

"I didn't see that. I didn't see. I only saw his face."

"You knew Patrick Murray in Dublin?"

"I knew a number of people. I don't remember a Patrick Murray."

"Okay, let's try this again."

She worked him for two hours, and worked him hard. His story never shifted by an inch. When she stepped out of Interview, she signaled to Peabody. "Check and see if my new vehicle's come through and what slot I'll find it in. Let me know, then meet me there in five minutes."

"Yes, sir. He held up," she commented. "If I got hammered that hard in Interview, I'd probably confess just to get some peace."

He'd held up, she thought, but he'd looked ten years older when she'd finished with him. Old and ill and fragile. Her stomach rolled with guilt. "The only thing he did this morning was win a stupidity prize," Eve muttered as she marched down the corridor.

She found Roarke, as she'd expected, waiting in her office. "I'm getting you ten minutes with him. Talk him into letting you lawyer him. I don't care how you do it."

"What happened? What was he doing there?"

"I don't have time. He'll tell you. I've got some legwork, shouldn't take more than an hour. Then I'm going home, with Peabody. We have to do a search. Technically, I don't need a warrant to sweep his quarters as it's on your property. But you could make it sticky."

"I've no intention of making this sticky. I want this put away as much as you do."

"Then do us all a favor – stay away from the house, and see that he stays away once your lawyers spring bail, until after three this afternoon."

"All right. Do you have an ID on the victim?"

"He's alive, barely, and his name is Patrick Murray. He was the floor scraper at the club. I've got to contact his wife."

"Pat Murray. Jesus, I didn't recognize him."

"But you knew him."

"More professionally than personally. He liked to gamble, I provided games." His recollection was vague and misty. "He sold me a tip on where I could find Rory McNee. He must have told someone about it. I certainly didn't, and we weren't friends. The fact is he often ran numbers and minor errands for O'Malley and the others. I never thought of him." He lifted his hand, let it fall. "The tip was a dead end, so I never thought of him."

"Someone did. Doesn't matter if the tip was bogus or not. He sold it to you and that makes him a traitor. Which makes him a target." Her communicator beeped. "Dallas."

"Got your vehicle, Lieutenant, garage section D, level three, slot 101."

"On my way. I've got to go," she said to Roarke. "Call the lawyers."

He managed to smile a little. "I did that an hour ago. They should be convincing a judge to grant bail about now."

Because she was in a hurry, Eve took the motor glide to section D – or as far as section C, where it broke down. She jumped off without bothering to swear and covered the next level at a fast clip. She located slot 101 and found Peabody gawking at a slick new Sunspot with an angled-down hood, converto-roof, and deflector fins, front and rear.

"I thought you said 101."

"I did."

"Where's my replacement vehicle?"

"This is it." Peabody turned with wide eyes. "Right here. This one."

Eve only snorted. "Nobody in Homicide gets one of these muscle jobs – not even the captains."

"Serial plates match. I checked the key code." She held out a thin metal plate that could be used by the operator if the code was forgotten. "It works. I started to call in to Vehicular Requisitions, then figured why be stupid."

"Well." Eve pursed her lips, whistled lightly. The color might have been an unfortunate pea green, but everything else about it was prime. "Wow. Somebody screwed up, but we might as well enjoy it while we can. Get in."

"You don't have to twist my arm." Peabody scooted under the upward-opening door and wiggled down until her butt settled comfortably. "Nice seats. You can program initial for your voiceprint."

"We'll play with it later." Eve engaged the ignition manually and lifted a brow in approval at the big cat purr of the engine. "Not one hiss or hiccup. This could be the beginning of a fine new partnership. I hope the security shield and jacking deflectors are operational."