by J. D. Robb
“I can do my own begging, thanks. I’ll send a couple of boys down to get started. Got the train route in the file.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
“McNab’s eyes are going to bleed,” Peabody commented when Eve ended transmission. “That’s what he gets for being an e-man.”
“We get a visual of this guy, we nail that visual, we nail the box.”
It was going to take time, Eve thought. Not just hours, but days. And more than luck, it was going to require a small miracle.
O’Hara’s was as advertised: a small, reasonably clean Irish-style pub. More authentic in that area, Eve noted, than some billed as such in the city that attempted to prove it by slapping up shamrocks everywhere and requiring the staff to speak with fake Irish accents.
This one was dimly lit, with a good, solid bar, deep booths, and low tables scattered around with short stools bracketing them rather than chairs.
The man working the stick was wide as a draft horse, and pulled pints of Harp, Guinness, Smithwick’s, with an easy skill that told her he’d likely been doing so since he could stand.
He had a ruddy face, a thatch of sandy hair, and eyes that skimmed and scanned the room like a cop’s.
He’d be the man to see.
“I’ve never had a Guinness,” Peabody commented.
“You’re not having one now.”
“Yeah, on duty and all. But I’m going to have to try one sometime. Except they look a little scary and they cost beyond.”
“Get what you pay for.”
“Huh. Yet another tip.”
Eve stepped up to the bar. Its tender pushed pints into waiting hands, then worked his way down. “Officers,” he said.
“You’ve got good eyes. Mr. O’Hara?”
“I’m O’Hara. My father was on the job.”
“Where?”
“In merry old Dublin.”
She heard it in his voice, the same lilt that crept into Roarke’s. “When did you come over?”
“When I was but a green and cheery twenty, off to seek my fortune. And did well enough.”
“Looks like.”
“Ah well.” His face sobered. “You’re here about Lily. You want my help, or that of any here, to find the bastard who murdered that sweet girl, you’ve got it. Michael, take the stick. We’ll sit down a moment,” he said to Eve. “Will you have a pint?”
“On duty,” Peabody said, a little morosely, and he grinned.
“Beer’s next thing to mother’s milk, but I’ll pour you out something soft. Take that booth down there. I’ll be right along.”
“Pretty nice place.” Peabody settled in the booth, looked around. “I’m going to come back with McNab, try the Guinness. Does it come in light?”
“What would be the point?”
O’Hara brought two soda waters and a pint to the booth, and slid his bulk in across from them.
“To our Lily then.” He lifted his glass. “Bless her sweet soul.”
“What time did she leave here that night?”
He sipped. “I know you’re cops, but I haven’t your names as yet.”
“Sorry.” She pulled out her badge as she spoke. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“Roarke’s cop. I thought so.”
“You know Roarke?”
“Not in a personal manner of speaking. I’ve a few years on him, and we ran in different circles back in the day. My father knew him,” O’Hara said with a twinkle.
“I bet.”
“Did well for himself, too, didn’t he now?”
“You could say. Mr. O’Hara—”
“I don’t know him personally,” O’Hara interrupted, and leaned in, his eyes keen on hers. “But I know of him. And one of the things I know is that he’s a man who tends to want and have the best. Would that include his cop?”
“I’m sitting here, Mr. O’Hara, as Lily’s cop. And I’m going to make damn sure she’s got the best.”
“Well.” He sat back, lifted his pint again. “Well now, that’s a fine answer. She left about half-one. It was a slow night so I scooted her along a bit early. I should’ve had someone walk her home. I should’ve thought of that after what happened to that uptown woman. But I never thought of it.”
“You’ve got good eyes, Mr. O’Hara. Did you notice anyone in here that made you look harder?”
“Girl, doesn’t a week go by someone doesn’t make me take a harder look. I run a pub, after all. But not what you’re meaning. There was nobody I saw who made me think I’d need to worry for my girls.”
“He’d be big,” Eve continued. “A big man, strong-looking. He’d keep to himself, wouldn’t socialize or make conversation. He might have worn sunshades. He wouldn’t sit at the bar, unless there was no choice. He’d want a table—in Lily’s section—and he’d make it clear he didn’t want company.”
“I’d remember someone like that.” He shook his head. “But I don’t. I’m here most nights. But not every.”
“We’d like to talk to whoever worked Lily’s shift.”
“There’d be Michael, there at the bar now. And Rose Donnelly, Kevin and Maggie Lannigan. Ah, Pete, back in the kitchen at the dishes. Peter Maguire.”
“Regulars?”
“Ah well. Why don’t I write some of this down for you, get you addresses where I can. You can talk to Michael now, for he’s a clever enough lad and can work the bar and talk at the same time.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me tell you something about Lily. She was a shy thing, and we teased her about it. She had a kind and quiet nature, and worked well. When she got to know you, got comfortable so to speak, she was easier. She had a smile for you, and she remembered your name and what you ordered. She didn’t shine, but she was steady and sweet. We won’t forget her.”
“Neither will we.”
Chapter 14
The interviews took them past end-of-shift. And, Eve thought, unless she was going to screw up her personal life, she had to set the rest aside and head uptown.
“We could manage Rose Donnelly, that would finish it off.” Peabody gestured west. “She doesn’t live far.”
“If it wasn’t her night off, we might’ve caught her here. We can swing by, then I’ll dump you and . . . Hold that thought.” She dragged out her signaling ’link. “Dallas.”
“I’m hoping I could speak to you.” Celina’s tired face filled the screen. “I can come to you.”
“Something new?”
“No. Just . . . I’d like a few minutes.”
“I’m downtown anyway. I’ll come by now.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“I’ll take Sanchez,” Eve told Peabody. “See if you can link up with Donnelly, get her statement.”
“Works for me. I’ll see you later, at dinner. Walking another two blocks.” Peabody rubbed her hands together. “I get to eat everything that’s not nailed down.”
Eve jumped back in the car, headed for SoHo. And called Roarke. “Hi. I’m running a little late.”
“Shock and amazement.”
“Everybody’s got a joke today. I’ll be there. I’ve just got to make another stop first.”
“Don’t worry about it. If little becomes very, do you prefer to go straight to Charles’s, meet me there?”
“I’ll let you know, but I hope to hell not. I want a goddamn shower. I think I can make it in an hour. Probably. Around.”
“Close enough. I saw your press conference. They ran its entirety, and are following up with various sound bites.”
“Goodie.”
“I was very proud of you.”
“Well . . . jeez.”
“And I thought, if I were the man this woman with the cold and tired eyes was after, I would tremble.”
“You wouldn’t tremble if I was holding my weapon at your throat, but thanks. I’m going to take this last meet, then I’m heading home.”
“Me, too.”
“Oh.” She brightened a bit. “You’r
e still at work, didn’t realize. That’s good, that’s better. I’m not the only one scrambling. See you.”
Pleased with the situation, she pulled up in front of Celina’s loft. Even as she crossed to the entrance, Celina’s voice came through the intercom.
“I’ve cleared locks. Come right up.”
Anxious, Eve thought as she went inside and entered the elevator. When it reached level two Celina was waiting to open the gate.
“Thanks for coming. Thanks for being so quick.”
“I wasn’t that far away. What’s going on?”
“I need to . . . can I get you something? Tea? A glass of wine?”
“No. I’m heading home. I’ve got a thing.”
“Oh.” Distractedly, Celina brushed a hand through her hair. “Sorry. Let’s sit down anyway. I made tea. Needed to keep busy while I waited for you.”
Tea, Eve noted, along with little cookies, some neat wedges of cheese. Looked like girl-chat time to her, and she didn’t have the time or the inclination. “You said there wasn’t anything new.”
“I haven’t had another vision.” She sat, poured tea for herself. “I kept some of my appointments today. Thought I should try. But I ended up cancelling the rest after taking the first two. I just can’t concentrate.”
“Tough on business.”
“I can afford the time off. The regulars understand, and as for new clients . . .” She moved her shoulders, elegantly. “It adds to the mystique. But that’s not the point.”
“And the point is?”
“I’m getting to it.” Celina tilted her head. “Not much on small talk, are you?”
“I figure there’s a reason it’s called small.”
“Suppose you’re right. To begin, I watched your media conference. I wasn’t going to, but I felt, I thought, I should.”
She curled up her legs. “And it made me think.”
“It made you think what?”
“I can do more. I should do more. There’s a reason I’m getting these visions. I don’t know what it is, not specifically, but I know there’s a purpose. And while I’m doing the minimum I feel is required of me, I could do more.”
She sipped tea, then set the cup down. “I want to discuss going under hypnosis.”
Eve lifted her eyebrows. Just when you’re ready to bail, she thought, something interesting comes along. “How would that help?”
“There’s a part of me that’s blocking.” Celina touched her hands to either side of her head, then her heart. “Call it a survival mechanism, which I like better than yellow-bellied cowardice. Something in me that doesn’t want to know, to see, to remember, so I don’t.”
“Blocking the way you block picking up impressions or whatever you call them from people without their consent?”
“Not really. That’s a conscious act, though it becomes as elemental as breathing. This is subconscious. The human mind is a powerful and efficient tool. We don’t use it to its capacity. I don’t think we dare.”
She picked up one of the little golden cookies she’d set out with the tea, and nibbled. “We are able to block. Trauma victims often do. They’re unable or unwilling to remember the trauma, or details of it, because they can’t or won’t face it. You must see this sort of thing in your work.”
And in herself, Eve thought. In all the years she’d blocked out what had happened in that room in Dallas. “Yes.”
“Under hypnosis, those blocks can be removed or lowered. I may see more. I know there’s more, and I may see it. With the right practitioner . . . I’d need someone—I’d insist on someone very skilled not only in hypnosis, but in dealing with sensitives. I’d want a medical doctor present as well. I’d want Dr. Mira to do it.”
“Mira.”
“After you gave me her name, I did some research. She’s very qualified in all the areas I’d need. She’s also a criminologist, so it seems to me she’d be more cognizant of what to ask me, where to guide me while I was under. You trust her.”
“Absolutely.”
Celina gestured with the cookie. “And I trust you. I don’t put myself in just any hands, Dallas. To be honest, I’m afraid of this. But I’m more afraid of doing nothing. And you know what’s worse?”
“No.”
“I’m terrified I’ve been pushed into a new arena. That what I have, what I am, is moving down a path I never wanted for myself.” She hugged her right arm, rubbing it gently as if to soothe a spasm. “That I’m going to spend the next phase of my life seeing murder and violence, linking with victims. I liked my life the way it was. It makes it harder to realize it may never be just that way again.”
“And still you want me to contact Dr. Mira?”
She nodded. “The sooner the better. If I stall, I might lose the courage to follow it through.”
“Give me a minute,” Eve said as she pulled out her ’link.
“Oh. Right.” Celina rose, picked up the tea tray. She carried it into the kitchen.
With slow, deliberate moves, she put the clean cup and saucer away, set her own in the sink.
Then she laid her hands on her face, pressed her fingers to her closed lids. And hoped, with everything she was, that she was ready for what was coming.
“Celina?”
“Yes.” On a quick jerk, she dropped her hands, then turned to the doorway where Eve stood.
“Dr. Mira can see you tomorrow, at nine. She’ll need to do a consult first, and a physical exam before she agrees to hypnotherapy.”
“Yes, good.” She squared her shoulders as if adjusting to a weight, or shrugging one off. “That makes sense. Will you—could you be there?”
“If and when the hypnosis is approved, yes. Up until you’re set to go under, you can change your mind.”
Clasping a hand over the crystals dangling from her neck chain, Celina shook her head. “No, I won’t. I thought this through, up and down and sideways before I contacted you. I won’t change my mind. We’re going to move ahead. I can promise you, I won’t turn back now.”
Eve dashed in the house, slammed the door at her back. “I’m late,” she snapped before Summerset could speak. “But here’s the thing, I’m not always late, but you’re always ugly. Who’s got the real problem?”
Since she finished the question at the top of the stairs and kept going, she wasn’t annoyed with any reply he might have made.
She stripped off her jacket as she hit the bedroom door. Released her weapon harness and tossed it on the sofa. Yanked off boots by hopping one-footed toward the bathroom, and had her shirt off when she heard the water running.
Damn, he’d beaten her home after all.
She peeled off the rest. “Turn that water temp up.”
“Done. I adjusted when I heard the graceful patter of your delicate feet stomping about in the bedroom.”
Knowing Roarke wasn’t above being hysterically amused by having her scream after jumping into cold water, she stuck her hand in the spray first.
“Trusting soul,” he said, grabbing her hand and hauling her in. “Let’s stay home and make hot, wet love in the shower.”
“Forget it.” She elbowed him aside, pumped soap into her hand. “We’re going to dinner. We’re going to sit around somebody else’s house and make stupid conversation and eat food we don’t even get to pick for ourselves and pretend not to wonder exactly where in the apartment McNab and Charles punched each other out.”
“I can hardly wait.” He pumped shampoo and began to lather it into her hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you time. What have you done here?”
She hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”
“You have. You’ve been whacking at your hair again.”
“It was in my eyes.”
“Back here?” He tugged. “Fascinating. Does the NYPSD know they have a cop with eyes in the back of her head? Has the CIA been notified?”
“I can do this myself.” She pulled back, scrubbing vigorously at her hair wh
ile glaring at him. “Don’t tell Trina.”
He smiled, wolfishly. “And what would my silence be worth to you?”
“You want a quick hand job?”
“See, you’re being deliberately crude to put me off.” He tapped her chin. “Oddly enough, it doesn’t work.”
“She’ll know anyway,” Eve muttered, and stuck her head under the jets. “She’ll know, the next time she gets her hands on me. And she’ll make me pay. She’ll pour goo all over me, and lecture, and paint my nipples blue or something.”
“What an interesting picture that creates in my fevered brain.”
“I don’t know why I did it.” She jumped out and into the drying tube. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Tell it to the judge,” Roarke advised.
They weren’t very late, Peabody thought. And when you had two cops—two currently overworked, sleep-deprived cops—being on time wasn’t even in the realm.
Besides, she’d wanted to take as much time as she could squeeze out to make sure she looked her best. Since McNab had given her a big, “Oh, baby!” she figured she’d pulled it off.
He looked pretty adorable himself. His hair was all shiny and slick, and his cute little butt was nice and snug against the seat of black pants—saved from being too conservative by the fluorescent silver stripe running down each leg.
She had her hostess gift—a clutch of fairly fresh tiger lilies she’d snagged from a vender near her subway stop—and they’d been cleared through the lobby to the elevator.
“Now, you’re going to play nice, right?”
“Of course I’m going to play nice.” He fiddled with the collar of his silver shirt and wondered if he should’ve added a tie. Give Monroe a run for his sophisticated money. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She rolled her eyes at him as they stepped into the elevator.
“Then. Now. Then you were sleeping with him, and I was drunk and pissed off. Now you’re not and neither am I. Drunk and pissed off,” he qualified.
She ordered Charles’s floor, fluffed at her hair, and wished she’d had time to curl it, just for a change. “Neither was I.”
“What did you have to be drunk and pissed off about?” he asked.