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"Yeah. People are never as discreet as they think they are, Peabody. My guess is at least half that painting class knew they were eyeballing each other. So, we check out the art students." She rubbed her eyes. "I need a list from Roarke—the names of the men he killed. The names of everyone he can think of who helped him track the
m."
"Which list do you want me to run?"
It surprised Eve to feel her eyes sting. Overtired, she told herself and willed back the tears. "Thanks. I owe you big for this."
"Okay. You going to eat those fries?"
With a half laugh, Eve shook her head and passed them over. "Help yourself."
"Dallas, how are you going to get around the commander?"
"I'm working on that." Because it made Eve's stomach uneasy, she rubbed it absently. "Right now, we have to get back to Central and goose McNab on the jams. I have to deal with the media before this explodes. I need the sweeper's and ME's reports on the Conroy homicide, and I have to have a fight with Roarke."
"Busy day."
"Yeah, all I have to do is fit the commander in, and it'll be perfect."
"Why don't I go harass McNab and you can go bribe Nadine Furst?"
"Good thinking."
• • •
Eve didn't have to find Nadine. The reporter was in Eve's office, grinning at Eve's communication center. The guts of it were spread over the desk.
"A little electronic blip, Dallas?"
"Peabody, go find McNab and kill him."
"Right away, Lieutenant."
"Nadine, how many times have I told you to stay out of my office?"
"Oh, dozens, I imagine." Still grinning, Nadine sat down and crossed her shapely legs. "I don't know why you bother. So, who was Shawn Conroy and why was he killed in Roarke's house?"
"It wasn't Roarke's house, it was one of Roarke's properties, of which he has legion." She angled her head, lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. "That's a qualification I'm sure you'll include in your report."
"My exclusive report." Nadine smiled her sunny smile. "Which will include a statement from the primary."
"You'll get your statement, and your exclusive." Eve shut the door, locked it.
"Hmm." Nadine lifted one perfectly arched brow. "That was entirely too easy. What's it going to cost me?"
"Nothing yet. You're running a tab. The NYPSD is investigating the murder of Shawn Conroy, Irish citizen, unmarried, forty-one years of age, bartender by trade. Following an anonymous tip, the primary in the case—with the assistance of Roarke—discovered the victim in an empty rental unit."
"How was he killed? I heard it was nasty."
"The details of the crime are not available to the media at this time."
"Come on, Dallas." Nadine leaned forward. "Gimme."
"Nope. But the police are investigating a possible connection between this crime and the murder, on Friday last, of communication tycoon—and Irish citizen—Thomas X. Brennen."
"Brennen? Jesus. Friday?" Nadine leaped to her feet. "Brennen's been killed? Christ Almighty, he owned majority stock in Channel 75. Holy God, how did we miss this? How did it happen? Where?"
"Brennen was killed in his New York residence. Police are pursuing leads."
