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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."
