"Okay, you can go on back to work. I may have to talk to you again. If you remember anything, anything at all, or anyone, you'll get in touch with me."
"I will, yes. But Shawn can't have done anything really wrong, Lieutenant," she added as she rose. "He's not a bad sort, just a bit foolish."
"Foolish," Eve mused, turning the token in her fingers as Maureen hurried out. "And unlucky. Let's get a uniform to stake out the bar just in case we're wrong and Shawn's been out all day wheeling a deal or making love to a woman. We'll go see if Sinead Duggin is any more observant than Maureen."
"The riddle guy, he said you had until tomorrow morning."
Eve rose, tucking the token away. "I think we can safely assume he cheats."
Sinead Duggin lighted a skinny silver cigarette, narrowed hard green eyes, and blew jasmine-scented smoke in Eve's face. "I don't like talking to cops."
"I don't like talking to assholes," Eve said mildly, "but I spend half my life doing it. Here or at Cop Central, Sinead. Up to you."
Sinead shrugged thin shoulders, the movement nudging apart the poppy-strewn robe she wore. Absently she tugged it tight and, turning, padded barefoot into her cramped one-room apartment.
It wasn't cramped with furniture. There was the Murphy bed, open and unmade, that she'd crawled out of when Eve had battered at the door. Two small chairs, two narrow tables. But every surface, window sills included, was jammed with things.
Obviously, Sinead liked things. Colorful things. Bowls and plates and statues of fuzzy little dogs and cats. The tassels of the two floor lamps were heavy with dust. Scatter rugs were piled like jigsaw puzzles over the floor. Sinead sat cross-legged on the bed, hefted up an enormous glass ashtray that would have made a fine blunt instrument, and yawned hugely.
"So?"
"I'm looking for Shawn Conroy. When did you see him last?"
"Last night. I work nights." She scratched the instep of her left foot. "I sleep days."
"Who did he talk to? Did you see him with anyone in particular?''
"Just the usual. People come in looking for a bottle or a glass. Shawn and I oblige them. It's honest work."
Eve dumped a week's worth of clothes off a chair and sat. "Peabody, open those blinds. Let's get some light in here."
"Oh, Jesus." Sinead covered her eyes, hissing when the blinds zipped up and sun shot in. "That stuff'll kill ya." Then she let out a long sigh. "Look, cop, Shawn's a drunk right enough. But if that's the worst you can say about a body, it's a fine life after all."
"He went back to his room on his break. Who went with him?"
"I didn't see anyone go with him. I was working. I tend my business. Why do you care?" Her eyes cleared slowly as she lowered her hand. "Why do you care?" she repeated. "Something happen to Shawn?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"Well, he was right as rain last night, I can tell you that. Cheerful enough. Said something about an outside gig in the offing. Money heading his way."
"What kind of gig?"
"Private parties, classy stuff. Shawn had a yen for classy stuff." Sinead tapped out her cigarette then immediately lighted another. "He came back from his break grinning like a cat with a bowl full of canaries. Said he'd put in a word for me if I was interested."
"A word where, with who?"
"I wasn't paying attention. Shawn's always talking big. He was going to be tending bar, serving the finest wines and such at a party for some high flyer."
"Give me a name, Sinead. He was bragging, full of himself. What name did he drop?"
"Well, hell." Irritated, but caught up, Sinead rubbed her forehead with her fingers. "An old mate, he said. Someone from Dublin who'd made it big. Roarke," she said, jabbing with the smoldering cigarette. "Of course. That's why I thought it was just Shawn bullshitting as usual. What would a man like Roarke be wanting with the likes of Shawn?''
It took all Eve's control not to leap up from the chair. "He said he'd talked to Roarke?"
"Christ, my mind's not awake." She yawned again when an airbus with a faulty exhaust farted outside the window. "No, I think he said… yeah, he was saying how Roarke sent his man to do the deal. And the pay was fine. He'd be out of the Shamrock and into the high life before long. Take me along for the ride if I wanted. Shawn and me, we bumped together a few times when the mood struck. Nothing serious."
"What time did you close up the Shamrock?" As Sinead's gaze slid away, Eve ground her teeth. "I don't give a shit about the after-hours license. I need the time you last saw Shawn, and where he went."
"It was about four this morning, and he said he was going to bed. He was to meet the man himself today and needed to look presentable."
"He's playing with me." Eve slammed into her vehicle, rapped a fist against the wheel. "That's what the bastard's doing, playing with me. Throwing Roarke's name into the mix. Goddamn it."
She held up a hand before Peabody could speak, then simply stood staring out the window. She knew what she had to do. There was no choice for any of them. She snatched up the car 'link and called home.
"Roarke residence," Summerset said in smooth tones, then his face went stony. "Lieutenant."
"Put him on," she demanded.
"Roarke is engaged on another call at the moment."
"Put him on, you skinny, frog-faced son of a bitch. Now."
The screen switched to the pale blue holding mode. Twenty seconds later, Roarke was on. "Eve." Though his mouth curved, the smile didn't touch his eyes. "Problem?"
"Do you know a Shawn Conroy?'' She saw it in his face before he answered, just a flicker in those dark blue eyes.
"I did, years ago in Dublin. Why?''
"Have you had any contact with him here in New York?"
"No. I haven't seen or spoken to him in about eight years."
Eve took a calming breath. "Tell me you don't own a bar called the Green Shamrock."
"All right. I don't own a bar called the Green Shamrock." Now he did smile. "Really, Eve, would I own something quite so cliched?"
Relief had the weight dropping out of her stomach. "Guess not. Ever been there?"
"Not that I recall."
"Planning any parties?"
He angled his head. "Not at the moment. Eve, is Shawn dead?"
"I don't know. I need a list of your New York properties."
He blinked. "All?"
"Shit." She pinched her nose, struggling to think clearly. "Start with the private residences, currently, unoccupied."
"That should be simple enough. Five minutes," Roarke promised and ended transmission.
"Why private residences?" Peabody wanted to know.
"Because he wants me to find it. He wants me there. He's moved quickly on this one. Why hassle with a lot of security, cameras, people. You get a private home, empty. You get in, do your work, get out."
She flipped her 'link to transmit when it beeped.
"Only three unoccupied at the moment," Roarke told her. "The first is on Greenpeace Park Drive. Number eighty-two. I'll meet you there."
"Just stay where you are."
"I'll meet you there," he repeated, and broke transmission.
Eve didn't bother swearing at him, but swung the car away from the curb. She beat him there by thirty seconds, not quite enough time for her to bypass the locks with her master code.
The long black coat he wore against the bite of wind flowed like water, snapped like a whip. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and despite her scowl kissed her lightly. "I have the code," he said and plugged it in.
The house was tall and narrow to fit the skinny lot. The ceiling soared. The windows were treated to ensure privacy and block UV rays. At the moment, security bars covered them so that the sunlight shot individual cells onto the polished tile floors.
Eve drew her weapon, gestured Peabody to the left. "You're with me," she told Roarke, and started up the curving flow of the staircase. "We're going to talk about this later."