Vengeance in Death (In Death #6)(31)

“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.”

“Leads? What leads? God, I knew him.”

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “Did you really?”

“Sure, I met him dozens of times. Station functions, charity events. He even sent me flowers after — after that business last spring.”

“The business where you nearly got your throat slit.”

“Yes,” Nadine snapped and sat again. “And I haven’t forgotten who made sure I didn’t. I liked him, Dallas. Damn it, he’s got a wife, kids.” She brooded a moment, pretty fingers tapping her knee. “The station’s going to be in an uproar when this hits. And half the media around the world. How did it happen?”

“At this point, we believe he surprised an intruder.”

“So much for security,” she muttered. “Walked in on a damn burglary.”

Eve said nothing, pleased that Nadine had jumped to that particular conclusion.

“A connection?” Her eyes sharpened. “Shawn Conroy was Irish, too. Do you believe he was involved in the burglary? Did they know each other?”

“We’ll investigate that angle.”

“Roarke’s Irish.”

“So I’ve heard,” Eve said dryly. “Off the record,” she began, and waited for Nadine’s reluctant nod. “Roarke knew Shawn Conroy back in Ireland. It’s possible — just possible — that the house where Conroy was taken out was being cased. It was furnished — well, as I’m sure you can imagine how well. And the new tenants weren’t due to move in for a couple of days. Until we nail things down a bit, I’d like to keep Roarke’s name out of it, or as far in the background as possible.”

“Shouldn’t be hard at this point. Every station, and certainly ours, is going to hit with the Brennen story — then we’ll do a lot of retrospectives, biographies, that sort of thing. I’ve got to get this in.”

She leaped up again. “Appreciate it.”

“Don’t.” Eve unlocked the door, opened it. “You’ll pay for it eventually.”

And now, Eve mused, rubbing her temple, she could only hope she could bluff and bullshit her commander with half as much success.

“Your report seems sparse, Lieutenant,” Whitney commented after Eve had finished backing up her written report with an oral one.

“We don’t have a lot to work with at this stage, Commander.” She sat, face composed, voice bland, meeting Whitney’s sharp dark eyes without a blink. “McNab from EDD is working on the jams and trace, but he doesn’t appear to be having much success. Feeney will be back in about a week.”