Vengeance in Death by J. D. Robb Read Free Book Online Page A

Thomas Brennen. I’ve got a list of Brennen’s nearest friends and associates. Narrow it down, and narrow it fast.” She handed Peabody a hard copy.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And check close on anyone named Riley — or Dicey.”
    McNab stopped the under-the-breath humming that seemed to be the theme song of every electronics man Eve knew. “Dicey Riley?” he said and laughed.
    “I miss the joke, McNab?”
    “I don’t know. ‘Dicey Riley’ is an Irish pub song.”
    “Pub?” Eve’s eyes narrowed. “You Irish, McNab?”
    She caught the slight flare of insult flicker over his pretty face. “I’m a Scotsman, Lieutenant. My grandfather was a Highlander.”
    “Good for him. What’s the song mean — what’s it about?”
    “It’s about a woman who drinks too much.”
    “Drinks? Not eats?”
    “Drinks,” he confirmed. “The Irish Virus.”
    “Shit. Well, half these are pubs anyway,” Eve said as she looked down at her own list. “We’ll run another check on Irish bars in the city.”
    “You’ll need a twenty man task force to hit all the Irish pubs in New York,” McNab said easily, then turned back to his work.
    “You just worry about the trace,” Eve ordered. “Peabody, run the names and locations for the bars. The uniform back yet with the discs from the Towers?”
    “He’s en route.”
    “Fine, have the bars broken down geographically. I’ll take the south and west, you take north and east.” Even as Peabody left, Eve turned to McNab. “I need something fast.”
    “It’s not going to be fast.” His boyish face was grim with purpose now. “I’ve already gone down a couple of layers. There’s nothing. I’m running a scattershot trace on the last transmission that came through. It takes time, but it’s the best way to trace through a jam.”
    “Make it take less time,” she snapped. “And contact me as soon as you break through.”
    He rolled his eyes behind her back as she strode out. “Women,” he muttered. “Always wanting a miracle.”
    Eve hit a dozen bars as she worked her way down to the medical examiner’s building. She found two bar owners and three crew who lived above or behind the business. As she pulled her unit into a third-level parking space at the ME’s, she called up Peabody.
    “Status?”
    “I’ve got two possibles so far, and my uniform’s going to smell like smoke and whiskey for the next six months.” Peabody grimaced. “Neither of my possibles claims to have known Thomas Brennen or to have an enemy in the world.”
    “Yeah, I’m getting the same line. Keep at it. We’re running out of time.”
    Eve took the stairs down, then coded herself into security. She avoided the discreet, flower-laden waiting area and moved straight into the morgue.
    The air there was cold, and carried the sly underlayer of death. The doors might have been steel and sealed, but death always found a way to make its presence known.
    She’d left Brennen in Autopsy Room B, and since it was unlikely he’d taken himself off anywhere, she approached the security panel, holding up her badge for the scan.
    Autopsy in progress, Brennen, Thomas X. Please observe the health and safety rules upon entering. You are cleared, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.
    The door clicked, then unsealed with a whoosh of chilly air. Eve stepped in to see the trim and dapper form of Dr. Morris, the ME, gracefully removing Brennen’s brain from his open skull.
    “Sorry we’re not finished up here, Dallas. We’ve had a flood of check-ins without reservations this morning. People — ha, ha — dying to get in.”
    “What can you tell me?”
    Morris checked the weight of the brain, set it aside in fluid. His waist-length braid made a curling line down the back of his snowy white lab coat. Under it he wore a skin suit of virulent purple. “He was a healthy fifty-two-year-old man, and had once suffered a broken tibia. It mended well. He enjoyed his last meal about four and a half hours before death. Lunch, I’d