Read Online The In Death Collection 06-10 by J. D. Robb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. D. Robb
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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.
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.
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