by Steven Henry
Aquarium
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Book Twelve
Steven Henry
Clickworks Press • Baltimore, MD
Also by the Author
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Black Velvet
Irish Car Bomb
White Russian
Double Scotch
Manhattan
Black Magic
Death By Chocolate
Massacre
Flashback
First Love
High Stakes
Aquarium
The Devil You Know (coming soon)
* * *
The Clarion Chronicles
Ember of Dreams
Copyright © 2021 Steven Henry
Cover design © 2021 Ingrid Henry
Cover photo © 2021 Emmerlee Photography
NYPD shield photo used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Stephen Mulcahey/Shutterstock)
Author photo © 2017 Shelley Paulson Photography
Spine image used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Tetiana Peliutska/Shutterstock)
All rights reserved
First publication: Clickworks Press, 2021
Release: CP-EOR12-INT-E.D-1.1
Sign up for updates, deals, and exclusive sneak peeks at clickworkspress.com/join.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-943383-76-4
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943383-77-1
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-943383-78-8
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For Ron Cirksena, my 8th grade English teacher,
who always encouraged me.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Sneak Peek: The Devil You Know
Ready for more?
About the Author
Also by Steven Henry
More Great Titles from Clickworks Press
Aquarium
* * *
Pour 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. Blue Curaçao liqueur, 1 oz. Lychee liqueur, and
a dash of lemon juice into a cocktail shaker and shake.
Strain into a cocktail glass and serve.
Chapter 1
“All right, you sorry lot of scunners. Shut your mouths and open your ears. I’ve something to say.”
All eyes turned to James Corcoran, “Corky” to his friends. He stood on top of the bar at the Barley Corner pub, his curly red hair nearly brushing the ceiling, a glass of Glen D whiskey in his hand and a smile on his lips. Conversation quieted to a murmur, then died away into silence.
“As all of you know, our friend and proprietor, Cars Carlyle, has had some troubles of late. He’s been a guest of New York’s finest while recuperating from a very unfortunate injury. He’s only just escaped from the hospital, and fortunately, the coppers didn’t think it worth their while to pursue him. However, I do see they’ve a representative here among us today. But don’t let that worry you, lads, she’s one of us. You all know her. Stand up, Erin, love. Let the lads have a look at that stunner of a face.”
Detective Erin O’Reilly stood and waved good-naturedly to the crowd of Irishmen. Her wave was answered by a loud cheer and a few appreciative wolf-whistles. But it was all in good fun. The faces she saw around her were friendly. Even if they hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been worried. She was carrying two guns; one at her hip, the other in an ankle clip. And her partner sat right beside her, scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. She might be at a party, but Rolf was on duty. He had keen eyes, great instincts, unbelievable reflexes, and the best nose in the NYPD. The German Shepherd was ninety pounds of well-trained law-enforcement muscle and teeth. He always had Erin’s back.
“It’s my understanding this lovely colleen saved my mate’s life,” Corky went on, drawing another cheer. “So it’s only proper she’s here for the lad’s homecoming. Cars, lad, I don’t know what you did to her that she fell for you instead of me. Think on it, lads. Look at my face, then look at his. I love him like a brother, but there’s simply no comparison.”
More laughter filled the room. On the other side of Erin from Rolf, Morton Carlyle just smiled and shook his head. In truth, he was at least as good-looking as Corky: a tall, silver-haired Irishman, impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray suit and silk tie. He seemed perfectly healthy, his back straight as he sat on his customary bar stool. But Erin was close enough to see he still looked a little pale. A thin sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead.
She put out a hand and touched his arm. He met her eye and gave a very slight shake of his head, indicating she shouldn’t say anything. It was important not to show weakness, not in front of these men. All of them were affiliated with Evan O’Malley’s mob, most of them under Carlyle’s own command.
“It’s all right, lad,” Corky was saying. “I forgive you for recovering and keeping me from comforting this poor, broken-hearted lass. And I want to welcome you, on behalf of all of us, back to your proper place. Had you died, I’d have drunk a toast hoping you’d made it to Heaven a full half-hour before the Devil heard you were dead. But you lucky bastard, you’re still breathing. So instead, I’ll make a different toast. May we all be alive at the same time next year.”
Several dozen hands hoisted glasses. Erin raised her own, a glass of Carlyle’s best top-shelf whiskey. It was a little early in the day for drinking, but when a cop had to fit in, what could she do?
“Oh, and here’s me forgetting,” Corky said, pausing with his glass halfway to his lips. “Poor Cars here was hurt in the liver, the very worst place for an Irishman. So we’re in this fine public house, drinking his fine liquor, and he can’t be partaking. Well, I’m a lad who knows his duty, so I’ll take it upon myself to drink for him.”
He immediately put his money where his mouth was, downing his own drink in a single gulp, then dropping nimbly off the bar, snatching Carlyle’s glass up, and swallowing another shot. Carlyle patted Corky on the arm with an affectionate smile. The two men shook hands and bent in close for a one-armed hug, Corky taking care not to touch Carlyle’s wounded abdomen. There was another enthusiastic cheer.
Carlyle slowly, carefully got to his feet. He raised a hand. Silence descended again.
“Thank you, lads, for coming to welcome me home,” he said. “It’s grand to be back. Drink up, have a grand time. And don’t forget to tip your waitresses. It’s a hard job they have, putting up with you sorry lot.”
Amid another burst of laughter, he sat back down, wincing slightly. Erin took hold of his arm more firmly.
“You need to lie down,” she said quietly.
“Aye, that’s a fine plan,” he whispered back. “Now that I’ve put in an appearance, we can be fading into the background. If you’d be so kind?”
Erin offered her arm. He took it, keeping up the pretense that he was assisting her instead of the other way around. Perception was everything in this world. Carlyle had to look strong. She had to look dependent on him. Both of them had to look like firm supporters of Evan O’Malley. Corky had helped with his “one of us” comment, which hadn’t been an accident.
All of it was a lie. Carlyle had been released from Bellevue Hospital after eight days of recovery from th
e nasty gut shot he’d received in Erin’s apartment. He was better than he had been, but nowhere near full strength. He was relying on Erin right now. And neither of them was on Evan O’Malley’s side. Carlyle was a week into his new job, that of turncoat and informant. Corky was in on the secret, and though he wasn’t happy about it, he’d supported them so far.
“Everybody’s watching,” Erin said in an undertone as they steered toward the door at the back of the room. Rolf trotted at Erin’s side, ears perked, alert.
“Of course they are,” he said, smiling pleasantly and shaking hands with several guys they passed. “It’s just like being a politician, darling. Everyone’s watching you, all the time. Some people enjoy that sort of thing.”
“They’re crazy,” she said, keeping a bright, artificial smile plastered on her own face as she said it. “It’s like living in a damn goldfish bowl.”
“If you’re a goldfish, that’s a fine place to live,” Carlyle replied.
“As long as there isn’t a cat around,” she said. “Did you see Mickey?”
“I noticed him, aye. Near the doorway, surrounded by his bully-boys. He didn’t seem as pleased with my recovery as some of the lads.”
Neither of them said why Mickey Connor was unhappy, but both of them were thinking it. They were convinced Mickey had orchestrated the attempt on their lives that had left Carlyle in the hospital. Mickey was Evan O’Malley’s chief enforcer, a retired heavyweight boxer with a disturbing affinity for violence and a strong dislike of both of them.
“Are you all moved in?” Carlyle asked, unlocking his door and ushering Erin through.
“Yeah, I brought the last stuff over last night,” she said. “I left some things in storage, and some others with my brother, but I’m out of my apartment. It’s a little weird, staying here.”
“Safest place you could be,” he said. He took the stairs slowly and carefully. His abdominal muscles were still mending, which made climbing difficult.
“Doesn’t feel that way,” she said. “There’s four dozen armed thugs out there right now, getting plastered. Doesn’t matter that it’s nine in the morning, they’re getting drunk like it’s midnight.”
“Ah, but they’re my armed thugs.”
“They’re Evan’s,” she corrected him.
“Not all of them.”
“Enough of them. If they knew what we were doing…”
“But they don’t.”
Erin nodded, hoping he was right. If he was wrong, the first warning was likely to be someone taking a shot at one of them. But right now, she was just glad he was out of the hospital and on the mend. It was a sunny morning in May, the air was warm, and it was good to be alive.
She turned at the top of the stairs, looped her arms around him, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “It’s grand to be home, isn’t it?” she asked, deliberately using one of his favorite words.
“Aye,” he said. “And give me a few days, I’ll be back in fighting trim. For now, though, I fear I’m needing a bit of a lie-down.”
“Sure,” she said. “Anything I can get for you?”
He shook his head and started to say something, but was interrupted by her phone. Erin pulled it out and saw Lieutenant Webb’s name on the screen.
“I better take this,” she said. She’d arranged her schedule so she wasn’t supposed to be at the precinct for another half hour. Something must have happened.
“O’Reilly,” she said, swiping the screen.
“We’ve got a body,” Webb said by way of greeting. “Downtown hotel. The InterContinental on East 48th, in Midtown.”
“I’m on my way,” she said. Hanging up, she gave Carlyle an apologetic smile.
“Go on, darling,” he said. “I promise not to do anything exciting while you’re away.”
“I think we’ve had enough excitement for a while,” she said. “Just be alive when I get back.”
“You worry too much, darling. I’m the picture of health.”
“I was thinking about the goons downstairs.”
“And I told you, they’re my lads. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s the other guy you should worry about.”
“This is definitely out of our price range,” Erin told Rolf as they got out of her Charger and walked up to the front of the InterContinental Hotel in Midtown.
Rolf wagged his tail. He wasn’t bothered by economic concerns.
“And they wouldn’t let you stay here,” she added. “You’re too big. Good thing you’re with me.”
He kept wagging. Being with his partner was definitely a good thing. Maybe the best thing.
She hurried up the steps to the front door. She didn’t see any sign of the police. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t required a large uniformed presence.
In the lobby, she caught sight of a familiar trench coat and fedora. Under the hat, talking to a couple of hotel employees, was Harry Webb, Erin’s commanding officer. Next to him loomed Vic Neshenko, the other detective on Erin’s squad. Vic was watching the room and chewing a toothpick that was wedged in a corner of his mouth. He saw Erin as soon as she entered and nodded curtly to her.
Erin and Rolf joined the group. The hotel workers looked like a manager and a housekeeper. The maid was a young, pretty Latina. She was obviously upset. The manager had a hand on her shoulder in what Erin hoped was a fatherly, comforting gesture.
Erin offered her hand. “Detective O’Reilly,” she said.
The manager took his hand off the woman and shook. “Nicholas Feldspar,” he said. “Floor manager. This is Rosa Hernandez.”
“Where did this happen?” Webb asked Rosa.
“The Ballroom,” the young woman said. “The Grand Ballroom, that is. Not the Empire.”
“You’ve got more than one ballroom,” Vic deadpanned.
“On the mezzanine level,” Feldspar put in. “We can go up those stairs.” He pointed over his shoulder to an open staircase.
“Do I have to?” the woman asked. “It was so awful.”
“I’m afraid so, Rosa,” the manager said gently. “These people need our help.”
“It’ll be helpful if you can tell us exactly what you saw,” Webb said.
“Nobody’s in the room now, are they?” Vic asked.
“One of your officers is up there,” Feldspar said. “He’s keeping everyone else out.”
“Good,” Webb said. “Let’s go.”
“Glad you could join us,” Vic said to Erin as they followed Feldspar to the stairs.
“How long have you guys been here?” she asked.
“Just got here,” he said. “We don’t know much. Apparently our girl was doing some cleaning in the public spaces. Y’know, since it isn’t checkout time yet, she can’t do the rooms. Anyway, she found a floater.”
“A floater?” Erin echoed, not sure she’d heard him right.
He shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”
“Vic, we’re not on the waterfront. In the swimming pool maybe?”
“Maybe. But she said ballroom.” He shrugged again. “I guess it beats back alley murders. Ugly thugs are always getting popped. It’s nice to hang around the beautiful people for a change.”
They got to the top of the stairs. The manager led the way to the ballroom. Sure enough, a uniformed cop was standing outside the entrance, hands clasped at his belt buckle. Webb showed his gold shield and the uniform got out of the way.
The ballroom was as large and fancy as Erin expected, well-furnished and expensive. It was just on the right side of too much, coming across as tasteful rather than extravagant. The south wall was what drew her attention. The hotel had replaced that whole wall with glass, behind which was a massive aquarium, lit from beneath with a soft blue glow. Tropical fish drifted in place or darted around in flashes of bright, dramatic color. In the middle of the aquarium, arms outstretched, hair floating out in all directions, a woman hung suspended in the water. A diaphanous dress billowed around her. In the blue lig
ht her skin looked pale and unearthly, like a porcelain doll. She might have been asleep, but her eyes were open and staring right at the detectives.
“Jesus,” Vic muttered. “That’s creepy.”
“You said you wanted to hang out with the beautiful people,” Erin said very quietly.
“Not what I meant,” he said.
Chapter 2
“This has never happened before,” Feldspar said.
“You’ve never had a guest die?” Vic asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Well, yes, of course. I mean, we have the occasional heart attack. And there was that one woman, in the bathtub… very unfortunate.”
“Bathtub?” Webb prompted.
“Her wrists,” Feldspar said. “The cleaning staff found her, just like this one. It was terrible, but this… She might have chosen a more discreet way to end things.”
“You’re assuming this is a suicide?” Erin asked.
Feldspar flinched at the blunt word. “Of course. I mean, what else could it be?”
The three detectives looked at him in silence.
Feldspar laughed nervously. “Well, I mean, of course she did this to herself.”
“You got a degree in forensic medicine?” Vic asked. “Taking night courses to become a doc?”
“Well, that is to say… no. No, I don’t. I’m not.”
“Did you see her jump in the tank?”
