Indulgence in Death

by J. D. Robb

  A pretty stone fountain gurgled near a pint-sized house complete with scaled-down furniture on a covered porch. Nearby ranged what Sinead called a football pitch, some bleachers, a kind of hut for serving snacks, a larger building where players could suit up.

  Paths wound here and there, though some went nowhere for the moment. Work wasn’t quite done, but she had to give Sinead and the family major credit for what had been accomplished already.

  “It completely rocks.”

  Sinead let out a long breath. “I was so nervous it wouldn’t be all you wanted.”

  “It’s more than I could’ve thought of or done.” She stepped closer to the swings, stopped, looked down as she pumped her boot in the spongy ground.

  “It’s safety material. Children fall and tumble, and it protects them.”

  “Excellent. It looks . . . fun,” Eve decided. “It’s pretty and nicely designed, but mostly it looks like fun.”

  “We brought some of our young ones out to test it, and I can promise you that’s what they had.”

  The steady breeze ruffled the hair Sinead had unclipped as she—hands on hips—turned a circle. “The village is full of talk about it. It’s a lovely thing altogether. Just a lovely thing.”

  “If he doesn’t like it, I’ll kick his ass.”

  “I’ll hold your coat. Ah well now, here they come.” Sinead lifted her chin as she spotted the truck. “I’m going to take my group off a ways so you can give Roarke his gift in private.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  She wasn’t comfortable with gifts—giving or receiving—most of the time anyway. And in this case she was a little nervous she’d taken on too much. What had seemed like a good idea at the time—the past November during Sinead’s visit—had become more complicated and complex, and she worried maybe not altogether appropriate.

  Presents, anniversaries, family—limited experience all around.

  She watched him walking toward her, long and lanky in jeans and boots, a faded blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, the thick black silk of his hair pulled back in work mode. Two years married, she thought, and he could still make her heart hum.

  “So, giving it all up for farming?” she called out.

  “I think not, though I did have fun at it for a few hours. They’ve horses.” He stopped, leaned down to kiss her when he reached her. “You could try a ride.” He skimmed a fingertip down the dent in her chin when she gave him a bland stare. “You might enjoy it, more than that recent holo-ride into battle.”

  She remembered the speed and power of the hologram horse, and thought she actually might. But she had a different agenda for the moment.

  “They’re bigger than cows, but don’t look as weird.”

  “There’s that.” He glanced around, and her nerves started to jingle. “Are you after another picnic? It’s a perfect place for it.”

  “You like it?”

  “It’s charming.” He took her hand, and she caught the scent of the field on him. The green of it. “Want a push on the swing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Neither of us got much of that, did we, when we were children?” With her hand in his he began to walk. “I didn’t realize there was a park here. A nice spot, near enough to the village, and just out enough to make it an adventure. The trees are young, so I suppose it’s new, and still being done,” he added, noting the digging equipment and tarped supplies.

  “Yeah, still needs some work.” She guided him around, as subtly as she could, beyond the little house to the gurgling fountain.

  “A fine day like this, I’m surprised it’s not packed with kids.”

  “It’s not actually officially open for business.”

  “All to ourselves then? Sean’s along with us. He’d likely enjoy a romp through.”

  “Yeah, maybe . . .” She’d thought he’d look at the fountain, but should’ve known he’d be more interested in the equipment, probably speculating on what was left to be done. “So, there’s this thing.”

  “Hmmm?” He glanced back at her.

  “Jeez.” Frustrated, she turned him around and all but shoved his face into the plaque on the fountain.

  SIOBHAN BRODY MEMORIAL PARK

  DEDICATED BY HER SON

  When he said nothing, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “So, well . . . happy anniversary a few days early.”

  He looked at her then, just stared at her with those wonderful wild blue eyes. Just said her name. Just “Eve.”

  “I got the idea when the Irish invaded last fall and walked it by Sinead. She and the rest of them ran with it. Mostly I just sent money. Hell, your money since it’s what you dumped in that account for me when we got married. So—”

  “Eve,” he repeated, and drew her in, hard, pressed his face to her hair.

  She heard him draw a breath, long and quiet, release it as his arms tightened around her.

  “So it’s good.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, only ran his hand up and down her back. “What a woman you are,” he murmured, and she heard the emotion in it, the way the Irish thickened just a bit in his voice. And saw it in those vivid eyes when he drew back. “That you would think of this. That you would do this.”

  “Sinead and the rest did the heavy lifting. I just—”

  He shook his head, kissed her. Like the breath, long and quiet.

  “I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough thanks. I can’t say what this means to me, even to you. I don’t have the words for it.” He took her hands, brought them both to his lips. “A ghra. You stagger me.”

  “So it’s good.”

  He framed her face now, touched his lips to her brow. Then looked in her eyes and spoke in Irish.

  “Come again?”

  When he smiled now it lit her up. “I said, you’re the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.”

  Moved to melting, she took his wrists. “Even when I’m the pain in your ass?”

  “Particularly then.” He turned to study the plaque. “It’s lovely. Simple and lovely.”

  “Well, you’re a simple guy.”

  He laughed as she’d wanted him to. “I’ve come to know her a little through the family. This would mean a great deal to her. A safe place for children to play,” he said, looking around again. “For families to come. Young people sitting on the grass, doing schoolwork, listening to music. Practicing on the football pitch.”

  “I don’t get why they call it a pitch when it’s football, which isn’t actually football at all but killer soccer. It’s not baseball, that’s for sure. People over here don’t have two clues about real baseball, which is just too bad for them.”

  He laughed again, took her hand, gave it a swing. “We should call the rest in, and you can show me around.”

  “Sure.”

  The kid bolted for the playground the second he got the signal and set to scrambling up ladders, hanging from bars, swinging on poles like a freckle-faced monkey.

  Eve supposed it was a solid endorsement.

  Before long, Sinead and more of the family who came along set up food on picnic tables where dogs were shooed away.

  When Sinead walked over to sit on the lip of the fountain, Roarke followed, sat beside her. She took his hand, sat for a moment in silence.

  “It’s good to know my grandchildren and those that come after will play here, and laugh and fight and run. It’s good something lasting and kind can come out of the sorrow and loss. Your wife knows your heart, and that makes you a rich man.”

  “It does. You put in a great deal of time on this.”

  “Oh, I’ve some to spare, and it was a gift to me, too. To my brothers, to all of us. Our mother cried when I told her what Eve wanted to do. Good tears. All of us shed too many sorrowful ones for Siobhan, so good tears wash clean. Your woman knows death and sorrow. They sit on her, move in her, and have made her sensitive.” She glanced at him. “She has a gift, a touch of sight that doesn’t come through the
eyes, but the heart and the belly.”

  “She’d call it instinct, training, cop sense.”

  “Hardly matters what it’s called, does it? Ah now, look here.” She laughed, drew him to his feet. “Here’s a friend come to play with you.”

  Puzzled, he looked around. Grinned. “Well, it’s Brian, come from Dublin.”

  “I thought you’d enjoy a childhood friend on such a day. Go on then, as it looks as if he’s making time with your wife.”

  Brian Kelly’s grin stretched across his wide, ruddy face as he pulled Eve into a hug. “Ah, Lieutenant darling.” He crushed an enthusiastic kiss to her mouth. “The minute you’re ready to toss Roarke aside, I’ll be there.”

  “Always good to have backup.”

  He barked out a laugh, then draped an arm over her shoulders as Roarke strode toward them. “I’ll fight you for her. And fight dirty.”

  “Who could blame you?”

  He chuckled, releasing Eve to give Roarke the same greeting—a crushing hug and kiss. “You always were a lucky bastard.”

  “It’s good to see you, Brian.”

  “Your aunt was kind enough to ask me.” He eased back to look around the pretty little park. “Well, isn’t this a thing now. Isn’t this a fine thing?”

  Eve looked down when Sean tugged on her hand. “What?”

  “The dogs’ve run off in the woods over there.”

  “Okay.”

  “They won’t come back when I call, just go on barking.”

  “And?”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Well, you’re a detective, aren’t you? I’m not allowed to go in on my own, so you’ll have to come with me to find them.”

  “I will?”

  “Aye, of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “They might’ve found something. Like a treasure, or a clue to a mystery.”

  “Or a squirrel.”

  He gazed at her darkly. “You can’t know until you know.”

  Brian spoke up. “I could use a bit of a walk to stretch my legs after the drive from Dublin. I could use some treasure as well.”

  Sean beamed at Brian. “We’ll go then, but she has to come. She’d be in charge as she’s a lieutenant.”

  “Fair enough. Up for a bit of search and rescue?” he asked Roarke.

  “I’ll show you the way!” The boy raced ahead.

  “Come on, Lieutenant.” Roarke took her hand. “You’re in charge. How are things at the pub, Brian?”

  “Oh, much the same. I pull the pints, listen to the gossip and the woes.” He winked over Eve’s head at his friend. “It’s the quiet life for me now.”

  “How do you say bullshit in Irish?” Eve wondered.

  “Now, Lieutenant darling, I’m a reformed man since this one led me onto the wayward path in my youth. You come to Dublin again soon, see for yourself. I’ll stand you both to all you can drink.”

  They walked easily, though the boy raced back and forth urging them to hurry. Eve heard the dogs now, high, excited, insistent barking.

  “Why are dogs always running off to find something to sniff at, pee on, or chase?”

  “Every day’s a holiday when you’re a dog,” Brian observed. “Especially when there’s a boy in the mix.”

  When they reached the verge of the trees she resigned herself to tromping through nature—a dangerous bitch in her opinion.

  Moss grew green on rock and tree with sunlight filtering with a greenish hue through the leaves. Gnarled branches twisted themselves into strange shapes as they rose up or spread out.

  “Mind the faeries,” Brian said with a grin. “Christ, it’s been years since I stepped into a country wood. Roarke, do you remember when we skinned those Germans in the hotel, then hid out for two days with travelers in the wood down in Wexford till the heat was off?”

  “Jesus, I’m standing right here,” Eve pointed out. “Cop.”

  “There was that girl,” Brian continued, unabashed. “Ah, the sultry beauty. And no matter how I tried to charm her, she only had eyes for you.”

  “Again, right here. Married.”

  “It was long ago and far away.”

  “You lost half your take at dice before we were done there,” Roarke reminded him.

  “I did, yes, but had a fine time.”

  “Where’s the kid?” Eve stopped a moment.

  “He’s just run ahead a bit,” Roarke said. “He’s having an adventure.”

  They heard him call out. “There you are, you great stupids!”

  “And he’s got the dogs.”

  “Good, he can bring them back or whatever.” She stood where she was, scanning. “Is it creepy in here, or is it just me?”

  “Just you, darling.” Roarke started to call Sean back, when he heard the sound of running. “Here he comes.”

  The boy flew down the path, the freckles standing out starkly on his white face, his eyes huge. “You have to come.”

  “Is one of the dogs hurt?” Roarke moved forward, but the boy shook his head, grabbed Eve’s arm.

  “Hurry. You have to see.”

  “See what?”

  “Her. The dogs found her.” He pulled and dragged. “Please. She’s awfully dead.”

  Eve started to snap something, but the look in Sean’s eyes killed annoyance, awoke instinct. The kid wasn’t having a harmless adventure now. “Show me.”

  “An animal,” Brian began, “or a bird. Dogs will find the dead.”

  But Eve let Sean guide her off the rough path, through the thickets, over moss-coated rocks to where the dogs sat, quiet now, quivering.

  “There.”

  Sean pointed, but she’d already seen.

  The body lay belly down, one high-heeled shoe tipping loosely off the right foot. The face, livid with bruising, was turned toward her, eyes filmed, sightless as the pale green light showered down.

  The kid was right, she thought. That was awfully dead.

  “No.” She yanked him back when he took another step forward. “That’s close enough. Keep those dogs away. They’ve already compromised the scene.”

  Her hand automatically reached up for the recorder that wasn’t on her lapel. So, she etched the scene in her mind.

  “I don’t know who the hell to call in around here.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Roarke pulled out his pocket ’link. “Brian, take Sean and the dogs back, would you?”

  “No. I’m staying.” Sean dug in, hands fisted at his sides. “I found her, so I should stay with her. Someone killed her. Someone killed her and left her alone. I found her so I have to look after her now.”

  Before Roarke could object, Eve turned to the boy. She’d thought to dismiss him, but something on that young, freckled face changed her mind. “If you stay, you have to do what you’re told.”

  “You’re in charge.”

  “That’s right.” Until the locals got there. “Did you touch her? Don’t lie, it’s important.”

  “I didn’t. I swear. I saw the dogs, and I ran up. Then I saw her, and I tried to yell, but . . .” He flushed a little. “I couldn’t make anything come out. I made the dogs come away from her, and sit, and stay.”

  “You did just right. Do you know her?”

  He shook his head, slowly, solemnly, from side to side. “What do we do?”

  “You already secured the scene, so we keep it secured until the police come.”

  “You’re the police.”

  “I don’t have authority here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not New York. How far is this from a road?”

  “It’s not far that way to the road that goes right by my school.” He pointed. “We cut through sometimes, if I was with some of the older cousins, when they were putting up the playground and such.”

  “Who else comes in here?”

  “I don’t know. Anyone who wants to.”

  “Garda’s coming,” Roarke told her.

  “Sean, do me a solid and walk Roarke to the road you told me about. I�
��ll stay with her,” she assured him before he could object. “I want to know how long it takes to walk it.”

  “Is it a clue?”

  “It might be.”

  When they were out of earshot, Eve said, “Fuck.”

  “Aye,” Brian agreed. “She’s young, I think.”

  “Early twenties. About five-five and a hundred and twenty. Mixed race female, blond with blue and red streaks, brown eyes, tats on inner left ankle—small bird—and back of right shoulder—flaming sun. Pierced eyebrow and nose, multiple ear piercings. She’s city. She’s still wearing the rings and studs, rings on three fingers.”

  “Well, I can’t say I noticed all of that, but see it right enough now. How did she die?”

  “Best guess, from the bruising, strangulation with some smacking around prior. She’s fully dressed, but there could have been sexual assault.”

  “Poor child. A hard end to a short life.”

  Eve said nothing, but thought murder was always a hard end however short or long the life. She turned as she heard Roarke and the boy come back.

  “It’s no more than a two-minute walk to the road, and the path’s clear enough. Street lighting would come on at dusk, as it’s near the school.” He waited a moment. “I could put together a makeshift field kit without too much trouble.”

  She itched for it. “It’s not my place, not my case.”

  “We found her,” Sean argued, with considerable stubborn in his tone.

  “That makes us witnesses.”

  Once again she heard rustling, footsteps. A uniformed cop came into view on the path. Young, she thought, and nearly sighed. As young as the dead with the open, pink-cheeked face of innocence.

  “I’d be Officer Leary,” he began. “You reported a bit of trouble? What . . .” He trailed off, turned the same pale green as the light, when he saw the body.

  Eve grabbed his arm, turned him away. “Soldier up, Leary. You’ve got a DB, and don’t want to compromise the scene by booting on the vic.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You would be if you puked. Where’s your superior?”

  “I—my—ah—Sergeant Duffy’s in Ballybunion with his family on holiday. He only left this morning. Who are you? Are you the Yank cop from New York City? Roarke’s cop?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. Put your damn recorder on, Leary,” she muttered.