“Not specifically as yet. But I can tell you when you look at the hits he’s suspected of in the last fifteen years or so, they’d all connect to the wealthy, the prominent. One doesn’t slit the throat of the pregnant girlfriend of the vice president of Greece—a man of wealth and even higher ambitions—for loose change.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t see that in his file during my run. It should’ve stuck out.”
“I used the unregistered. The politician had enough wealth and influence to bury it in Greece, but Interpol had a hard look. You may not be able to use some of what I’ve found, and will find yet, but you need to know it.”
A thin line to walk, Eve thought, so she’d better keep her balance. “Can you find Cobbe’s accounts?”
“I will.”
“Do you think he took this job in New York because you’re here?”
“I don’t, no, or he’d have moved on me one way or the other without showing himself.”
“But he did show himself.”
Arranging her board, he glanced back. “That he did. And now I’m doing what he wants me to do. I’m thinking of him, and I worry about the people who matter to me. But he’s the one who’ll regret that in the end.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll tell you how I see it then. I’ve no doubt you’re right about Tween, which means Tween has contacts who could recommend him to Cobbe. When did the affair start?”
“Last summer.”
“More than time enough. People who take lovers think they’re being clever and careful, when they’re rarely either. Tween learns of the affair—and you’ll likely find he hired someone for evidence there. He can’t risk her divorcing him, as it’s her money, isn’t it, and such a step could erode his standing in the family business. So, obviously, she has to be eliminated.”
“For someone like Tween? Yeah, that’s how I see it, too. Plus … she insulted him by cheating on him. He’s not going to ask himself why she did it. It’s not breaking his heart. But it’s an insult—and with some artist? Insult to injury.
“Italy,” she added. “You say Cobbe mainly works in Europe, so odds are the connection, the contact is in Italy.”
“Odds are. For a job like this, while simple and straightforward for a professional killer, the client stands to inherit a great deal of wealth, and it’s likely Cobbe factored that into the fee. I don’t see him taking a job in New York of this nature for less than a million. That would be at least the half of it up front. That’s his likely base, with additional for his expenses.”
She didn’t disagree, as she thought the same. But still …
“Then why didn’t he take the money, do the job, walk away? Why was he still in the park when we got there?”
Idly, Roarke pulled the strap from his hair, slid it into his pocket. And with it, he felt the little button, Eve’s gray button he carried for sentiment and luck.
“I knew him as a boy, though I’ve kept tabs on him since. But as a boy he considered cops idiots, especially any who weren’t corrupt. Not that you found many in Dublin in those days who weren’t. He’d often, back then, prove the cliché about returning to the scene of the crime. He liked to watch the cops and smirk at his superiority. Whenever he’d get pinched, it was always someone else’s fault, you see.”
“Yours?”
“More than once.” Now the smile did reach his eyes. “And more than once he’d’ve been right about that. I knew a boy once, not a mate, just a boy I’d see, a young busker. He didn’t have much, but he had a dog. A little thing, scruffy little thing who’d do some trick to help add coins to the boy’s hat. Cobbe went after the boy for those coins once, and the little dog bit the bloody hell out of him, chased him off.”
“Good dog.”
“Well, he was until Cobbe went back for him, sliced him to pieces. Bragged on it, he did, on killing a dog that couldn’t have weighed ten pounds after a soak in the rain. The old man? He thought it a fine joke.”
“You ratted him out.”
“I did. The boy and dog were fixtures, you see, and well liked even by the Garda. So a word passed on brought the cops—those who could bother to give a fuck—down on him. He’d taken one of the dog’s ears as a trophy, so it didn’t go well for him.”
Now he shrugged. “Which is neither here nor there.”
“No, it’s here and it’s there.”
“In any case, he likes the sharps, always did, and it’s likely held true he gets some jollies watching the cops go over his handiwork. You want what I think as much as what I know, so I’m thinking he waited for the murder cops for the fun of it. That turned out to be you, and me with you. He couldn’t resist showing himself to me.”
Again, she had to agree. “And you don’t think he’ll take his fee and go?”
“He’s started the game, you see.” He came back, sat so they faced each other. “And it’s more than a game for him, as seeing me dead is a lifelong ambition. He tried for me once before—not speaking of when I was a boy, for he tried more than once then. I was building this house, and my business here in New York. Doing considerable traveling to … we’ll say enhance my business interests.”
She met those beautiful eyes straight on. “We could say that.”
“I was in the South of France on what we’ll call an art deal. As it happens, on the same night I closed the deal—and as it turned out several hours after the patriarch of a prominent family had his throat slit while on his yacht—we saw each other.”
Rising, he got a tube of water, sat, cracked it. “It was in a lively bar where I’d concluded some business and was having a drink. Now, I saw him come in, as it’s wise to keep an eye on comings and goings even after the conclusion of a deal.”
“Maybe especially.”
He smiled again. “Maybe especially. And over he walks, and doesn’t he sit right down as if we were the best of mates. He heard I was doing well for myself, so why not stand an old friend a pint.”
“I’m going to guess you weren’t in the mood to reminisce.”
“I told him to bugger off, a suggestion he didn’t take kindly. He had some unpleasant things to say, which ended with him saying while I’d been lucky, I’d always been weak, and he was Patrick Roarke’s true son. But seeing as that made us half brothers, he wouldn’t gut me with the knife he had under the table—and there he gave me a little jab with it to make his point—if I paid him five hundred thousand—pounds sterling he wanted—and admitted he was Patrick Roarke’s true son and heir by letting go of the name.”
“Is that all?” Eve said, dry as dust. “What did you do?”
“I said how that was an interesting offer, but I’d have to decline. And if he ever tried to come at me again, he’d be sorrier than he was about to be. I had a stunner under the table, and left him jittering on the floor of the bar. I can regret I didn’t switch it on full and rid the world of him, but I had just completed that deal and had a strong desire to avoid the local police.”