In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

impressed."
    Eve only had to blink to have Peabody ordering a transmission trace. Eve smiled thinly at the colors swimming across her screen. This time the music was a chorus of voices in a language she now recognized as Latin. "You did quite a job on Brennen. Looked like you enjoyed yourself."
    "Oh, I did, believe me, I did. Tommy was quite a singer, you know. He certainly sang for me. Listen."
    All at once the room was full of screams, inhuman, weeping screams that had ice skating up Eve's spine.
    "Beautiful. He begged for his life, then he begged me to end it. I kept him alive for four hours giving him time to relive his past sins."
    "Your style lacks subtlety, pal. And when I nail you, I'll have enough to keep you from pulling a mentally defective. I'll get you straight, and I'll push for a cage on Attica Two. The facilities there make on-planet cages look like country clubs."
    "They caged the Baptist, but he knew the glory of Heaven."
    Eve searched her threadbare memory of Bible stories. "He's the one who lost his head to a dancing girl, right? You willing to risk yours to a cop?"
    "She was a harlot." He mumbled the words so that Eve had to lean close to hear. "Evil in a beautiful form. So many are. He withstood her, her temptation, and was martyred pure."
    "Do you want to be martyred? To die for what you call your faith? I can help you with that. Just tell me where you are."
    "You challenge me, Lieutenant, in ways I hadn't expected. A strong-minded woman is one of God's greatest pleasures. And you're named for Eve, the mother of mankind. If only your heart was pure, I could admire you."
    "You can save the admiration."
    "Eve was also weak in spirit and caused the loss of Paradise for her children."
    "Yeah, and Adam was a wimp who couldn't take responsibility. Bible hour's over. Let's get on with it."
    "I look forward to meeting you -- though it can't be for a little while yet."
    "Sooner than you think."
    "Perhaps, perhaps. Meanwhile, another riddle. A race this time. The next sinner is still alive, still blissfully unaware of his punishment. By his words, and God's law, he will be condemned. Heed this. 'A faithful man will abound with blessings, but he who hastens to be rich will not go unpunished.' He's gone unpunished long enough."
    "For what?"
    "For a lying tongue. You have twenty-four hours to save a life, if God wills it. Your riddle: He's fair of face and once lived by his wits. Now those wits are dulled as like poor old Dicey Riley, he's taken to the sup. He lives where he works and works where he lives, and all the night serves others what he craves most. He traveled across the foam but closes himself in a place that reminds him of home. Unless you find him first, his luck runs out tomorrow morn. Better hurry."
    Eve stared at the screen long after it went blank.
    "Sorry, Dallas, no good on the trace. Maybe the e-detective can do something with it when he gets here."
    "Who the hell is Dicey Riley?" Eve muttered. "What does he mean 'sup'? Like supper? Food maybe. Restaurants. Irish restaurants."
    "I think that's an oxymoron."
    "Huh?"
    "Bad joke," Peabody offered with a sick smile. "To lighten the mood."
    "Right." Eve dropped in her chair. "Computer, list name and locations for all Irish restaurants in the city. Hard copy." She swiveled in her chair. "Contact Tweeser -- she was head sweeper on Brennen. Tell her I need something, anything. And have a uniform go over to the Towers and get those security discs. Let's move."
    "Moving," Peabody agreed and headed out.
    An hour later, Eve was pouring over the sweeper's report. There was little to nothing to study. "Bastard didn't leave so much as a nose hair to scoop up." She rubbed her eyes. She needed to go back to the scene, she decided, walk through it, try to visualize it all. All she could see was the blood, the gore, the waste.
    She needed to clear her vision.
    The Biblical quote had come from Proverbs again. She could only assume that the intended victim wanted to be rich. And that, she decided, narrowed it down to every single sinning soul in New York City.
    Revenge was the motive. Money for betrayal? she wondered. Someone connected to Brennen? She called up the lists Roarke had accessed and transmitted, scanned the names of Thomas Brennen's associates, friends.
    No lovers, she mused. And Roarke would have found any if they'd existed. Thomas Brennen had been a faithful husband, and now his wife was a widow.
    At the sharp rap on her doorjamb, she glanced