In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

with the sound muted.
     
     
It was early in the day yet, but never too early to stop by a pub. If you wanted conversation, information, or just a sociable drink, where else would you go?
     
     
Roarke stepped up to the bar and waited for Brian to glance over.
     
     
And when he did, Brian's wide face creased in smiles. "Well now, here's himself come to grace my humble establishment once more. We'd break out the French champagne had we any."
     
     
"A pint of that'll do well enough."
     
     
"Do you see here, Mister O'Leary, sir, who we have among us today?"
     
     
The old man turned his head, and his rheumy eyes stared at Roarke out of a face as flat and thin as a plank. He lifted the pint Brian had just passed him, drank slow and deep.
     
     
"It's Roarke, is it, all grown up and fancy as a prince. Bit rougher around the edges, you were, when you came around to pinch wares from my shop down the street."
     
     
"You chased me out with a broom more than once."
     
     
"Aye, and it's no doubt your pockets were heavier when you lit out than when you came in."
     
     
"True enough. It's good to see you again, Mr. O'Leary."
     
     
"Got rich, didn't you?"
     
     
"I did, yes."
     
     
"So he'll pay for your pint as well as his own," Brian said and slid a pint down to Roarke.
     
     
"Happy to." Roarke took out a bill large enough to pay for a dozen pints, set it on the bar. "I need to speak with you, Brian, on a private matter."
     
     
Friends or not, the note disappeared into Brian's pocket. "Come back to the snug then." As he turned, he pounded a fist on the door behind the bar. "Johnny, get off your lazy arse and mind the bar."
     
     
He walked down to a small room at the end, opened the door for Roarke. "And where's Lieutenant Darling?"
     
     
"She's home."
     
     
"And well, is she?"
     
     
"She's well, thanks. Busy."
     
     
"Rounding up criminals, no doubt. You give her a kiss for me, and remind her when she's done with you, I'm waiting to make her mine."
     
     
He sat at one of the spindly chairs at the single table gracing the little room. Then grinned. "I'll be damned to hell and back, it's good to see you. Happier circumstances I hope, than the last."
     
     
"I haven't come to bury another friend."
     
     
"God bless him." Brian clicked the glass he'd brought with him against Roarke's. "To Mick then."
     
     
"To Mick, and the rest of them that's gone." He drank, then just stared into the foam.
     
     
"What's troubling your mind?"
     
     
"Long story."
     
     
"Since when haven't I had the time and the inclination to hear a long one? And when you're buying?"
     
     
"Do you remember when Meg Roarke left?"
     
     
Brian's eyebrows lowered, his lips pursed. "I remember she was here, then she was gone, and nobody was sorry to see the back of her."
     
     
"Do you have any recollection of... of someone else living with him-before she came. Do you remember anyone speaking of a young girl who was with him?"
     
     
"Seems to me there were a number of women who came and went. But before Meg? Can't say. Christ, Roarke, I'd've been in nappies, same as you."
     
     
"Your father knew him, and well. Did you never hear the name Siobhan Brody mentioned in your house, or around the neighborhood?"
     
     
"I don't remember, no. What's this about then?"
     
     
"She was my mother, Bri." It still caught in his throat. "I've learned Meg wasn't, and this young girl from Clare was." Roarke lifted his eyes. "The bastard killed her, Brian. He murdered her."
     
     
"Sweet singing Jesus. I don't know of this. I swear to you."
     
     
"I don't think he could have managed it alone. Not without a bit of help, or not without someone knowing what he'd done."
     
     
"My father ran with him off and on, and did things-all of us did-that weren't right along the clean side of the law. But murder a girl?" Looking Roarke dead in the eye, Brian shook his head. "My da wouldn't have had any of that."
     
     
"No. He wasn't one I thought of for this."
     
     
"But you're thinking." Brian nodded, and put his mind to it himself. "It was an ugly time. There were still petty little wars raging. Death was everywhere and cheaper in many ways than living."
     
     
"He had mates. Two I remember especially. Donal Grogin and Jimmy Bennigan. They would have known."
     
     
"Maybe. That may be," Brian said slowly. "But Bennigan died in a cage sometime back, and would be no help to you."
     
     
"I know." He'd done his research. "Grogin's still