Imitation in Death

“Long shot, sir,”Peabody said when they’d split off again.

“Somebody saw him. They don’t know it, but they saw him. We get lucky, jog a few memories.” She stood on the sidewalk, baking in the heat as she sca

“We’re going to have to see how much we can stretch the budget for added security and surveillance for a square mile around this scene. He’ll stick to the mile, stick to the script. And it played too well for him the first time-he’s not going to want to wait too long before act two.”

Chapter6

It was a difficult meeting for him to take. It had to be done, and Roarke could only hope that some of the weight he was carrying at the base of his skull would lift once it was over.

He’d put it off too long already, and that wasn’t like him. Then again, he hadn’t felt completely like himself since he’d metMoiraO’Ba

His mother’s story.

Life, he thought, as he stared out the wide window wall of his midtown office, could take a big chunk out of your ass when you were least prepared for it.

It was after five already, and his timing had been deliberate. He’d wanted to meet with Moira at the end of the day, so that there was no business to be done afterward. So that he could go home and try to shift it all aside with an evening out with his wife.

His interoffice ‘link beeped, and damn him, he nearly jolted.

“Yes, Caro.”

“Ms.O’Ba

“Thanks. Bring her back.”

He watched the traffic, air and sky, and thought idly that the trip home would be a bit of a bitch just now. The commuter trams were already loaded, and from his lofty perch he could see dozens of tired, irritable faces packed together like rowers on a slave ship for the hot journey home.

On the street below, buses were chugging, cabs standing like a clogged river, and the walks and people glides were mobbed.

Evewas down there somewhere, he expected. No doubt having an a

More than likely, she’d rush in, flustered, with minutes to spare and struggling to make that odd transition from cop to wife. He doubted she had any idea how it thrilled and delighted him to see her make that slippery change.

At the knock on his door, he turned. “Yes.”

His admin brought her in, so that he found himself amused, for a moment, at the sight of two neat, trim, well-dressed women of a certain age stepping into his office.

“Thank you, Caro.Ms.O’Ba

“No. Thank you.”

He took her hand, felt hers tremble lightly as he shook it. He gestured to a chair, knowing his ma

“I appreciate you making the time for me,” he began, “especially so late in the day.”

“It’s not a problem.”

He could see her taking in his office-the space of it, the style. The art, the furniture, the equipment, the things he was able to surround himself with.

Needed to surround himself with.

“I thought to come to Dochas, but it occurred to me that having a man around the shelter too often may make some of the women, the children, nervous.”

“It’s good for them to be around men. Men who treat them as people and wish them no harm.” She folded her hands in her lap, and though she met his eyes levelly, he could almost hear the quick beat of her heart. “Part of breaking the cycle of abuse is overcoming fear, and reestablishing self-esteem and normal relationships.”

“I wouldn’t argue that, but I wonder-ifSiobhanBrody had had more fear, would she have survived? I don’t know precisely what to say to you,” he continued before she could speak. “Or precisely how to say it. I thought I did. First, I want to apologize for taking so long to meet with you again.”

“I’ve been waiting to be fired.” Like his, her voice carriedIreland in it, in wisps and whispers. “Is that why you brought me here today?”

“It’s not, no. I’m sorry, I should’ve realized you’d be concerned after the way I left things. I was angry and… distracted.” He gave a short laugh and had to stop himself from raking a hand through his hair. Nerves, he thought. Well, she wasn’t the only one dealing with them. “That’s one way to put it.”

“You were furious, and ready to boot me out on my ass.”

“I was. I told myself you were lying.” His eyes stayed on hers, level and serious. “Had to be. Had to be some angle in there for you telling me this girl you knew back inDublin was my mother. It was counter to everything I’d known, believed, my whole life, you see.”

“Yes. I do see it.”

“There have been others, from time to time, who’ve wormed their way to me with some story of a relation. Uncle, brother, sister, what have you. Easily refuted, ignored, dealt with.”

“What I told you wasn’t a story, Roarke, but God’s truth.”

“Aye, well.” He looked down at his hands and knew in their shape-the width of palm, the length of fingers-they were his father’s hands. “I knew that, somewhere in the belly, I knew it. It made it worse. Almost unbearable really.”

He looked up again, met her eyes again. “You’ve a right to know I checked on you, deeply.”

“I expected you would.”

“And I checked on her. On myself. I’d never done so before, not carefully.”

“I don’t understand that. I wouldn’t have told you the way I did if I hadn’t thought you’d know some of it. A man like you would know whatever he needed to know.”

“It was a point of pride to me that it didn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter, particularly when I believed my mother wasMegRoarke and I was as glad to see the back of her as she was of me.”

Moira let out a long breath. “I said no to coffee before because my hands were shaking. I wonder if I might trouble you for some after all.”

“Of course.” He rose and walked over to open a panel in the wall. Inside was a fully equipped minikitchen. When she laughed, he turned in the act of programming coffee.

“I’ve never seen the like of this office. So posh. My feet nearly sank to the ankles in the carpet. You’re young to have so much.”

The smile he sent her was more grim than amused. “I started early.”

“So you did. My stomach’s still jumping.” She pressed a hand to it. “I was certain you were bringing me in to fire me, maybe to threaten legal action of some sort. I didn’t know how I was going to tell my family, or the guests at Dochas. I hated thinking I’d have to leave. I’ve gotten attached.”

“As I said, I checked on you. They’re lucky to have you at the shelter. How would you like your coffee?”

“Plenty of cream, if you don’t mind. Is this whole building yours, then?”

“It is.”

“It’s like a great black spear, powerful and elegant. Thanks.” She accepted the coffee and took the first sip. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she sniffed the contents of the cup. “Is this real coffee?”

And that weight at the base of his skull vanished with a quick, appreciative laugh. Gone, at last. “It is, yes. I’ll send you some. The first time I met my wife, I gave her coffee and she had a similar reaction. I sent her some as well. Might be why she married me.”

“I doubt that very much.” She kept her gaze steady on his now. “Your mother is dead, and he killed her, didn’t he? Patrick Roarke murdered her, as I always believed.”

“Yes. I went to Dublin and verified it.”

“Will you tell me how?”

Beat her to death, he thought. Beat her bloody and dead, with hands so much like my own. Then threw her away in the river. Threw away the poor dead girl who’d loved him enough to give him a son.

“No, I won’t. Only that I tracked down a man who’d been with him in those days, and who knew of it. Knew her and what happened.”