“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 around, and not far from here come to that.”
“That’s true. He doesn’t come in here much, and hasn’t for the last years. Frequents a place a bit closer to the river, known as Thief’s Haven. Tourists think it’s a colorful name until they step inside. Then most step out again quick.”
“He might be there now, but more likely at home this time of the day.”
“More like.” Brian kept his gaze on Roarke’s face.
“I can do this myself, and there’s no hardship between us if you’d rather not come along with me. But it’d go faster and cleaner with a friend.”
“Now?”
“I’d as soon move fast.”
“Then we’d best be going,” Brian replied.