Death By Chocolate
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Book Seven
Steven Henry
Clickworks Press • Baltimore, MD
Also by the Author
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Black Velvet
Irish Car Bomb
White Russian
Double Scotch
Manhattan
Black Magic
Death by Chocolate
Massacre (coming soon)
The Clarion Chronicles
Ember of Dreams
Copyright © 2019 Steven Henry
Cover design © 2019 Ingrid Henry
Cover photo used under license from istockphoto.com (Credit: Alamje/istockphoto)
NYPD shield photo used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Stephen Mulcahey/Shutterstock)
Author photo © 2017 Shelley Paulson Photography
Spine image used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Shebeko/Shutterstock)
All rights reserved.
First publication: Clickworks Press, 2019
Release: CWP-EOR7-INT-E.M-1.1>BkMd
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-943383-59-7
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943383-60-3
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-943383-61-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To my father, who taught me about integrity
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author's Note
Sneak Peek: Massacre
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Also by Steven Henry
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Death By Chocolate
Pour 1 cup crushed ice, 2 scoops chocolate ice cream, 1 ounce chocolate syrup, 1 ounce coffee liqueur, 1 ounce dark crème de cacao liqueur, and 1 ounce vodka into a blender. Blend until smooth. Pour into a stemmed glass. Garnish with whipped cream and maraschino cherry.
Chapter 1
Vic Neshenko took careful aim. Like the good rifleman he was, he knew not to rush his shot. He breathed in, held it a moment, and let the breath out slowly. Then, in that instant of perfect stillness, he took the shot.
The crumpled piece of paper ricocheted off the rim of the garbage can and bounced onto the floor of the Precinct 8 Major Crimes office.
Vic groaned and sagged in his chair.
“That's game,” Erin O'Reilly said. “Five to four. Next case we close, you're buying the first round.”
Erin's partner Rolf let out a long, slow sigh. He lay next to her desk on an old, folded blanket. The German Shepherd had his snout between his paws. His eyes were half-closed and unfocused. It was a slow, sleepy afternoon.
Lieutenant Webb, their commanding officer, twirled a cigarette between his fingers. They were in a city-owned facility, so smoking wasn't allowed. The cig wasn't lit. He clearly wished it was.
“Will someone, for God's sake, get murdered?” Vic asked the ceiling. “I'm bored out of my skull.”
“I think New York's seen enough people murdered in the name of God,” Webb said dryly. “Unless you’re hoping for some more terrorists?”
“Murder's usually more personal,” Erin added.
“I'd take it personal,” Vic said, “if anyone murdered me.”
“How're your fives coming along?” Webb asked Erin.
“Just about done.”
Webb was talking about the DD-5, an infamous piece of NYPD paperwork used to add detail to a complaint report. “If it's not on a five, it didn't happen,” was a common phrase in Erin's old precinct down in Queens. Filling one out wasn't her favorite use of an afternoon.
“It's okay to admit you're just looking at porn,” Vic said.
“Okay, you caught me,” she said, putting up her hands. “Sergeant Brown pointed me at this great website, it's got these Russian girls on it, there's one here who looks like your mom.”
Vic gave her a false smile and showed her one of his fingers.
“The week after Valentine's Day,” Webb said, leaning back in his chair. “And love is still in the air.”
“What'd you do for the holiday?” Erin asked Vic.
“I drank. Alone.”
“That reminds me,” Webb said. “My alimony's coming due. I better get a check in the mail.”
“How about you, Erin?” Vic asked. “You have any lights and sirens?”
“Wouldn't you love to know.”
“I would,” he said. “It'd give me a nice, warm image to get me through February. It's a Russian month. Dark, cold, nothing to do but drink.”
“And March is like February's hangover,” Webb added.
“C'mon, Erin,” Vic said. “At least one of us gold shields oughta be getting some. I know I didn't get laid, and the Lieutenant, well, just look at him. So that leaves you. Did you take one for the team?”
Erin shook her head. “I'll never talk.”
“I knew it!” Vic said triumphantly. “I'm thinking drunken hookup at that Irish bar she hangs out at.”
“The one full of wiseguys?” Webb asked.
At that moment, Webb's phone rang. Erin felt a rush of relief as the Lieutenant took the call. Her fellow detectives had been getting a little too close to the mark. She had been with someone on Valentine's Day, and it was a man they definitely wouldn't approve of.
“Your prayers are answered,” Webb announced, standing up. “We got a body.”
Vic jumped to his feet. “Now that's what I'm talking about.”
Rolf, catching the sudden energy in the room, scrambled to his feet and looked expectantly at Erin. She grabbed his leash and clipped it to his collar.
“Where we going, sir?” she asked Webb.
“Dentist's office,” he said, deadpan.
Vic's shoulders slumped. “I knew it was too good to be true. I hate going to the dentist.”
* * *
The crime scene was in Greenwich Village, in a building overlooking Washington Square Park. Erin parked her Dodge Charger next to a pair of squad cars and the coroner’s van. Vic and Webb were close behind in their Taurus.
“Looks like we’re late,” Vic muttered. “Maybe they’ll at least have some good magazines in the waiting room.”
“I doubt it,” Erin said. “I mean, it’s usually Good Housekeeping, Better Homes and Gardens, maybe Seventeen or Cosmo. What sort of thing do you read?”
Vic shrugged. “Guns and Ammo. Soldier of Fortune.”
“Surprised?” Webb asked Erin.
It was her turn to shrug. “I’m just surprised he knows how to read.”
They showed their shields to a uniformed officer in the lobby and took the elevator to the sixth floor. Another uniform
