Massacre
The Erin O’Reilly Mysteries
Book Eight
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
Flashback (coming soon)
The Clarion Chronicles
Ember of Dreams
Copyright © 2020 Steven Henry
Cover design © 2020 Ingrid Henry
Cover photo used under license from Shutterstock.com (Credit: Vasilyev Alexandr/Shutterstock)
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: Evstigneev Alexander/Shutterstock)
All rights reserved
First publication: Clickworks Press, 2020
Release: CP-EOR8-INT-P.IS-1.0.1
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Ebook ISBN: 1-943383-64-1
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-943383-65-8
Hardcover ISBN: 1-943383-66-5
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.
For my dear friend Kira, who is better than her fears and stronger than she knows.
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
Sneak Peek: Flashback
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Massacre
Combine 2 oz. tequila, 4 oz. ginger ale, ½ oz. Campari bitters in a highball glass with ice. Stir and serve.
Chapter 1
Erin O’Reilly had done dozens of interrogations, probably hundreds. She knew how to look for weak points, how to sweat a perp until he cried. She knew when to intimidate, when to bluff, when to lie, when to offer comfort and reassurance. There was nothing quite like a full confession to grease the wheels of the legal system.
But all that knowledge depended on being the one doing the interrogating. The shoe was definitely on the other foot now.
“That’s enough about work, dear,” Mary O’Reilly said. She carefully placed her coffee cup in the middle of its saucer and leaned forward over the table in Erin’s living room. “I’ve been married to a police officer for forty years, and I know there’s more to life than what you call ‘the Job.’ You must have a young man in your life somewhere.”
“Don’t you ever give up, Mom?” Erin said, stalling for time.
Mary clasped her hands on her knee like the kindest, warmest-hearted, most persistent interrogator in the history of policing. “You know we don’t give up in this family.”
“I really am pretty busy with work,” Erin said. She couldn’t lie to her mother. Every time she tried, the O’Reilly matriarch saw right through her. But she absolutely did not want to tell her mom about Morton Carlyle. For starters, Mary would think he was too old for her. But that was a minor detail compared with her family’s history with him. If Mary told Erin’s dad about Carlyle, Sean O’Reilly just might crack open his rifle case and come out of retirement long enough to blow a few holes in him. Sean knew Carlyle from his own days on the Job, and wouldn’t trust him with the time of day, let alone his only daughter. Thank goodness, Sean was visiting Erin’s brother and sister-in-law this afternoon. He was even better at seeing through Erin than her mom was.
“You really could have tried to make something work with that nice art dealer,” Mary went on relentlessly.
“I told you, Mom, he was the one who broke it off,” Erin said. “He couldn’t handle dating a cop.”
“It’s really not so hard, once you get used to it,” Mary said.
“You can get used to anything,” Erin retorted. “A few more gunfights, I’ll get used to people shooting at me.”
“Don’t say that, dear,” Mary said with a shudder. “We do worry about you.”
“Then you see the problem,” Erin said. “It’s a tough gig.”
“So you haven’t been seeing anyone?” Mary pressed.
And Erin hesitated. She knew it the moment it happened, and she cursed herself for it, but she just couldn’t help it. Even as she opened her mouth to try to deflect, to change the subject, to say anything, she saw the spark of triumph in her mother’s eyes and knew she was screwed.
“It’s… complicated,” she said weakly. “It’s not like I’m going to be bringing him to meet the parents anytime soon.”
“I understand, dear,” Mary said. “But remember, your clock is running. If you want children, you can’t wait forever.”
“How many grandkids do you want?” Erin couldn’t resist asking. “You’ve got Patrick and Anna already. And it’s not exactly easy to run down perps if I can’t see my shoes.”
“I don’t know how you young people balance a career and a family,” Mary admitted. “It really was easier for my generation.”
“I’d have gone crazy sitting around the house all day,” Erin said.
“It’s busier than you think,” Mary objected. “And more rewarding. Erin, the first time I saw your little face staring up at me…” She smiled, remembering the moment. Then she shook herself back into the present. “But all in good time, dear. First, you need to find the right man. Is this young fellow the right one for you?”
“I…” Erin began, having no idea how she was going to finish her sentence.
Her phone saved her, buzzing to life in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw the name of her commanding officer.
“Sorry, Mom, it’s work,” she said, trying to hide her relief. She thumbed the screen. “O’Reilly.”
“You awake?” Lieutenant Webb asked. “And sober?”
“Sir, it’s three o’ clock,” she said. “I know it’s my day off, but seriously, who do you think I am?”
“Neshenko could be drunk already,” Webb said.
“That’s a good point,” Erin admitted. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you on your down day,” Webb said. “But you know the drill. You’re only really off-duty when you’re dead. Something big just went down. A restaurant’s on fire.”
Erin was perplexed. “We’re investigators, not first responders, sir.”
Webb sighed. “I know what we are,
