He left his office, heading for the communications room that was both expansive and illegal. Laying his palm on the security screen, he identified himself then entered. Here, the equipment was unregistered and any activity would be undetected by the all-seeing eye of CompuGuard. He needed specifics in order to plan his next step, and sitting in the deep U of a sleek black control center, he began.

Invading the system of NYPSD was child's play for him. He sent a silent apology to his wife as he accessed her files, dipped into the medical examiner's office.

"Crime scene video on screen one," Roarke ordered, easing back. "Autopsy report, screen two, primary investigating officer's report, screen three."

The horror of what had been done to Brennen swam on screen, made Roarke's eyes go cold and flat. There was little left of the young man he'd known a lifetime before in Dublin. He read Eve's clipped and formal report without emotion, studied the complex terms of the preliminary report from the ME.

"Copy to file Brennen, code Roarke, password my voiceprint only. Off screen."

Turning, he reached for his in-house tele-link. "Summerset, come up please."

"On my way."

Roarke rose, moved to the window. The past could come back to haunt, he knew. Most often it remained in some ghostly corner waiting to strike. Had it slipped out to strike Tommy Brennen? he wondered. Or was it just bad luck, bad timing?

The door slid open and Summerset, bony in black, stepped through. "Is there a problem?"

"Thomas Brennen."

Summerset's thin lips frowned, then his eyes cleared into what was nearly a smile. "Ah yes, an eager young hacker with a love of rebel songs and Guinness."

"He's been murdered."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Here in New York," Roarke continued. "Eve is primary." Roarke watched Summerset's mouth set and flatten. "He was tortured, kept alive for the pain. Disemboweled."