"Come with me now, Mrs. Brennen." Eileen didn't resist as Eve took her arm. "Come outside. Who can I call for you?'' "I – my friend Katherine Hastings. She lives… she has a place on Fifth Avenue, a shop. Noticeable Woman."

"I'll call. I'll have her come and meet you here."

"Thank you. I need… someone."

"Do you want some water now? Coffee?"

"No, just to sit down." And she all but collapsed into a stiff-backed chair in the waiting area. "Just to get off my feet. I'll be fine." She looked up, blue eyes swimming in a white face. "I'll be all right. I have the children, you see. I have to be all right."

Eve hesitated, then pulled the evidence bag out of her pocket. "Mrs. Brennen, have you ever seen this before?"

Eileen concentrated on the token as if it were a rare piece of art. "No. That is, of course I've seen a shamrock before, but not this little button."

"Shamrock?"

"Of course, that's what it is. A shamrock."

"How about this?" Eve turned the token over.

"A fish." She closed her eyes now. "A symbol of the Church. Will you call Katherine now, please? I don't want to be here anymore."

"Right away. Just sit and try to rest a minute."

Eve rushed through the call to Katherine Hastings, offering little explanation. She was skimming her hard copy of the pub list as she did so. She had no Penny Pig, no Four-Leaf Clover, nothing with fish or church. But she had three locations with Shamrock in the name.

She snagged her communicator. "Peabody, concentrate on locations with Shamrock in the name."

"Shamrock, Lieutenant?"

"It's a hunch. Just do it."

Eve walked into the Green Shamrock at three p.m. She'd missed the lunch crowd – if there'd been one – and found the small, dark pub nearly deserted. A couple of sad-looking customers sat huddled over thickly foamed beers at a back table while they played a desultory game of gin. Though she saw no on-site gambling license displayed, she ignored the piles of credits beside the mugs of beer.

A young woman with a white apron and rosy cheeks was whistling as she wiped tables. She smiled at Eve, and when she spoke Eve heard that lovely lilt of Roarke's native land.

"Good afternoon to you, miss. Can I get you a menu? It's just sandwiches this time of day, I'm afraid."

"No, thanks." There was no one manning the bar, but Eve slid onto a stool before pulling out her badge. She saw the young waitress's eyes widen.

"I haven't done anything. I'm legal. I have papers."

"I'm not with Immigration." From the hasty relief on the girl's face, Eve imagined the papers were still wet, and likely fake. "Are there rooms for rent on the premises? Do any of the employees, or the owner, live on-site?''

"Yes, ma'am. There are three rooms. One in the back and two upstairs. I have one upstairs myself. It's up to code."

"Who else lives here – what's your name?"

"I'm Maureen Mulligan."

"Who else lives on-site, Maureen?"

"Well, Bob McBride did until last month when the boss fired him for laziness. Bob had a hard time lifting a pint, you see, unless it was up to his own lips." She smiled again and began to scrub at the bar industriously. "And now there's Shawn Conroy who takes the back room."

"Would he be back there now?"

"I just looked a bit ago, and he wasn't about. He should be in here now, half hour ago his shift started."

"You want to show me his room, Maureen?"

"He's not in any trouble, is he? Shawn drinks a bit, but he's a good worker and does his best."

"I want to make sure he's not in trouble. You can call your boss, Maureen, and clear showing me in the back."

Maureen bit her lip, shifted from foot to foot. "Well, then I'd have to say as how Shawn's not in for his shift, and there'd be hell to pay then, wouldn't there? I'll show you the room if you want to see it. Shawn doesn't do illegals, Lieutenant," she continued as she led the way through a door beside the laminated bar. "The boss, he's strong against illegals and sloth. There's not much more will get you the ax around here, but either of those'll do it in a wink."

She unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key from a chain at her waist.

It wasn't much, just a bunk-style bed, a cheap dresser, and a streaked mirror. But it was surprisingly neat. A quick look in the closet assured Eve that the absent Shawn hadn't packed up and left.

She walked to the dresser, idly opened a drawer. Shawn had one pair of clean underwear and two mismatched socks. "How long has he been in the U.S.?"

"Shawn, why, two or three years at least, I'm thinking. He talks about going back to Dublin, but – "

"That's where he's from?" Eve asked sharply. "He's from Dublin?"

"Yes, he says he was born and raised there and came to America to make his fortune. Not much of a fortune yet for Shawn," she continued with a sunny smile. Her gaze shifted to the empty bottle of brew on the nightstand. "That's probably why. He likes the drink a bit more than it likes him."

"Yeah." Eve glanced at the bottle as well, then her gaze sharpened on what sat beside it. Her muscled tensed as she picked up the enameled token. "What's this, Maureen?"

"I don't know." Maureen angled her head and studied the green shamrock on the white background. And on the back, the fish. "A lucky piece, I suppose."

"Have you seen it before?''

"No. Looks new, doesn't it? It's so shiny. Shawn must have just picked it up. Always looking for luck, Shawn is."

"Yeah." Eve closed her fist around the token. She was very much afraid luck had run out.

"I need you to think, Maureen. I need you to be calm and clear."

Huddled in a neatly patched chair in her own little room above the Green Shamrock, Maureen wet her lips. "I'm not going to go to jail or be deported?"

"You're not in any kind of trouble. I promise you." Eve edged forward in her chair. "Help me out here, Maureen, help Shawn out, and I'll pull some strings and get you real papers. You won't have to worry about Immigration ever again."

"I don't want anything to happen to Shawn, truly I don't. He was never anything but nice to me." Her eyes darted over to where Peabody stood by the door. "I'm a little nervous, you see. Cops make me a little nervous."

"Peabody's a pussycat. Aren't you, Peabody?"

"Tame as a tabby, Lieutenant."

"Help us out here now, and think back. When did you last see Shawn?"

"I'm thinking it must have been last evening when I went off my shift. You see, as a rule, Shawn comes on midday like. I'm on from eleven – that's when we open – until eight. I have two thirty-minute breaks. Shawn he works through till half ten most nights. Then he comes back on at one and works the after-hours – "

She shut up like a clam in seawater.

"Maureen," Eve began with straining patience. "I'm not worried about the after-hours business. It's no concern of mine if the bar stays open past its licensing limit."

"Well, we do a bit of after-hours business now and again." She began to wring her hands. "I'll be fired for sure if the boss finds I've told a cop such a thing."

"Not if he doesn't get any heat from it. Now you saw Shawn last night, before you went off shift at eight."

"I did, yes. When I finished up, he was behind the bar and he said something like, 'Maureen, me darling, don't you be letting that young buck steal any of my kisses.' "

At Eve's lifted brow, Maureen flushed. "Oh, he didn't mean anything by it, Lieutenant. He was just joking like. Shawn, he's was forty years old or more, and there isn't anything like that between us. I have a sort of young man. I mean…" She fumbled again, looked nervously at the silent Peabody. "He is a man, a young man, and I'm seeing him lately. We're getting to know each other, and Shawn, he knew I had a date last night, so he was just teasing me."