Fiona was almost sorry for the bravado she’d displayed at her parents’ house.
She spent a sleepless night in her townhouse, quaking in her bed, as the word murder slammed at her brain. Who in the name of heaven would want to kill Rose? A robbery? Doubtful. Rose’s pieces weren’t cheap. She took mostly credit cards. She didn’t keep a drawer full of cash. Plus, Glenna deposited the shop’s profits in the bank daily. Had any of the more valuable antiques been missing when Fiona arrived? She didn’t think so, but she’d been so fixated on Rose’s body that she hadn’t exactly taken inventory. She did recall that there’d been no physical upheaval, so clearly the killer hadn’t trashed the place. Had Rose surprised him before he could take anything? Had she confronted him? But why would her cane and shattered whiskey glass be so far from her body?
After endless hours of driving herself crazy, Fiona gave up any thought of sleep. She was out of bed and pounding away at her five-mile run by five thirty. Back home, she showered, dressed, and headed straight upstairs to the third-floor loft that was her studio—the only place where she could find a shred of solace. She was in mid-project anyway and wanted to complete the ring she was designing for her collection.
As always, she lost herself in the process, moments slipping by unnoticed. Finally, with a surge of pride, she turned off her torch and sat back to scrutinize her handiwork.
Like all her other pieces, the design was steeped in Celtic traditions but infused with a style that was her own unique blend of cultures. This new ring consisted of Celtic spirals and interlacing triangles along the band, topped with a stunning bezel-set ruby. All she had left to do was set the stone and give the ring a soft going-over with a brass brush for a lovely satin finish.
The whole process still filled her with a sense of awe, and she found herself thinking back on the work of ancient goldsmiths who produced exquisite gold filigree and decorations with tiny gold beads using the technique of granulation. It was hard for her to imagine working without the extensive tool collection she had at her disposal.
Abruptly, she became aware of just how much time had passed.
She glanced at the time on her iPhone. Nine forty-five. She was meeting Glenna at the parish office at ten. Good thing she only had a five-minute walk. Otherwise, she’d be screwed.
She put all her jewelry-making equipment in order and left the townhouse.
***
Casey pushed the Forensic Instinct team’s nine o’clock meeting until ten. She made that decision at eight thirty, when she came down from her apartment on the brownstone’s fourth floor only to hear banging and swearing coming from the basement, which they all referred to as Ryan’s lair.
She’d descended the steps, found the door ajar, and stepped inside to the compartmentalized workroom that Ryan had created for himself.
Just inside the room was his tech center—a massive rectangular desk with a thirty-two-inch NEC UHD monitor. Ryan always bought the best equipment that money could buy, and Casey was always generous about supporting him. On the back wall were a series of Liebert MCR mini computer room enclosures, cabinets with built-in air conditioning and backup battery systems, which simultaneously housed and protected Forensic Instincts’ critical command and control gear. Emanating from inside the locked enclosures was a powerful thrum of communication gear and Dell PowerEdge servers that powered Yoda. Ryan barely noticed the background noise any longer. It was just part of his normal work environment.
At the other end of the basement was a small machine shop—compact lathe and mini vertical milling machine and welding equipment, along with a wall filled with hand tools, measuring devices, and accessories for the machine tools. As a result, Ryan could design and build anything smaller than a motorcycle.
In the center of the basement was his arena, as he liked to call it, in which he would test his latest robotic incarnation against a variety of challenges—obstacles, flames, circular saws. In the corner were swept-up pieces of his experimental designs that failed in combat.
At the moment when Casey walked in, he’d been squatting over some robotic thing that obviously wasn’t living up to his expectations. He was slamming parts around and muttering profanities at the metal contraption as if it were a living creature. Which, to Ryan, it probably was.
“Hey,” Casey greeted him. “You’re in early. Was the gym closed?” The entire FI team knew how much Ryan valued his sleep and how cranky he got when he lost out on it. He didn’t do his morning workout until seven and rarely showed up at the office until after nine—unless he was knee-deep in solving a case.
He looked up at the sound of Casey’s voice and rose to his feet. “Nope. I got my workout in early and did a fair amount of damage to the equipment, actually. Just didn’t sleep well. It was one of those nights.”
Casey had studied him thoughtfully. She was a behavioral expert and Ryan was so easy to read. He was more on edge than Casey had ever seen him, his jaw tight, his gaze darting about restlessly, and his mind somewhere far away from his failed robotic project.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Ryan glanced at the time. “I’m not late for the meeting. I’ll be there.”
“I pushed it back an hour. I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?”
“First of all, I need your notes substantiating the huge chunk of money you’re requesting for Yoda’s update. You were supposed to get those to me when you got home from your parents’ house last night.”
“You’re right. Sorry.” Ryan was trying to get his head in the game. “I’ll have them to you by the end of today, okay?”
“Fine.” Casey was still watching him. “Second—which is absolutely ridiculous for me to ask you, since you’ve hacked into the entire team’s personal files—I need your permission to share yours with the rest of the team. Everyone else has consented to this, and I think it’s only fair for you to do so, as well. And by the way, my comments and reviews have been encrypted and protected by two-factor authentication by Yoda so that even you can’t gain access. And even if you could, I’d count on your integrity and loyalty to me not to. It’s time we made this a level playing field.”
That made Ryan chuckle. “I hear you, boss, and I’d be a real prick to refuse. Sure.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s not much of a concession on my part. Over these past few days, my life seems to have become an open book anyway.”
Casey’s brows drew together in question. “Meaning?”
“Oh, just that Claire was pissed that she didn’t know I had a sister and Fee was pissed that she didn’t know I had—in her words—a girlfriend, as in singular. Between that and the visit to my parents, Claire knows my whole family history and Fiona knows that Claire and I are together.”
Amusement flashed in Casey’s eyes, although she hid her surprise at Ryan’s finally stating the obvious reality about him and Claire. It had sure taken him long enough.
“Those aren’t the real reasons I pushed back the meeting,” she said. “As I asked, what’s up? You were barely here for an hour yesterday and you’re clearly not yourself today. That will affect your work, so it gives me permission to ask.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened again. “You know why I wasn’t here. You okayed it.”
“Yes, I did. But I assumed you’d resolved things. If I was wrong, let me know.”
“I offered Fee my support. Claire provided much-needed backup. That doesn’t mean anything got resolved.”
Casey sighed. “Ryan, let’s stop playing games. Your sister went through a traumatic experience. I understand you being there for her and asking Claire to bring some calm to the chaos. But you’re not just upset. Your tension level is through the stratosphere. So I’m asking you, is there more to this than I know?”
Ryan walked over to the futon against the short wall and dropped down onto it, sighing as he did. “I think so, yeah. I just don’t know so.”
“Care to share?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Ryan looked relieved, as if he’d been waiting for this opportunity to unload. He laid it all out for Casey—what he’d found by hacking into the NYPD case file, about Claire’s flashes of insight, and about the uneasy feeling he had regarding Fiona’s place in all this.
“It could be circumstantial bullshit,” he said. “But I have a bad feeling. Honestly, so does Claire, which worries me even more.”
Casey heard him out, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “You think that the research Rose Flaherty was doing for Fiona is tied to her murder?”
Ryan shrugged, that strained look back on his face. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure. So far, I have nothing solid to go on. If I did…”
“Then you’d be bringing the case to FI,” Casey finished for him. “Which you should.” She tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. “Dig as deep as you have to. Include Claire as you need to. When the team meets at ten, tell them what you just told me. I guarantee you they’ll vote unanimously to defer taking on a new case until we’re clear whether or not we’ve already got one.”
***
Fiona took a minute to stop at the church itself before heading across the street to the parish office. She wasn’t particularly religious, but there was something about visiting Saint Patrick’s Old Cathedral that drew her in and brought her a sense of peace and calm.
The outside of the church was understated, in sharp contrast to the spectacular interior, and especially in light of the sanctity and importance of the Basilica, or the Pope’s church in the history of Catholicism in America. Constructed of beige brick and surrounded by a black wrought iron fence, the church needed no fancy sculptural features or gargoyles. Instead, it beckoned you in with a sense of warm invitation.
Fiona entered and walked straight to the entrance of the chapel, pausing to take in the full effect of its beauty.
What looked unassuming from the outside was stunning on the inside. The chapel had an elegant symmetry in its soaring gothic arches, and a grand stained glass window behind the altar that echoed the slender beauty of the arches in the nave. More stained glass windows graced the sides of the room. Beneath the main stained glass window were elaborately carved niches, each holding a colorful statue of a saint. These niches spread out like wings from the central painted archway, which was decorated in rich blues and golds, like a starry sky. Each niche was carved in the same pointed gothic shape as the arches in the nave, so when one looked down the aisle, there was a cohesive continuity of shape, form, and color. Flanked on each side of the altar were two tall candlesticks, as if they were standing guard. Six wrought iron chandeliers were suspended by chains that seemed to disappear into the lofty vault, bathing the room in an ethereal light.
The overall affect was one of serene beauty and calm.
Letting the sense of peace pervade her, Fiona felt more ready to deal with the difficult process she and Glenna were about to face. Finishing her prayers, she left the church.
Her phone rang as she turned onto Prince Street, and she answered as soon as she saw Nolan’s number come up. Thankfully, his attorney friend in Florida had taken care of everything and had just left the judge’s chambers with the signed papers in hand. A fax had already been sent to the NYPD, and the original would arrive by FedEx tomorrow.
Fiona had thanked her brother profusely and promised him a steak dinner at Peter Luger’s.
She’d just hung up the phone when she rounded the corner on Mulberry and spied Glenna stepping out of the parish office.
“Hi. I thought you were running late,” she said, looking as pale and tired as Fiona did.
“Sorry. I spent a moment inside the church. It helped.”
Glenna nodded in understanding. “The funeral director is waiting for us.”
“Okay. But before we go in, I just heard back from Nolan. Everything is set. Once the ME releases the body, you can take custody of it.”
“Oh, bless your brother,” Glenna breathed. “That takes a huge burden off my shoulders. It also explains the call I just got from Detective Alvarez.”
“What did she say?”
“That the medical examiner had completed his autopsy and that, if the requisite document was received tomorrow, I’d be able to claim Rose’s body.”
Fiona’s relief was a palpable entity. “Then we can actually discuss specifics with the funeral director. Not only what our wishes are for Rose’s Mass and burial, but also the timing of everything, including the wake.” She gave Glenna’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go in and honor Rose the way she deserves to be honored.”
***
This time the entire Forensic Instincts team was present at the conference room table for the morning meeting. And they all listened carefully to what Ryan had to say. He made sure to elaborate further, explaining the nature of the research Rose had been doing for Fiona and how it tied to her current jewelry line.
“It’s hard for me to be objective,” he concluded. “I could be way overreacting.”
“No, you’re not.” Claire gave an adamant shake of her head. “Something is definitely off. There’s a darkness about Fiona’s involvement here that transcends the ugliness of her finding Rose’s body. I’m not sure what it is, but I do think it ties to the research Rose was doing for her. I sensed it when I touched her hand, even more so when I touched her bracelet—which just happens to be based on the tapestry designs.” She sighed in frustration. “I wish I could have held those tapestries. But they’re almost sacrosanct to Ryan’s mother, so I just couldn’t bring myself to ask. And the poor woman had taken about all she could handle for one day.”
“She wasn’t much better this morning,” Ryan said. “She called me, since Fee turns off her phone when she’s working. My dad had told her about the fact that Rose’s death was being ruled a homicide. She was pretty unhinged, not only about the murder but about how it must be affecting Fee.”
“Let’s get back to these tapestries.” Marc steepled his fingers in front of him in the way he always did when he was concentrating. “Tell us more about them.”
Ryan looked over at Claire. “You saw them. I didn’t. Can you take this one?”
“Not a problem.” Claire went on to explain.
“Intricate symbols, pictorial representations, and panels that line up together—this sounds pretty complex,” Patrick said. “And the large center panel with the symbols of royalty is clearly divergent from the others.”
Claire nodded. “It’s beyond impressive, and, yes, it’s unique in its design. It also happens to be the panel Fiona was having Rose research, which she was clearly doing right before her death.”
“Then there’s the celebration Rose was planning,” Casey reminded them. “That implies she’d found something of significance—something she didn’t live long enough to share with Fiona.”
“I don’t disagree with the direction you’re all taking,” Marc said in his usual level-headed manner. “I’m not comfortable with what I’m hearing, either. The problem is that this is all conjecture, so I can see why Ryan is spinning in neutral. There are a lot of maybes that suggest Fiona might be in the middle of something that’s over her head. But there’s not a shred of concrete proof. And there are only two people who could fill in the blanks—one is dead and the other is the killer.”
Ryan nodded. “So you see my dilemma.”
“Well, I see that you’re trying to protect your sister, which is very cool,” Emma said, putting in her two cents. “And I think we should help you. If you want me to lift anything from the crime scene, get me into that shop. Yellow tape can’t stop me.”
“Forget it, Emma.” Casey put the kibosh on that idea right away. “You’re not contaminating a crime scene. Besides, there’s nothing there that could help us. Law enforcement undoubtedly confiscated anything that smacked of evidence.” She paused, glancing around the table. “But I do agree with Emma about our helping to investigate. I realize we don’t know what our next step should be, but if a step is necessary, it will be necessary soon.”
“Too soon to take on another case,” Marc agreed. “In my opinion, we should hold off starting anything new for a few days. Just in the event that we’re needed.”
“Without question,” Patrick said. “We’re talking about one of our own. That takes priority. Period.”
“Well, you know the way I feel.” Claire stated the obvious. “My aura is so unsettled that I can’t shake it. I’m convinced Fiona needs us.”
“Then that settles it,” Casey said. “We wait on a new case and treat this like an impending one.”
Ryan glanced around the table, looking as touched and humbled as Ryan had ever looked. “Thanks, guys,” he said simply. “This means a lot.”
“No thanks necessary.” Casey gazed straight at Ryan, not insulting him by softening her words. “Whoever killed Rose Flaherty wanted something. If that something relates to Fiona, she is in danger. Because in order to get what he wants, he’ll be willing to kill again to get it.”