“Ms. Woods, what a pleasant surprise.”
Having ascertained that it was indeed Forensic Instincts’ president on the phone, Niall focused on keeping his tone even and his words calm. “What can I do for you?”
“I apologize for calling so early,” Casey began, “but I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor? Now I’m intrigued.” Niall took out a handkerchief and patted the perspiration from his brow. “How can I help you?”
“My boyfriend and I are looking for an apartment. He works at Federal Plaza and I’m in Tribeca, and we want to find the right place that’s both upscale and convenient to our respective workplaces. I was hoping to set up a meeting with you to get your advice and to discuss potential opportunities.”
Niall’s brows rose. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this.
“I realize you’re a very busy man,” Casey continued, “so I’ll try to work around your schedule. But sooner would be much better than later. I can come to your office, since I’m sure that’s most convenient.”
Niall’s wheels were turning. Most convenient didn’t matter. Most opportune did. And Casey Woods had just provided him with a potential opportunity to see the tapestries.
“Will your boyfriend be joining us?” he asked.
“Unfortunately not. He’s buried in work.” There was a smile in Casey’s voice. “But he trusts my opinion. So he agreed to leave the research to me.”
“A smart man.” Niall chuckled. “Are you at your office now?”
“I am. Why?”
“Because I’ll be in your neighborhood in about an hour. Why don’t I just meet you there? I can look around to get a sense of your taste in living quarters and then I can steer you in the right direction.”
A hint of a pause.
“Is that a problem?” Niall knew damn well it was, and why.
“Only in that my team is hard at work in all four corners of our headquarters,” Casey replied, impressing Niall with her quick recovery. “It might be hard to take a tour or find a quiet space to talk.”
“I’ll be unobtrusive and discreet. And I’m sure we can find a meeting room in a four-story brownstone. This would be the fastest way to accomplish your goal. And you did say you wanted to expedite this, right?”
“I certainly did. Okay, let me clear the way for our tour and our talk.” She gave Niall FI’s address—an address, like its phone number, that he’d already memorized since events dictated it.
“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
***
Casey swore as she ended the call. This was not the way she’d planned it at all. This entire morning had been a bust. She hadn’t reached Professor Blythe, either by email or by phoning his office. And now Niall Dempsey was coming to her, rather than the other way around.
She was already on her feet, clearing the conference room table and scrutinizing the room. Confident that it was data-free, she headed straight for the War Room. She had to regain the position of power here.
“What’s up?” Marc asked the instant she appeared in the doorway. He knew her well. And he knew that expression. “Is Blythe a dead end?”
“No, just an impossible man to reach.” Casey shook her head and cut to the chase. “It’s Dempsey. He’s coming here in an hour. Somehow he’s ‘in the area’ and I couldn’t persuade him to meet in his office rather than the other way around—not without supplying a good reason, which I don’t have.”
Marc gave a thoughtful nod. “Interesting, his desire to visit here. He didn’t say why?”
“Oh, he said he wanted to get a feel for my taste in living quarters, yammer, yammer, yammer. But the way he pressed me—or manipulated me is more like it—tells me that’s bullshit. For starters, how did he know I live where I work? And even more telling, how did he know our offices were in a four-story brownstone? I never mentioned that. But he sure did.”
“You think he’s keeping tabs on us,” Patrick said. “That would certainly imply he’s got an agenda when it comes to our current case.”
“An agenda like getting eyes on the tapestries.” Marc’s brows knit. “Ryan can’t find anything about this guy’s past. And we aren’t sure if the evil Claire picked up on involved who he is today, not just who he once was. We’re already viewing him as a suspect. This makes his guilt an even greater likelihood.”
“The question is, does he realize we’re onto him, that I’m setting up this meeting to check him out, just like he’s checking us out?” Casey asked. “And if so, I’d better be shrewder than he is, or this is not only going to tip our hand, it’s going to be a complete standoff.”
“That’s not even debatable.” Marc dismissed that in a heartbeat. “You’ll know his shirt size before he’s sure what you’re looking for and how much you know.” A quick glance around the room. “Let’s use this time to prep the place. Patrick, Emma, and I will stay behind these closed doors.”
Casey nodded. “I already swept the conference room. Now I’ll head to the yoga room and tell Claire to lock herself and the tapestries in there. From there, I’ll go upstairs and hide everything in my apartment that’s even remotely case-related out of plain sight. I’ll also bring Hero down to the War Room. I don’t want him with me when Dempsey shows up. Hero’s senses are way too keen. He’ll pick up on the negative energy, and it might make him react.”
“I’ll go down to Ryan’s lair and fill him in,” Fiona said, visibly unnerved.
“Stay with him,” Marc instructed, Fiona’s rattled state being just one of his reasons for saying that. He gave her the other reason, since it would be far better received. “It’s best that Niall not see you here, even though I’m quite sure he knows you’ve hired us.”
Fiona shot him an I’m-not-stupid look. “That’s a good idea—and not just for the reason you just gave but for the one you didn’t. I’m really thrown by all this. I know you’re investigating Niall, but I guess it never sank in that he could actually be a killer. The last thing we need is for him to pick up on my nervousness or to ask me any questions. I’ll hang out with my brother, who’s probably researching Niall right now anyway. Do what you have to. But please let me know the minute he’s gone—and what you found out.”
“Of course.” Casey turned to leave. “Once I bring Hero down to you, I’ll lock the War Room door behind me. I’ll keep Niall to the same areas our clients see, along with my apartment. We’ll talk in one of the small meeting rooms on the first floor. And come hell or high water, I’ll find a way to get something of his for Claire. Even if all I can manage is the coffee cup he drinks from.”
***
Niall had left the bar immediately after filling Donald in on the phone call.
There was no time for them to brainstorm in preparation for this meeting. He’d have to do it on the fly. He needed to get home, shower, shave, and dress as if he’d just left a business meeting, not spent the night hanging out in the back room of a bar.
But his mind was racing a mile a minute. Despite the coup he’d scored by getting his foot in the door where the tapestries were, the way he’d managed that was by being approached by the enemy. True, Forensic Instincts could be checking out everyone who was closely associated with Rose. On the other hand, he’d be a fool not to worry that he’d somehow found his way onto their short list of suspects.
He had to assume the former and be ready for the latter.
Niall barely acknowledged the doorman as he strode into his building on Park Avenue in Midtown East. His home was the penthouse, although he spent very little time in it. The biggest draw that brought him home most nights was his two beloved Irish terriers, Pope and Martha, who were either walked and cared for by Timothy McGrath, his full-time pet sitter, or who accompanied him to the office if it was going to be an exceptionally long day.
He could hear Timothy preparing their meal as he opened the door. But the two spry terriers heard him, as well, and raced out to greet him. He squatted down to affectionately scratch their ears. Normally, he would spend more time with them, but this morning was not going to afford him that opportunity.
“Mr. Dempsey, I wasn’t expecting you,” Timothy said as he came out of the kitchen. He’d been instructed to spend the night here and given no notice that Niall would be returning now.
“I won’t be staying,” Niall replied, rising to his feet. “I’m only here to get ready for a business meeting.” He smiled at his pets. “Later, little laddie and little lassie. You go eat your breakfast.” He glanced at Timothy. “I’ll call and let you know my plans.”
“Yes, sir.” Timothy rounded up the dogs, who left the hall reluctantly and only because of the tantalizing smells of their home-cooked meal.
Thirty minutes later, Niall slipped into his suit jacket, left the penthouse, and took the elevator down to his waiting limo.
This was going to be one helluva meeting.
***
Professor Emeritus James Blythe settled himself in his first-class airplane seat, pushing his eyeglasses back up on his narrow nose and placing his cane by his side before leaning back to rest his snow-white head against the seat cushion.
His head was still reeling from the events of the past hours. A special courier arriving at his home with an offer that stunned him—an urgent offer that had to be accepted on the spot and acted on in the moment. Given what he was being hired to do, his answer had been an emphatic yes. Then packing, gathering up the necessary texts and research material he expected to need, and being raced to the airport—given his sedentary life of quiet retirement and his body’s aged state, he should be exhausted.
Yet he wasn’t. In fact, he’d left his cottage on the University of Dublin’s lovely green campus that afternoon feeling younger and more excited than he’d been in years.
The Vadrefjord Hoard.
How long had he been researching that treasure? Years. He’d even gone on an archeological dig to find it. Eventually, his research had told him the rest of the story—that the hoard was gone, having been dug up and whisked away to American soil. Thus, its name being coined from the place it was stolen from, rather than the place it was found, since no one was certain where that would be.
James had his suspicions. He knew more about the hoard’s history than any scholar, and not only because of his expertise but because of his fascination with where it currently was and his determination to recover it and restore it to its rightful home in the National Museum of Ireland.
The hoard originally belonged to the high king of Ireland Cynbel Ó Conaill, in the ninth century during the Viking invasion. The Vikings had made Vadrefjord, now Waterford, one of their permanent settlements. There had been a fierce and bloody battle—the Battle of Bawncullen—in which the high king was killed and his valuable treasure stolen. Somewhere there was a painting depicting that battle. James would be intrigued to see it, to see how many of the details matched his knowledge base. But his focus wasn’t on the painting, it was on the hoard itself.
When Rose had called him and described the tapestry panel she was researching for Fiona McKay, James had listened carefully. Rose’s research had already led her to a high king, although she wasn’t sure which one. But that information, together with the description of the gemstones, the crown, the Celtic symbols—but most significant of all, the chalice—that had been enough for James to fill in some of her blanks and begin researching anew.
For perhaps the first time, he wished he knew how to use a computer. But that ship had sailed a long time ago, and frankly he hadn’t had the slightest incentive to rectify it—until now. So he’d asked a favor of one of his younger colleagues—one he knew would be enthused by this—and she’d happily delved into what he’d requested.
In her report to him, she’d conveyed that Fiona McKay’s great-grandparents had lived on a small farm in Owning, County Kilkenny, which was now only a thirty-five-minute drive from Waterford. A long hike by foot, but still reachable, as it would have had to be in the ninth century. So the proximity was established. Next came the fact that the McKays had left the country in 1920 and sailed to New York City.
End of research for James’s colleague, but just the beginning of a thought process for James.
Was it possible the hoard had been buried on the McKays’ property and they’d found and fled with it to New York? It was the only explanation for the tapestry Fiona was researching. But why a tapestry? And why such a cryptic one? Why hadn’t her great-grandparents just shared the treasure with their family?
James hadn’t been able to convey the entirety of his findings to Rose before she was killed. He’d been shocked, brokenhearted, and filled with apprehension at the news. Was her murder tied to her research into this matter? Had she been able to pass anything significant on to Fiona McKay? If so, had the young woman delved into anything more on her own?
James was a poor man. And not terribly strong anymore. He relied heavily on his cane to get around. Most of the time, he was secluded in his cottage, contentedly doing his research, collecting his ancient artifacts, and working on another book. Still, he would have pushed himself and flown to New York to attend Rose’s funeral if he had the money.
Well, now he did. Thanks to Niall Dempsey, he could pay his respects to Rose and take over where she left off.
He had no idea how much Mr. Dempsey knew. But his desire to restore the hoard to the National Museum of Ireland seemed genuine, and he was clearly an Irish nationalist at heart. So James would tread cautiously. But the extravagant sum of money Niall Dempsey was offering, along with a spacious apartment in one of his upscale buildings, and a driver who was also an aide to help him get around, was giving him the opportunity of a lifetime.
One he had no intention of squandering.