Detective Acosta had told her about missing Celtic artifacts.
As objectively and succinctly as she could, she told Tim about finding Rafferty. 'I don't believe it was a suicide. I don't think the police do, either. There's no way to know at this point if his death's connected to what happened to me--'
'No, Sophie. Don't. Not with me. You believe this police officer's death is connected to what you went through on that island.'
She didn't argue with him. 'Are the two Brits who came to see you friends of Will Davenport? When I saw Colm Dermott last week, he told me that Lord Davenport helped with the investigation into Keira Sullivan's ordeal on the Beara. He played a role in Jay Augustine's arrest.'
'I'm having a drink with a friend in the guards and will see what he can tell me.'
Will Davenport was also romantically involved with Lizzie Rush, who had alerted her cousin Jeremiah that Sophie was on her way back to Boston. 'Be careful, won't you?'
'Ah, that's funny,' Tim said. 'Sophie Malone telling me to be careful.'
She appreciated his humor but noticed her hands were shaking. 'I don't want you to suffer for something you had nothing to do with.'
'I had everything to do with what happened to you on that island,' he said, serious again. 'I left you there.'
'There's no point rehashing the past.'
'I trust you, Sophie, but if you're hiding anything at all, I'd give it up now.'
'I might have an unpaid Irish speeding ticket. Not that the guards are known for handing out speeding tickets.'
Tim sighed. 'Sophie.'
She came to the ivy-covered converted town house where the conference offices were located. 'It's my turn to try to inject a note of humor into a grim day.'
'Go for a Guinness, then.'
'I'm dropping in on the Irish folklore conference offices.'
'Ask if they need fishermen musicians. Ah, Sophie. What a day. Be well. This police officer's gone to God.'
'I suspect that was the idea,' she said.
'Does your family know any of this?'
'No, Tim, they know nothing. I prefer to keep it that way.'
'I would, too,' he said as he disconnected.
Sophie mounted the steps to a polished oak door and announced herself through an intercom system. A buzzer unlocked the door, and she went into a small entry and up two flights of narrow stairs to the third floor, where she introduced herself to a heavyset, middle-aged woman, who rose from behind a glass-topped desk.
'It's a pleasure to meet you, Sophie. I'm Eileen Sullivan. I'm Keira's mother.' She had her daughter's blue eyes and fair coloring, and her hair was cut very short, her clothes plain and loose-fitting. 'I just spoke to my brother. Bob O'Reilly.'
'Then you know--'
'Yes, he told me what happened this morning. It must be a terrible shock for you. Can I get you anything?'
Sophie shook her head. 'I just wanted to stop in and introduce myself.'
'I'm the only one here at the moment. Colm's in Ireland, but I assume you know that. We're excited to have you organizing a panel for the conference.' Eileen frowned, obviously concerned. 'What about a cup of tea and a bite to eat?'
Between waiting for the detectives and going through the questioning, it was well past lunchtime, but Sophie didn't feel hungry. The thought of food nauseated her.
'At least tea,' Eileen said.
Sophie relented with a smile. 'That'd be lovely.'
Eileen went down the hall, and Sophie sank onto a cushioned chair in a corner, next to a table piled with books on Ireland. A poster of the upcoming conference was on the wall. Keira Sullivan had clearly done the watercolor illustration of an Irish cottage, with sheep and a stone circle in the background. It was beautifully done, cheerful and inviting. Sophie picked up a book of photographs of Ireland and found one of Kenmare. She pretended she was there, walking its pretty streets with nothing more pressing on her mind than which restaurant to choose for dinner.
As if her life wasn't screwed up enough, her brother, the FBI agent, texted her: All is calm, all is bright in Boston?
What would she tell him?
She texted him a vague answer. I'll call you later.
Let him find out on his own about her morning. She didn't want to be the one to tell him.
Eileen Sullivan returned with a mug and one-cup teapot on a small tray. 'I wasn't sure if you took cream and sugar, but I can go back for them.'
'This is great, thanks.'
She smiled, setting the tray on the side table. 'You must be tempted to jump on the next flight back to Ireland.'
'I am,' Sophie said truthfully. She thought of Scoop and his intensity and focus when he'd realized they'd walked into a potentially dangerous situation. Running back to Ireland would mean leaving him behind, and she didn't want to do that. Finding Cliff Rafferty together had forged a bond between them--she couldn't explain it. Besides, she'd only make him more suspicious if she left. She smiled back at Eileen. 'Thanks for the tea. I'm thrilled to be involved in the conference.'
'Everyone's eager to see what you come up with. I know very little about pre-Christian Ireland, but I'm fascinated by the various ways the early church incorporated pagan traditions.' Eileen stood up straight, her concern unabated. 'You're pale, and for good reason. You're not a law enforcement officer trained to walk in on the type of scene you just left. Is there someone I can call for you? Do you have any friends in town?'
Sophie poured the steaming tea into the pottery mug. 'I'm just getting my bearings. The tea will help.' She noticed it was Irish Breakfast as she curled her stiff fingers around the very warm mug. 'Thank you.'
Not looking particularly reassured, Eileen returned to her desk. This was a woman, Sophie knew, who had left behind her life as she'd known it to become a religious ascetic in a cabin she'd built herself deep in the New Hampshire woods. Jay Augustine had come close to killing her and Keira there. He hadn't counted on the two women being able to defend themselves against him.
Eileen eyed Sophie for a moment. 'I can see you're preoccupied,' she said with understanding. 'You're trying to make sense of Cliff's death. Bob would just say to leave the investigation to the detectives, as if that solves everything.'
Sophie managed a smile. 'He already did say that.' She drank some of her tea. 'You knew Cliff Rafferty?'
'Yes. Yes, I knew him. He started out in the police department a year or two after my brother. I was still living in Boston. Keira was just a baby, so this goes back a few years. We weren't close--Cliff, Bob and I. I ran into Cliff earlier this summer, before he retired. His death...' Eileen stared up at the poster of the conference as if to draw solace from the scene, just as Sophie had. 'I'd hoped the violence had finally ended.'
Eileen Sullivan seemed open and interested, not unaffected by her encounter with a serial killer but not haunted, either.
Sophie forced herself to drink more tea, but her fear was clear and sharp and had been from the moment she'd seen the fake skulls tacked to Rafferty's apartment door. Her encounter with Detective Acosta had only further crystallized what she'd already been thinking. What if her experience in a cave across the Atlantic a year ago had helped trigger the violence in Boston over the past three months?
What if it had helped trigger the violence Cliff Rafferty had encountered today?
With Jay Augustine in prison and Norman Estabrook dead, who had created the bizarre scene at Rafferty's apartment?
Who'd killed him?
Sophie simply couldn't believe he'd committed suicide.
