“John, I told you they were coming.”
He looked quizzically at her. “I don’t remember.”
She glanced down at his drink before she commented, “I wonder why.”
Mr. McAllister answered without embarrassment or hesitation. “It’s after twelve o’clock somewhere, MaryEllen.”
Megan and Nappa were slightly uncomfortable by the exchange, so they got straight to the point.
“Mrs. McAllister—”
She interrupted, “Excuse me, but, Detectives, you were awfully vague in your phone call regarding your visit.” She glanced around them. “You’re not returning Shannon’s laptop, obviously.”
“No ma’am. I expect to get that back to you within another week, if not sooner,” Megan answered.
“Then you must have some information?”
“Mrs. McAllister, I know this is hard for you, but I need you to take another look at the gold ring our medical examiner found. Could she have been wearing it the last time you saw Shannon? It’s very subtle, maybe you could have missed it?”
This was one of the reasons the detectives took the drive out to Westport, but they felt the McAllister’s deserved the other information in person.
“Absolutely not. The last time I saw her—”
Mr. McAllister interrupted, “The last time we saw her.”
“The last time we saw her was last week when she came up to the house for a few days to get out of the city and relax. She wasn’t wearing this. She didn’t like gold, or, as I said before, long necklaces or turtlenecks for that matter. She said she always felt choked by them.”
The irony of that statement was obvious.
“Jesus Christ, MaryEllen! Did you need to say it that way?”
“It’s the truth, John. You know she never liked anything tight around her neck: necklaces, sweaters. She never wore scarves.”
He lit another cigarette and shook his head in disgust, then guzzled half his drink.
“And this I know I’ve never seen before.” Mrs. McAllister handed Megan back the ring, never taking even a hint of a glance at it. She suddenly sounded drained as she said, “I’m sure.”
Mr. McAllister took the other route, his speech slurred slightly, his tone demanding. “What do you have on our daughter’s case?” He turned to look up at them. “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea the powerful friends I have? And who in the fuck leaked that shit out about my baby girl?”
“John!” Mrs. McAllister was embarrassed by her husband’s display. “I’m sorry, Detectives.”
They nodded in full understanding of his anger. “We’ve been talking to her friends and coworkers, but we haven’t had any strong leads as of yet,” Nappa answered. “And we’re tracking down the source of the leak.”
“I know we asked you this before, but do you know if Shannon was dating anyone over the last few months or had a close male friend perhaps?” Megan asked.
Without hesitation Mrs. McAllister answered, “No, she wasn’t seeing anyone romantically. I would have known. She did have a few male friends, strictly platonic.”
“Did she ever mention a Professor Bauer to you?” Megan asked.
“A few times. She was working on a project with him. I think it lasted a few months. The project, I mean; she wasn’t seeing him or anything like that.”
Megan and Nappa glanced at each other, but neither spoke.
Mr. McAllister was a smart man and not in the kind of denial Mrs. McAllister was in. “Why do you ask about this Professor Bauer? Is there something you want to tell us? Do you know something we don’t?”
Megan and Nappa looked at each other again. Mr. McAllister repeated the question.
“Well, sir, it seems that Shannon may have been having a relationship with Professor Bauer,” Nappa said.
“What do you mean, a relationship?” Mrs. McAllister said.
“They were … dating,” Megan added, in as delicate a manner as she could. Megan knew the calm was over, and the storm was about to hit.
“Impossible!” Mrs. McAllister pointed at her chest. “Shannon would have shared that with me. I don’t believe that.”
Mr. McAllister took the lead as the reasonable one in the conversation. “So, is this gentleman a suspect? Is that what you’re telling us?”
“Not at this time, sir. He has an alibi,” Megan answered.
Mrs. McAllister erupted, “Then why bring him up? Why tell us this?”
“We wondered if there could have been anyone, anyone else, that Shannon may have mentioned that perhaps you may have thought of as platonic but …”
“But wasn’t?” Mr. McAllister added.
“Yes sir,” Nappa said.
Mr. McAllister put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “It doesn’t mean the two of you weren’t close, MaryEllen. You had the closest mother-daughter relationship I’ve ever seen. Remember how much you tried to keep from your mother when we were dating?” he said in as comforting a way as possible.
She shook her head in agreement and wiped away her tears. “There was one boy over the summer that she got to be good friends with. His name was Matt. She spoke of him a lot. They worked at Camp Sparta together. I think I still have the camp’s contact sheet in the office. I’ll look for it.”
Mr. McAllister watched his wife leave the living room in search of the information. She looked broken by the news that her only child hadn’t shared every intimate detail with her. “Detectives, do either of you have children?” he asked.
They both answered no.
For the first time since they’d met Mr. McAllister, he shared a small smile. “It’s the greatest day of your life. This little being enters your world and turns it completely upside down. You love every minute of it, but at the same time you wonder if you’ll ever get through the diaper changes, the late-night feedings, the birthday parties, the chicken pox, the first crush.” Shannon’s father seemed much more lucid now as he recounted the early years with his daughter. “All you can think about is what an awesome responsibility it is to care for this helpless being. Then, one day, and it happens almost overnight, she’s riding her bike without training wheels, and before you know it, you’re teaching her how to drive a car. She’s become a young woman, and you begin to breathe a little easier. You think, great, we made it—it’s smooth sailing from here on out. We did our job and now she can go out and make a life for herself. Then you start thinking and waiting for all the paybacks for all your hard work: walking her down the aisle on her wedding, the day she makes you a grandparent. It all seems to fall into place. It’s the natural order of things.” He paused and stared into the fireplace. The flames jumped and spewed almost in reaction to his emotion. “Then one morning the phone rings and you’re given news your darkest nightmare could never have predicted. One sentence, of one phone call, and all those dreams you had for your child, all those moments you were looking forward to—they’re gone. Forever. And they’re gone because of the one thing you couldn’t do.”
“What’s that, sir?” Nappa earnestly asked.
“Keep them safe from the world you brought them into.”
Megan and Nappa knew there was nothing for them to say. They couldn’t even begin to understand the level of loss.
“I’m going to see if I can help Mrs. McAllister with anything.” Megan excused herself from the living room and found her way to the office.
She found Mrs. McAllister leaning over the desk so heavily it looked as though she were trying to keep it from blowing away. Megan lightly knocked and walked in. The room was small and dark. Deep cherry wood shelves lined the back wall behind the desk. Framed diplomas filled the first shelf. An encyclopedia set filled the rest. Family photos, golf trophies, and a desk lamp lined the windowsill. Megan noticed the faint smell of pipe tobacco when she entered. “Mrs. McAllister?”
She didn’t look
up. She pretended she was still searching for the contact sheet, but it was right in front of her. “Found it. And please, call me MaryEllen.” She turned on the fax machine. “I can make a copy of it for you, it’ll just take a few moments.”
“Thank you.” Megan looked around the room, trying to think of the most delicate way of asking the next question.
“Detective McGinn?” she asked.
“Please, call me Megan.”
“Megan. What is it you’d like to ask me that you can’t ask me in front of my husband?”
“Well …”
Mrs. McAllister’s small smile contradicted her pink, swollen eyes. “Believe me, nothing you ask could come close to the pain of receiving the phone call I did a few days ago. If it will help find the son of a bitch who did this to my baby, you can ask me anything.”
“Was Shannon on any medications?”
“Yes. She occasionally took Tylenol with codeine for a back injury when it’d flare up, but that wasn’t often.”
Megan waited.
“And birth control. She was on the pill. Mr. McAllister is somewhat conservative, so we kept that one to ourselves. Shannon started taking it to help clear up her skin, reduce her cramps, regulate her cycle, that sort of thing.”
Right, and most nose jobs are done to correct a deviated septum, Megan thought to herself.
She handed Megan a sheet of paper. “Here’s the contact list. He’s the only Matt.” Mrs. McAllister sat down at the desk. “He’s married, isn’t he?”
“I’m sorry, who?” Megan was perplexed.
“The professor Shannon was dating. He’s married, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Yes, he’s married. I wanted you to know in case that comes out in the papers. I wanted you to know first.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell my husband later, in private, if you don’t mind. If you could give me a minute, I’ll be back in the living room in a moment.”
“Of course. And thank you for this.” Megan folded the contact sheet, placing it in her pocket. She couldn’t leave the room without saying something to help ease Mrs. McAllister’s disappointment.
“MaryEllen, I know this is none of my business, and I don’t know if this will help anything. My mother and I weren’t as close as you and Shannon, but I can tell you, sometimes daughters keep things from their mothers because we think it will hurt them, or worse, they’d be ashamed of us. So, please, whatever Shannon did or didn’t tell you about her life, it doesn’t take away from your bond. It never will.”
Mrs. McAllister gave Megan a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Megan rejoined Nappa and Mr. McAllister in the living room; Mrs. McAllister followed a few minutes later.
“Also, there’s one more thing. We’ve been going through Shannon’s day planner and she would write initials in on certain dates. I assumed it was whomever she was meeting up with on that day. There are a number of initials that we haven’t been able to find corresponding names to, even with her phone records.” Megan showed her the list of initials. “Do any of these ring a bell for you?”
Mr. and Mrs. McAllister looked at the list and then at each other. They shook their heads no in response to the question.
“Well, if you think of anyone, please call.”
“Of course, and you’ll keep us updated on any progress?” Mrs. McAllister asked. She looked more together now than she had in the office.
“Absolutely.” The fire made an exceptionally loud snap, grabbing Megan’s attention. She glanced up at the mantel above. A card propped up against the wall caught her eye. It was different from the other sympathy cards around the room. Megan walked over. “May I?”
“Of course.” The McAllisters continued their conversation with Nappa.
Megan stood speechless staring at the card. A small cross composed of dried reeds, similar to the one that fell from above Shannon’s doorway, was attached to the front of the card. Megan avoided handling it as much as possible and used her fingernail to open it slightly. There was a printed poem, but no signature.
Megan interrupted the conversation, “Excuse me, Mrs. McAllister? May I ask you a question?”
“Yes?”
“When did you receive this card?”
“Which one?”
“This one. The one with a cross on the cover.”
The question caught Nappa’s attention immediately.
“I believe that came this morning or maybe it was yesterday, I can’t be sure. We’ve had neighbors and friends helping out quite a bit, and I haven’t opened any of the cards.”
“Do you still have the envelope it came in?” Megan asked.
“Oh, no, I’m sure it was thrown out.”
“Do you know who sent it?”
“No, but we’ve been getting a lot of cards, especially after … well … after Shannon was in the newspapers.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed this?” Megan asked.
“May I ask why?” Mrs. McAllister asked.
“I’m just curious about something. I’ll get it back to you.”
“That’s fine.”
Megan took it delicately by one corner, placing it in her coat pocket.
twenty-six
“These two crosses are no coincidence, Nappa.” Megan took the condolence card out of her jacket. “I’m dropping this off to forensics when we get back into the city.”
“I agree, and I thank you for sharing.” Sarcasm noted, he continued, “Here’s an idea, why not call Aunt Maureen and ask her what it may mean, the reeds? If anyone would know, she would, or you could be up-to-date and search the Internet using my iPhone.”
She looked askance at his smartphone. “I’d rather deal with a human being until I can get home to my computer.” Megan called the Murphys.
“Aunt Maureen, hi, it’s me.”
“Ah, Megs, good to hear from you. How are you doing? We saw the papers. What a terrible thing done to that girl.”
“I know, I know.” She changed tone. “I’m hoping you can help me with something.”
“Me? Your uncle Mike is in watching TV. Want me to get him?”
“No, I need your help. You’re much more Irish Catholic than I’ve ever been.”
“You don’t have to say that twice. Give it a go.”
“I’m holding a cross that—”
“You should have told me to take a seat first, Meggie. That news alone could make me faint.” Aunt Maureen would do what she could to lighten the mood for her goddaughter.
“Nice, Aunt Maureen, very nice. Anyway, I’m holding a cross, and it’s oddly shaped. It’s made of some type of dried grass. The middle is a woven square, and the four radials are tied at the ends with the same type of grass.”
“Dear, what you’re holding there is a Saint Bridget’s cross.”
“Hold on, Aunt Maureen, I’m putting you on speaker for Nappa to listen in on. You said it’s a Saint Bridget’s cross? Um … she’s …”
“You’ve heard of Saint Patrick? I know you’ve celebrated him,” Aunt Maureen laughed.
“Of course. I’m just trying to remember. Saint Bridget was the saint of …” Megan’s attempt to answer was on the verge of crash-and-burn territory. A question on astrophysics or global economics would have taken less time to answer. “Saint Bridget is one of the biggies, right?”
“Biggies. Yes, that’s how our Lord and Savior described them: biggies. They’re also called saints. Saint Bridget is one of the patron saints of Ireland. Haven’t you ever seen our Saint Bridget’s cross?”
“What? No. Where is it?”
“Above the entranceway.”
“No shit?”
“Megan Alanna McGinn!”
Megan cringed. “Sorry.”
“Thank you. What I know of Bridget is that she was a nun. Her
mission was to relieve misery and hardship of the poor. The cross protects the house from evil, fire, you know. I’d have to look her up again for more information.”
“You’ve been a big help, Aunt Maureen.”
“Oh, and it’s not made of grass, exactly, but reeds, directly from Ireland, if you’re that much of a fanatic.”
“That’s enough to start on. We’ll see you as soon as we can.”
“I hope you mean you and Mr. Samson Nappa.”
“Love you, bye.” Megan politely ignored her question.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Meeting with the McAllisters had been draining. Megan stared out the passenger-side window ashamed at the thoughts running through her mind. She thought back to Mrs. McAllister’s story about Shannon’s birth control, how they kept that from Mr. McAllister. She envied their close relationship. She and Rose didn’t share the level of intimacy needed for keeping secrets. Megan and her father, on the other hand, had plenty.
Every so often Pat would stop by Megan’s school and take her out for lunch. It was usually after closing a difficult case that required long hours and a lot of time away from home. He’d lie to the nuns, saying Megan had forgotten a scheduled doctor’s appointment. They’d go to a diner or, if it was nice, split a sandwich outside at a park. It wasn’t often, but when Megan got called down to the principal’s office without cause, she knew her father would be waiting for her.
The memory of their playing hooky together brought a smile to her face, until she went to hold the cross that no longer hung around her neck.
twenty-seven
The smell of burning incense filled the air in St. Thomas More Church. Megan arrived a few minutes before the service began. She tiptoed over to the wooden pews so the clicking of her heels wouldn’t echo throughout the church.
Oh, Christ, Megan thought. Right before she was about to sit, she turned back toward the entrance to dip her finger into the cup of holy water she’d inadvertently passed. After performing the sign of the cross at bionic speed, she returned to her seat in the back of the church.
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