by Paula Martin
After three hours, he'd found some of the names on the list Tony had given him, but his aching shoulders told him it was time for a break. The café on the ground floor of the museum was busy, and as he waited to pay for his pot of tea and chicken baguette, he glanced around.
With a jerk of surprise, he recognised the elderly couple sitting at one of the shiny white tables and, after picking up his tray, he headed across the café toward them. "Margaret! Jon! Grand to see you again."
They both looked at him, not completely blankly, but with uncertain expressions of Don't we know you from somewhere?
He smiled as he put his tray on the table, and smoothed his hand across his cheek. "Aye, when we met, I had a beard, and I've had my hair cut since then, too. I'm Ryan. Ryan Brady." He used his undercover name so as not to confuse them even more. "I visited you with Kara a few weeks ago."
Their faces cleared, and Margaret smiled. "Ryan, of course! It's grand to see you again. You look so different without your beard."
"Sit y'self down, lad," Jon said. "What brings you to Glasnevin?"
"I've been doing some research for a friend."
"We've just taken some flowers to Jon's grandparents' grave," Margaret said. "We always visit this week because of a couple of anniversaries." She hesitated. "Kara came to see us yesterday, and she said you two had broken up."
He nodded as he poured tea into his cup. "That's true. It's difficult to explain everything, but it was my fault. Did she tell you what happened?"
"We didn't like to ask her."
"It's because I'm not what she thought I was." As Margaret and Jon both raised their eyebrows, he went on, "I'm a detective with An Garda Síochána. I was working undercover as a taxi driver in Clifden, until the case I was investigating blew up in my face, and she found out who I was."
"And she's upset because you didn't tell her the truth about yourself?" Jon asked.
"More than upset. She's angry, and accused me of not trusting her."
Jon nodded and leant forward. "Let me tell you something, Ryan. It's not the same situation, but it has a parallel, I think." He wrapped his hand around Margaret's and brought it up to his lips to kiss it lightly. "Fifty years ago, I was angry with Margaret. We didn't tell you the whole story when you visited us, but you may remember we didn't marry until over a year after we met again. The reason for that was my anger, when Margaret told me she'd given our daughter up for adoption."
Ryan glanced across at Margaret. "Didn't you explain what happened?"
She nodded, and Jon went on, "Yes, she told me everything, and I understood her reasons, or thought I did, but I couldn't get past the fact that she hadn't trusted me enough to tell me she was pregnant. I was hurt, and I'm guessing Kara is hurting in a similar way. Rationally, she may accept you couldn't tell her you were working undercover, but emotionally she probably feels let down, betrayed, maybe even inadequate, or wondering if she was somehow at fault. I experienced all those feelings and walked out of Margaret's life for several months."
Margaret smiled at her husband. "It was a difficult time for both of us, wasn't it?"
"Indeed it was."
Ryan tilted his head, frowning slightly. "And yet you're here together now, fifty years later, so how – I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but—"
"Don't apologise, Ryan. After all, I started to tell you our story, so it's only fair I should tell you how we resolved things. This is where it differs from you and Kara, because this happened in the mid-sixties." Jon smiled. "Unemployment was high, but I was lucky, as I had a good job at the bank. My friend Liam wasn't so lucky. He applied for a manager's job in Rathgar but didn't get it. Not only that, he was dismissed from the place where we both worked. Why? Because he was unmarried, but living with his girlfriend, and they had a six month old baby."
Ryan nodded. "I've heard similar stories from those days."
"The only reason I've told you about Liam is because that was when it hit me between the eyes. Margaret knew I would lose my job if it was discovered I had fathered a child outside of marriage, and so she went through all the agony of the Ballykane home and being forced to give up our daughter because of me. To protect me. That was an amazing thing for anyone to do, wasn't it? And, to cut a long story short, I found her again, and asked her to marry me."
"The legend of the red thread was certainly true in your case," Ryan said with a smile. He bit into his baguette, and chewed it thoughtfully. "But I'm not sure how I can untangle the thread between Kara and me."
"You'll find a way, son. It took me nearly a year, so don't lose hope. Not if you love her."
Different thoughts whizzed around Ryan's mind while he finished eating, and Jon went to the counter to order more tea for them all.
"Kara was so thrilled to meet you," he said to Margaret.
"And we're delighted she has found us. Yesterday she met our son and daughter, too. She's a charming young woman, and I already think of her as part of our family." Margaret shook her head slowly. "Our only disappointment is that her mother isn't interested in her Irish roots."
"So Kara's still not managed to tell her about what happened?"
"Her mother won't listen."
The idea that jumped into Ryan's mind was so bizarre he was tempted to dismiss it, but Jon's comment about the 'amazing thing' Margaret had done to protect him rang bells. Charley's words came back to him: You'll have to do something pretty amazing to earn her trust and respect again.
"Do you know her father's name?" he asked.
"Alistair Stewart. She told us he's a lawyer in Newark in New Jersey."
He nodded. That should be enough to go on, especially if he asked his NYPD friend for help. There couldn't be many lawyers in Newark with that name, and he still had a week's leave.
Two days later, he checked in at the Aer Lingus desk at Dublin airport for the flight to New York.
* * * * *
"I'm beginning to feel like the Pied Piper," Kara said as she and Charley led the way down the drive on Friday morning, followed by the ten children, aged between seven and ten, who had comprised their designated group for the whole of this junior drama activity week.
This morning they were based in the cottage. The renovation was complete, the old furniture had been placed in the main room and bedroom, and Conor had cleared the shrubbery between the cottage and car park, and laid a path of paving stones. Last night, she and Charley had hidden various items in the cottage, ready for a scavenger hunt with the children today.
Once they reached the door, she divided them into two teams, gave each team leader a box, explained what they needed to look for, and stepped back as they all rushed inside to start their search.
Ten minutes later, she gathered them around the wooden table in the living room. "Okay, time's up. Let's see what you've found, and then we'll talk about how you can create a play with all your objects. Johnny, you go first. Something round?"
"A coin," said the boy, holding it up. "But it's not like our money. It's bigger and there's a hen on one side."
Kara nodded. "This is an old Irish penny, which people used in the past. Melissa, what did your team find?"
"A tin plate."
"Good. Now, did you manage to find something square?"
The children pulled the different items from their boxes, and Kara exchanged grins with Charley when one team offered a twig for something brown instead of the lump of peat they were supposed to find, and the other team produced a modern screwdriver as a long, thin item, and not the candle which was hidden near the stone fireplace.
"What about the last one, something shiny?" Kara asked. "I think that was the hardest to find, wasn't it?"
Johnny held up a silver spoon in triumph. "This was stuck to the back of the chair."
"Well done for finding it. Melissa, what about your team?"
"I found this!" Melissa beamed as she pulled a small white packet from her team's box.
It wasn't one of the objects they'd hidden, and Charley shot
a quick frown at Kara before looking back at Melissa. "What is it, Mel?"
"Wow!" one of the boys cried when Melissa opened the packet and a sparkling bracelet fell on the table.
Kara's jaw dropped. This wasn't some cheap diamante and coloured glass jewellery. Even without inspecting it closely, she was certain the diamonds and rubies were real, and her heart started to race.
"Mel, where did you find this?" Charley asked.
"Under the bed," the girl replied.
"On the floor?"
"No, it was in the wall, in a gap between the stones."
"Come on, I think you'd better show me."
As Charley followed Melissa through the arch into the bedroom area, Kara smiled at the children. "Okay, while we're investigating this, I want you to try to invent a story that includes all your objects."
As they huddled around the table, she went into the bedroom. Charley pulled the wooden bedstead away from the wall, and Melissa crouched down. She pointed to a gap between two of the uneven large stones. "It was in there. I only saw it because it was white and the stones are grey, and I think there's something else, too, but my fingers aren't long enough to reach it."
As Charley bent down, and started to slide her hand into the gap, Kara's professional instincts kicked in. "Charley, leave it. If there is something, it might have fingerprints on it."
"Fingerprints? You mean—?"
Aware of the seven-year-old girl turning her head anxiously from one to the other, Kara smiled at her. "It's okay, Melissa, you did good finding the bracelet, but I think your team needs you to help with their story now."
Once Melissa returned to the living room, Kara turned to Charley. "I think I know what this is. Remember the press reports about Caitlyn Connolly's jewellery being stolen? Diamond and ruby pieces."
Charley stared at her. "Oh heavens, what do we do now?"
"Call the Gardai, I guess, but I think I should tell Guy first. And if the cops are going to descend on the cottage, perhaps we should take the children back to the house."
"Good thinking. You go ahead, and I'll sort out the kids."
Kara sprinted along the new path that led to the car park and up the main drive to the house. She arrived breathless in the hallway, and knocked on the door of Guy's office.
* * * * *
At six o'clock that evening, after all the children had been collected by their parents, Kara joined the rest of the staff in the lounge while Guy updated them on the events of the day.
"Obviously Charley and Kara had no idea what their scavenger hunt would lead to when they set this task for their group today," he said with a grin. "The shiny object Melissa found was part of the jewellery stolen from Waterside Hall at the beginning of last month, and the Gardai also retrieved some earrings and a necklace. All kudos to Kara for leaving them where they were for the Guards to retrieve. I had a call about twenty minutes ago from Chief Superintendent Enya Quinn at Galway headquarters to say the fingerprints on the packet have enabled them to identify the man they suspect of being the local fence for all the thefts and burglaries around here for several months. They've put out an alert for him, and are confident of an early arrest."
"Who is it?" Charley asked.
"She didn't say, but she did tell me Mick Leary has been arrested. That's all I know, but—" His gaze rested on Kara. "Ryan was right, Kara. He suspected the cottage was being used to store stolen goods, and it turns out it was, unknown to either Conor or me. Conor's brother-in-law, who also came under suspicion, was cleared, too. So all's well that ends well, it seems."
His words echoed in Kara's mind. It might have ended well for the Gardai, and for Mist Na Mara, but not for her.
* * * * *
Ryan found the address and phone number of Alistair Stewart's law firm online and decided not to ask his NYPD contact to find a home address. It would be better to speak to Kara's father at his Newark office, rather than turning up unannounced on the doorstep of their home. He had to wait two days for an appointment, and suspected he would have waited much longer if he hadn't told the pleasant but stonewalling secretary that he was a Garda Síochána detective who wished to see Mr. Stewart about a personal matter.
On Friday afternoon, he was shown into Alistair Stewart's office. Kara's father was a tall, medium-built man in his late fifties, with thick, dark hair that had begun to turn silver at his temples. After the introductory pleasantries and Ryan's explanation of who he was, Mr. Stewart listened while he recounted their search and the setbacks they'd had.
His eyes widened in surprise at the news of their success. "Are you sure you found the right couple?"
"Beyond any shadow of doubt, sir. The final proof was Peter Rabbit."
Alistair frowned. "Excuse me? Peter Rabbit?"
Ryan gave him a printed copy of one of the photos of he'd taken of Kara with Margaret and Jon, in which Margaret was holding the knitted rabbit. He continued with an explanation of the significance of the rabbit, and went on to tell the full story of Margaret's experiences with her family and at the Ballykane home. Alistair's face creased in anguish as he listened to the heartrending account of how Margaret had been forced to surrender her baby to the nuns.
"Kara told me her mother thinks she was unwanted and unloved," Ryan concluded. "The truth is the opposite. Margaret and Jon have spent years searching for their daughter. I met them earlier this week, and they are devastated to discover she doesn't want to know anything about them."
Alistair nodded slowly. "Linda has always had a problem dealing with her birth. As you say, she thinks she was given away by a heartless mother who rejected her. Her loyalties lie with her adoptive parents who, I will admit, loved her as if she was their own child." He paused, obviously thinking deeply, and eventually said, "I'd like to take you home with me today, Ryan, because Linda needs to hear what you've told me, but I think I need to prepare her first. How long will you be over here?"
"I'm due to return to work on Monday, so I only have another full day here. My flight home is on Sunday evening."
"Okay, leave it with me. Do you have a cell?"
Ryan pulled one of his cards from his wallet, and scribbled his American cell number on the back. "This also has my Irish number and my address, in case you need to contact me when I'm back home."
He left the office, took the PATH train to Manhattan, and sat in the bar at his hotel all evening, wondering what response Alistair would receive from his wife. If she listened to what he told her, she might agree to meet with her birth mother. Kara would be over the moon, and Margaret and Jon would be thrilled by the end of their fifty year search for their daughter.
The call he was waiting for came at ten o'clock the following morning.
"I'm sorry, Ryan. I tried to talk to Linda yesterday evening, to tell her what you told me, but I'm afraid she still doesn't want to know anything about her birth mother. However, I appreciate you coming here to tell me what happened, and I will try again, although I don't hold out much hope. I guess over fifty years of resentment can't be wiped away overnight. But please give my best wishes to Margaret and Jon when you see them again."
"I will, sir." The irony was that he was unlikely to see them again, and a heavy weight descended on his stomach at Alistair's words. So much for achieving something amazing to win Kara's respect and trust again. The painful thought struck him that he might even have made everything worse. He went on quickly, "Could I ask you not to mention any of this to Kara, Mr. Stewart? She may think I've been interfering where I had no right to stick my nose in."
"I'm sure she wouldn't think that, but of course I will respect your wish for confidentiality."
"Thank you, and you have my home phone number if you need to contact me again."
He spent Saturday evening at a bar in Greenwich Village, and on Sunday, he wandered along the avenues of Central Park, unable to shake off the blanket of depression.
It seemed everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. He'd ruined everything with Kara,
and he had no idea what assignment would await him when he reported for duty on Monday morning. They certainly wouldn't trust him with any high profile investigation now.
After the overnight flight to Dublin, he switched on his phone when he reached the baggage hall. During the flight he'd replaced the cheap SIM card he bought in New York with his own card, and now he waited while his phone updated. Would there be a call or text from Kara? Or was he being too optimistic in hoping her anger had lessened?
The beeps from his phone coincided with the carousel starting to move, and he glanced at his screen. Five texts, but none of them from Kara. He grimaced. Of course they weren't. She only had the number of his undercover phone, and he'd handed that back to the Bureau.
His breath hitched when he realised the texts came from Enya Quinn's number. Was this good or bad?
After collecting his bag from the carousel, he stepped to one side to check them.
Friday 5:15 p.m.: Call me ASAP, Ryan.
Friday 7:30 p.m.: Need to speak to you urgently.
Friday 9:30 p.m.: Where are you? Call me. I have some good news for you.