The Whisper f-4

by Carla Neggers

  "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? Dear Damian, I just found a dead police officer?

  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.

  She tried more of the tea, her head spinning with jet lag and the aftereffects of her adrenaline surge. "I don't know if you're aware that Percy Carlisle and his wife had hired Officer Rafferty to help them with security." She looked up from her mug. "Do you know the Carlisles?"

  "By reputation only," Eileen said. "They're not involved with the conference if that's what you're asking. Do you know them?"

  "I know Percy a little. I did research at the Carlisle Museum when I was in school here. I only met Helen Carlisle last night."

  "You're trembling," Eileen Sullivan said quietly, rising.

  "I probably should get something to eat." Sophie tried to ignore her spinning head, a wave of nausea. "I'm eager to hear more about how the conference is shaping up. Colm's a ball of fire, isn't he?"

  "Tireless. Sophie--"

  She was on her feet, unsteady, ragged. "I think I'll go ahead and grab lunch before I keel over. Another time?"

  Eileen seemed to understand that Sophie needed to get out of there. "Of course. Anytime."

  "Thanks. It's great to meet you."

  Sophie bolted
out of the office and down the two flights of stairs, bursting into the bright afternoon. She took the steps two at a time. She hadn't thrown up when she and Scoop had found Cliff Rafferty, or in front of him and half the law enforcement personnel in Boston when they'd descended onto the scene, but now she felt her stomach lurching.

  She stopped in the middle of the shaded sidewalk and put her hands on her knees, taking a few deep, calming breaths. She knew she had to eat something before she passed out. She stood up straight, careful not to move too fast, and there was Scoop, three feet in front of her, unsmiling. She hadn't heard him. She hadn't so much as seen his shadow.

  "You need smelling salts?" he asked.

  "Not anymore. You're a jolt to the system all by yourself."

  "Good." He didn't seem particularly concerned that she might pass out. He had a sandwich in a wrapper and handed her half. "It's cheese."

  The smell of the cheese managed not to turn her stomach. "Thanks." She didn't take a bite of the sandwich. "I left you stranded. How did you get here?"

  "Another detective dropped me off. Be glad you were trying to keep yourself from fainting. He's not someone you want to meet on a bad day."

  "I wasn't trying to keep myself from fainting."

  "Pitching your cookies?"

  "You know," she said, "it's entirely possible I'm feeling vulnerable after what we just went through. It was a shock to my system. I'm still getting my bearings. Plus my body's still on Irish time."

  "You're hungry." Scoop pointed at her with his half of the sandwich. "Eat up. You'll feel better."

  "My car's down the street."

  "In front of the Carlisle house," he said.

  Sophie took a small bite of the sandwich, the bread soft, the cheese mild. She hadn't forgotten he was a police officer. Of course he'd keep track of her. Even if she hadn't already guessed who he was when she saw him at the ruin on the Beara Peninsula, she'd have figured out he was in law enforcement just by looking at him.

  "I'll bet they don't tap you much for undercover work," she said. "You'd be pegged as a cop in a heartbeat."

  He grinned at her. "Maybe I can turn the cop thing on and off. Come on. I'll walk you back to your car."

  As they started down the wide sidewalk, Sophie noticed a woman moving toward them at a fast pace, then saw that it was Helen Carlisle. She had on the same red sweater she'd worn last night, this time over slim jeans and black boots that were obviously expensive but suited for a walking city such as Boston.

  "The police just left," she said, not bothering with a greeting. "I was at the museum most of the morning--on my own. I didn't need Cliff to protect me. He's not--he wasn't a personal bodyguard. He evaluated our security and made recommendations, and he looked after the house, especially while Percy and I were away. He didn't follow either of us around."

  "Mrs. Carlisle," Sophie said, "I'm sorry--"

  "Helen. Please. For heaven's sake, 'Mrs. Carlisle' makes me feel old, and I'm not that much older than you." She smiled, taking any sting out of her words but, at the same time, clearly was on the verge of panic. "I was on my way back to the museum, but I saw you two and had my cab drop me off on the corner. The police said you found Cliff."

  Scoop balled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it into a trash can. "I can get you another cab."

  "I've changed my mind. I don't want to go to the museum now. I'll head back home. I guess I don't know what to do with myself after this tragedy. Walk with me, won't you?"

  "I'm parked just up the street from your house," Sophie said. She'd taken a few more bites of her sandwich, already feeling steadier on her feet. She glanced at Scoop. "If you have to be somewhere--"

  "Not a problem." His dark eyes held hers for an instant. "I'm right where I need to be."

  They continued up the street toward the Carlisle house. Helen walked with her arms crossed on her chest, as if she were trying to hold in her emotions. Sophie could imagine what she was feeling--the doubts, the regrets, the fears. Could she have done anything to prevent Cliff Rafferty's death?

  "Have you talked to Percy?" Sophie asked her. "Does he know what happened?"

  Helen shook her head. "I haven't heard from him. The police want to talk to him, which I understand. Cliff worked for us." She gave Scoop a quick glance, then faced forward again as they came to an intersection. "They have to keep an open mind and consider all the possibilities, including homicide, but it looks as if it was a suicide, doesn't it?"

  "One step at a time," Scoop said.

  "Cliff had been preoccupied, enough for me to notice but not to be alarmed. I didn't know him that well. I assumed he was still adjusting to his retirement. Maybe it didn't agree with him."

  They crossed the street and walked past large, elegant Back Bay houses, Scoop on the edge of the sidewalk, Sophie between him and Helen. "Did Cliff stay at your house last night?" he asked.

  Helen shook her head. "He has a room here, but he went back to his place. As I said, he's not a bodyguard. He was working on a total security makeover for us. Alarm systems, computers, finances. Percy has been so casual about security. He can't imagine anyone would want to do him harm."

  "I didn't realize Cliff was such an expert in security," Scoop said. "You aren't afraid to be in the house alone?"

  "Of course not. I've only been married--a Carlisle, if you will--for a few months. I've worked all my life. I'm accustomed to being on my own." She lowered her arms from her chest, her sweater swinging open in the slight, pleasant breeze. "Percy liked Cliff. He said Cliff seemed to have no idea what to do after he retired. I think Percy just wanted to do a man who'd devoted his life to serving the people a good turn, as well as beef up security here. He was very upset after Jay Augustine's arrest, but he didn't want to overreact. Hiring Cliff seemed like a reasonable solution."

  "Do you have friends in Boston?" Sophie asked.

  "A few," Helen said. She lapsed into silence as they crossed a side street and came to her house on the corner. She stood at the iron fence. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss Percy. I understand he needs his space. He's brilliant, you know. He's just quieter and more cerebral than his father was. I think Percy was overshadowed by him, really. Did you ever meet Percy Sr., Sophie?"

  "A few times."

  Helen seemed distracted, exhausted. She motioned broadly at the mansion behind her. "This place is like a museum dedicated to him. I think it took marrying me for Percy to be able to go through the house top to bottom and at least try to make it his own, although we could end up selling it. He still isn't over his father's death. It's been three years, but everyone's different."

  "You're worried about him," Sophie said

  "Wouldn't you be?" Helen paused, the strain of the day evident, her skin very pale against her dark hair and the vibrant red of her sweater. "I don't know what effect Cliff's death will have on Percy."

  "Are you concerned about your husband's safety?" Scoop asked.

  She seemed surprised. "No, should I be?"

  Scoop shrugged without answering.

  Helen abandoned the subject. "Won't you come inside? I can at least offer you a drink."

  "That'd be great," Sophie said before Scoop could respond. She turned to him. "Don't let us keep you."

  "I'm good," he said, his eyes lingering on her for a fraction longer than was necessary--just enough to communicate his lack of enthusiasm for her decision to accept Helen's invitation.

  They took a brick walk flanked by formal hedges and thick ground cover, then went down an offshoot to a side entrance. Helen produced a single key from a sweater pocket. "I hate carrying around scads of keys on some massive key ring, but I probably should. I'm always losing them," she said cheerfully as she pushed open the door, faltering slightly as she added, "Cliff would tease me about it."

  She led her guests down a hall, a thick Persian runner on the gleaming hardwood floor, its white walls decorated with a line of precisely spaced botanical prints of New England wildflowers--columbine, lady slipper,
aster, trillium. They came to a cool kitchen with stark white cabinets and black granite counters.

  Helen set her key on a round table with a large vase of autumn flowers in the center, and sighed. "It's ghastly, isn't it? This place. It's so cold. Beautiful and tasteful, of course--but it needs some warmth. A house needs to be lived in and loved, don't you think?"

  "You're living here," Scoop said.

  "I haven't put my stamp on it yet. It still very much feels like Percy Sr.'s house. I've sometimes wondered why the Carlisles didn't turn it into a museum when they had the chance. It'd be perfect." She peeled off her sweater and draped it over the back of a chair. "Well, things are changing. If we decide not to sell, once we finish renovations, we'll have a constant stream of friends, families and parties. And dogs. I'm determined to get a couple of dogs."

  Sophie remained standing, Scoop right next to her.

  Helen gave them a self-conscious smile. "I'm talking a mile a minute." She ran her fingertips over the edge of the table. "It's hard to believe Cliff sat right here last night. We talked about your visit before he went home. He figured it meant something. He was always on guard, always suspicious. It can't have been an easy way to live."

  "Did he ever discuss his work as a police officer with you?" Sophie asked.

  "Only in general terms. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Charlotte Augustine to discover she was married to a murderer. Cliff was divorced himself, estranged from his children--they're adults. They live in North Carolina, I believe. He hoped being retired would help him rebuild his relationship with them." With an abrupt burst of energy, Helen walked over to the refrigerator. "What can I get you? Soda, wine, beer?"

  Scoop shook his head. "Nothing, thanks."

  "Would having even a nonalcoholic drink violate police rules or something? Here, Sophie. You're not trained to find dead bodies--at least recently dead bodies. I imagine you've seen a few ancient bones in your day."

  "Thanks, but we should go," Sophie said.

  "Nonsense." Helen got down a glass from an open shelf and filled it with water from the tap, handing it to Sophie. "As you know, Cliff and Percy met when detectives had Percy stop by the Augustine showroom. They were going through the inventory. Apparently the Augustines didn't keep very good records. There was a lot of confusion. Percy was able to identify a painting in storage that he'd traded to the Augustines for a sculpture he'd had his eye on."