may need to question you again.”
“I’m not leaving town,” she said drily.
He wasn’t amused.
Kieran continued. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Fuller and Dr. Miro. I’ve told them all that I could, and they will be trying to ascertain if they can think of any reason—other than who they are and what they do—that the woman might have come here.”
“I’ve spoken with the doctors, too,” Detective Kendall told her grimly. “And I’m sure we’ll speak again.”
“I’m sure,” Kieran muttered.
“Good night, Special Agent Frasier—Miss Finnegan,” the detective said. “You’re both, uh, free to go.”
He left them. Craig pulled Kieran around and into his arms, looking down into her eyes. “We are free. There’s nothing else to do tonight. You want to go home?”
“I know that we both really wanted to see the band play tonight,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”
“Kieran, it’s not your fault. I’m sure you didn’t plan for a woman to abandon a baby in your arms and then run downstairs and find herself stabbed to death.”
“It’s driving me crazy, Craig! We don’t know who she was. We don’t have a name for her. We don’t know about the baby. I think she was too old to be the mom, but I’m not really sure. And if not...she was trying to save the baby, not hurt it. But who would hurt a baby?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get going, shall we?”
“We can still go to the pub. Maybe catch the last of the Danny Boys?” she said.
“You know you don’t want to go anywhere.”
Kieran hesitated. “Not true. I do want to go somewhere. I’m starving—and I’m not sure what we’ve got to eat at the apartment.”
“Yep. We’ve been staying at yours—if there is food at mine, I’m certain we don’t want to eat it.”
“Then we’ll go to the pub,” she said quietly.
Kieran hadn’t realized just how late it had grown until she and Craig walked out of the building. New York City policemen were still busy on the street, many of them just managing the crowd. The body was gone, but crime scene workers were still putting the pieces together of what might and might not be a clue on the busy street.
It was Midtown, and giant conglomerates mixed with smaller boutiques and shops. Most of the shops were closed and the hour too late for business, but people still walked quickly along the sidewalks, slowing down to watch the police and curious to see what had happened.
Kieran looked up while Craig spoke with a young policewoman for a moment. Her brother had once warned her that she looked up too often—that she looked like a tourist. But she loved the rooftops, the skyline. Old skyscrapers with ornate moldings at the roof sat alongside new giants that towered above them in glass, chrome and steel. And then again, right in the midst of the twentieth-and twenty-first-century buildings, there would be a charming throwback to the 1800s.
From a nearby Chinese restaurant, a tempting aroma laced the air.
Even over murder.
The cops generally knew Craig; he was polite to all of them. They nodded an acknowledgment to Kieran. She’d worked with the police often enough herself.
“Is Detective McBride going to be on the case?” Kieran asked hopefully. They’d worked with Larry McBride before, not even a year ago, and he had been an amazing ally.
Drs. Fuller and Miro worked with city detectives regularly, and nine times out of ten, they were great. Every once in a while, as in any job, there was a total jerk in the mix. Mainly they were professionals, and good at their work, and Kieran knew it. Some were more personable than others. Homicide detectives could be very cut-and-dried. McBride had told her once that Homicide, while horrible, was also easier than dealing with other crimes. The victims couldn’t complain about the way he was working. Of course, the victims had relatives. That was hard.
She had come to really like McBride.
In this case, a baby was involved. A woman had died trying to save that baby, Kieran was certain. So she felt they needed the best.
Craig looked at her quizzically. “You know that there are thousands of detectives in the city, a decent percentage of that in Homicide—and even a decent percentage in Major Case.”
“Actually, when you break it all down...”
“I don’t know who will be working the case—probably more than one detective. For right now, it is Lance Kendall. And he’s all right, Kieran. He’s good. He was doing all the right things,” he added quietly. He looked as if he was going to say something more. He didn’t.
He took her hand in his. She held on, letting the warmth of his touch comfort her as they walked down the street.
“Hey, remember, I’m an agent, and you work with psychiatrists who spend most of their time on criminal files. It’s the life we’ve chosen, and we’ve talked about it. This will be just another case—whatever level of involvement we have with it. You can’t let it take over, or neither one of us will be sane.”
She nodded. He was right. There were other cases where they found themselves on the fringe, and, frankly, every day of Craig’s life had to do with criminal activity in the city of New York. They’d already worked on cases of cruel and brutal murders. This was another. And there was always something that seemed to make it better—at least for the survivors—when a killer was brought to justice.
She couldn’t obsess. She knew it.
But this one felt personal!
“Yep.” She spoke blithely and smiled.
“You’re cool?” She could tell he didn’t believe her; it seemed he didn’t know whether to push it or not.
But he was right about one thing. There was nothing for them to do right now except try to get their minds around what had happened—and let it go enough to get on with life.
Even figure out how to step back in order to step forward again.
“Yep. I’m fine. Let’s get food,” Kieran said.
“Sounds good. Thankfully, we always know where to go!”
Finnegan’s on Broadway had been a tavern, inn or den of Irish hospitality since before the Civil War. It was just after the war that the Finnegan family had taken over. Some of the family members were Americans; some were cousins who arrived from Ireland at various times in the pub’s history. Whoever wound up in charge knew that they were always purveyors of camaraderie. It was a true center of community, where you brought friends, and if you had none, you found some. To many in the neighborhood it had become a personal place, and they felt as comfortable and welcome there as in their own living room. The taps were extensive
