* * *

Sergeant Healy’s phone rang. “Healy,” he answered.

“Sergeant Healy, Officer O’Malley here. I have a young man named Rafferty asking to speak to the Chief Superintendent.”

“On my way.” Healy hung up the phone and stepped into O’Brien’s office. “Fergus Rafferty is here.”

O’Brien eyed Healy. “I wonder what he wants?”

“I'm unsure, sir. Shall I fetch him?”

“Absolutely!” O’Brien said. “He was nervous on his last visit. He wouldn’t come back unless he thought it important.”

“Excellent, sir.” Healy turned to fetch Rafferty.

Five minutes later, Fergus Rafferty stood in the doorway to O’Brien’s office. He knocked on the door frame. “Chief Superintendent?” he asked.

“Rafferty, my boy. Come in. Sit down. What’s on your mind?”

Rafferty stepped in and sat in one of the worn leather chairs in front of O’Brien’s desk. “Chief, something odd occurred this morning.”

“What happened?”

“This may not be important, but considering our earlier conversation, I don’t want to be in trouble for not sharing. This morning, Dr. MacGowan announced the semester project is due in two weeks. On October 22nd, to be exact. This is a full week earlier than our planned due date. The announcement came as a surprise this late in the game.”

“You are smart to bring this information to me. Did Dr. MacGowan give any reason for this sudden change?”

“Yes, sir. He told us he needed extra time to grade the projects.”

“Is this different from past years?”

“I'm not sure, sir, but it should be easy to find out by talking to a few former students.”

O'Brien nodded. "Go on, Rafferty.”

“Well, sir. He also told us all the projects are related and we should work together to ensure the projects dovetail.”

“Wait a minute…that’s what Keenan Moynihan claimed, right?”

“Yes, sir. As you discovered, Keenan and I talked about it the night of his abduction.” Fergus paused in thought. Is there a connection between Kennan’s death and Dr. MacGowan?

“This is all quite interesting, Rafferty. Do you mind bringing me a copy of your project? I want my experts to examine what Dr. MacGowan assigned.”

“I am happy to provide a copy, sir. Would you prefer an email copy or a printed copy?”

“Printed, please. I want to keep this between you and me.”

“Understood, sir. I won’t say anything to the other lads. Is tomorrow morning okay?”

"Fine, Rafferty. Bring it to the front desk in an envelope with my name on it. You don’t need to come to my office again unless you have more news.”

"Thank you, Chief.” Fergus rose to leave. “I’m sure you have my cell number if you have any questions.”

“Aye, we do, Rafferty.” He called out, “Show Mr. Rafferty out, Healy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

At eleven-thirty Wednesday morning, Wyl and Rod arrived at the conference center for the GMIT Symposium. They stood at the back of the room surveying the layout. Some forty tables for six occupied the rectangular space, each with a white tablecloth and decorative flower centerpiece.

Standing behind his husband, Rod placed his strong hands on Wyl’s shoulders and massaged, kneading out the tension. “My turn to ask. Are you nervous?”

“No, but I’ll give you seventy-five years to stop,” Wyl closed his eyes as the warm sensations from Rod’s hands flooded him.

“You have a bit of tension.”

“Not anymore. You rubbed it out.”

Rod snuck his arms around Wyl and leaned close to whisper, “I’ll rub something else later.” He flicked his tongue against Wyl’s lobe.

Wyl chuckled and leaned his head to the side. “Stop it. You’ll make it hard for me to give my speech.”

“Making it hard is kind of the point.”

“Okay. You managed to dispel all my angst.” Wyl turned his head and gave Rod a light kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.” Rod released his embrace. “Let’s walk down and view  the room layout from the stage.”

"I think our table is up front somewhere.” They walked through the sea of round tables, each with six places. The waitstaff scurried around, adding plates of salad to each setting. The cold of the air-conditioned room chilled Wyl’s hands, so he rubbed them together as he walked.

They climbed the short stairs and strolled across the stage to the podium. Rod stood aside and let Wyl acclimate himself to the view from where he would give his talk.

“This room is broad,” Wyl said. “I’ll have to make sure I turn to each side while I speak.”

“How many presentations like this have you done?” Rod asked. They never discussed Wyl doing this type of thing.

“I led several sessions for military personnel,” Wyl said. “Military audiences are challenging, but this is an academic audience. I have no clue what to expect. I managed only one semester toward an associate degree before one of my professors turned me into his love slave.”

“Lucky fellow. Have I met him?”

“No. He’s my bit of crumpet on the side,” Wyl laughed.

Rod laughed out loud. “Where did you learn that word?”

“What word?” Wyl asked. “Bit? Side?” Teasing Rod.

“Crumpet.”

“Oh. On Monty Python.”