“Thank you for your words, sir.”
Healy went to his desk, called Glenn Cross, and gave him the information about Garrett Burke.
* * *
A knock came at the door. Rod checked the peephole to find Glenn. He opened the door.
“You have something for me?” Glenn asked.
“What, no morning greeting?” Rod stepped back to let Glenn enter.
“Sorry, Rod. Sometimes I'm too focused. Top o' the mornin'.”
“Hi, Glenn.” Wyl stood. “I printed out the overall course project outline Ailbe sent. I have a copy for myself and made a copy for O’Brien.” Wyl handed Glenn the envelope. “I marked a few relevant spots. Be sure he gets it.”
“Will do.” Glenn took the envelope. “By the way, Gardai found another student dead.”
“What?” The loudness of Rod’s voice matched his startled eyes and gaping mouth.
Wyl snaked his arms around Rod’s waist from behind. “Who?”
“Fergus Rafferty,” Glenn said. “Found dead in his flat this morning.”
“What caused his death?” Rod’s voice trembled.
“Hair dryer in the bathtub,” Glenn said. “O’Brien is investigating now.”
“He's the one who provided O’Brien with his course project,” Wyl said. “Another of Ailbe’s students.”
“I got a call from O’Brien’s office. I contacted the student who found Rafferty and will be talking with him tonight. I’ll share any important information with you.”
“Thanks, Glenn. We appreciate you."
“You two, be careful.” Glenn opened the door. “MacGowan and Knowlan will go to any lengths to safeguard their plan.”
“We’ll be careful,” Rod gripped his husband’s arms.
The door closed behind Glenn. Rod twisted in Wyl’s arms to face him.
“This case is turning into a nightmare.” Rod’s voice shook with terror. “Two people are dead relating to a cybercrime case.”
Wyl thumbed a tear from Rod’s cheek. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would students be such a threat?”
“And if students are a threat,” Rod pulled Wyl into a tight embrace, “imagine what kind of threat we are if he discovers we are agents.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
O’Brien visited the flat complex and talked with the neighbors. Flat complexes always include a nosy neighbor or two. Often, a widow with little to do. This complex included such a widow, Mrs. Hallion.
“Come in, Chief Superintendent.” She opened the door for him. “Please, have a seat.” she gestured toward a chair near the window of her tiny flat.
“Thank you, Mrs….”
“Hallion, Chief Superintendent. Grace Hallion.”
“Mrs. Hallion.”
“May I offer you tea, Chief Superintendent?”
“Tea would be wonderful, Mrs. Hallion. Thank you.”
“I won’t be a second. Make yourself at home.”
O’Brien gazed around the tiny apartment, packed with trinkets and memorabilia as evidence of a full life. He assumed the photos of younger families to be Mrs. Hallion’s children and grandchildren.
“You have a lovely family,” O’Brien said.
“Thank you, Chief Superintendent. I’m quite proud.”
“The older gentleman. Is he your husband?”
“Yes. Conor died in 1985, I’m afraid. Heart condition. I finished raising my two boys, and they now have their own families. My sweet grandchildren are in those photos.”
“You must be proud, Mrs. Hallion.”
She brought a tray and set it on the small table. “White or black?”
“White, two,” O’Brien said.
