Jackson
They were out of the woods.
Well, physically. They had come into headquarters where they could question Elizabeth Fitzgerald in an interrogation room.
Elizabeth was still accusing Conor.
Conor was still impatiently defending himself.
“You, you, you did it! You talked me into it! You did all the heavy hauling because you wanted me to console Sean and to make him adopt me and that way you could marry me. All for the money!” Elizabeth cried.
“Elizabeth!” Conor said, shaking his head with horror. “There’s not enough money in the world to make me ever want to marry you!”
Jackson studied the man. Conor Murphy had seemed solid from the time they had first met.
And, as was usual with the Krewe, every possible bit of background checking was done on all the major players in a case.
Jackson did believe that, beneath Angela’s guidance, they had created one of the best technical response analysist units to be found anywhere.
But . . .
He thought about what he knew regarding Elizabeth. She had a brilliant mind; she had graduated from Harvard and done so on scholarships. But he remembered, too, that she’d been orphaned at a young age and been raised in a few different foster homes.
And of course . . .
Zach had been seated on Jackson’s side of the table, but he rose suddenly and walked around, hunching down by Elizabeth, smiling and touching Elizabeth gently on the shoulder.
“This was something you wished might be true,” he said softly.
“Elizabeth, we can help you the most if you just tell the truth.” He glanced at Jackson, and Jackson knew that Zach had used his own strange ability.
He had touched Elizabeth’s shoulder gently. His strange ability had allowed him into her mind.
And he had known that she had desperately lashed out at the detective she had first spoken to when interviewed regarding the case. Zach gave him a nod. Conor Murphy was the solid detective they had believed in.
“We can understand,” Jackson told Elizabeth. “Growing up the way that you did . . .”
Elizabeth’s sobs rose again. “She had everything! He loved her so much. I know how to work . . . work . . . always work. And I don’t mind, but . . .”
She wanted to be loved. And the life she had led made that desperate need rise above all else.
“Elizabeth, we know that you were hurt; we don’t want to hurt you. But we know that you are telling us a lie because you feel the need to lash out more than ever,” Jackson said. “Please, tell the truth, the complete truth, and it will go so much better for you!”
The young woman just started sobbing again. And as she did so, there was a brief tap on the door, and he saw that Angela had arrived.
She gave him a questioning look and he nodded; she had something to say, he believed, that might help the situation.
“Elizabeth, we know that you did this alone. You do have a brilliant mind, and I believe it might have occurred to you to try to throw the blame on Conor when you saw him there. But I did some checking. You never saw Conor Murphy until he called you when he started the investigation into Colleen’s disappearance.
Lying is bad. Very, very bad. But there is some goodness here. ”
“I kidnapped a girl; I would have . . .”
“But we stopped the ‘would have,’” Jackson said quietly.
“Colleen wants to grant you mercy. She has talked her grandfather into doing so as well,” Angela assured her.
“Meaning . . .”
“They’re going to get you help. You will go to—” Angela began.
“A facility for the criminally mentally impaired,” Elizabeth said.
“And learn to be grateful and know that people can love people when they’re just friends.
Did you ever realize that both Sean and Colleen had cared deeply for you?
” Angela asked. “And despite this, well . . . you wanted to create something horrible for St. Patrick’s Day.
Instead, they’re going to truly honor the saint, the man who lived his life giving to others.
They are going to forgive you,” Angela said softly.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and sat back, looking across the table at Conor.
“I’m sorry, I was . . .”
“Desperate. I understand. And I forgive you,” Conor said.
“How did you manage it all?” Angela asked her.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, I was already playing a leprechaun in my off hours. And I worked out! Pilates, weights, you name it. I’m very strong. And I knew all the timing—when no one was in the stupid haunted house thingy. In truth . . . it was all too easy!” she said on a breath.
“The drugs—”
“Even with cameras, it’s pretty easy to get a conversation going and slip a few things out of pharmacy without being seen,” she said softly.
“A few I had left over from places I lived through the years—some foster parents are just like good old St. Pat. Some need a great deal of help themselves. I . . .” She broke off, crying again.
“I am sorry. Now . . . now, I am so sorry. I didn’t think that anyone would ever . . .”
“Care for you. But they do care for you. And you will see Sean and Colleen again, I’m certain of it,” Angela said.
“And we need to get some of this started,” Conor said, looking at his phone. He glanced over at Elizabeth. “Sean has arranged an attorney for you. Let’s go meet him and let these folks go for the afternoon.”
They were able to leave. Outside the station, they opted for a good Irish pub that was near them for dinner.
They needed dinner by then, Jackson thought. It had been a long day.
Luckily, a long day with an amazing ending.
“I take it our banshee Deidre stayed with Colleen and Sean,” Jackson said, smiling at Angela.
“But of course,” Angela told him. She smiled, looking over at Skye and Zach. “You know, Jackson and I are good at what we do, but on this . . . well! We’re grateful for your abilities, and . . . well, you know. Ready to send you onward again.”
“Of course,” Zach assured her, glancing at Skye. “We’re ready for what we’re called upon to do.”
Jackson laughed. “Hey, and we’re proud of ourselves for knowing you.”
Angela sighed and gave him a little tap on the arm. “Behave! And now, Guinness all around and shepherd’s pie all around. I mean, if that works for all!”
It did. Dinner was fun. While they went over cases, they also allowed themselves to talk, to have fun, and to grow serious at times.
Tomorrow was St. Patrick’s Day. For Jackson and Angela, it was great—they would get home in time after their morning plane to spend the evening with their children, Corby and Victoria.
It was while they were heading into dessert that Angela got a call from Sean Donegal, begging them to stop by before leaving town. He’d have a breakfast for eight A.M. and see to it that they were to the airport. Would they make their plane?
Angela had the phone on speaker, with Sean’s knowledge, of course. She smiled at Jackson and then told Sean, “Eight will be lovely and we’ll be fine. Adam has seen to it that we have our own plane; we’ll just give our pilot a call when we’re on our way!”
“Wonderful!” Sean told them.
And so, they finished dinner and headed to the hotel for a night’s sleep. And as they prepared for bed, Jackson looked questioningly at his wife. “You know we’ve been at this for over fifteen years, I believe. All the cases . . . and our kids!”
“Are you telling me I’m old?” Angela asked him.
“Never. And I will never fall out of love with you!” he assured her.
“Then I’m really, really, really not that old!” she teased. She patted the bed.
Later, quite a while later, he found himself thinking about Elizabeth. And despite what she’d done, he felt sorry for her.
Everyone needed love. Love was the one thing that could combat violence, anger, and hatred.
It took him awhile. Finally, he slept.
And in the morning, he and Angela and Zach and Skye headed to join the Donegal family for breakfast.
Colleen was an entirely different person, up, energetic, welcoming—and amazingly well overnight.
Of course, as they gathered to eat, Colleen and Sean were unaware that their banshee, happy as a lark, was joining them as well.
But her appearance wasn’t strange to the “Krewe of Hunters” or their “The Crows” members.
But something very strange did occur as they ate. Strange to even them.
Passing a bowl of cheesy eggs, Sean told them, “I tried to reach that young cleric or priest who was at the hospital yesterday,” he said, nodding to Angela.
“Father Patrick,” she said.
He nodded. “They told me that they didn’t have a Father Patrick who came to visit patients and their loved ones. I insisted that he’d been there and that I’d to thank him, but according to them, he doesn’t exist.”
The banshee looked at Angela and Jackson from across the table.
“‘There are stranger things in heaven and earth, Horatio!’” she quoted, smiling.
“Well, I’m sure he’s out there somewhere,” Angela said. “After all, it is St. Patrick’s Day!”
“And we’ll lift our . . . our orange juice glasses!” Sean said. “In honor of a man, a great man who taught us all about love and forgiveness!”
“Here, here!” went around the table.
Breakfast was lovely. They talked about Elizabeth, too, and how her case would be managed.
And how she would be helped.
It was time to leave. They said their goodbyes. Hugs went all around.
When they were the door, the banshee followed them to say her own final farewell.
“Thank you!” she told them.
“Thank you!” they replied in unison.
She smiled.
“Um, one more thing!”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t be so doubting on the leprechaun thing!” she told them, and she laughed and ended with, “A very happy St. Patrick’s Day to you!”