A Perfect Obsession. Heather Graham

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      The actor listened to a question from a reporter and answered it gravely.

      “You had to know Jeannette to understand,” he said, the right amount of pathos in his voice. “She was, at heart, a shy girl. She wanted what we had to be special. We’re both public figures, but we didn’t want our relationship to be public. It was something so private, of the heart.”

      “Weren’t you worried when she disappeared?” someone shouted.

      “I’ll be honest. I thought it was a publicity venture, directed by those controlling her career,” he said, not mentioning any names.

      “But wouldn’t she have told you?” another reporter asked.

      “In this field, we have to be very careful. I knew that she’d tell me what was going on as soon as she felt that she could. Was I worried? Yes! But I knew that the police—New York’s finest—were working on finding her. I feared their anger, really, when she surfaced. I never expected that they would find her...as they did.”

      He put a hand in front of his face, as if shielding himself from more questions—and as if hiding his tears, as well. “Please, I’m beside myself with grief, but I’m here to see if there is anything at all that I can do to help in the investigation into her death. This is...”

      He broke down and turned away.

      Mike groaned. “Great. He’s coming here. And he’s using this to garner publicity for himself. That girl had great taste in men.” He snickered. “Maybe she was looking for a father figure.”

      “He was the biggest thing in action movies at one time,” Craig said.

      “Guess they don’t know our offices actually close at night,” Mike muttered. He turned to the NYPD detective. “You want to handle this?”

      “He probably knows you’re here, given what’s going on,” McBride said.

      “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing,” Craig said. He pointed to the screen. “There he is, going for the door—and there’s security. In less than a minute, someone will be calling up here.”

      As he spoke, the intercom buzzed.

      It was one of the young agents in reception.

      “Do we go get him?”

      Craig didn’t believe that the man pretending so much grief was Gilbert’s killer.

      Such a recognizable man didn’t sneak around easily. Nor did he appear to be the type who would have dressed a murdered girl so carefully. Or managed to get down to Virginia to have carried out a murder there and done the same. Craig had no proof. It was only a gut feeling, but his gut feelings had served him well.

      He toyed with the idea of having security send him away and tell him to come back during office hours.

      But, of course, that would make the Bureau look callow.

      And he wouldn’t do that.

      “Of course, anyone with information that could lead to the solving of this heinous murder is thanked for bringing us information at any time,” he said.

      And so Mike sat and McBride sighed, and they waited for the actor.

      * * *

      The three of them—Kevin, Kieran and Danny—stared at the flat-screen television in the office, watching as Brent Westwood spoke to the press.

      Kevin’s expression was blank, stunned.

      “I don’t get it,” Danny said. “Not that Westwood wasn’t—isn’t—a cool guy and all, but, hey, Jeannette Gilbert was a kid in comparison. Not that I’m judging. We’ve seen a lot of older guys with younger women and younger guys with older women who seem to be happy as larks. Love is love, right? No matter what our age, sex, race or preference. Still...I wonder if it all seems so shocking to us because the church—the club—is right behind us.” Staring at the screen, he was unaware when Kevin looked at Kieran with a warning glance.

      Let it lie. Don’t let on about anything I was saying to you.

      “And the whole grave thing,” Danny went on. “I mean, do you know that half our city parks are built on old graveyards?” He turned and looked at Kieran. “John Shaw was in today, right?”

      “Yes, he was pretty shaken,” she murmured.

      “I wonder... I’d love to get down into that basement sometime. Think he’ll take me down there?”

      “I would think,” Kieran said.

      “After all this, obviously. I mean, go figure. They make that kind of find, and then discover a missing starlet displayed down there. Wow. So sad. And still...”

      Kieran could feel Kevin’s tension. He wasn’t angry with his younger brother. He was just ready to explode.

      The door to the office opened and the last of their clan, Declan, stood there, looking in at the three of them. “I know you guys have other jobs, and, hey, I should be all right and well-staffed here for a Friday night. But Cody is on her honeymoon and with everything going on, those who came to gawk around the block are here now, hungry and thirsty. Mary Kathleen is running around out there like a madwoman. Don’t any of you actually help anymore when you’re here?” he asked.

      “Hell, yeah! Sorry!” Danny said, leaping to his feet.

      Kevin rose more slowly. “I’ll take the bar,” he said.

      “No, no. Go home, Kevin,” Kieran said. “I don’t have real work tomorrow. It’s Saturday. That okay, Declan?”

      “Sure. One good body actually involved in working would be great,” Declan said.

      Kevin still appeared a little shaky.

      “I’m so tired,” he murmured.

      “Then go home,” Kieran said, jumping up. “I’ll be a bundle of energy, Declan. I promise.”

      “Hey, well, you did work today, too,” Declan reminded her.

      She nodded. “Yeah, kind of makes me need to work now,” she said, and headed out of the office. “Kevin, go home!”

      “I’m going,” he assured them. “Thanks,” he said softly, and left.

      Declan was right. Their Friday nights were often busy, even when Wall Street, the Financial District and the government offices closed and downtown became somewhat quiet. But Finnegan’s was known for bringing in great Irish bands and local talent, and people were often willing to hop on the subway or drive down for the established platform of good food, great taps and music. Also, when the club had opened around the block, many who had tired of the constant thrum of the dance music had found themselves wandering over for the more relaxed venue.

      But tonight was exceptional—once again, because of the club. Not because it was opened.

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