St. Patty's Day Miracle

--Their primary disputes involved his travel, and that she wanted to spend more money than he wanted her to.

--She had been trying to call his cell phone ever since she got back last night, and it always went to voicemail, and the message queue was now full.

--Sean was adopted. After the death of his adoptive parents in a car accident about three years ago, he spent a significant amount of time, money, and energy in trying to track down his birth family. As far as she knew he was unsuccessful. She did complain about him wasting money on the search while trying to curb her spending on clothes and shoes. He seemed to have given up looking for his birth family about a year ago.

--In his early days, up until shortly after they got married, he was an avid sailor.

The last bit of information was the final thing that she told me, in response to a direct question about whether he ever sailed. It shook me up. Just before Malley and I left I asked "Can you show me a photo of your husband?"

"Yes, I have an album in the den with photos from every year since we met," Aelish said as she walked toward her office off of the living room. She returned with a large binder. After viewing two photos from when she first met Sean I immediately knew that it was the Sean O'Sullivan that I had spent the best night of my life with. I suddenly became light-headed and sat down.

Malley was quite concerned, but I regained my composure within a couple of minutes, got Aelish to give me two of the most recent photos of Sean from the album and one from when she first met him. After we exited Ailbe asked "Are you OK Kate? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I did," I earnestly replied. "Let me get one of the techs to drive my car to the station, and you drive me back so that we can talk and I can decompress."

There were only two techs left -- and the coroner was long gone -- but one agreed to drive my car so I flipped her the keys.

We had driven no more than a block when Ailbe said "OK, Kate, come clean."

I sighed. "This is not to be repeated to anyone. I don't want any chance that I'm taken off this case; got it Ailbe? I need to find out what happened to Sean, and if he was murdered put the perpetrators behind bars."

"You have my word," he quickly responded.

"I once met Sean O'Sullivan -- our supposed victim. In fact he was responsible for the best night of my life." I saw Ailbe's eyebrows rise. "Don't ask another fucking question about it," I chortled.

"OK -- don't get your panties in a bunch," he chuckled.

We exchanged impressions of Aelish and Cahill.

Ailbe was sure that Cahill was slimy; "I mean did you see that Ronnie that looked like someone shit on his fucking lip?" was one of Ailbe's more colorful descriptions of his impression of Cahill.

On the other hand, I was sure that Aelish was not totally forthcoming, although I didn't doubt many of the checkable facts that she had related.

Our gut feelings were the same -- this likely was a homicide. I was suspicious right from the start since people who instantly volunteer a theory about someone committing suicide -- as did Aelish -- are normally guilty of something.

****************

Our interviews of Adam Scully and Michael Ramsey left us with the same feeling about them that we had about Dennis Cahill. We got warrants for the cell phones, computers, and bank records, of the three of them, Aelish, and Sean. The coroner also gave us an expedited autopsy report.

The information we got from the warrants was enlightening.

Scully and Ramsey had electronic bank transfers of 15,000 € each from an offshore account in only Aelish's name a few days before the fire. They denied any knowledge of the transfers. They also both had really shaky alibis.

Aelish denied knowledge of the offshore account in her name even though she admitted that the signatures establishing the account looked like hers. Also she and Cahill denied knowledge of a joint offshore account in their names that had more than 30,000 € in it which had been financed by several electronic bank transfers from a joint account of Sean and Aelish.

The bulk of the money in Sean's business accounts -- which had been on the order of 2,000,000 € -- in the week before the fire had mysteriously vanished having been electronically transferred multiple times all over the world until no trace of it was left. Information about those business accounts was found in a locked desk in Aelish's home office, which she again denied any knowledge of.

A DNA analysis of items in the garage not completely consumed by the fire showed specimens from both Ramsey and Cahill.

All three guys had texts or emails to and from Aelish that had either been deleted (and recovered by our computer techs), or deletion attempted, that had very strange language that could easily be interpreted as at least suspicious, if not incriminating. Contrary to what Aelish had told us, there were a significant number from Ramsey and Scully during the month, and week, before the fire. They all denied sending or receiving the texts or emails.

The alibis of Cahill and Aelish panned out for the exact time of the fire -- but their activities at other times relevant to the investigation did not.

The DNA of the body was the same as the samples of Sean's from his house. The autopsy revealed that the body had neck damage that was not caused by the fire, and most likely had ligatures on at least the hands at the time of the fire. The coroner was torn between calling the death suspicious or a homicide, but finally concluded a homicide of Sean O'Sullivan.

One odd thing, because I didn't expect it to be something that Aelish would lie about, but I found no evidence on Sean's computer, at his business, or in his house, of any attempt to find a biological family.

After a month of our investigation both Ailbe and the Detective Chief Superintendent were convinced that Aelish had masterminded a plan that involved all three of her lovers to murder Sean and steal his money. I could not dispute their conclusions -- they sure seemed supported by the evidence -- so I did not voice any objection to the arrests of all four, who were held without bail. However, there were a few things that bugged me.

The first related to the coroner's report. The coroner's report indicated a body that was smaller than I would have expected Sean's to be. From the most recent photos of Sean it appeared that he was likely the same weight as when I knew him -- about 100 kg. The coroner would have expected the burned body to weigh 3-5 kg more than it did -- although he told me several times "Kate, this isn't an exact science. After a severe fire we can only estimate pre-incident body weight within 20-30%. While I would have expected a larger body weight, the fact is that it is within the range of uncertainty."

The second thing that disturbed me was the relative sizes and fitness of Sean, Scully, and Ramsey. If anything, from his recent photographs Sean looked even more muscular and fit than when I met him. Scully and Ramsey were of average size and fitness, with no background in the military, fighting, or athletic training. They were more than 15 centimeters shorter and 20 kg lighter than Sean.

While no rocket scientists, none of Scully, Ramsey, Cahill and Aelish were stupid -- yet there was a clear electronic trail that was between highly suspicious and completely incriminating.

Even after the arrests I convinced the Detective Chief Superintendent that I should continue working on the case "to gather as much evidence as possible," although Malley was assigned elsewhere, and I had other duties so that I couldn't work on the O'Sullivan case full time.

***************

I would like to believe that it was genius inspiration that caused me to develop a new line of inquiry in the O'Sullivan case, but in fact it was pure luck. In going through Sean's office I found one piece of paper that had fallen behind one of his office desk drawers that was visible only when you completely removed the drawer. The sheet of paper was bent, wrinkled, and torn, but it was clear that it was a birth certificate from the year that Sean was born if he was in fact 36 years old. The surname of the mother was Mulligan, the father was listed as "unknown," and dramatically the baby Mulligan was indicated as a twin.

Suddenly Aelish's information about Sean being adopted and trying hard to find his birth family lit up my brain. "Maybe Sean destroyed all information about his search because he was successful?" popped into my head.

Using resources that I'm sure that Sean wouldn't have had access to I was able to locate his birth mother in less than two weeks. Maureen McGinnis nee Mulligan now lived in Longford, about 120 kilometers from Dublin. I set up an appointment with her for the morning after the day that I located her name. Planning ahead for a number of possible outcomes in the future I did not record anything about my trip with my office, nor did I submit an expense report.

After identifying myself, and doing my best not to react to her relatively manky surroundings (although she had a new refrigerator and a new expensive-looking though gaudy couch), I got to the point.

"Mrs. McGinnis, I have a document that indicates that you gave birth to twins about 36 years ago, is that correct?"

"Yes, I gave birth to two identical twin boys, but I had a bad situation then and couldn't keep them."

"Do you know what happened to them?"

"I know that the first born was adopted by the O'Sullivan family in Drogheda, and I found out later that they named him Sean -- a nice name, don't you think?"

"Yes -- a nice name," I replied. "What about the other son?"

"I'm not sure what happened to him because I was ignorant that I was having twins -- they were born prematurely -- and while I had arranged for an adoption by the O'Sullivans they were not keen on adopting twins, so the second born was taken by nuns at the Medical Missionaries of Mary."

"Did you ever see either Sean or your other son again?"

"Uh...no...I...no."

It was clear that she was lying. "Listen Maureen," I said sternly, "I'm investigating the possible murder of Sean, so don't lie to me. It's a crime to lie to a homicide investigator."

She paused and wrung her hands, obviously upset, and with a tear in her eye. "But...Sean told me...not to tell anyone..."

"I'm not just anyone -- I'm a homicide detective. You need to tell me."

She sighed, looked at the ground, and then said "Sean came to visit me maybe two years ago. My husband wasn't really warm to Sean and didn't want me to talk to him, but after Sean gave me 2,000 €..."

"That would explain the new couch and refrigerator," I said to myself.

"...I talked to him for a while and told him about his twin brother; the same things I told you."

"Is that the only time you talked to him?"

"He called me on the phone every couple of months since then just to see how I was doing, and each time we talked he sent me another 500 € in cash that my husband doesn't know about. However, I haven't seen him again, and I haven't received a recent phone call. Do you really think that he's dead?"

Her question was delivered with a tear; I wasn't sure if it was for compassion for her long lost son, or that her source of mad money may be gone.

We talked for a while longer, and then I left with my theory looking more realistic. I placed a call to the Medical Missionaries of Mary on my way back to Dublin and got an appointment with the publications coordinator of the organization -- supposedly the person that dealt with legal matters.

Sister Beirne was as helpful as she could be after I told her that I was investigating the possible murder of Sean O'Sullivan. "I hope that you're not right -- he seemed like such a pleasant man, and his generous donation to our mission was very timely."

"So you met him, then?" I rhetorically asked.

"Yes...my discussion with you can remain confidential, can't it?"

"That is what I would greatly prefer Sister Beirne," I replied. "What did you talk about?"

"He was trying to locate his twin brother. They were separated at birth and he knew from his mother that our organization placed his brother in adoption. While normally we keep adoption records strictly confidential he was such an earnest young man, and I knew from documents that he provided me with that he was honest, and his large contribution really helped our charitable efforts; so I unofficially gave him the information he required."

"What was that information?" I inquired.

"Can I give it to you unofficially too?"

"Absolutely," I responded. "I prefer that there be no official paper trail, and that you not talk with anyone else about this."

"I still have the information in memory," she smiled. "The second Mulligan twin was adopted by Gail and Faas Hanratty of Dublin, who named him Simon. I'm afraid that I don't know any more than that, however."

"That's all that I need to know Sister Beirne. Thank you so much."

Since "Faas Hanratty" was not a common name, it only took me a day or so to find that the Hanrattys who I was interested in ultimately emigrated to the United States and settled in the Boston, Massachusetts area. Death records revealed that both Gail and Faas Hanratty died of natural causes several years ago. The records also revealed that Simon -- who was a naturalized American citizen -- had some medical issues, but he supposedly still lived in Massachusetts, although he had sold his parents' modest home shortly after their death. He was their only child.

Once I got the information about Simon Hanratty, I got Sean's credit card and travel records, and got information from Customs about possible visits by Simon and compared Sean's travel records to Customs records. I got a wicked smile on my face when I learned that Sean had made at least three trips to Boston over the last year before the fire, that Sean had arrived in Dublin on the same plane as Simon four days before the fire, and that two days after the fire Simon -- or at least his passport -- returned to Boston.

All of the information I gathered electronically once I found the birth certificate in Sean's office was on a memory stick used only with my personal computer, so there was no record of it at work, or anywhere else. I kept the memory stick in a secure location that no one else knew about. I did this because I could imagine circumstances in which I would not reveal to my superiors the information that I had located.

After a further investigation of where Simon was almost certain to be living in Massachusetts I went to see the Detective Chief Superintendent.

"Chief, I've developed some more information about the O'Sullivan case that I want to follow up on -- in New York City in the United States," I said as I sat down in a chair opposite his desk without being invited to.

Why did I say "New York City" instead of "Boston?" I wanted to keep my options open about whether or not I would ever reveal to anyone else the information I was locating.

"And what would that information be, Kate?" he skeptically asked.

"It may be nothing at all -- and I'm reluctant to tell you or anyone else until I check it out lest it diminish the case against Aelish O'Sullivan and her lovers."

He raised his eyebrow. "I can't authorize spending the money for you to travel to America based upon dubious information."

"I know that; what I'm asking for is for you to allow me to take two weeks of vacation time and I'll travel at my own expense. The only caveat is that if I need to stay longer than two weeks that I can do so for up to two weeks more using leave without pay."

"You can afford that?" he chuckled. "Maybe I should ask for a loan."

"I can afford it only because since my divorce I've done little but work and save money," I snickered. I didn't say anything about my occasional flings just to stay sane.

"When do you want to go?" he asked.

"As soon as I bring Malley and O'Donnell up to date on the latest Ballymun murder, the only other hot case I have at the present time -- likely in about a week."

He smiled. "OK -- do the paperwork and then have it delivered to me."

I pulled several completed forms out of a folder on my lap. "I took the liberty of anticipating your intelligent decision," I smiled as I handed the papers to him.

He laughed, looked them over, signed, and snickered "Make sure that you touch base with the police in New York City -- I don't want any feathers ruffled."

***************

Armed with all the information that I could find out about Simon Hanratty I flew to JFK Airport on Aer Lingus, rented a car, and drove to the Dorchester area of Boston and stayed in a hotel where I could pay with cash. Once my jet lag dissipated I went to work. I did NOT make a visit to the police precinct in the Dorchester section of Boston; I would just make sure that I didn't step on their toes.

The third day in America I sat in my rental car staking out the supposed residence of Simon Hanratty -- it was no surprise to me that it was right off the oceanfront on Quincy Shore Drive. Since it was summer, I was casually dressed, in a sundress and sandals.

About two in the afternoon, I saw a large blond man pull into the driveway, and then directly into the garage as the door opened automatically. I waited ten minutes and then knocked on the front door. A handsome large man answered. His appearance momentarily stunned me.

"Hi Sean -- I'm happy to see you," I got off after a delay of a few seconds, with a facial expression that I hoped was a smile.

"I'm sorry, you have me con...fus...ed..." he started to say in a clearly Irish accent. Then he flushed and exclaimed, more than asked, "Kate...Kate O'Keenan?"

"In the flesh," I replied, disturbed by the sudden jolt of electricity that shot up my spine.

He pulled me to him and gave me a kiss that almost rivaled our last one, now more than fifteen years ago. After a few seconds of hesitation I responded in kind. When we finally came up for air his eyes seemed moist -- I know that mine must have been too -- and he grabbed my hand and almost dragged me inside. "I can't believe it...after all these years...I never forgot you...please come in..." were among the numerous disjointed things that he exclaimed as I followed him into a very stylish living room.

We both brazenly admitted that we had thought of the other person often over the long passage of time since we had one shooting star of a night. We laughed so hard that we almost cried when I told him the story of Brat-jet and my cum-stained shorts. Finally, while holding my hands Sean looked me in the eye and asked "So why are you here and how did you know that I was Sean and not my twin brother Simon -- I am using his identity now."

"You mean since he burned to death in the fire in your garage in Dublin," I replied.

"He was dead before the fire -- but how do you know anything about it and -- again -- why are you here?"

"I'm a homicide detective in the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation of An Garda Síochána. Your wife Aelish and her three lovers -- who I'm sure that you knew existed -- have been arrested and are in jail now for your murder."

A sly smile crossed his lips. "Yeah -- I knew that -- how sad." Then his look changed. "Are you trying to bring me back to Ireland and free them?"

"I have no authority in the United States -- and what I do with my knowledge of your continued existence depends on the story that you tell me. My mind is completely open. I'm not officially on police business -- I'm on vacation," I said with a smile.

"I was just about to go out on a quick sail -- they'll be plenty of time to talk later. Come, join me," he smiled.

Of course any homicide detective worth his or her salt would never accept an invitation like that since I had no idea whether Sean was now a dangerous criminal or still the highlight of my life. But I was smitten once again and replied "If you have a windbreaker -- my clothes are at the hotel."