“Where is Colleen?” she demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman said.
“Okay, then, let’s start with this. Who are you?” Jackson demanded.
“The pictures, Jackson, in the files we were given. I know who she is!” Angela said.
And then, he did, too.
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Fitzgerald. A woman Sean Donegal holds in great esteem was the one to kidnap his granddaughter. You have a choice. Help us now. Or if real harm befalls her, I can guarantee you we will see that you’re prosecuted to the highest limits of the law,” Jackson told her.
She started to sob. “No, no, no! Do what you will. I will tell you nothing! She didn’t deserve him. She never deserved him. And with her gone, he would give his care and his attention to me!”
“His secretary?” Zach asked. “I know the man is kind, but did you think he’d adopt you or something? You’re a little old after all.”
“And yes! If she wasn’t around . . . I could have been the child he wanted, needed!”
“From what I could see,” Zach told her. “Colleen seemed to care a great deal about him.”
“Did she? Oh, no, I don’t think so. She was so excited to come to America! Sean was born to live and to die in Ireland! And she wouldn’t have gone with him. She’d have found American friends, dated an American boy! She would have left him and I . . .”
“Oh, I’ve got it!” Skye said. “You would never leave him. You’d console him and try to be there for him . . . as a daughter? Or were you after him sexually?” she demanded.
“That’s filthy!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“But who knows, right, it could have worked. His kid or his wife. You wanted to console him, and you wouldn’t have cared which,” Skye said quietly.
“Well, at least we know why you couldn’t meet us until the morning,” Jackson said with a shrug. “Still . . .”
He paused. Angela had been with him. Now, she wasn’t. And when he looked back toward the park event, he saw she was running back toward the haunted house attraction.
“Zach, Skye, you got zip tie cuffs?” he asked.
“Of course,” Zach told him.
“I’ll get Detective Conor Murphy on the phone,” Skye told him.
“Good call. Please cuff our young leprechaun and watch her here for a few minutes. I’ll be right back!” Jackson told him.
He began to run himself. As he reached the front of the ride, he could see that Angela was in one of the ride cars.
The banshee was sitting with a young man in the car right before her.
If only the fellow knew!
He wasn’t sure how Angela had snared a ticket or so quickly, or perhaps she had flashed her badge as he did, hurrying, trying at first to catch up with the car she was in, jumping into that which was right behind when he could not.
Banshees . . .
Banshees, banshees, everywhere.
They passed through the cemetery.
And then looking ahead, he saw the real banshee slide out of the ride car, easily wafting toward the coffin.
And he saw Angela, almost as smoothly jumping from her car, avoiding the track, and following the banshee.
Then he heard a wailing. A keening.
