“So they picked my humble court?” Williamson asked skeptically.
Aidan shook her head. “Actually, yes, because I was in it. Your bailiff, this morning, was the brother of a man I killed, and he wanted to exact his revenge.”
“I appreciate your unorthodox way of catching him, Agent Cassidy. Thank you,” the Judge said with a smile. “The clerk will need a full report for the record.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” Aidan said.
“Court is adjourned until such time as Homeland Security finishes its investigation,” Judge Williams stated, using the mallet head on the sound block to make it official.
Agents were already combing the courthouse, looking for the real security officers as people stood around, watching the spectacle. Family and friends stood in place, waiting for Aidan and Vicky to join them. The news media, however, rushed at Aidan with tape recorders and cellphone video apps recording every scene.
The Judge walked around the bench and up to Aidan and Vicky. The reporters opened the circle to let her through. “I can’t thank you enough, Aidan. If you hadn’t shown such quick thinking and courage, I don’t know what would have happened. I’m glad I didn’t have to find out. Once again you have proven what a hero you are.”
Aidan shook her head, about to protest, when Brigid elbowed her way through the growing crowd of reporters.
“Tá sí mo laoch,” she said, and held out her hands.
Aidan pulled her into an embrace as the Judge asked for a translation.
Brigid smiled, and said in English, “She is my hero.”
Chapter Twelve
With the rest of the week off, and the weather in perfect harmony with everyone’s mood, Aidan and Vicky showed Brigid and Peg, and Joyce and Ellen the best Little Rock had to offer. Thursday afternoon they toured the Trenton Library, the River Market and the Riverwalk next to the Arkansas River. At the market, Peg enjoyed a strawberry shortcake on a stick and Brigid tried the banana split cupcake kebabs. Vicky and Aidan shared a decadent strawberry-brownie kebab.
Aidan stayed in constant contact with Jerry via text, and he let her know that the real security team had been found, bruised and battered, but alive. What kept her from sleeping was waiting to hear about the interrogation. Finally, Jerry sent a text saying said that Bradshah had just finished interrogating Haddad, and asked if she wanted a report. She texted back, Hell yeah, I want a report. Hold on and I’ll call you. She got out of bed and walked over to the home office, shutting the door behind her. Then she clicked Jerry’s number and put it on speaker.
The minute Jerry answered the call, Aidan slammed him with questions. “Why didn’t we know Muham had a fucking brother, Jerry?”
“Okay, here’s all I know,” Jerry said. “Haddad is his half-brother. You know that we’ve been trying for months to track down Muham’s family and connections—”
“And only found his parents and a sister,” Aidan interrupted anxiously.
“That’s because Haddad was raised since birth by his father in Iran. Muham was raised by his mother and stepfather in Iraq. His stepfather adopted him, changing his last name. That’s why it’s taken this long to trace him. And apparently neither brother knew that the other existed until they joined the Taliban and became friends.”
“Sounds like a Disney movie with a terrorist plot,” Aidan said.
“Yeah, just like that,” Jerry agreed. “Anyway, the brothers apparently didn’t tell anyone that they were related, until Muham died. Then the Taliban, shall we say, encouraged Haddad to seek revenge, as in, do it or die. His plan was to hold the courtroom hostage, torturing everyone in the room, before killing you. He would have his revenge and the Taliban would have their fifteen minutes of fame. You know he was in court every day, watching you, and learning the Bailiff’s moves.”
“Yeah, I knew he was in the gallery, but I didn’t know he was watching me. I don’t get it. Why did he confess in such detail?” Aidan asked.
“Bradshah bluffed him. You know what a good poker player Bradshaw is. He told Haddad that Muham wasn’t dead, and if he’d confess, and give us the names of the rest of the group, he’d make sure the two were housed in the same prison. Haddad didn’t believe him of course, so Bradshah showed him a video of his brother in a prison uniform.”
Aidan shook her head. “How is that possible?”
“Digital enhancement. They overlaid a picture of Muham’s head onto a video of a man in an orange prison uniform. His head actually moved simultaneously with the man. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. It took a while to render, that’s why Bradshaw waited so long to interrogate him.”
“Son of a bitch! God bless American technology,” Aidan exclaimed.
***
Friday afternoon, they met with members of the Irish Cultural society where Peg was introduced and then posed for pictures. Friday evening, the O’Brien’s Bar and Grill hosted a party for the Senator and Brigid. The restaurant was packed, standing room only, and that was from just word of mouth. Peg gave a short speech, or as Aidan called it, a state of the union address, on the exciting advancements Ireland was making in economy, technology, and especially, marriage equality, which had just been passed into law.
Brigid was introduced by her stage name, Brona, and dedicated her first song “to my daughter”. After that, the audience kept her singing for hours with one request after another. Some of them even asked her to sign their CD’s, purchased online from Ireland. Americans sober, were more celebrity crazed than Irishmen who were drunk. Brigid felt positively giddy.
Joyce and Ellen went exploring in different directions for the weekend. Joyce had talked her way into assisting in a surgery at St. Frances on Saturday, and spent Friday studying up on the case. And Ellen had friends in the Little Rock fashion district that she wanted to touch base with.
Saturday, Aidan drove them through the MacArthur Park Historic District of Little Rock, where Peg recognized The Villa Marre, the house used in the television show, Designing Women. The house was privately owned now, so they weren’t able to go inside, but Peg could describe it from memory. She was definitely a fan of the show.
Then the four ladies toured the State Capital, Statehouse, which Peg was especially keen on touring, and the Old State House. For lunch they stopped off at a local beer brewery and had sandwiches and a beer sampling. The beer was brewed right there on the premises and offered twelve different flavors and the four of them sample each one.
For dinner, Vicky suggested that they dine at the Capital Bar and Grill and stay for the jazz entertainment afterward. The grill was located inside the four star hotel, and the bar’s patrons were mostly business and political people. The bar was just across the way from the Statehouse. Joyce and Ellen joined them for a sumptuous meal, and they all stayed to listen to jazz guitar afterwards.
At one point, Peg had gone to the bar for a Guinness, and was pulled into a conversation about a proposed law at the State House similar to the one that had just passed in North Carolina. After introducing herself to the two gentlemen, she proceeded to chastise them for their undereducated, backwoods way of thinking, and bragged that Ireland obviously was a much more advanced country. Peg was thoroughly enjoying herself.
On Sunday, they stayed at home and Vicky’s parents, and Joyce and Ellen, joined them for brunch. Vicky and Peg had been cooking most of the morning. Biscuits and chocolate gravy, ham and eggs, grits, fried potatoes and onions, and pancakes with pecan butter and maple syrup.
Everyone talked at once as they passed the food around, the trial far from their minds at that moment. Peg told amusing antidotes on her sister, much to Aidan’s delight. And then Vicky told amusing antidotes on Aidan, much to Aidan’s dismay. Brigid asked Leonard about teaching Aidan to dance, and Leonard was more than happy to explain, embellishing on how bad his feet hurt as he taught her.
“I limped for weeks afterwards,” Leonard joked. “But it was worth it when I got to dance with Aidan at her wedding to my daughter.”
> Brigid’s smile faded a little, as envy took its place.
“Well, at least you weren’t on my honeymoon like my Mom was,” Aidan said, winking at Brigid. It was the first time Aidan had called Brigid mom, and the tears welling up in Brigid’s eyes, the large smile on her face, told Aidan it was time to let her anger go.
“Excuse me,” Brigid said, and got up from the table.
They watched as she walked into the guest bedroom, then Aidan turned to Vicky.
“Was it something I said?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Vicky replied. “Perhaps she was just overwhelmed with hearing you call her Mom?”
“My sister has told me for years that she yearned to hear her daughter call her mom,” Peg added.
“That poor dear,” Alice sympathized.
Brigid returned with a small photo album in her hands. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about these, Aidan, until now.” She handed the album to Aidan. “When Harold ran off with you, he left the photo album behind. It was all I had to remember you by. Did you, um, remember me at all?
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. I really wish I did,” Aidan said remorsefully.
“Maybe these photos will help you remember,” Brigid said.
Aidan open the album as Brigid sat down beside her. There were photos of Aidan as a newborn, as a toddler learning to crawl, and one of her walking with a big smile on her face. I don’t remember any of this.
“You were a fat little baby,” Vicky said jovially. “And absolutely adorable.”
Aidan poked her in the ribs, then turned the page. The next page had a five by ten picture of Brigid holding Aidan cheek to cheek. It looked like part of the picture had been torn away.
“Where’s the rest of the picture?” Vicky asked.
“Burning in hell,” Brigid answered. “Harold insisted that we have a family portrait taken so he could prove to his father what a great family man he was. That’s why I’m not smiling in that picture.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Aidan said softly, running her finger down the photo.
“What wasn’t a dream, honey,” Vicky asked.
Aidan pointed at a plush toy. “See that lamb in my hands? I use to dream of Máthair holding me as she made it dance. I thought it was just a silly dream.”
“It wasn’t, Aidan.” Brigid assure her, her heart skipping a beat at Aidan’s use of the Irish word for mother. “You loved that lamb.”
“Until the bastard took it away from me,” Aidan said angrily.
Vicky put her hand on Aidan’s arm. “No, don’t, Aidan. Don’t let Harold ruin this moment for you.”
Aidan nodded. “You’re right, kid. This is our moment.”
“The first among many more to come,” Peg added.
“It just so happens, that I brought my brand new camera with me,” Leonard said proudly. “How about a photo of mother and daughter together?”
Aidan grinned, “Okay, but after you take Vicky and Alice’s picture, would you take one of me and my mom, too?”
Vicky goosed her in the ribs.
Later that evening, after Joyce and Ellen had returned to their hotel room for the night, Vicky, Aidan, Brigid and Peg were sitting around the dining room table, enjoying a glass of wine, and looking at another photo album.
“Oh, this one is my favorite,” Vicky said, pointing to a photograph of Aidan standing on the low lying wall that surrounded the courtyard at The Rock of Cashel. Her legs and arms were splayed and she appeared to be shouting.
“What were you saying, Aidan?” Brigid asked.
“Top o’ the morning, Ireland,” Aidan answered.
“She was so cute up there, acting silly,” Vicky added, turning to the next page.
“She’s lucky the Guardia didn’t arrest her,” Peg teased.
Vicky pointed at an 8x10 picture of her and Aidan posing together. “Oh, this was taken at the ball. Doesn’t Aidan look gorgeous in that tux?”
“Not half as gorgeous as you looked that night,” Aidan reciprocated. “You know, we should dress up more often.”
“I’m glad you said that because the Governor’s Ball is coming up,” Vicky replied.
Aidan shook her head. “No, not around here, I meant in a foreign country where no one knows me.”
Vicky smacked Aidan’s arm. “Joke all you want, but we’re going.”
“All right, kid,” Aidan said. “Only for you.”
“Oh!” Brigid exclaimed suddenly.
“What is it, Brig?” Peg asked.
Brigid pointed at a photo of Vicky talking to a distinguished looking man. “Aidan, how did you know?”
Aidan shrugged. “Know what?”
“Oh, um…”
“Tell her, Brigid,” Peg urged. “She deserves to know.”
Brigid leaned over to Peg and whispered, “No. She’ll hate me.”
“Why would I hate you, Brigid?” Aidan asked.
Brigid looked at Aidan and sighed. “Because that man that Vicky is talking to is Peter Brandenburg, your father.”
“Right. He’s from South Africa and—” Aidan looked from Brigid to Peg, then back to Brigid again. “Fuck me!”
“Um, Brigid, perhaps you should tell us more about Peter?” Vicky asked as she rubbed her hand across Aidan’s back.
“I met him in my freshman year in college. Such a handsome young man with the cutest accent… oh, um, anyway, it didn’t take long for us to date exclusively, and I knew that he would ask me to marry him, I just didn’t know when. In our senior year of college, we went on holiday to New York. Peter’s father was a diamond trader, and he often traveled the world looking for rare gems. He had passed on that trait to Peter, so our holiday was also a work excursion for Peter. We spent as much time in the back rooms of small jewelry stores as we did exploring the Empire State Building and Rockefeller Center.” Brigid paused for a moment and took a sip from her wine before continuing.
“One morning I wasn’t feeling well, so I sent Peter out to explore the city on his own. Of course, I learned later that it was morning sickness. Apparently, Aidan, you are stronger than a birth control pill.”
Aidan hooted as the others laughed.
“Anyway, Peter came back that afternoon and handed me a ring. Your ring, Vicky.”
“Oh,” Vicky mumbled, looking down at the ring on her finger.
“I thought he was proposing to me, and of course I said yes. In hindsight, I should have known something was amiss when he stuttered and stammer about. I asked him about the ring. Even I could see it was worth a lot of money. A gorgeous eighteen caret, three stone, Celtic diamond ring, with trinity knot mounts on white gold isn’t your average engagement ring.”
I don’t give a shit about the damn ring, Aidan thought pensively.
“What do you know about the ring’s origin?” Vicky asked.
“Peter told me all about it, not that I believed him. As the fable goes, the ring was part of the crown jewels, and somehow, after many years, ended up in the possession of a fine jeweler in Dublin. But it was stolen by a gadaí in the night. The thief, not knowing its heritage, tried to pawn it immediately. The pawnbroker, a low level member of the Irish drongadóir, didn’t offer what the thief thought he could get for it, so he left to find another broker. The shop owner was suspicious, not because he knew the ring had to of been stolen, but because of the unique trinity knot design. He did some research and learned that he had just let the greatest find in Ireland, walk out the door.”
Aidan, in spite of herself, was drawn in to the story. “Let me guess, the mob gave him cement shoes?”
“I’m not sure about that,” Brigid confessed. “But they did chase the thief all over Ireland. Finally, he managed to escape by bribing a ship’s steward to hide him on board a merchant ship bound for New York City. Once he got there, the steward helped him get off the ship undetected. The thief quickly disappeared on the crowded city streets. He was free, but he knew that he couldn't ever sell the ring. He survived d
oing odd jobs and lived in a seanchaite, um,” Brigid looked to Peg for the word.
“Shabby. He lived in a slum apartment.”
“Shabby. Yes. He hid the ring there.”
“If he knew he couldn’t sell it, why would he keep it?” Vicky asked.
“Harold never sold it either, but I just thought he was stupid,” Aidan added.
“Don’t underestimate Harold, Aidan. He is not stupid,” Brigid admonished. “He’s a cunning bastard who’s completely craiceáilte, um, crazy, but he’s not stupid. Anyway, I think the thief planned to keep it for a few years, and then try and sell it again.”
“Yeah, that’s what I would have done,” Aidan said.
“But apparently the gadaí was robbed by another thief. The burglar broke into the Irish thief's one room apartment, and found the ring. And just as the ring cursed the first thief, it also cursed the second one. When he tried to sell it, someone recognized it and told members of the Irish drongadóir in New York, and the chase was on again. Mind you, the two mobs were not connected at that time. Anyway, before they could catch him, he sold it to a tourist.” Brigid finally paused and took a breath.
“And Peter was the tourist, right?” Aidan questioned.
“Yes. He knew what a bargain he had gotten, and he confessed to me years later that he had planned to sell the ring for a very hefty sum. In fact, the minute my father and I returned to Ireland after searching for you, he sought me out in hopes of asking for his ring back, the ag fuck. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We rented a car and left New York, driving down to Kentucky. Peter had it in mind to buy a thoroughbred and race him in the Kentucky Derby. It was a long drive and we were so tired the next day that we got terribly lost in the country side. We ended up in a small community that didn’t seem to want strangers in their town. Peter and I stopped for coffee and a road map. The small café had coffee, but no map, so Peter left me at the café and wandered across the street to a peitril station to ask directions.” Brigid stopped, a frown forming on her face.
I Won't Remember You (Aidan & Vicky Book 6) Page 14
