Irish Coffee by Ralph McInerny

he said, “Well, I broke down.”
    â€œThe car?”
    â€œNo, no. I told the Shusters that Jimmy Stewart had been told Mary had visited Fred during the days he was missing but that this had been disproved.”
    Phil told Greg the story of Santander. “He said it was Fred’s girl but when shown a photograph of Mary Shuster said she wasn’t the woman.”
    â€œSo who was?” Greg asked.
    But all three of them were thinking the same thing, despite the profession of love that Fred had made in his last poem.

Part Three
Can You Forgive Her?

1
    THOSE PERSONALLY CONCERNED with a death said not to be due to natural causes must see it as the single most important event, the cynosure of every prurient eye, the topic of every whispering and doubtless malevolent lip. Of course this is not so, but the Nevilles, as the significance of what the police told them about their son’s death sank in, knew a sadness deeper than grief. Had Fred destroyed himself? Detective Jimmy Stewart was noncommittal.
    â€œHave you any reason to think he would have done that?”
    â€œNone.” Mrs. Neville was the default speaker for the couple. “He loved his job, he loved being here at Notre Dame.”
    â€œAnd he was engaged to Naomi McTear.”
    Mrs. Neville looked away. “Yes.”
    â€œSo you must know her rather well.”
    â€œOh, not at all. Once she came by our place in Phoenix, when she was passing through, to introduce herself and tell us about her and Fred.”
    â€œIs that how you learned of the engagement?”
    â€œThis was shortly afterward, apparently.”
    â€œThose are lovely rings,” Stewart said.
    Mrs. Neville held out her hands as if for inspection.
    â€œWhat is that diamond?”
    â€œMy engagement ring.” She cast a loving glance at her husband, who seemed mildly sedated.
    â€œBut I thought Fred gave your engagement ring to Naomi.”
    â€œMy engagement ring? Certainly not. My rings will go with me to the grave.”
    â€œHmmm.”
    â€œWhy would you think such a thing?”
    â€œI must have misunderstood.”
    â€œIs that what she said?” Mr. Neville asked.
    â€œAs I say, I must have misunderstood.”
    â€œSurely Fred couldn’t have told her that.”
    Stewart asked if they would like to go through their son’s apartment.
    â€œI thought it was sealed off.”
    â€œI can let you in.”
    But Mr. Neville shook his head. “Not yet.”
    â€œHow long will you be staying?”
    â€œUntil we know what happened to Fred.”
    Â 
    It is always cruel when parents lose a child, but when the parents are elderly and the child an adult, it is in its way more difficult rather than less. The Nevilles were clearly in the last act of their lives, knew that and accepted it, and could not have dreamt that Fred would die before them. Suicide seemed more and more unlikely, and Stewart wished he could assure the Nevilles that it was impossible that their son had taken his own life. He hoped to be able to give them that assurance today. Roger Knight had asked the obvious question.
    â€œDid you find the poison in the apartment?”
    â€œOnly in the cup from which he had been drinking.”
    Â 
    Stewart had arranged to meet the Knights at Fred’s apartment after this call on the Nevilles. He was allowed to continue working on Fred Neville’s death only because of the department’s concern to keep the matter as much under wraps as possible. The fact that Phil was working with him, courtesy of the university, justified assigning only Stewart to the case, and that lessened the drain on departmental resources. Even so, the media people, who had lavishly covered the funeral, largely because of the presence of coaches and players, and then subsided, had now, in the person of Laura Reith, shown renewed interest.
    â€œWhat’s up?” she had asked, sailing into Stewart’s office in