Endgame: CSI Reilly Steel #7

by Casey Hill

  “C’mon, Todd,” she said, now softening a little, “you can stay here till then. You don’t have to get a hotel.”

  “Reilly, I’ve spent every night here sleeping on your couch. And every night I’ve lay there, wondering why. I can remember the time we spent together can’t you? I wasn’t on the couch in Florida, Reilly - neither were you. And I think I’ve figured it out.”

  He stood and yanked his suitcase off a nearby chair so it hit the ground heavily, bouncing on its wheels. He turned and fixed her with a look that said no matter how much she denied it, no matter how much she lied to him, he could see it clear as day. “It’s much harder for you to forget about him when we’re here, in this world, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head, tears building up in her eyes, “That isn’t fair, Todd.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Please, don’t tell me about what is and isn’t fair.” Todd got to the front door and ripped it open, his eyes holding too much emotion when they met hers. “Have a good life, Reilly,” he said, his voice soft and sad before he closed the door behind him with a resounding certainty.

  43

  Chris and Kennedy approached the Glynn house for the second time in the space of a week, this time hoping to talk to Holly’s brother Conor about his reaction to the photos Graham Hackett had shared of his ex, and to question the kid about his whereabouts the night Graham was murdered.

  But this time there was something noticeably different about the property.

  The plants lining the house were drooping, as though they hadn’t been watered in days, the lawn was slightly overgrown and the grey Dublin sky hung a little lower over the Glynn’s rooftop.

  All of the blinds were drawn, all of the lights were off, and the house seemed to give off a feeling of emptiness. Chris was reminded of the countless abandoned properties they had searched over the years.

  He and Kennedy shared a look as they stood on the front step, then his partner shrugged and knocked on the door, three solid times. The dull, bouncing sound of his knocks echoed on the other side of the door, and they could hear them through the rest of the house.

  “Nobody’s there,” he remarked, sounding thoughtful.

  “Damnit - maybe the parents took the kids away from it all - it is the school holidays,” Chris said, though it would be surprising given the father’s stranglehold on the investigation thus far. Then turning around, something by the neighboring fence line caught his attention.

  A young boy was peeking over the top of the pristine fence, watching the two detectives carefully. He had been so silent; Chris wasn’t sure how he’d noticed him. It was fortunate that he did, however, because when he met the kid’s eyes, he spoke.

  “Are you looking for the Glynns?” the boy asked, his face dirty, a football in his hands. He couldn’t have been much older than Rachel, Chris thought, immediately wondering where the kid’s parents were.

  Chris glanced at Kennedy before looking back at the boy, “Yeah,” he said, taking a step from the path and into the lush grass, “Do you know where they are?”

  The boy rubbed his eyes with one of his hands roughly, then looked back up at Chris, “No, but they left the other day - off on holidays I think.”

  Chris raised his eyebrows and Kennedy took a step forward toward the boy, “Holidays? Did you see them carrying anything - suitcases and stuff?”

  Yeah. I don’t know when they’re coming back, and I’m a bit worried because I think Sandy is in there all alone.”

  “Sandy?” Chris asked, his eyes widening, then guessed the kid must be talking about a pet dog.

  “Their chinchilla,” he said then, like that much should have been obvious to the detectives. He dropped his ball on the grass and grabbed the top of the fence, bringing his full face into view, then grinned toothily at the two men, now that he could see them clearly.

  “Their chinchilla,” Kennedy deadpanned, having no love for things small or furry. He wasn’t completely sure he knew what a chinchilla even was.

  “Thanks little man,” Chris said, taking three long strides over to the boy. He held out his hand and when the boy extended his smaller, dirty one, he dropped his card into his small palm, “If you think of anything else that might help us out, just tell your mother to give us a call, okay?”

  The kid nodded, looking up at Chris. He was tall enough to tower over the kid. He was still wearing his sunglasses despite the dreary weather, and the bruise that was currently spreading over his cheek told tales of exciting fights with mysterious bad guys.

  “Do you have a badge?” the boy asked, recalling movies and TV shows he had seen.

  Chris glanced back at Kennedy, who was gesturing for him to get on with it. Chuckling, Chris looked back at the kid and said, under his breath, “Kind of. Would you like to see it?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically and Chris pulled his detective credentials from his pocket, letting him get a good look before he folded it and tucked it away again.

  With shining eyes, he looked down at Chris’s card in his hand and asked, “Are you a super spy?”

  Chris held back a laugh as he said, “No, I’m a detective. We’re pretty much the same thing, though.”

  The boy nodded, folding the card and tucking it away in the pocket of his shorts, much in the same fashion Chris had concealed his ID. “Okay,” he said, shooting him another toothy grin “Cool. Affirmative.”

  Kennedy was still shaking his head when they finally climbed back into the car. He muttered something under his breath and Chris said, “What?”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes, I think you’re more comfortable with the kiddos than with people your own age.”

  Chris thought about that for a moment, then laughed along with Kennedy against the pounding headache he had gained from his pointless drinking the night before. After the first two pints, the barman had kept them coming, and Chris had allowed himself to wallow in the hopelessness of the situation.

  “That bad, huh?” Kennedy asked after a few minutes of driving.

  Chris opened one eye and glanced over at the older man through his sunglasses. “Yeah,” he said, before settling back against the seat, “last night was rough.”

  “I’ll say,” Kennedy said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get the shiner? Or should I even ask?”

  “Don’t even ask …”

  His partner suppressed a grin. “Rightio.”

  Chris winced as a particularly close car horn blared in his ear, but wasn’t going to say that he didn’t deserve everything he’d got for his idiotic behavior.

  44

  Isn’t it obvious? You’re in love with Chris.

  Reilly stared at her ceiling, Todd’s words still ringing through her ears even as she desperately tried to push all the things he had said from her mind.

  She was not in love with Chris. It was possible that she had been oblivious to other things, but she wasn’t completely stupid. She was capable of gauging her own emotions.

  She rolled on her side and let out a small groan. In the period of a few short months, her life had done a complete one eighty. She had been in control of everything before the pregnancy, and now it felt like there was nothing she could do to stem the unfortunate events headed her way.

  Todd wanted her to give up her life and go back with him to the US, but Reilly knew now that she couldn’t do that. Though she was sure Todd would be involved as much as he could - which given the distance, wouldn't be much - it looked like she was definitely going to end up raising the baby by herself, in Dublin.

  What would the baby do to her work life? How much time would she realistically be able to contribute to each case when she had to contribute so much of her time to a needy child?

  Her thoughts rounded back to where they always did: work.

  Chris was still keen on Simon Hackett as the murderer. He had the motive, and there were several witnesses saying that Simon and his younger brother had gotten into a heated argument the night Graham was murdered.

&
nbsp; But Simon would not have needed to come through the window, and Reilly was now pretty sure that’s where Graham’s attacker had come in or out, if not both.

  To her, Simon Hackett had always been too neat, too simple. Then there was the animal feed trace, the foam and where the hell did the board wax fit in?

  No, everything pointed to a third party - another so far unidentified person If this person was indeed the one who had beaten Graham Hackett to death, it wasn’t something he had planned. He (or she) had crawled through the window into Graham’s room, maybe had some kind of verbal spat or bust up and then… lost it.

  But who? Not Holly Glynn surely, though the presence of her DNA in the room raised some troubling questions…

  Reilly stopped pacing and dropped her hands to her side suddenly, as her eyes fell on a pamphlet Todd had left on the side table from the doctor’s office. It was an educational pamphlet about twins. The likelihood, how twins developed, and the different kinds of twins that existed…

  The thought struck her so suddenly and surely, her thoughts racing through her head, piecing everything together faster than she could move around the room, finding decent clothes to wear to the lab. Then Reilly was yanking her clothes on, becoming disgruntled when she found that - incredibly - they seemed tighter than they had been the day before.

  She was stumbling out the door, grabbing her phone from her bag with clumsy fingers as she locked up behind her.

  “JULIUS?” she called out, her voice shrill with excitement. He’d picked up after her third call, and Reilly imagined him sitting at home relaxing after a hard week, hearing the buzz and knowing that three rings meant it was truly important and she wouldn’t stop until he answered.

  “Boss,” Julius said, his voice heavy, “Just once, why can’t you have your shocking revelations during work hours?”

  She laughed, a sound so light and cheery it surprised him. “You’re very funny Julius. It’s great that you’re in such good sprits though, because I’m going to need you to meet me at the lab in ten minutes.”

  Julius grumbled something unintelligible into the receiver and Reilly said, “Twenty max, then,” before hanging up and jumping in her car.

  It took her less than ten minutes to get to the office in the light Sunday traffic, and she grabbed her bag and hurried in, flashing her ID at Declan, the same guard who’d let Todd up to her office a couple of days before.

  The thought of that, of Todd being worried enough to come looking for her, sent an ache through her heart, but she shook it off and kept walking. She was too close to a breakthrough now to let her personal problems get in the way.

  THE LAB WAS dark and cool, and it took a moment for the fluorescent lights to power on, flickering slowly over the expensive equipment.

  Reilly put her hands on her hips and took it all in. Hopefully, with the evidence already here, they had enough to get their guy.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Goldilocks,” a familiar voice said, and Reilly turned to see Kennedy standing in the doorway of the lab, two Styrofoam cups in his hands.

  She shook her head at him, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

  A non-plussed Julius pushed past Kennedy into the room. “I called them. I figured whatever amazing revelation you’ve had will be confirmed as soon as I work some magic, and then we’d be calling the detectives anyway. Getting them here early saves me the trouble and gets us refreshments while we wait.”

  Chris came in just then and handed Julius a cup of steaming hot coffee. He took a sip and sighed, then glanced briefly over at Reilly. “Afternoon...”

  Kennedy chuckled under his breath as he handed the cup to Reilly. She took it and looked dubiously at the three of them, before taking a careful sip.

  “Hot chocolate?” she said, raising her eyebrows indignantly, “you got me hot chocolate?”

  “Well, you can’t have caffeine, so…”

  Reilly frowned at him – he was right, she couldn’t have caffeine, but drinking hot chocolate while the rest of them drank coffee made her feel like a child. Not to mention jealous at the extra boost they got while she felt like she had been run over by something four times her size.

  And speaking of which, what the hell had happened to Chris’s cheek?

  Well, no time to think about that now. She set down her cup and clapped her hands together, making all three of the men jump, “C’mon Julius, let’s get to it,” she said, trying desperately to avoid Chris’s hangdog gaze.

  Chris for his part, felt like a heel. After walking in and seeing Reilly – her tired posture, her red-rimmed eyes, and the frown that had jumped on her face as soon as she saw him – he had felt a whole new rush of guilt over what had happened the night before. But this wasn’t the time to apologize to her, not when she was in her fevered frenzy, and certainly not when Kennedy and Julius were around.

  He glanced over Kennedy’s shoulder to see her moving around the laboratory equipment with Julius, extracting things and putting slides through analysis. Just once, Chris wished he could be there when she had a brilliant epiphany. He wanted to see that look on her face when it all made sense.

  On the other side of the room, that self-same look was plastered on Reilly’s face. Julius was analysing a blood specimen while a report printed out nearby. She snatched it and read through the results, lowering the paper at the same time Julius stepped back from the machine, a startled look on his face.

  “What?” Kennedy was saying, as he and Chris pushed up from the table and walked over to Reilly and Julius.

  “Twins,” Reilly said, softly, under her breath.

  Chris and Kennedy looked at each other for a moment, extremely confused.

  “No,” Julius said, shaking his head at the results, “I can’t believe I didn’t think about it. It didn’t even cross my mind that the epithelial DNA didn't belong to the girl.”

  “Will one of you geniuses please explain to us what the hell you’re talking about?” Kennedy pleaded.

  “Holly and Conor Glynn are twins yes?” Reilly explained, “but we didn’t ever consider that they might have been identical twins, because identical twins come from the same egg, and are almost always the same sex.”

  “But in some cases,” Julius jumped in, the excitement in Reilly’s voice transferring over to his, “an egg can have three chromosomes, instead of the usual XX for a girl, and XY for a boy, it has two X’s and a Y. When those eggs split to make monozygotic twins – or twins that come from the same egg – it can be a boy and a girl. Thus, identical twins.”

  “And the epithelial - skin - trace found at the crime scene that we just analysed - reports as an XY chromosome.”

  “So…” Kennedy said, still confused as to what the two of them were getting at.

  “So the DNA can only belong to a male,” Chris said slowly. He licked his lips and looked down at the floor. “The brother. Conor.”

  “We already know he was angry at Graham Hackett,” Kennedy said. “Those pictures of his ex. But that played out long before …”

  Reilly had the answer right away. “Holly’s attack. Conor somehow found out about what happened to his sister. Someone told him, or he saw her when she got home or something.”

  “But he was supposedly elsewhere when she was attacked, and nowhere near the party,” Chris pointed out, “how could he have found out?”

  She shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe he came home early. Or maybe … maybe we got this all wrong. Maybe he - not Holly’s attacker was the one in the cab that night and got out when he saw her stumbling down the street.”

  Chris stood up. “The taxi driver mentioned something about his fare smelling of strong aftershave. But maybe it was foam, and maybe like you say, it wasn't her attacker at all, but Conor on his way home from the foam party. He stopped to check on his sister when he saw her on the street.”

  “Okay,” Kennedy said, “so one way or another Conor finds out about what happened to his sister. She’s upset and in shock and was just at Graham H
ackett’s house, who he dislikes anyway. So he puts two and two together …”

  Julius sat down on one of the lab chairs, draping his arm over the back and spinning it so it faced them. He took a sip of his coffee. “He dislikes Graham Hackett because of the revenge porn?”

  “That and the fact that Conor was a bit of an outcast amongst the other lads on the team. They were jealous of him and Graham was a sort of ringleader. Glynn doesn't join in on the juicing and still he gets this big Aussie scholarship,” Kennedy continued, putting the pieces together.

  “So Conor decides to confront Graham about what he thinks he did to his sister,” Julius took up the baton, “he goes to the house - but the party’s finished and everyone’s gone home. So he gets in through the window. And when he gets in the room, Graham is in there. Asleep, passed out maybe?”

  “I’d say not,” said Reilly. “I’d say Graham’s awake and he grabs the hurl - likely his own as we never found any others in the room.

  And there’s a scuffle with Conor shedding trace we later mistakenly identify as belonging to his sister. Maybe Graham has a few choice words about Conor’s sporting prowess or something about his ex, Megan like he did in those online messages, not knowing that he’s there for a different reason altogether.”

  “But eventually Conor grabs the hurl off Graham and turns it on him. He grabs it, transferring foam residue from the nightclub. Either way, Conor goes off at something Graham says, and continues moving through the room, coming at him until Graham backs off and then becomes scared.”

  “He falls back and then, when Graham’s down, Conor lines up the last shot to his head like a winning puck in the net,” Chris said, his voice low as he stared at the tiled floor, recalling Conor’s prowess on the hurling pitch when they’d interviewed Edward.

  “Then realizing what he’s done,” Reilly continued, “he goes back out the window and gets rid of the murder weapon in a neighbor’s trash nearby.”

  “But where does the animal feed come into it?” Julius asked, finishing his coffee.