TRACE - CSI Reilly Steel #5 (Forensic novel Police Procedural Series)

by Casey Hill

  ‘Just sit down,’ said Kennedy. ‘I won’t take up much of your time. Not if you behave yourself.’

  McMurty threw himself into a chair like a sulky child.

  ‘You were seeing that girl, weren’t you?’ asked Kennedy.

  ‘Which one? Pick a number,’ said Harry. ‘I was seeing all of them. Easy, the lot of them.’

  ‘What did they see in you, I wonder?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he replied with a grin, making a vague gesture to his crotch.

  ‘Don’t give me that. Those women were desperate for something all right, but it wasn’t that.’

  Harry sighed. ‘You know this is all on record already don’t you? You could just do your job and read the reports.’

  ‘I want you to tell me.’

  ‘OK, I was giving them stuff, wasn’t I? Something they wanted for something I wanted. A simple trade. It didn’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘I’d beg to differ,’ said Kennedy. ‘That girl ended up dead.’

  ‘Not by my hand, granddad,’ said Harry getting back up. ‘I’ve got a job to do. You’ve got nothing on me. Come back when you do.’

  ‘I will, believe me. I get my kicks out of putting slime balls like you in jail.’

  ‘Things have a funny way of happening to silly ‘oul fellas like you,’ said Harry. ‘So, I’m not too worried. I think you’ll change your mind.’

  Kennedy laughed loudly as he left the restaurant. He had been threatened by dirt bags like this one before. They didn’t have the backbone to go through with it. They only liked to hurt people who were weaker than themselves.

  Chapter 13

  Chris caught up with Reilly at the GFU lab later in the morning. ‘Are you feeling better after yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m feeling fine,’ she said shortly, her expression tight. ‘Have you been over the interviews with Jennifer’s family and friends yet?’ she said, straight back to business. ‘Anything there?’

  ‘I’ve read them,’ he said, taking her cue. ‘Nothing new: vibrant, full of life, beautiful girl, lots of friends, the usual. Like to have a good time. The men she had dated revealed that they went out once, had dinner at a fancy restaurant and then went back to her place for sex. It was all very business-like. Jennifer told them that she didn’t have time for a relationship.’

  ‘But she told Blair and Helena Burke something different,’ said Reilly, looking thoughtful. ‘Said she was looking to settle down.’

  He shrugged. ’Maybe she was looking for a particular type of guy. These guys were younger. Not in the same place in life. Maybe she wanted someone with a bit more success.’

  ‘Maybe. Seems like a study in contradictions, though.’

  He grinned. ‘No such thing as a simple woman, Reilly.’

  ‘Now you sound like Kennedy,’ she said.

  ‘So when are you free to check out the next antimine supplier on our list?’ he asked. ‘Friday afternoon would be best for me.’

  ‘It’ll have to be next week then,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving the office early on Friday.’

  ‘Oh? Romantic weekend away?’

  ‘Hardly. No, unfortunately it’s work stuff.’

  ‘If it’s work stuff, shouldn’t we be invited?’ he wheedled.

  ‘Stop being such a detective,’ she said, trying to hide a smile. ‘If you must know, I have to go up to Mountjoy to talk to Grace Gorman’s old boyfriend.’

  ‘Ah, and you want to keep that quiet, because if Jack finds out, he’ll have your head on a platter.’

  ‘You’re very good at this,’ said Reilly. ‘Maybe you should be a cop or something.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ he said. ‘Mountjoy is not for the faint-hearted.

  ‘No need. It’s not even official business per se. I’m just doing it for Lucy.’

  ‘Then I’m doing it for Lucy, too. It makes sense. Going to a prison on a Friday evening will be its own special kind of hell believe me.’

  ‘OK,’ she exhaled, surprising herself. ‘I’ll owe you a favor.’

  The rest of Reilly’s day went by in a blur. She reviewed the witness statements with Jennifer Armstrong’s friends and family, and then the ones with Rose Cooper’s. No real similarities other than that they both liked good food, but only Jennifer was actually able to afford the kind of places that Rose aspired to.

  According to her friends, Rose had wanted a job in a better restaurant. Somewhere “fancy”. They both seemed to date rather loathsome men. Blair Burke and Harry McMurty were both scumbags. But there was nothing pointing either of those men to the murders. They hadn’t completely ruled out McMurty yet, but based on what Kennedy had told them, Reilly didn’t think he fit. He was just a regular, run of the mill loser. He had given Rose Cooper drugs and then fed on her addiction.

  ‘Reilly, can we talk?’ said Lucy, as she was gathering her stuff to leave.

  ‘Sure,’ said Reilly, evenly, easily guessing what this was about.

  ‘OK,’ the younger girl said, closing the office door behind her. ‘I need to “level with you”. Ism’t that what you say in America?’

  She smiled. ‘That’s what we say, yes.’

  ‘I’ve kind of been avoiding you.’

  ‘No kidding,’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Lucy. Come on. A blind man could have figured out that you were giving me the slip since the other day. Let’s be real.’

  ‘I’m really sorry. It was stupid. It’s just that being back there brought up a lot of painful stuff for me. You were right. I remembered some stuff that I didn’t know that I knew. Or that I just pushed away. I’ve had years of therapy and all it’s taught me to do is repress.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Reilly soothed, understanding all too well. ‘This is hard stuff. For anyone.’

  ‘I know. But I’m the one who’s been pushing you to look at this. I should have been prepared to do whatever you asked me to. I think I am now though,’ she added, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m going to make myself ready for what you suggested. I know I need to do this.’

  ‘You shouldn’t push yourself,’ said Reilly. ‘I won’t make you do something you’re not ready for. But I really do believe hypnotherapy might be a good way forward.’ Reilly admired her. She was tough. She didn’t want to mention anything about Grace’s old boyfriend just yet. Not unless the prison visit threw up anything. And also because technically she couldn't really discuss it with her. When it came to Grace’s case, Lucy was still officially a witness.

  ‘I think that’s wise,’ she told her. ‘Let me make a few calls and we’ll work out a time for your first session.’ Reilly knew of a good hypnotherapy person the force used for some victims. It was not always reliable, and often didn’t give the results you were looking for, but it was worth a shot. ‘But I just want to ask you one thing,’ she added, before Lucy turned to leave, ‘do you remember where Grace got that necklace to begin with? The one we found in the house?’

  ‘It was a present from Darren, her boyfriend. I don’t think he bought it himself though, Grace said he “found it” which I thought was a bit cheap, but she was thrilled.’

  Reilly nodded. The boyfriend again. More roads leading to Darren Keating than were comfortable, yet nobody seemed to have paid him much heed at all during the initial investigation.

  Well, he wasn't going to get away so lightly this time.

  Chapter 14

  So they’ve got themselves a lead. Cops blundering around the restaurants, asking stupid questions.

  I’ve got myself a lead too.

  There is no question that she is beautiful. Long blonde hair, green eyes, skin like an English rose. I love that creamy skin, love the way it flushes so easily, the capillaries underneath filling up and flooding at the slightest provocation.

  I imagine how she will look when the poison sends her off to sleep. Her lips slightly open, face flushed, hair a little messy. I wonder how she will smell? Musky and cloying, or fresh and scrubbed? I will bathe
in her scent, lay down beside her and suck up that sweet smell. The scent of a woman is a seductive thing. We become addicted to it in the womb, it is fed to us in our mother’s milk, and then we seek it out in lovers. One after the other, seeking that perfect blend of pheromones.

  I have been communicating with this woman every night. Her name, which I won’t write here, for fear of jinxing my plans, means “pleasant”. She is far from pleasing, though. She embodies everything that I hate. She has made it clear, that when we meet, I am to be used for her pleasure. Fine, I say. I can’t think of anything better.

  Her interests are listed as: fitness, fine dining, movies. We have so much in common! I tell her. She has been to my restaurant, just LOVES the food there! Soon I’ll tell her I’ll make her the meal of a lifetime, something she truly can’t pass up. And it will be the meal of a lifetime, in so many ways.

  I’ve been experimenting with a few things. I won’t use the fruit again: too risky. I want to use more natural substances, things that are harder to track. Those cops would never have picked up on what it was if I hadn’t had to leave Jennifer’s. Her cellphone ringing, then her landline. Some drunk idiot threatening to come over. I deleted the message, but I should have left it, thrown out a false lead for them.

  It just shows that I’m still prone to panic. I need to refine my actions. I need for everything to go very smoothly.

  I do have a little something up my sleeve, though, thanks to the idiocy of that cop. It’s still in embryo form this thought, so I’ll just nurture it until it becomes fully fledged.

  I’ve tried mushrooms, large amounts of nicotine, nutmeg, all the usual things. It has all been enough to kill a dog or cat in an hour. Slightly larger doses for a person, I think. Plus I will have to travel further afield for the animals. I don’t want my neighbours comparing notes about missing pets. I don’t feel bad about it. An animal is an animal. Made to be eaten. Bred to die.

  My running times continue to be astounding. I feel as though I am imbued with energy. I leave all the others behind in the dust. I have to caution myself not to get too eager, not to get sloppy in my excitement. I would do this all the time if I could, but I have to keep up the pretense of my life.

  Lately, I’ve felt strong enough to begin looking into my past, to find her. It is my feeling that she will be a wasted old harridan, and I will rejoice in this. She is oddly hard to find, though.

  I’ll keep trying, though.

  Reilly woke with a start and sat bolt upright in her chair. Chris jumped away from her.

  ‘You were asleep,’ he said. ‘I just touched your arm to wake you and you sat up like you’d been shot.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Reilly muttered blearily. ‘Oh my god, I feel like I’ve been asleep for a million years. What’s the time?’

  ‘Just after 2pm.’

  ‘Did anyone see me?’ she asked, horrified.

  ‘Everyone seems to be having long lunches,’ he said. ‘Friday and all that. Are you sure you’re still up to going to Mountjoy today? You might be better of taking an early - ’

  ‘Give me ten,’ she interjected. ‘I’ll meet you in the car park.’

  When Reilly reached the car park she was feeling slightly more awake. Chris didn’t mention anything more as she got in the passenger seat, but she could feel him shooting her concerned glances.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says.

  ‘You’ve been saying that a lot lately.’

  ‘Because it’s the truth.’

  It’s not long before they’re stuck in the snarl of city traffic heading north.

  ‘Something’s on your mind,’ says Chris. ‘You might as well tell me. We’ll be here for a while.’ He popped open a bag of crisps and offered them to her.

  ‘A secret junk food addict,’ she says. ‘I never would have guessed.’

  ‘Just a little motivation for the drive. And don’t change the subject.’

  After a pause, he put some music on the stereo.

  ‘MC5?’ she asks. ‘That’s pretty far out, for a Dubliner. Very American.’

  ‘I’m from Wicklow remember? And I was a pretty cool teenager,’ he added wryly. ‘I knew my stuff.’

  She laughed. ‘I can see it now. Chris Delaney, hanging out at de corner shop in a Clash T-shirt, smoking a fag and chatting up the gurls.’

  ‘Your Irish accent is terrible, by the way,’ he said. ‘But the rest is pretty spot on. What were you like? You never mention your childhood other than …’ He left the rest of the sentence hanging but she knew what she meant. Her childhood mostly consisted of her stepping in as mum to her younger sister Jess and watching out for their alcoholic father, when their mother walked out on them.

  ‘Sooo earnest,’ she said, laughing a little. ‘Braces. Hair in plaits. Not cool at all. I listened exclusively to country music and tried to learn the banjo once.’

  ‘And did you succeed?’

  ‘No.’ she said. ‘I don’t like to talk about it but Mike could tell you about that time, with great glee. Although at the time he was mostly telling me to go outside and practice.’

  ‘As you’ve trusted me with such precious information, I’ll tell you a secret from my own embarrassing past,’ said Chris. ‘I used to do Irish dancing.’

  ‘I’m not even sure what that it,’ says Reilly, ‘but it sounds hilarious.’

  ‘It is, not so much for girls but definitely for lads. I used to get kitted out in a kilt and long socks and fling my legs about to accordion music every Friday night.’

  ‘OK, yours sounds definitely worse than mine,’ she chuckled.

  They passed the journey in comfortable silence for a while after that, until Chris spoke again. ‘How is your dad by the way? You haven’t mentioned him in a while.’

  ‘Good. Did I tell you he met someone? They’re in California now, and looks like they might stay on for good.’

  He stared at her. ‘Seriously? Does that mean that you’re thinking of …’

  ‘Following him back across the Atlantic again? I don’t know, I think he’s done with me looking over his shoulder at every turn. Besides I’m pretty sure he’s sober for good now. The woman, Maura is good for him. I’ll miss him of course but we’re still close and I know now that he’s always there for me, always on my side. You need at least one person like that in your life.’

  ‘I don’t know if I have that,’ Chris said thoughtfully.

  ‘What about Kennedy?’

  ‘Of course I know Kennedy’s got my back. But he’s my partner and while he’s my friend too, it’s his job to look out for me. I think what you’re talking about is someone who really puts you at the centre of their universe.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.’

  There was a heavy silence as they were both lost in thought at the notion. For Reilly the conversation was becoming uncomfortably personal again and she struggled to move it on to safer territory.

  ‘You think that if Jennifer Armstrong and Rose Cooper had someone like that they would have ended up dead?’

  ‘No,’ Chris replied. ‘But I do think maybe they went looking for it in all the wrong places.’

  Darren Keating by all accounts, did not start the bad news he grew up to be. He had a steady home life, though his father left when he was three, but his mother had remarried and he got on well with his step-father.

  His older brother had gone to live with the father when his parents spilt. The year before Grace Gorman went missing, two things happened: Darren’s older brother Brendan came back live with his mother, and Darren started to get into trouble. This was also around the time he started seeing Grace. It was small time trouble at first: stealing CDs from the store, breaking car windows and the like, but Reilly could see that it spiraled out of control. She couldn’t help but feel that the brother, Brendan Keating, had something to do with it. There was the barest mention of him in the files. He hadn’t sparked anyone else’s interest, apart from as someone who knew Darren well.

  But somehow betwe
en then and now he ended up in the country’s main prison.

  Mountjoy itself was huge and imposing, it was a marvel of its time, and built with a central observation deck, so that the prisoners never knew when they were being watched. Theoretically, they were being watched all the time. It was based on the philosophy of Foucault: if a man feels watched, he will begin to self-police.

  ‘Pretty grim, isn’t it?’ said Chris as went through the security booth to the car park.

  ‘You can say that again. Gives me the creeps just looking at it.’

  Given his last-minute offer to accompany her, she hadn’t been able to secure an interviewer’s pass for Chris in time, only for herself. Despite all her years in US law enforcement, she had never actually interviewed a criminal inside a correctional facility before. It made her feel strangely vulnerable, like she was going to their house, having to handle things on their own turf.

  It was silly. She was perfectly safe.

  Inside, Mountjoy prison smelled like all the bad dreams Reilly had ever had. It was fetid bodies, overlain with greasy, fried food. Added to that was the stink of rage, of despair, of violence. These men were caged animals, pacing their cells for hours of the day. She imagined the kind of things that took place whenever they poured out into the yard.

  A guard led her to the private room where the interview would take place. Well, not private. As the guard explained, there would be two other guards present. It was just separate from the other visitors, so that Reilly could question Darren Keating in private. He would be cuffed, the guard told her, but if she felt uncomfortable at any time, she should just raise her hand and the interview would be terminated.

  ‘I should warn you,’ said the guard, ‘he’s not exactly a nice guy.’

  ‘Are any of them?’