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

by Casey Hill

  A few years later, Ruth had a child of her own, and gave birth at age 42. The child a girl is named Constance Dell. She is now 25 years old.

  Of all the futures I imagined for my rotten aunt, the aunt who neglected, abused and abandoned me, this was not it. A child? Why would she want a child when she so hated the one that was thrust upon her? I was a helpless little boy and she despised me from the beginning. This woman, this awful bully, has a child?

  Everything has changed. Wherever this child is, whatever she is doing, I will seek her out. She doesn’t deserve the love and security that I was denied.

  Despite having spent most of the evening at the lab sorting through the evidence from Harry McMurty’s disgusting flat, Reilly couldn’t relax when she got home in the late hours of the evening. So she went for a run instead.

  She waited for herself to settle into the familiar, semi-meditative state that running usually gave her. She wanted that rush of endorphins, followed by the relief and release from tension that came after. But it didn’t come. She tried pushing herself harder and harder, her knees pumping like pistons, her breath coming in hard, short gasps. But she couldn’t keep it up. She ended up bent over her own knees, wondering what she was pushing herself so hard for. What was she trying to run from?

  The following morning, after managing to eventually grab a few hours sleep, she was back at work. Karen Thompson had called her that morning to let her know that she would be able to autopsy McMurty first thing, and Reilly was going down there to oversee.

  Like Chris had pointed out yesterday, Inspector O’Brien would no doubt have a fit over the GFU’s involvement in a deemed suicide, and she wanted to head the chief’s annoyance off at the pass by finding out for sure if her and Chris’s suspicions of foul play were correct. The autopsy should determine that.

  ‘So, what have we got?’ she asked Karen when she entered the autopsy suite at the city morgue.

  ‘Good morning to you too,’ the ME replied.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve had such a weird week I’ve forgotten basic manners.’

  Karen chuckled softly. ‘And here I was thinking it was just an American thing.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Reilly. ‘Generally, we’re a genial bunch.’

  ‘You are looking a little peaked though,’ the other woman commented. ‘Are you coming down with something?’

  Reilly looked at her colleague, so calm, concern showing on her graceful features. For a second she wished she could confide in Karen; about her worries about the Armstrong case, concern about Lucy and her missing sister, about Chris. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t allow her mask of professionalism to slip.

  ‘Oh, I’m still getting over the jet lag is all,’ said Reilly. ‘Haven’t been able to find enough time to catch up on sleep since I got back.’

  ‘Shall be begin then?’ said Dr Thompson. ‘I heard about Pete Kennedy. I must say, the man gets up my nose sometimes, but I will be glad to see him back on his feet soon.’

  Once again, Reilly donned a mask and nose plugs while Karen stood by with a slightly sardonic smile.

  ‘I always say that death is the most natural smell in the world,’ the doctor said with a smile. ‘Like a compost heap.’

  In Reilly’s experience, it always smelt more like an abattoir, but she didn’t say anything.

  ‘This body was delivered as a possible homicide/suicide,’ said Karen. ‘It didn’t take me long to confirm my verdict. This man, 27 years old, appeared to be a mixed bag of health. On the one hand, his body was in good shape. Very little fat, good muscle condition, slight impacting of the fibula, as is common when engaging in high-impact exercise, jogging in particular.’

  Reilly’s ears plucked up at this, remembering how she and Julius had hypothesized that the unsub had worn latex, possibly as exercise clothing.

  ’However,’ said Karen. ‘The corps shows the kind of deterioration that is endemic to drug users. His teeth are in an advanced state of decay. The capillaries of the nose and the nasal passages are damaged from the abuse of cocaine, and his eyes are bloodshot, the corneas flat. He had three drugs in his system at the time: Benzedrine, a known “upper”, meth, or “ice” as it is commonly known, and Lorazepam, a common sleeping agent.’

  She paused, and gently turned over Harry McMurty’s arms to show the light scarring there. ‘He was once a user of heroin,’ she said. ‘But my guess is that his use of methamphetamine was more recent, as well as more prevalent.’ She traced a finger along the finely detailed feathers of the eagle on Harry’s arm. ‘His last meal was duck,’ she said. ‘Baguette. Not exactly synonymous with the other symptoms of poverty I have found on his person.’

  ‘What killed him?’ Reilly asked.

  ‘Lorazepam,’ she said. ‘I understand there was a bottle found at the scene?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Interestingly enough, the content of his stomach was clean of any pills. Not a trace. But it was definitely pills that you found?’

  ‘Still half full,’ said Reilly. ‘I can get them if you want to analyze.’

  Karen waved a hand. ‘No need. I began to scour his arms, and sure enough, I found a recent puncture from a needle. See here,’ she said, holding a microscope over Harry’s arm, ‘these are all old. The skin has worked its way back over and left the pink worms of scarring. But this one is fresh. Tiny, but unmistakeable. I’m running bloods to make sure, but my guess is that he was injected with liquid Lorazepam, which is commonly used for those who are unable to swallow pills.’

  ‘So it was a foul play, then?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘I would say so,’ said Karen. ‘But that’s not the strongest piece of evidence. The photos you took of those indentations around the left temple?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, those marks were still clear when I examined the body. Someone had pressed something very hard to the victim’s temple, for an extended period of time. I analyzed the residue left at the temple, and found it to be microscopic flakes of metal. My guess is that a gun had been held to the victim’s head.’

  Bingo. It had been what Reilly had suspected when she saw the marks, but she hadn’t wanted to give too much away at the time. It was obvious now, that McMurty had been murdered.

  But an hour later, in Inspector O’Brien’s office, she had a hard time convincing the chief of the same thing.

  ‘It’s cut and dried sir,’ she argued. ‘The ME herself has confirmed that the man was murdered.’

  ‘Maybe he was, Steel. But we’ve got a written confession for Armstrong and Copper. We’ve got the narc unit who found the body leaking the note to the press. As far as the world is concerned, this case is over and done with.’

  ‘But it’s not.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Armstrong and Cooper’s killer is still out there.’

  ‘You don’t know that. One of his criminal associates might have cottoned on to what he was doing, forced him to confess and then killed him. Just because he was murdered doesn’t mean he was innocent.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But he was innocent of those crimes, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘The murder investigations are closed, Steel,’ O’Brien told her. ‘Unless something new comes to light, this is over.’

  Chapter 22

  The report had the bare bones of my aunt’s history, but it left out a few salient details.

  My mother died when I was four. I had never known my father, but it didn’t matter. My mother was everything I needed. She created a world for us both, a world that kept me safe. Each day she would have planned special things for us to do, things that would make me feel loved. We went swimming. We went to the museum, or the park, or the movies. We were poor, but it didn’t matter. Had she lived, I would be a different kind of man. Blinder to the evil in the world, but happier.

  When she died, I did not know what had happened. I stayed in the house with her for three days, trying to wake her up. I fed her, tried to make her drink. I shouted in her ear, pulled at
her eyelids. Eventually the smell, and my crying, alerted the neighbours. Before I even knew what was happening, I was being shipped to Oxford.

  My aunt lived in lecturer’s accommodation at the university. Not suitable for a child, I felt caged and in the way. “Don’t you touch that,” she barked constantly. “Stay away from me while I’m working. Stop making that godawful noise.” Sometimes she would place her hands over her ears and scream. She couldn’t stand the sound of my voice, couldn’t bear to hear me singing the songs my mother had taught me.

  It didn’t get better when I started school. I was away from my aunt more, and I thought she would be happy to have the peace and quiet. But when I got home she would make me stand against the wall and recite what I had learnt that day. I was made to stay there until I got everything completely right. “You can’t be as stupid as your mother,” she said. “I won’t have a dummy in my house.”

  I became withdrawn, scared of the slightest movement. I should have detested her, but I was constantly trying to make her love me, constantly clinging to her leg, begging for her to notice me. Sometimes the power of her hatred for me would surprise us both. One day, when I reached out to stroke her arm, she pushed me so hard that I fell against the window. It cracked. Had it shattered, I would have fallen to my death. She told me: “You must stay out of my way. I can’t be trusted around you. You disgust me. You are repulsive.”

  We carried on in this sickening manner until my teens. I began to fight back then, in small ways. Embarrassing her around visitors by walking around naked, messing up her notes, stealing her money. I thought it was fair game for all the hell she had put me through.

  On my sixteenth birthday, I got home from school to find the doors locked. The house was completely shut up. There was a note for me in the letterbox. “I’ve done my duty. Never come here again. Never contact me.”

  I put myself through cooking school. I became the best chef in London. I never contacted her again, but I feel sure she has seen my name. They have profiled me in all the best papers, have complimented my “vision,” my “fierce determination”. If only they knew what my vision really was.

  My aunt was a woman who could not see past her own importance. She thought her career was the only thing that was worth anything. She gave everything she had to her work and gave me nothing. I wonder how she feels when she thinks of me. Guilt? Shame? Regret? But she doesn’t have to think of me. She doesn’t have to wonder how I am, because she has erased me. She went and gave someone else the life that should have been mine. And now I’m going to take it all away.

  Everything else has merely been practice for this.

  The day before Kennedy was due to return to work, Chris and Reilly finally made it to Hammer and Tongs. In his partner’s absence, he’d asked her to come along for the interview the restaurant owner who he and Kennedy had missed last time. While it seemed they had their man, Chris wanted to be sure of tying up all loose ends when it came to Jennifer Armstrong’s death.

  Nico Peroni greeted them both with a warm handshake. He didn’t raise his eyebrows at Reilly, the way some people did when greeted by female law enforcement and she warmed to him immediately.

  ‘I’m sorry that we have to meet under such circumstances,’ said Nico. ‘I hope that you will be able to dine here again, for a more suitable occasion.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Reilly, although the cavernous feeling of Hammer and Tongs wasn’t exactly to her taste. ‘How long has the restaurant been open?’

  ‘Eighteen months,’ said Nico. ‘I went into business with Ellis. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He is one of the premier chefs in London. Not to everyone’s taste, but he is doing some ground-breaking things with food.’

  ‘Is he here now?’

  ‘Tony has other restaurants in London and he’s not always on site. He designs the menu and cooks for important events, but I am the chef de cuisine. He has the vision.’

  ‘And the restaurant is doing well?’

  Nico gave a small but satisfied smile. ‘It is doing very well, yes.’

  The waitress delivered them three small, steaming coffees, with a shard of biscotti on the side.

  ‘Which of you hired Harry McMurty?’ asked Chris.

  ‘It was my mistake, I am sorry to say,’ said Nico. ‘Tony does not usually take part in hiring staff and the like.’

  ‘Can you tell us what you know about Harry? His personality, anything strange you noticed about him? Basically, everything you remember.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nico. ‘I just want to say that I feel very saddened about all this. I feel that in hiring Harry, I may have given him access to connections he might not otherwise have had.’

  ‘We find that these kinds of people are usually very determined,’ said Chris. ‘He would have found a way, with or without any assistance provided to him. He could be very charming, we’ve learned.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nico. ‘He was very charming, when he wanted to be. But let me start at the beginning.’ He took a sip of his coffee, smiled ruefully and began.

  ‘We had just started the restaurant when Harry approached me. He was working somewhere else, but after an incident with a colleague …’ here he shook his head slightly, ‘he said he felt too traumatized to work there any longer. He said he wanted to be a chef, that he had a passion for fine cuisine, but that he could not afford to put himself through school. He just wanted to be a part of a successful restaurant in any way possible.’

  ‘And so you hired him?’

  ‘I did more than hire him, I’m afraid,’ said Nico. ‘In a way, I began to mentor him. What I saw was a determined but disadvantaged young man. I knew he could only read and write enough to figure out the menu, but he was very good with clientele. He knew how to make them laugh, how to incite them to be adventurous. He did out here what Tony and I do in the kitchen. He wowed, he impressed.’

  ‘Often common traits in psychopaths,’ Reilly commented.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I soon began to see that all was not well. I tried to teach him things in the kitchen, and he was a very good cook, but impatient with himself and others. I saw him strike a kitchen hand. I knew that he had problems with the waitresses. I had them quitting left, right and centre. They would fall in love with him and he would treat them badly. I knew that he took drugs, but not to what extent. You must understand,’ he looked at them pleadingly, ‘it is common for the kids to take drugs in this business. They not only want to do their jobs, they want to do them and then go out dancing until dawn. It is different for an old man like me. Those days are done. I want to do my job and go home and put my feet up.’

  ‘We understand,’ Chris told him. ‘And that’s not why we’re here.’

  ‘But it was different with Harry. I realized that he was selling young waitresses hard drugs, and also that he was dealing to some of our customers. He had personal relationships with some of our clientele. If I may speak openly, it was another way to make money for him, to provide companionship to older, rich women.’

  He sighed, held his hands out in a gesture of exasperation. ‘What can I say? I had been very foolish. I began to see that. Tony wanted him gone, he said he was drawing negative attention to the restaurant and he was right. I was on the cusp of firing him when this happened. I wish I had done it sooner.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference,’ said Reilly. ‘None of it is your fault. Can you tell us how much access he had to the kitchen?’

  ‘Unlimited, really. The staff are often here earlier than we, and later, cleaning up and doing prep. I trusted him to begin with, simply because he was so driven. Later, when it was clear that he was unhinged, I did not know how to rescind that trust without making him unbalanced.’

  ‘And your use of antimine, or the Joker Fruit?’ asked Chris. ‘Can you tell us more about that?’

  Nico sighed. ‘It was something we did when we first opened, to make a splash. Now everyone does it, so we don’t do it any longer. But yes, we used it to begin
with. Tony prepared it, or I did, under his supervision. I am sorry to say that Harry was present at some of those times. He was intrigued by the fruit, very interested in the method of preparation.’

  ‘Ok,’ Chris said, having heard this before from Gemma Collins, the other chef. ‘Thank you very much. You’ve given us some good background.’

  They got up and shook hands once more and Reilly noticed Nico wince as he rose. ‘Injury?’ she asked.

  ‘You could say that,’ he answered. ‘I cycle — long distance. Just finished a long ride at the weekend.’

  Something clicked in her brain. ‘All that spandex,’ she said. ‘Pretty unforgiving uniform.’

  He laughed. ‘Absolutely. Comfortable though.’

  She scanned his left hand. No ring. ‘And your girlfriend? She doesn’t mind you spending so much time away on weekends?’

  Nico laughed again, and reddened slightly. ‘No girlfriend,’ he said. ‘I haven’t met the right person. Unsociable hours. I’m sure you know the feeling well.’

  ‘We do,’ said Chris. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  Back in the car, he asked: ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘I think we need a very close look at Mr Peroni. Preparation of antimine: check. Knows a lot of women who like fine food: check. Spandex: check. Handsome, youngish, single. And easily able to get close enough to Harry McMurty to kill him.’

  Chapter 23

  Lucy had her second hypnotherapy appointment that afternoon.

  ‘I’m really nervous,’ she confided to Gary, over lunch. ‘More nervous than last time. Because now I’m pretty certain there’s definitely something there. And I’m afraid of it.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ said Gary. ‘Seriously, you’re being so brave.’

  ‘Not as brave as Reilly,’ said Lucy. ‘Seriously, my dad tore strips off her the other day. There was something else as well that he was angry about, but she won’t tell me what. She doesn’t want anything else about Grace’s case to compromise my therapy. Apparently the mind is really easy to influence. Like, if she tells me she’s looking into something, my mind might spontaneously create memories based on that.’