Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3)

by Hill, Casey

  ‘Certainly looks that way,’ Davis replied. ‘Body’s just over here. You should take a look at … well, it’s just weird,’ he mumbled, leading them towards the scene of the accident, as the detectives exchanged glances.

  They approached the body that was lying on the road. Chris bent down to look more closely at the dead girl, while Kennedy finished his cigarette, steeling himself for yet another look at death in the face.

  ‘Where do you think she might have come from?’ he asked Davis.

  The other man shrugged. ‘Not much around here, apart from a couple of farms. Roundwood village isn’t too far away.’

  ‘Are there ever any parties, raves, whatever you call them, out this direction?’

  Davis couldn’t keep the smile from his face. ‘No, sir. Nothing like that out here.’

  Kennedy nodded and puffed on his cigarette. ‘Well, this is your home turf. Got any ideas?’

  Davis wanted to say something insightful – it wasn’t every day that a city detective asked him for an opinion – but in truth he was as puzzled as anyone else. ‘To be honest, I don’t. The couple who found her say it was like she just appeared out of nowhere.’

  Kennedy grunted. ‘Of course they did.’ Carefully quenching his cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, he placed the half-smoked butt back into the pack. ‘If there’s one thing we can be sure of,’ he said, standing straight and pulling up his trousers, ‘it’s that she didn’t fall out of the sky.’ He bent down to where his partner crouched beside the body. ‘Well, any ideas?’

  Chris replied without looking up. ‘She may not have fallen from the sky but she sure did have wings,’ he said, gently pulling back the clothing on the dead girl’s shoulders to reveal a large, intricate tattoo. ‘I’m guessing this is what you meant by weird,’ he said to Davis, who nodded.

  ‘Christ, that’s a lot of ink.’ Kennedy’s gaze followed the beam of light from the other cop’s torch, revealing artwork which completely covered the girl’s upper back. The blueish tinged lines were fine, sweeping the wings upwards from near the base of her spine to fan outwards as they reached her waist, eventually covering almost the whole of her upper back. ‘An out-and-out fallen angel.’

  ‘She certainly got hit by somebody,’ Chris commented, pointing out the contusions, tarmac burns and dirt etched into her skin. ‘The question is, was she alive or dead when she was hit?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait for the ME before we know that.’ Kennedy groaned as he got up from his haunches. ‘So did she walk here or was she dumped?’

  Chris directed his flashlight down to the girl’s ankles, careful to touch nothing. As the light played across her bare feet it revealed a layer of mud and gravel smeared across the soles, blades of grass sticking in places. ‘She’s certainly walked some way,’ he observed.

  Kennedy was still gazing around. ‘Is there a hospital around here, a residential home, anything like that?’ he asked Davis.

  The officer nodded. ‘There’s a sheltered housing place over near Newtownmountkennedy. I think it’s a sort of respite facility for special needs people, Down’s Syndrome and the like.’

  They all gazed at the dead girl’s face. There was no sign of the typical physical characteristics of Down’s – the flatter face, the upward slanting eyes. In fact she had elfin features, a small mouth, a dainty nose, chiseled cheekbones. Combined with her flowing red hair you would have thought her quite beautiful had you seen her in any other circumstance. What would lead such a young woman to be wandering a lonely country road in the middle of the night in nothing but a thin cotton dress? Her delicate features bore a look of deep sadness; it was hard to imagine that events leading up to her death had been anything other than tragic.

  ‘That would still be quite a walk,’ observed Kennedy. ‘Even cross country it’s got to be what … five miles or more?’

  ‘And barefoot.’ Chris gently touched the edge of her nightdress and rubbed it between finger and thumb. ‘It’s pretty damp – she must have been out in the rain for quite some time.’

  He looked out across the dark fields. Before she was hit, the dead girl could have come from anywhere, a hundred yards or five miles away. Out in the darkness lay hundreds of solitary houses, dozens of farms, several villages … and that was assuming she had walked here. If she had been dumped then their search area expanded almost infinitely.

  ‘The ground is more damp than wet though, and it’s a mountain mist in the air rather than rain.’

  Chris looked at Davis. ‘Better check out the local houses. Some parent might wake in the morning not realising their kid has gone sleep-walking in the night.’

  But something told him this was no accident.

  Kennedy pulled out his unfinished cigarette again and tapped it thoughtfully against the packet. ‘So what now?’

  ‘Better talk to the couple who found her, then wait for Thompson to give us a COD. Forensics are on their way too so let’s see if Reilly and the crew come up with anything.’

  Kennedy gave a deep sigh. ‘Is that what it’s come down to now? We just sit on our hands and wait for the science guys to throw us crumbs?’

  Chris shrugged. His partner was old-school, and increasingly apprehensive about the more scientific bent to police investigation these days. He could understand his frustration, but there was no denying that developments in forensics and crime scene investigation helped considerably.

  ‘For the moment it would also be worth our while calling at houses within a couple of miles of here, to see if they saw or heard anything unusual while it’s still fresh in the memory. Like I said, maybe there’s a simple explanation.’

  Kennedy gave him a disbelieving look. ‘You’re not serious about the sleep walking thing.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out: some good old-fashioned detective work. Aren’t you the one constantly complaining about the lack of it?’

  ‘Let the locals handle that; at least they will know the neighbors. We roll up to some farmhouse at this hour in an unmarked car and we’ll be running the gauntlet of guard dogs and farmers with shotguns. People don’t live out here in the sticks because they want to be disturbed in the middle of the night, you know.’

  Chris wrinkled his nose. ‘Fair point. But for the moment, the tattoo seems like the only decent lead we’ve got in terms of ID. Let the GFU in to take a photo, upload it to the lab, and within a few minutes one of the techs will be comparing it with every known piece of ink from Ballymun to Bangkok.’

  Kennedy might decry the GFU’s ‘toys’, but an interactive device Reilly had been beta-testing for one of her old Quantico workmates had proved its worth on recent cases. The device, called iSPI, enabled fast and accurate re-enactment of crime scene details with 3D imagery, and provided a mine of information that sped up the investigative process. iSPI would almost certainly be able to indicate in which direction the girl was traveling at the time she was hit, and exactly where on the road the fatal impact had occurred. If she had indeed been killed this way.

  It was merely one of many nifty gadgets the GFU had at their disposal. Now almost three years in existence, and with a propensity for indepth analysis and, more importantly, fast results, the purpose-built forensic unit headed by Reilly Steel had improved the force’s abilities no end.

  It wasn’t appreciated by everyone, however.

  Kennedy pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. So much for trying to quit. ‘We’re becoming bloody errand boys you know, gofers for the scientists, that’s what we are,’ he grunted. ‘They’ll be training monkeys to do our jobs soon, the way things are going …’

  Chris watched him out the corner of his eye as they walked towards the couple who’d discovered the body. In the four years or so that they had worked together he knew Kennedy’s moods well and was pretty sure that something other than ‘the scientists’ was bothering him.

  The detectives briefly interviewed the couple who’d discovered the body before sending the
m to the local police station with Davis’s partner to obtain more detailed statements.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what’s got you so fired up today?’ he asked Kennedy eventually as they made their way back towards the body.

  The detective said nothing, just took out the same cigarette and tapped it against the packet again. Chris was experienced enough as an interviewer and friend to allow him the space and time to organize his thoughts and answer when he was ready.

  Kennedy relit the cigarette this time, took a puff and let out a deep sigh. ‘Ah it’s nothing…’

  Again Chris let the silence do its job, looking sideways at his partner as he fiddled with the filter of his cigarette.

  ‘It’s Josie.’

  Josie was Kennedy’s wife, the bedrock upon which he rested, his safe haven after a day amongst the detritus of society. A few years older than her husband, she had taken early retirement, and seemed happy to potter around the house and be there with a warm dinner and a pair of slippers when Kennedy came home from work more often than not drained and exhausted.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘She’s been having some stomach problems, they ran some tests…there’s something not right…’ He looked sideways at Chris, worry etched across his features. ‘You always fear the worst, though, don’t you?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Human nature. And the more the person means to you…’

  Kennedy stared out across the dark field once more for a few moments, before turning abruptly back to Chris. ‘You hear that?’

  Chris listened. He could hear the faint sound of another vehicle approaching. ‘Car? So what?’

  ‘That’s not just a car, that’s a gearshift cranking one-eighty.’ He reached over and started straightening Chris’s leather jacket. ‘Miss Baywatch is on the way. Here, let me smarten you up a bit.’

  ‘Give it a rest.’ Chris immediately recognized the sharp switch in mood as a cue to drop the subject. It was characteristic of Kennedy to not let his guard drop for very long. Still, Chris made a mental note to keep an eye on his partner. Such concerns were potentially a dangerous distraction from the job, something he himself knew only too well.

  ‘I keep telling you,’ Kennedy was saying, ‘one of these days you might catch her in a weak moment, when she’s desperate and lowers her standards…’

  Unlikely, Chris thought, especially now. Right from the beginning, he and Reilly had had some kind of connection, and while at one point there might have been something brewing between them, he’d done something which disappointed her, and he knew it.

  Back to his usual blustery self, Kennedy guffawed as the headlights swept around the curves and Reilly Steel approached the scene. ‘Here comes trouble.’

  Chapter 4

  Reilly’s eyes widened. ‘Angel wings?’

  ‘Impressive, eh?’ Chris crouched down beside her as they studied the extensive tattoo on the dead girl’s body.

  ‘It’s beautiful…and so intricate.’ She pulled out her own flashlight and ran it slowly up and down the corpse. ‘So what do we know?’

  ‘We thought you were going to pull out that iPad thing of yours and tell us.’ True to form, Kennedy was always the smartass.

  ‘Ah, don’t mind him,’ Chris chipped in lightly. ‘He’s having one of those days – must be his time of the month.’ But Reilly noticed the subtle yet meaningful look Chris gave her, suggesting that something else was at play with the older detective. She wondered what it might be. ‘She was spotted by passing motorists, they called the emergency services and a local patrol car was first on the scene. Seems she was already dead,’ Kennedy told Reilly. ‘No ID as yet, and as you can see she’s barefoot and in her nightgown.’

  ‘But her skin … it seems very wet?’

  ‘Well, it’s been drizzling most of the evening.’

  ‘I know. But her clothes feel soaked right through.’ Reilly leaned down and sniffed at the hem of the dress.

  Kennedy looked at Chris. ‘Here we go,’ he groaned. ‘She’s going all weird on us again.’

  Ignoring him, she straightened up. ‘There's something … I’m not sure but I don’t think it’s just rain.’ She stood up as the lights of another approaching vehicle illuminated the scene.

  The drive out on the quiet country roads that evening had been her first chance to unwind after an already hectic day – and with another scene to process, it was likely to be the only time to herself before collapsing into bed some time after midnight. If she was lucky.

  Unwinding for Reilly meant something different than it did for most. She had opened the windows of the van, allowed the cool, damp air to rush past and given her mind the freedom to wander. It gave her a tiny window of opportunity to dwell on things other than work. Random thoughts and promises. The organized nature of her brain would not allow for too much pointless daydreaming though; inevitably she would start to make mental to-do lists, like inviting her dad and his new partner over for dinner, or finding time to get out for a run before her ass got any bigger. Recently, the thing that loomed largest during a moment of quiet was a dull ache, a growing loss that she attributed to the absence of her sister.

  Lately, though, it was becoming apparent that it was something more than that and once again her thoughts drifted to home.

  Moving to Dublin had been an easy choice initially: the promise of a new challenge. Her father had already made the move and she had nothing to lose – or so she’d thought.

  Now things had changed. The truth was that Reilly missed the US. It had taken her a while to recognize the fact, mostly because the workload left little time for California dreaming.

  ‘That’ll be Thompson or your crew,’ said Chris, looking into the headlights.

  Another white van parked behind the police car. The doors opened and two GFU technicians in boiler suits emerged.

  Temporarily setting aside all thoughts unrelated to the here and now, Reilly sprung into action. ‘OK, let’s get this scene cleared – I’ll need all these cars backed up, and all non-essential personnel out of the way.’

  Chris smiled, by now well used to her direct manner. He turned to the watching officers. ‘That means you lot – get your cars moved back at least a hundred yards either end of the road, and stay back there with them until she calls you.’

  ‘Who’s that and how come she’s in charge all of a sudden?’ grumbled Davis.

  ‘Reilly Steel from the GFU,’ Chris informed him, ‘and she’s the one who’s going to figure out what happened to our fallen angel over there.’

  Reilly strode over to the advancing techs. ‘We’re going to need to move the van back at least a hundred yards, then we can start to have a proper look at what we’ve got going on here.’

  Gary had an open friendly face with a scruffy half-beard that made him look far younger than his thirty years. ‘Will do, boss,’ he said, in a typically upbeat manner. He turned on his heel and headed back to the van, the keys jangling in his hand.

  Lucy, the other tech, was in her mid-twenties. Her blond hair was cut into a stylish bob, and she wore dark-framed glasses – an attempt, Reilly always thought, to make herself look older. But despite her best efforts at promoting a more serious persona, Lucy was the energetic, enthusiastic member of the team, the spark plug who kept them going over long shifts when energies were flagging and spirits were falling.

  Lucy hurried over to Reilly, who noticed she couldn’t keep her eyes from the body lying in the road. ‘Where do you want to start?’

  ‘Someone hit that girl, and we need to try and figure out who. Let’s concentrate on the area immediately around the body for starters.’

  Lucy’s eyes remained on the dead girl. ‘Do they have any idea who she is?’

  Reilly shook her head. ‘We’ll deal with that later. Right now let’s focus on trying to figure out what happened here.’

  Lucy reluctantly tore her eyes away from the body. ‘Sure.’

  While they were talking, the surrounding vehicles were mo
ving away. As their headlights receded, the scene took on a different air, the fainter lighting giving it an almost artistic look – a fine, misty rain falling through the beams of the police cars’ headlights, the girl lying on her side, almost peaceful looking, the angel wings visible through her thin nightgown.

  It almost looked as though she could get up at any moment and fly away.

  With the area cleared, the forensic techs set to work, combing the road for anything that might be of interest, like road debris that could have come from the vehicle that hit the girl or any sign of recent skid marks.

  It was painstaking work, crouched over scanning the road with a flashlight, trying to ignore the damp that settled on the back of their necks. Every time one of them found something of interest – a scrap of forensic trace that might be relevant – they put down a numbered marker, took a photo of the item they’d found in situ, then bagged and tagged it, the number on the evidence bag corresponding with the number on the yellow plastic markers.

  Before long, the road on either side of the girl’s body was littered with markers, but Reilly paid little attention to what her team were doing – she was focused on the body, her flashlight moving at a snail’s pace up and down the corpse.

  Every so often she would stop, and try to order her thoughts, before continuing her search. So engrossed was she that she didn’t notice the approach of Karen Thompson, the Medical Examiner. The older woman gave a little cough. ‘Reilly, OK for me to do my initial exam on the body now?’

  Reilly looked up, surprised. ‘I didn’t hear you pull up. That would be great, thank you.’ She stood up and moved a respectful few paces back to allow her the space to conduct her examination.

  A tall imposing woman in her late forties, Thompson lowered herself slowly to her knees and hunched over the corpse. She had a distinctive way of leaning over the bodies she examined, almost as though she needed to get close enough to them to hear their stories.