Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3)

by Hill, Casey

  ‘So these crosses, what did he do with them?’

  ‘Every so often he’d have to take a trip, he said if he didn’t make them and deliver them up to Balor we would no longer be safe from the demons that hid out beyond the woods and the water. Balor would no longer protect us,’ he said solemnly and Chris recalled that in Celtic mythology, Balor was the god of death. He could hear Conn’s tone change as he spoke. He obviously was still affected by what he perceived as a real danger from this demon.

  Chris was beginning to understand a little better how the children were controlled. Fear was a powerful tool when used against the immature minds of innocent kids.

  ‘Can I ask you a question about Tír na nÓg?’

  Conn nodded.

  ‘You mentioned the beach. Was there water nearby?’

  ‘Yes, a big lake.’

  Which of course tied in with Reilly’s freshwater algae, Chris thought, feeling somewhat guilty for dismissing it so readily before. ‘And it was big, this lake; you could swim in it?’

  ‘You could. But the others were afraid of Kelpie. I wasn’t though; I knew Balor would protect us from him like Father said, but I can’t swim so I just splashed about along the shore in the summer.’ He was lost in his thoughts for a moment. ‘I always wondered what it was like on the other side,’ he said. ‘Sometimes we’d see things from a distance. But then when I got lost – when Father took me away – I just wanted to go back…’

  Tír na nÓg‘Who is Kelpie, Conn?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Kelpie is a sly demon who lives above and beneath the water,’ Conn said with apparent disbelief that the detective didn’t already know this. ‘We could hear his cries at night as he galloped above the water. Sarah saw him once and cried for days. Father said he was far more cunning than any being and could even turn himself into a handsome man to trick the girls into falling for him so he could steal them away and consume them.’

  ‘Yes, girls can be scaredy cats sometimes,’ said Chris, his mind racing. Was this ‘kelpie’ the one who had impregnated Sarah perhaps? An outsider that had somehow managed to find his way into paradise?

  ‘I would have fought him though,’ Conn continued, all bravado. ‘I wanted to but Father wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘Conn,’ Chris said, remembering something Reuben had said the day before. ‘You said that your father banished you from Tir Na Nog. Why? What did you do?’

  Like a sunny day suddenly turning to a thunderstorm, Conn’s face changed in an instant.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I’m tired of playing now. I want to go back to my room.’ And with that Conn got up and was gone.

  Later that evening, Reilly was perched on a stool looking into the comparison microscope when Chris stopped by her office to update her on what he had learned from Conn. ‘Have you got a minute?’ he called out.

  She nodded. ‘Of course, come on in.’

  He walked behind her, leaned over her to get a better look at what she was doing. He could smell the subtle scent of lilac in her hair, and had to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. He missed her, missed the easy relationship they’d once shared, yet had no idea how to restore it. Focusing his mind, he looked at the slide she was studying. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I had some water samples taken from a bog and a small pond on National Forestry land near where Sarah was hit. I just wanted to run some comparisons to the algae found in her hair,’ she said.

  ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately there was similar algae present in all of the samples.’ Of course conditions in that particular area at this time of year are perfect for spread and growth. Open up a bottle of mineral water up there and you’d probably have the stuff growing in the bottle before you’ve finished drinking it,’ she added, sitting upright on the stool.

  ‘So there’s no distinguishing between the growth of it in one area to another?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Well, the water samples themselves will have different content in relation to location, but we only have the algae itself, not the water source. The chemical make-up is identical, so there’s no way of pinpointing a particular area.’

  ‘Pity,’ Chris said. ‘Even a rough idea would’ve been some way helpful. In any case,’ he continued, ‘I spoke again with Conn this morning. Seems they were definitely being held near water; a big lake according to him, though I’m not sure what constitutes “big” for a ten year old.’

  He lowered himself into a nearby chair and gave her a brief rundown on what else he’d learned. ‘Conn mentioned a couple of things, old Celtic fairytales … monsters that he said he and the other kids were scared of. He spoke like they were something he’d actually witnessed himself, genuinely feared.’ He sat forward. ‘He said his father made crosses out of stone to ward off Balor. First thing that jumped into my head was rock sculpting…rock dust…’

  ‘Sarah’s silicosis,’ Reilly said and Chris nodded.

  ‘This Balor is some sort of mythic monster that lives in the darkest depths of water. He also mentioned that if Balor was not kept happy, they would not be safe from all manner of demons that roamed the woods and mountains.’

  Reilly bit her lip. ‘Fear and love …’

  Chris nodded. ‘These are no ordinary abductions, Reilly. This guy’s a clever fucker – he takes them young, brainwashes them and has them want for nothing. It’s the perfect recipe for Stockholm Syndrome.’

  ‘Perhaps, but if he’s really that clever why did he let our two girls go?’

  ‘I thought we were working on the assumption that they had escaped?’ he said, trying to see Reilly’s angle.

  ‘Exactly – it was an assumption, mostly based on the fact that Sarah was pregnant. We have no idea how the other girl ended up where she did.’

  ‘That reminds me of something.’ Chris explained the bit about Kelpie, the outsider who’d supposedly made Sarah cry.

  ‘You’re thinking a third party might be responsible for Sarah’s pregnancy?’

  ‘Why not? We keep saying that it’s unlikely the guy himself is responsible, and if he’s not abusing them, then it would have to have been an immaculate conception.’

  ‘Perhaps, but regardless of who the father of the baby was, the abductor would have known that a pregnancy would be a major threat to him. Unless you know what you’re doing, childbirth requires outsiders, help … complications he doesn’t need.’

  ‘And it’s not as though he hadn’t cast one of his swans out before,’ Chris said, taking up the thread. ‘So maybe after learning about the pregnancy our guy took control, took Sarah somewhere far away from base, somewhere she wouldn’t draw the heat.’

  ‘Yet she wasn’t showing,’ Reilly pointed out, remembering that she herself hadn’t spotted any visible signs of pregnancy on Sarah’s body.

  ‘There are other signs though: morning sickness, cravings …’ Chris scratched his stubble. ‘So what are you thinking? He pushed her into the path of the van?’ He thought back to the interview with William Connolly. ‘The driver did say she’d just appeared from nowhere, like a ghost …’

  ‘I don’t know but I don’t think we’re seeing the full picture. She was struck from behind while walking away from civilization, dressed in minimal clothing on a cold, damp night. If she’d just escaped from somewhere she’d surely be heading towards the lights of a village or another house for help. Yet she wore no shoes and her feet were in good condition.’

  Then Chris thought of something, something he hadn’t remembered until now.

  ‘She was hit from behind because she turned around,’ he told Reilly, telling her about the interview with William Connolly. ‘The way he described it, it sounded to me like an attempt to protect the baby.’

  They both paused, thinking about it.

  Reilly shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I guess until we find the place, all we can do is surmise. But my instinct is that, paradise or not, Sarah escaped. The fact that the van dri
ver saw her turn to save the baby suggests that even more. Like Reuben said, maybe as she got older she realized that paradise wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and was hoping to take her chances with the baby in the outside world.’

  ‘And look how that worked out,’ Chris added sadly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So it seems the more we dig the further we seem to get from the truth.’ She went over to her desk, picked up an official- looking document, and laid it in front of him. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘The exhumation license for Swan number one, aka Jennifer Harrington,’ Reilly told him. ‘More digging, but of the literal kind.’

  Chapter 24

  I stare into the lake. It is our protection, it gives us life, its green depths providing food and safety. It moves constantly, gently, pulled by the moon and caressed by the winds, kissing the shore like a hand gently rocking a cradle.

  In summer, it is a place of fun, the water retreating to offer a beach for play in the shallows. In winter, it rises high, claws at the bank, seems to threaten us, its fingers longing to crawl up the land and invade our home as we huddle round the fire, listening to the storms raging outside.

  The swans fear it, as they should. They know it protects us, but there is also a place in their hearts that senses that this is how we arrived in the first place, born on magic hooves across the cold depths. And if it is the entrance to our world, it is also the escape, a way to leave…

  Is that what called to her? Did the water call to her? It is a spirit, has a life of its own, not malicious but capricious, a bringer of life and a protector, but also a bringer of death, and a weakness in our otherwise impregnable stronghold.

  Did the water call to her that night? Was it seductive, offering an escape to her troubled mind, already turned by the worms that had crept within? Did she succumb? Was she dragged down, her cold eyes staring upwards through the green murk to the world she had left behind?

  Does she lie there still, a prisoner for ever?

  On the evening of the exhumation Reilly and the GFU team made their way out to the cemetery.

  ‘Ever done one of these before?’ Gary asked her from the passenger seat of the van.

  ‘Not here but a few in the States,’ she told him, visions of the excavation work on the burial plots at New Eden flashing into her head.

  Over a period of many years, twelve family members had died and been buried on the ranch. Reilly had been part of the team that had spent weeks exhuming and examining their remains.

  The memory sent a fresh chill down her spine.

  There had been a wide cross-section of remains from the very old to still-born babies. The corpses were buried simply – no caskets, no embalming, just a hole in the ground and a coating of quick-lime to prevent odors or disease. Reilly had been tasked with collecting DNA to cross-reference with missing persons. It had been a grim undertaking, and in truth the prospect of facing similar horrors with Jennifer Hutchinson today filled her with dread.

  ‘They’re pretty straightforward,’ she said. ‘We just need to be careful and ensure as much as possible remains intact and in good condition.’ She was unwilling to elaborate on the finer details so as not to unsettle him.

  ‘Do you think we’ll find much at this stage though?’ Gary asked. ‘She’s been down there for a long time.’

  ‘It’s hard to say.’

  The girl’s burial records didn’t state whether or not she had been embalmed.

  If she had, any tox screens they wanted to carry out would be pointless, notwithstanding that the deterioration of the corpse meant they would be pretty difficult anyway.

  Reilly looked out the window at the world around them as the GFU van went by. Life was carrying on regardless: bin men collected rubbish, mothers brought kids home from school and commuters made their way back from work, all oblivious to what was about to happen.

  In the back lay a box of protective clothing and face masks, two five-gallon drums of disinfectant, and an oversized plywood casket.

  The casket was tarred and lined with zinc. It was in this that the remains would make their next journey; a journey that Reilly hoped would end in justice and a proper reburial in the presence of her only living relative who’d flown in from the UK earlier that day.

  ‘What I’m really hoping for is sound DNA, so that at least we can confirm whether or not she is Jennifer Hutchinson,’ Reilly said.

  They would also be able to use DNA analysis to compare the remaining personal effects and, depending on decomposition, further investigate the tattoo.

  ‘So who else will be here this evening?’ Gary asked as the traffic lights turned green.

  ‘Well, the aunt of course, a couple of suits from the Environmental Department along with the excavation operators, I would think.’ Chris and Kennedy would be making an appearance too, as well as a representative from the Press Office, anxious that what was typically considered a ghoulish process would not cause a public relations stir.

  Gary turned the bend so they could see the entrance to Glasnevin cemetery.

  ‘Looks like there’s a good turn out; doubt there were as many around when the poor girl was buried,’ he said, indicating the line of vehicles parked either side of the road outside the gates.

  Reilly’s heart sank as she saw photographers and journalists crowding round the entrance as they passed.

  ‘Damn, that’s all we need.’

  They approached the entrance which had a large tarpaulin screen ready to be pulled across to give some privacy and security. A uniformed officer stood out on the road and, recognizing the GFU van, waved them on through the gates.

  ‘Just pull in over here,’ she instructed, spotting Chris waving for their attention a little further down.

  ‘So much for low key...’ he said, by way of greeting. He looked back towards the gate where already lenses were being trained on them. ‘They’re still calling it an Angel Cult. Maybe we should put them right – tell them the tattoos are actually swan wings. That might soften their coughs for them,’ he said, as Kennedy walked toward them, a small officious-looking man trailing him.

  ‘What’s up?’ Chris asked. His partner’s bright red face gave away the fact there was some kind of problem.

  ‘Ask Mr Fucking Self-Important here,’ Kennedy grumbled.

  ‘George Mullins. I was sent as overseer by the DOE. Are you Ms Steel?’ he asked, directing his question to Reilly.

  ‘Yes. I have the paperwork from the coroner’s office right here,’ she replied, retrieving the documentation from her kitbag.

  ‘The paperwork is not an issue. What is an issue is the security cordon, or should I say lack of,’ he blustered. ‘I simply cannot allow this to proceed in full view of all these people. As our directives clearly state, our obligations are to the deceased and next of kin.’

  ‘And I have told the gentleman,’ Kennedy barked, suggesting that Mullins was anything but, ‘that once the screen is pulled across and your van parked across the entrance, we will have enough privacy for a Royal visit.’

  ‘Look, Detective, I am merely doing my job,’ the official continued. ‘Such matters are very sensitive, and I would be in a world of trouble if the front page of tomorrow’s papers carried photographs of a muddied coffin being pulled from the ground, especially relating to such a high-profile investigation.’

  ‘Ah, for feck’s sake…’ Kennedy started, but Chris cut in.

  ‘Mr Mullins, we understand your position, but please consider ours. This exhumation may well be pivotal to an ongoing abduction case. What do you need from us to make this happen?’

  ‘Well, can’t you get rid of them?’ he asked, referring to the journalists. ‘Even with the screen and van in place there are still several vantage points where those snappers and their big lenses can clearly see the grave plot.’ Mullins indicated the sides of the graveyard, one sharing a boundary with a church and the other a sports ground.

  They all stood looking around, searching
for a solution.

  ‘I have a suggestion which might work,’ Reilly offered eventually. ‘We have several tarps and a tent in the van. We can surround the plot with them and back the van up when removing the casket. That way the grave will be shielded at all times.’

  Mullins nodded reluctantly. ‘Sounds good in theory but I will need to see it in practise before I can sign it off.’

  ‘OK, let’s get it done then.’ Chris walked away, beckoning Kennedy to do the same before he said anything else to upset the guy.

  ‘Where’s the aunt?’ Reilly asked, the presence of Jennifer’s next of kin unsettling her a little. If she’d had her way, the woman would be waiting for results back in the warmth of her hotel. But when the coroner’s office originally sought out the woman’s consent for the exhumation, she’d been insistent about attending.

  ‘In the back of the squad car.’ Chris indicated a parked garda car a hundred yards from the main entrance.

  Reilly decided to introduce herself and familiarize the woman with the lay of the land.

  ‘Ms Rogers, my name is Reilly Steel.’ She offered her hand through the open window to a nervous-looking middle-aged woman, who seemed shaken by the sight of the machinery and heavy police presence.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘I believe my colleagues at the coroner’s office explained the process to you, but just so you know, you aren’t expected to do anything today,’ Reilly said gently, hoping to put her at ease. ‘We’ll take care of everything and when it’s done, you’ll be taken back to your hotel and we will be sending anything we find to the lab for analysis. We should have the initial results back very shortly and then we’ll be in touch again to discuss the outcome and next steps. Did you fly over on your own today?’

  The woman nodded. ‘My husband flies in tonight. He can’t get off work until later. I wish Lisa were here,’ she added, referring to girl’s mother. ‘It was Jenny going missing that killed her really.’ She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I just hope it is her down there so we can bury the poor little thing with her mum and dad where she belongs.’