by Hill, Casey
‘Or maybe he just abandoned the kids – or worse – before taking off alone,’ said Kennedy gruffly.
‘I doubt it,’ Reilly argued. ‘Based on what we already know about McAllister, he seems to care for these kids.’
‘Or maybe it’s just the fantasy he cares for,’ Kennedy replied. ‘The guy is off his rocker. The stuff he was sprouting yesterday when we tried to talk to him … Personally I wouldn’t be surprised if he believes everything he’s told them.’
‘And if he does, then we need to worry about what happens next. In the fairytale you wither and die if you leave Tir Na N’og…’ Chris pointed out.
At this, the room fell silent, as they each tried to comprehend the implications.
‘Right,’ O’Brien said, refocusing. ‘It’s almost twenty-four hours since we last had a visual. Time is moving on, our resources are stretched to the limit and as yet we’ve had nothing of any real value.’
‘There’s still a lot to get through,’ Reilly told him. ‘We’re continuing with the missing person cross-referencing. Granted, there’s nothing yet, but it’s only a matter of time. My team are also going through the documentation, hoping to find something that might pinpoint to McAllister’s whereabouts.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But there is an interesting development. We’ve picked up some specific trace material from the van. Lots of sulphur and metallics, including traces of chalcopyrite.’
When the others looked puzzled, she continued. ‘You may know chalcopyrite as fool’s gold. Its chemical composition is copper, iron and sulphur. Initially we thought that it may have something to do with McAllister’s stonework, and that he used some sort of metallic paint for the inscriptions on his sculptures or headstones, but nothing matched from our analysis of the trace from his workshop. But what we did find from both the van and on some gardening tools in the workshop, was ochre.’
‘And what’s that?’ Kennedy asked, unashamed to admit ignorance.
‘Hydrated iron oxide, also known as yellow or gold ochre. It’s basically an earth pigment that was used for centuries before modern dyes were invented. Many older cultures including Australian Aborigines, Maoris and Celts used it. But the point is, it’s not something that just sticks to your shoe when out walking the dog. It’s specific to certain areas.’
‘Specific to the immediate surroundings of the McAllister place?’ Chris asked.
‘Based on our soil database, we’ve identified it as being mostly prevelant in the Avoca River Valley,’ she told them.
Chris nodded. ‘As the crow flies, that wouldn’t be a million miles from the lakeshore. There may well be some off-the-beaten-track mountain routes that lead down that direction. It may even be within the checkpoint radius, which could explain how we missed him…’
‘This might be promising.’ O’Brien was all business. ‘Get a team on the ground in that area focusing on possible sightings, knock on a few doors. We need to make sure there are no slip-ups the next time we get near this guy, OK?’
Reilly pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I’m going to head down that direction myself and see if I can confirm a match to our trace.’
‘Very well, I want to be kept informed of developments at all times,’ O’Brien said determinedly. ‘If this is fool’s gold, let’s make sure we’re not the ones being made fools of this time.’
As they drove through the city and headed south towards Avoca, Reilly sat in the back as Kennedy moved through traffic with full lights and sirens.
She scrolled through the information she’d uploaded to her iPhone earlier – mineral maps and records concerning the history of the area.
Avoca actually sounded like a little bit of home, and Reilly was surprised that she hadn’t heard of it before.
Like California, there had been a mini gold rush there in the 1800s. Eighty kilograms of gold was panned from the river, including a one-and-a-half-pound nugget, the largest ever discovered in the British Isles.
‘Whether or not this is where McAllister is heading, he has definitely spent time there. The mineral make-up from the area is unique,’ she told the others.
‘I visited there many times as a kid,’ Chris said. ‘The place would have been beautiful before the mining started. Sadly it’s been an ecological mess ever since – the run-off from the mines killed the river, and not much can grow on the ugly slag piles.’
‘I can imagine; open-pit mining is cancerous to the environment, very toxic.’
‘So what’s the plan, comrades?’ Kennedy asked.
‘We’ll ask around the shops in the village first, see if they’ve seen or heard anything. Where do you think is best for sampling?’ Chris asked Reilly.
‘The river valley, mainly the slag heaps I would think. The ochre trace was in high concentration, not what you’d expect from topsoil, so by concentrating on the places where the subsoil and slag are visible we’re more likely to be following in McAllister’s footsteps, so to speak,’ she said, reaching for her phone which had begun to ring. ‘Steel. When? No, I don’t want it disturbed, I’ll have a team sent up right away.’ She hung up and made a face. ‘Looks like we’re going to be doing an exhumation after all. The dogs have sniffed out at least one body in the grounds of Tir Na Nog,’ she told them, dialling the lab to arrange a team.
‘Jennifer?’ Chris asked.
‘I hope so. Poor thing might finally be reunited with her own name, if nothing else.’
Sitting back in the seat, Reilly rubbed her eyes until she saw stars, the fatigue hitting her as the car journey took its toll on her barely rested body.
Some minutes later, they reached the village of Avoca, after passing some of the mines and slag heaps that blotted the landscape on the way in, and along the course of the river that looked like flowing cola.
‘It’s very pretty,’ Reilly commented, as they pulled into a parking spot in the center of the village. ‘Looks kind of familiar…’
‘Ever hear of Ballykissangel?’ Kennedy asked.
‘Sure, my dad used to watch it back home. It was filmed here?’
‘Yep. Do you want to take the car back out to the river, while we ask around?’ He tossed her the keys.
‘Just don’t go wandering off into the hills. I know what you’re like when you get a hiking trail in front of you,’ Chris added, and Reilly smiled, pleased that they seemed to be on better terms since having to work in closer proximity. As the case’s tension began to escalate, it was as if they’d automatically settled into their usual familiar rhythms.
‘No girl-scouting for me this time, I promise.’ She got into the driver’s seat and fumbled around for the adjustment lever that slid the seat forward from Kennedy’s near-backseat position.
On the way in, Chris had pointed out a slip road that led up to the old mines. A good place to start.
Heading directly for the road, Reilly drove along what seemed at first to be a pleasant country lane, but after a few minutes the tarmac disappeared and gave way to an unkempt dirt track with industrial wire fencing either side of it.
Along the track was yellow-colored gravel that matched the loose banks of mining waste inching its way down the slopes. Dotted along the fence were warning signs: ‘Danger, keep out, land reclamation in progress. Land prone to slippage.’
Reilly drove along slowly, the car bouncing through the yellowish mud and puddles splashing up onto the car. Kennedy will kill me, she thought, as a particularly deep splash sprayed across the windscreen as if somebody was shooting at her with a paintball gun.
She pulled into a gateway, grabbed her kitbag and got out to take a proper look around.
Shame to have this ugly blight on such a naturally beautiful place.
There was no sign of any residential properties immediately nearby, only a couple of old buildings that looked like outhouses and a haybarn.
And while the area was certainly not a place for raising a family, Reilly mused, it might not be a bad spot for hiding one.
She already guessed t
hat the trace they had found could only have been from this area – it was as unique as a fingerprint.
But it begged the question: what had McAllister been doing down here? Was it work-related?
Reilly walked up the road a few yards to take a better look at an old building with chimney stacks that had caught her eye.
On closer inspection she figured it must have been the old smelting house attached to the mine. Nearby were several similar outbuildings from subsequent mining eras that had also sprung up, and since been abandoned.
She supposed it was a ghost town of sorts, and immediately remembered a childhood trip she’d taken with her parents and sister to a place called Bodie near the Sierra Nevada.
Expecting it to be scary, Reilly hadn’t wanted to go there at first, but ghost towns were different in the US. They had restaurants and gift shops and people dressed up as cowboys, prospectors and burlesque dancers.
This place was different though, and Reilly could almost smell the history in the air. Commercialism had stopped the day the last pick had been swung, and all that was left now were some old buildings and scars in the earth that would never heal.
Fascinated, the man watched her, hunched over, picking up bits of soil and rock.
She flicked a loose bit of blond hair behind her ear. He liked blonds, though had always considered red to be the purest hair color.
He had been teased in school because of it – called names like carrot and ginger. It didn’t bother him now, of course, but back then they were only kids, and didn’t know any better.
That was the problem though, too many incestuous inbreeds around these days without the intelligence or ability to raise a rat, never mind a child, a pure precious child.
It angered him to see society’s workshop of disfunction, churning out bastard children who would be poisoned and polluted only to go on to raise the next, even more sick, generation.
But he had been called on to build a haven, to protect.
And now as he watched the blond woman and recognized her face, he feared he’d be forced to run again.
He questioned his strength and resolve; the flood waters of sin and greed were rising around him, threatening everything he had given his life for.
He started to breathe more easily as the blond lady made her way back to her car. But as she reached it, he saw her turn and look in his direction, and then walk towards him. He held his breath.
‘Excuse me?’
He was torn – should he pretend he had not heard her and walk away, or talk to her and put her off?
‘Hello there, miss, lovely day for a ramble,’ he replied as casually as possible.
‘Yes, it is indeed. I wonder if you could help me. I don’t suppose you know who owns these lands?’
He hesitated a little, and the woman smiled. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Reilly Steel, and I work for a company mapping the soil and geology of the Irish countryside,’ she said, holding up her sampling bag.
Liar…
‘Ah, I’d wondered what you were up to. To be honest, I’m not sure, I just walk through here mostly, but I do share your love of rocks,’ he said.
‘Yes, nature is truly amazing, especially in places like this. Sadly, here the beauty of nature is side by side with the destruction of man,’ she said, indicating the ugly remains of decades of mining.
He smiled. ‘Never a truer word spoken. They destroyed this place for a few pounds of precious metals, not realising that it was the place itself that was precious. Few people see the irony.’ He chuckled. ‘Even more ironic that one of those few who do is a lady named Steel.’
She smiled at his joke. ‘I suppose it is. Anyway, thank you for your time.’
‘Thank you, Miss Steel. It’s nice to know there are souls out there who still care for the precious things in this world.’
Reilly deliberately slowed her pace, and tried to make herself relax as she walked back to the car. She could feel her heart beating faster in her chest.
The moment she had stood in the gateway, she knew this was the place. The industrial gates were chained and padlocked from the inside, and recent tyre tracks had passed through, but the thing that stood out the most was the small pool of motor oil that lay in the gateway.
She could picture the van stopping, McAllister getting out to unlock the gate, while several droplets of engine oil had left a smaller version of the larger oil stain photographed near the boat he had escaped on.
When she had seen his face, even without the wild beard he’d sported in the only photo they had of him, she knew.
Reilly started the engine and raced back towards the main road. As she drove she tried first Chris’s then Kennedy’s phone … Damn, no reception.
As she re-entered the village she spotted Chris standing outside the local newsagent talking to a man.
Blowing the horn twice to get his attention she waved him to the car in a manner that let him see she was flustered.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s McAllister. We’ve got him.’
Chapter 33
‘I’d like to introduce you all to Steve Jacobs.’
Having quickly returned to base after learning about McAllister’s whereabouts, the team wasted no time in planning their next strategy. A local unit had been installed to keep watch on the area and O’Brien was about to advise them of the next steps.
Now, the inspector entered the room and nodded towards the man behind him.
He was around six foot three, well built, with a strong jawline, and blond hair just starting to recede. He looked a bit like a middle-aged surfer, Reilly thought.
‘Jacobs, meet Detectives Kennedy, Delaney, and our GFU head, Reilly Steel.’
Nodding as they exchanged greetings, Jacobs gave each a bonecrunching handshake. He paused as he held Reilly’s hand, his challenging blue eyes resting on hers.
‘Mr Jacobs is a hostage negotiator,’ O’Brien told them. ‘I thought it was best to bring in an expert this time.’
He ushered them around the meeting table.
Jacobs sat next to Reilly, and stretched his long legs out in front of him, looking at the mass of maps and documents gathered on the table.
‘I’m aware that you’ve handled this very sensitively at all times so far,’ he began, ‘and I don’t want to tread on any toes. But if the situation is as the inspector describes it, then maybe I can help.’
Reilly could tell that Jacobs had immediately put Chris’s back up. He was used to being the alpha male around here, the tall, attractive, masculine one. Chris looked at O’Brien. ‘With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure why this is necessary. Kennedy and I have extensive hostage negotiation training.’
‘Perhaps, but Mr Jacobs has a doctorate in psychology,’ O’Brien replied, ‘and comes with the highest recommendation of the Chief Inspector of the UK Met.’
Jacobs sat forward. ‘Detective Delaney, wasn’t it?’
Chris turned quickly towards him. ‘Yes.’
‘As I said, I don’t want to tread on any toes – I think the chief just wants to make absolutely sure that everything runs smoothly this time. I’m here to support you guys.’
‘I think it’s a sensible move,’ Reilly put in. ‘At this point all that matters is the safety of those kids.’
Jacobs turned his surfer’s smile on Reilly. ‘Graciously put, Miss Steel. I’m here purely to help the team achieve the best resolution possible.’
Kennedy seemed to be watching all of this with wry amusement. ‘So if we’re finished getting to know one another,’ he said impatiently, ‘time is running out and we need to move quickly. Is Mr Jacobs going to head up the operation in Avoca, or what?’
‘Please, call me Steve,’ Jacobs said smoothly.
‘Mr Jacobs will be responsible for negotiating with McAllister for his surrender and for the safe release of his captives,’ O’Brien said. ‘You will support and assist him in any way you can. Given that there’s little time to waste, I’d
suggest the four of you immediately agree a path forwards.’ He looked at all of them, his gaze resting on Chris the longest. ‘Any questions?’
There was silence.
‘Good.’
‘Steve,’ Reilly began, ‘we appreciate you stepping in to help us, you've obviously read the file so you have some background – I thought it would be best if Chris brought you up to speed on where we are at this point.’
Chris looked surprised and Reilly knew she’d spiked his guns by forcing him to engage with ‘Steve’.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jacobs gave her a subtle nod of approval.
Chris tapped the end of a pencil on the table. ‘We already know McAllister is intelligent, a meticulous planner as he demonstrated at the lake house. But in my opinion, this time will be different. Now he’s angry, he wasn’t expecting to be cornered again so quickly after executing his escape plan.’
Jacobs nodded. ‘What’s your take on where we stand now?’ he asked, and Reilly liked the way he was so easily, almost offhandedly, making sure that the detectives didn’t feel like outsiders in their own back yard. Clearly he was used to this.
‘He’s holed up in there now,’ Kennedy continued. ‘He has the advantage of an elevated position, and can see everything coming up that drive. We could send in the heavies again, but with three, maybe four children at risk, and the mood he’s in, plus the fact he seems to have nowhere to run …it could get nasty.’
‘You mentioned his mood; do you think he’ll be too hostile to talk to us?’
‘For a guy who is so paranoid about the dangers of the outside world,’ Reilly put in, ‘we’ve so far been living up to the reputation of these so-called “demons” that he seems to fear. I think his mood will be predominately hostile, yes.’
‘So we need to build some trust, but in order to do that, we need to open some line of communication first,’ said Jacobs.
‘He’ll be a tough nut to crack,’ Reilly said, recounting the conversation she’d inadvertently had with McAllister earlier. ‘The whole nature of what he has done is built on paranoia, mistrust of the outside world. It’s hard to know what he actually believes, though he seemed almost normal when I spoke to him.’
