by Hill, Casey
‘What’s going on, Daniel?’
The reply came out in a whisper. ‘My god-daughter, Holly.’ He paused, appearing to struggle with what he had to say next.
Reilly tensed, desperately wanting to know what was upsetting him so much, but at the same time reluctant to hear the details of what was bound to be terrible news. Anything that could reduce Daniel Forrest to tears was not to be taken lightly.
‘She’s been murdered.’ His voice broke on the final word, his fingers curling around hers.
‘Oh, Daniel.’ Reilly wrapped her arms around her old friend’s shoulders, pulling him toward her.
‘She was only a kid,’ Daniel managed, between gasps.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Reilly kept repeating, hating herself for the obligatory useless platitude. She knew better than anyone how empty those words sounded, but she also knew that there were no words that wouldn’t sound empty. No sentiments or condolences that could possibly soothe away the grief and anguish that came with getting the news that someone you loved was gone forever.
They sat together until twilight began to fall, as Daniel tried to overcome the initial shock of the phone call. When finally he sat forward and wiped his face, Reilly saw the expression on his face change from grieving friend to what she’d always called his ‘work mode’.
While maintaining the compassion needed to do what he did, Daniel had always had the uncanny ability to set aside his emotions and view things in a clinical manner when he needed to. She knew that even though he was still hurting, he’d be able to focus. She was somewhat of a pro at that herself.
‘I told Todd to try and get the department to hold off. I want to be the one to notify her mother. She lives nearby.’ Daniel stood. He held out a hand to help Reilly to her feet, keeping her hand in his for a moment longer, taking a last little bit of comfort before releasing it.
‘Will you let me come along? That’s if you don’t mind the company.’
He shook his head. ‘You just got here . . . you’re still jet-lagged, to say nothing about the fact that you’re supposed to be on vacation . . .’
Reilly shook out her legs. Her muscles were still stiff but the beer had helped. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ve been sitting around on my ass for over a week now. It’ll give me something to do. And you’ll need moral support.’
‘OK, if you really don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.’ He nodded tiredly but then took a deep breath and she saw his features settle into what Reilly had always thought of as his scary face. She’d seen it a few times with a handful of cases, the ones that really got to him. And she’d once seen that same look reduce a six-foot-four, 250-pound drug dealer to tears. ‘I guess I could do with some moral support.’
Reilly stood up with purpose, jet lag already fading into the distance, and wondered why she managed to smack face-first into death and violence everywhere she went. It was almost as if it sought her out.
Throwing one last longing look at the beach, she followed Daniel out to the front of the house to where his Chrysler SUV was parked in the driveway; the cicadas sounded louder than usual in the now eerily still night.
So much for a vacation.
CHAPTER 4
Back at the CSI lab in Tampa, Todd could feel Bradley watching him. Not directly of course; but his partner was a master of the sideways glance.
From the moment he’d revealed his relationship to the victim, Todd knew he was going to have to tread lightly. With their forensic toxicologist on vacation, and the usual fallback field technician on maternity leave, the unit was short-staffed enough that Bradley had said he wasn’t going to take Todd off the case unless it became necessary. Translation: keep it together, professional and by the book, or sit this one out.
At the crime scene itself, that had been harder.
Bradley had directed Todd to concentrate on the vehicle, the ‘driver’ and the surrounding area, but every once in a while, Todd had caught a glimpse of blood-stained blond hair waving in the breeze and it had hit him like a punch to the stomach.
Holly was gone. He’d fought back the new flood of emotion and continued with his work. In a way, the familiar monotony of cataloging evidence had helped keep him from losing his composure . . . again.
Now in the lab, it was easier to just think of the victims as evidence and not by name. There had been a crime and it was his job to process the evidence, point the detectives in the right direction and give them what they needed to convict the killer.
‘We’ve got an ID on the male vic,’ Dr Owen Kase announced as he entered the lab. In his late thirties, he’d been the chief medical examiner in Tampa for six years and was good at his job. He was also a complete ass, but if the good doctor could help figure out who did this, Todd vowed he’d never say another word against him.
Both Bradley and Todd looked up from their workstations and waited. After an unnecessarily dramatic pause, the doctor continued. ‘Aaron Overton, age twenty-one. Prints in the system from a drunk and disorderly a couple of years ago.’
Aaron. The new guy Holly had said she was dating. The one she’d gushed over the phone about for twenty minutes the last time they’d spoken. Todd swallowed hard. He’d suspected as much, but to hear that the person Holly had loved had been the one who had – intentionally or not – killed her made him sick.
‘You could’ve just sent Matthew over with that.’ Bradley crossed his arms over his chest, uncharacteristic impatience tingeing his voice. Usually only the doctor could ruffle the normally cool investigator. ‘What else?’
Dr Kase grinned and Todd clenched his hands, fighting back the urge to mess up the doctor’s chiseled jaw. Though punching the medical examiner wasn’t exactly keeping it together. Besides, no one but Bradley knew of Todd’s personal connection to the case and it needed to stay that way.
‘Toxicology came back. It seems our killer used chloroform to incapacitate both victims.’ He handed Bradley a folder. ‘I found traces of the compound around both victims’ noses and mouths. What’s more interesting, however, is what I got inside the mouth and trachea.’
Todd’s fists loosened. So he really did find something.
‘Cotton.’
‘Cotton?’ Bradley repeated.
‘Specifically, brightly colored cotton fibers soaked with chloroform.’ The ME sounded smug. ‘My guess is . . .’
‘Beach towel,’ Todd cut him off and ignored the resulting glare. ‘No one would think twice about a guy walking along the beaches with a damp beach towel.’
‘Right.’ Owen’s tone was petulant at having his moment of glory stolen. ‘Anyway, both bodies had traces of saltwater in the hair, indicating that they’d both been in the ocean a few hours before their death. The female victim’s body was covered with debris and sand, which was to be expected given the manner of her death and being dragged along the ground. What was unusual, seeing as he was inside the car, was that the male was also covered with similar amounts of sand and some of the same debris. I gave the particulates to Emilie to analyze.’
Emilie Ryan was the newest member of the team. At twenty-four, she was actually the youngest lab technician in Tampa’s CSI history. She was also the most cheerful person Todd had ever met. Even when she passed by a table full of gruesome crime scene pictures, her wide smile never faltered. Granted, she never really studied them in close detail, but in this line of work it was still rare to find someone with such a positive outlook on life. Though he guessed that over time, that would change.
She only occasionally went out into the field depending on the workload, and had only been with them a few months; another reason why Todd didn’t want to be forced to take a back seat during this investigation.
‘Thank you, Dr Kase,’ Bradley said, opening the folder and scanning the contents. ‘I’ll pass this information along to the detectives. Let us know if you find anything else.’
‘They must’ve been moved,’ Todd mused, when the ME had left. Bradley looked at him and he explained. ‘Th
e victims, I mean, after he overpowered them with the chloroform.’ He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. ‘The nearest stretch of beach was way too rough for swimming.’
‘Maybe they walked?’ Bradley pulled up a map on his laptop and sent the image to the large Powerpoint projector screen at one end of the lab.
‘Well, here’s where they were found.’ Todd pointed at the map. He trailed his finger down the long stretch of coast before coming to rest at a spot several miles away. ‘And here’s the closest point they could’ve gone into the water.’
‘With that type of terrain, they wouldn’t have walked any further than a dozen yards before giving up,’ Bradley said. He reached for his phone, understanding the point Todd was making. ‘We’ve only got a secondary crime scene.’
While Bradley made the call to the investigative team, Todd turned his attention away from the map and back to the duct tape he’d been examining.
As expected, hair and skin trace decorated the inside of the tape, some dotted with blood. He took a couple of samples to type, but only because it was standard procedure. The chances of the DNA not matching the victims were nearly non-existent. When they caught the guy, though, they would need to make sure all i’s were dotted and t’s crossed.
Once he’d processed the tape, he moved on to the next evidence bag.
The keys had been taped into the ignition with the same type of duct tape. There were two keys on a plain metal ring, one for the truck and one so far unidentified. Todd turned both keys over in his gloved hands, eyes narrowed as he searched for anything noteworthy. Nothing. He heard Bradley come up behind him as he slid the keys under his microscope. Maybe there was a partial of some kind to be found . . .
‘Anything new?’ he asked as he made the necessary adjustments to his equipment.
‘Reed said that the truck had been reported stolen from the Westfield Mall parking lot this morning,’ Bradley said, referring to the detective.
‘And they’re sure the owner’s not in on this?’ Todd cut in. ‘Could be lying just to throw us off.’
‘Todd.’ Bradley’s tone made Todd look up. ‘The guys know how to do their job.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘Besides, the owner is a 72-year-old half-deaf widow named Beatrice Cowen who reportedly fell asleep twice while Reed and Sampson were interviewing her.’
Todd reluctantly conceded that the detectives had called it right and returned to his examination of the keys. ‘The widow happen to mention what the other key is for?’
‘Her house,’ Bradley said as he walked over to the center table where they’d put the remainder of the unprocessed evidence.
‘Well, no prints or partials on either the duct tape or the keys,’ Todd announced dully. ‘The perp was either wearing gloves or wiped everything down.’
‘My guess is the wipe down, at least for everything he would’ve needed at the abduction site.’ Bradley picked up a soil sample. ‘A guy with a beach towel may not be out of place on a beach, but a guy with gloves definitely would be.’ He looked at the vial in his hand. ‘Emilie,’ he called out to the other side of the lab. ‘Dr Kase gave you the samples from the bodies earlier?’
‘Yes,’ the younger lab tech replied.
‘Can you compare the sand found on the bodies to the sand in this vial?’ Bradley asked. ‘See if it’s from the same place.’
Todd found it funny that his superior still asked for things. Bradley had been the senior investigator for six years and still talked to the other team members as if they were all equal. At first, Todd had assumed the habit would fade, especially once people started taking advantage of Bradley’s good nature. To his surprise, it hadn’t happened and he continued to run the team with a quiet, polite authority that made coming to work, while not enjoyable due to the nature of the work itself, far less stressful.
‘Of course.’ Emilie took the vial.
‘And thank you for agreeing to stay late to work through some of the evidence,’ Bradley said as Emilie walked away.
Then she turned, her expression suddenly somber, the expression seeming out of place on her typically cheery face. ‘Of course,’ she repeated – her catchphrase of choice, Todd noted. ‘We need to find the psycho who did this, and soon.’
‘Dramatic much?’ Bradley smiled at the tiny redhead as she returned to her work area.
‘Problem is, I think she could be right,’ Todd replied, looking thoughtful. ‘Unless we find out that Hol – the victim – had some jilted lover or other enemy, something this fucked up is looking like the work of some psychopath.’
‘Well, we should try not to make any assumptions for the moment,’ Bradley warned as the doors to the lab opened and one of the interns entered with another evidence box. ‘You know what they say about making assumptions.’
CHAPTER 5
As Reilly stood with Daniel on the doorstep of a little white Cape Cod-style house in downtown Clearwater, she was starting to regret her decision to tag along.
Not that she didn’t want to support him with the unenviable task he had ahead; it was just that one of the reasons she’d chosen to go into forensics rather than profiling was because of the lack of interaction with the victims’ families, and confrontation of the damage evil left behind. Daniel had always claimed that she’d had a knack for people, and maybe she did, but it didn’t automatically make her want to be around them more. Give her things to test and measure and examine. Leave the feelings and emotions to everyone else.
Which made her think of something.
‘Tell you what,’ she said to him on the drive across the gorgeously scenic intercoastal waterway bridge, which connected the smaller Clearwater Beach area to downtown Clearwater via a wide waterway teeming with wildlife. As they crossed, pelicans, egrets and seagulls flew all around them, occasionally diving in and out of the water below. ‘Why don’t I take a look around while you talk to the mother? See if anything stands out.’ According to Daniel, the murdered girl had still been living at her mother’s house.
Daniel’s wry expression betrayed that he’d expected or anticipated this, before Reilly had even thought to suggest it. ‘Exactly the reason I let you come along. I got Todd to hold off for the same reason. We need to get a handle on this before the locals come in and mess it up.’
She frowned. ‘You don’t trust your own son?’
‘Of course I do – just not some of the idiots working with him.’ But Reilly figured this was less of a reflection of the Tampa PD and more an indication of Daniel’s control freak tendencies. She should have guessed that when it came to something this personal, he’d want to get his own angle on it.
‘I’m sure the investigative team will do everything they can to—’
‘I’m on retainer with the department, Reilly; I know these guys all too well. The detectives are competent, yes, but completely overworked and won’t be able to give this their full attention even if they want to.’ He pulled up outside a small but well-tended home which Reilly assumed belonged to Holly’s mother.
‘Daniel . . .’ The woman who answered the door was taller than Reilly’s own five-foot-five, but just barely. Mrs Young had big blue eyes that took in the expression on Daniel’s face, and instantly revealed that this wasn’t the first time she had opened her door to bad news. ‘Come in.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper and she seemed to shrink back into herself as she led them toward the living room.
The house was tidy and old-fashioned. The same pale blue wallpaper that had lined the hallway continued into the living room, accented by darker curtains. The furniture was old but well cared for. The walls were decorated with pictures, nearly all of a pretty blond girl at various ages. Reilly didn’t need a psychological background to tell her that this woman doted on her beloved daughter Holly.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Mrs Young asked, after Daniel had made introductions, referring to Reilly as his ‘associate’. If the woman was wondering about Reilly’s floral-patterned sundress and flip-flops as h
er choice of professional attire, she didn’t show it, but Reilly cursed herself for not changing into something a little more formal beforehand.
Mrs Young’s hands fluttered anxiously and she almost seemed to be stalling, as if she could somehow change whatever the news was by delaying it.
Daniel shook his head as he settled on the couch. Reilly sat next to him, unease churning in her stomach. She didn’t know this woman. She didn’t belong here. This wasn’t a place for strangers. But she kept her mouth shut and controlled the urge to bolt. This wasn’t about her. This was about helping Daniel find out if there was anything in the house that might provide some answers as to why Holly Young had been murdered.
‘Alice . . .’ Daniel hesitated, searching for the words.
Mrs Young seemed to make a decision. ‘Just tell me,’ she said, visibly bracing herself.
‘The police found Holly’s body a few hours ago.’ He said it as gently as possible, but Reilly knew there was no way to soften this sort of blow.
‘Oh my God . . . how?’ She seemed to collapse in upon herself and crossed her arms over her chest, as if literally trying to hold herself together. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m so sorry, Alice.’ Daniel reached out and put a hand on the woman’s knee. ‘I don’t know the full details yet, but it seems that she was murdered.’
‘Oh, dear God.’ The words seemed to break down the last of the woman’s defenses and she crumpled.
Daniel moved from his seat to gather the sobbing woman into his arms. He looked over her head at Reilly and motioned toward the hallway. She immediately understood and hurried out, eager to be away from the rawness of a mother’s anguish. She glanced in the first two doorways and found a bathroom and the mother’s room. The last door on the left had obviously belonged to the victim.
