The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4)

by Hill, Casey

  He set the black hat on the dark-haired girl’s head and straightened her dress. He’d never understood why this movie had been such a hit with families. Personally, it had given him nightmares for weeks. He still couldn’t watch it. Even the songs made him cringe. The sequel had been even worse. And the stage play? He shivered and then scowled.

  Time to get this done.

  ‘Wake up.’ He grabbed the girl’s arm. If he was being truthful this death scene was less about art and more about overcoming childhood fears. Then again, weren’t most movies just writers, actors and directors working out their own various issues?

  Her eyes widened when she saw him approach and she screamed, the sound muffled by the gag in her mouth. He’d take that out in a minute, once he gave her the stage directions.

  ‘In a moment,’ he murmured, pitching his voice low, ‘I’m going to take out the gag and let go of your arm. If you scream, if you try to run, I’m going to use this on you.’ He pushed back his jacket to reveal the cattle prod. Part of him kind of hoped she would try to run. ‘I’m not going to ask you to undress or touch you at all. I just want you to stand right there and don’t run. Do you understand?’

  She nodded frantically and his grip on her arm loosened. He pulled her to her feet and waited to see if she’d try to break away. When she didn’t, he released her arm and reached behind her to untie her gag. As he pulled away the tie, she whimpered, but didn’t scream. He held up the make-up wedge. ‘I have to finish this first.’

  As he covered the last of her face with the stage make-up, he wished all actors were this compliant. Her entire body was trembling but she never tried to run, didn’t complain as he tilted her head this way and that.

  Yep, definitely a fighter.

  It was a pity he wouldn’t be able to use her again.

  He took a step back and paused, his hand ready to draw if she tried to escape. She didn’t move, just stood where he’d left her, bottom lip trembling, tears coursing down her cheeks. When he reached his spot behind the camera, he pulled on a pair of gloves and bent to pick up his bucket.

  The expression on her face said she thought she knew what was coming. One couldn’t exactly be dressed as she was and not expect to get liquid thrown at her face. She didn’t realize that it wasn’t water until it hit her and she screamed.

  Her hands went to her face as the acid melted the green make-up alongside her flesh. He couldn’t help but grin as then, with no prompting from him, she screamed. A tortured, helpless screech; brilliantly theatrical in its delivery. Not too unlike the actual one from the movie.

  He watched her crumple heavily to the ground and smiled.

  One less childhood nightmare to worry about.

  CHAPTER 22

  Back at the lab, Todd realized he’d been staring at the wall for nearly twenty minutes. He and Bradley hadn’t spoken for the entire ride back from the crime scene.

  As soon as they’d arrived, he’d hurried to the bathroom and relieved his churning stomach of what little he’d eaten that day. He was fairly sure that Bradley had done the same. Even if he hadn’t, he accepted the ginger ale Todd had purchased from the vending machine and started drinking it almost right away.

  No one else had been in the lab when they’d come in but that hadn’t been surprising. The only cars that had still been in the parking lot were theirs and Emilie’s. Everyone else had finished for the day.

  ‘Go home.’ Emilie’s voice drew both Todd and Bradley’s attention. He turned toward the younger technician.

  ‘What?’ Todd was startled.

  ‘I don’t know what was at that crime scene, and I don’t want to know.’ Her voice was firm. ‘But you look like hell. Get out of here. Do whatever you need to do to relax – go get a beer, whatever, and we’ll tackle the evidence tomorrow.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Todd saw Bradley nodding. ‘She’s right, Todd. You should start again tomorrow, with a clear head. It’s been a shitty day.’

  But Todd didn’t want a beer, and he certainly didn’t want to go home to his empty apartment. After what he’d been through that day, he wanted – needed – to spend time around people he cared about.

  Saying a reluctant goodbye to his workmates, he got in the battered Mustang and drove in the direction of Clearwater Beach.

  Reilly drew her arms tightly around her shoulders, even though the chill she felt had nothing to do with the temperature. The memorial service and subsequent visit to the cemetery had brought too many memories back to the surface and she knew she’d been unusually quiet afterward.

  Todd had arrived shortly after dinner, looking tired and defeated – and Reilly, still feeling slightly uncomfortable after their dinner last night, had exchanged pleasantries before the awkwardness got to be too much and she’d excused herself to the guest room.

  She’d showered and tried to sleep. Her body had been – and still was – exhausted, but her mind hadn’t stopped racing. No matter how hard she’d tried to sleep, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking that there had to be something more she could do to help track down the movie-maker and even more bodies piling up. The guy seemed relentless, she thought, recalling Todd’s account of the callous brutality of the latest murder with the arrows, and that awful scene from American History X.

  Given this, she considered the possibility that there might be some kind of racial supremacist message behind the perp’s actions, but seeing as he’d been indiscriminate with his victims up to then, and they’d found no link between any of them, this was probably a long shot. With the kind of movies chosen, the sick bastard didn’t seem to be sending any particular message other than he considered himself to be some kind of ‘artist’.

  After nearly an hour, she’d given up on the sleep idea and reached for her laptop.

  Now, at midnight, she was deep into the world of online snuff sites, not exactly the kind of thing that Hollywood dreams were made of. She’d seen a lot of messed-up things in her time, but her opinion of humankind was slipping ever further downhill as she dredged through fantasies that turned her stomach. Now she was sure she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Or eat anything for the next week.

  She clicked on another link, this one promising the ‘long-awaited completion of one of the greatest horror scenes of all time’. As it started, she glanced at the title. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Another one of her roommate’s favorites. She remembered now why they hadn’t been roommates for very long.

  The moment she saw the cut, her heart started pounding. She’d found another one. And, as she watched, something else about this film caught her eye. She grabbed her phone and was dialing Todd’s cellphone number before she realized the time. Was he still here at the house or had he travelled back to Tampa to spend the night?

  ‘Reilly . . .’ Todd’s voice held a note of concern, but no sleep. ‘I’m just down the hallway. What’s going on?’

  ‘Meet you downstairs in five.’

  Throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, she tiptoed down the wooden staircase, hoping not to wake Daniel. Two insomniacs in one house were enough.

  Todd was already waiting, clad in a white shirt and boxers.

  ‘Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?’ she asked, without preamble.

  He swore, immediately understanding.

  ‘I just found a spliced clip from it,’ she said.

  ‘So we’re looking for a lot of small body parts this time?’ Todd sounded as if he were going to be sick.

  Reilly didn’t blame him, but bypassed any comment. While he’d made an important point, there was something else about the finding that directly affected the investigation. ‘Those skin cells you found on the gloves from before, didn’t you say that Emilie pointed out that there was something wrong with them?’

  ‘Well, they were old, she said. Not as in the person they originated from was old, more like they’d degenerated over time.’ Todd’s voice held the question he didn’t ask.

  Reilly’s tone was
grim. ‘In the movie, the killer—’

  He finished the thought, his voice full of unashamed horror. ‘He wears a mask made of human skin.’

  ‘In just a short period of time, he’s moved from setting up the scenes to being an active participant.’ Reilly wrapped her free arm around her bare knees and hugged them to her chest, feeling a sudden chill despite the Florida heat. ‘I don’t think these were his first murders, but they were the first he’d filmed directly carrying out the killings, and I think he likes being in front of the camera. He’s escalating, Todd.’

  ‘So what’s his end game?’

  She shook her head, her gaze staring at distant shadows in the darkness. ‘I don’t know, but it can’t be good.’

  CHAPTER 23

  He entered the storage unit and pulled down the door behind him. Then strode across the narrow space to where his prized acquisition was sitting, and wrinkled his nose as he grew closer.

  The man’s fear hung in the air, far fouler than the inevitable waste that came with being kept in an enclosed space for a few days. For someone who had created some of the most memorably horrific scenes ever to grace the big screen, Drew Sheldon didn’t seem to have much fortitude.

  ‘Are you finding the accommodation more to your liking now that you’ve realized I’m not going to kill you?’ He sat on the room’s lone chair and faced the middle-aged man on the cot. ‘Though, I must say, Mr Sheldon, you’re looking a bit the worse for wear. I know this isn’t exactly the Hilton, but I did provide you with a bucket of water, soap and clean clothes.’ His gaze ran over the unkempt creature whose own daughter probably wouldn’t have recognized him. ‘Have some respect for yourself.’

  Sheldon glared back at him. The writer’s dark eyes were bloodshot, his gray hair matted with dirt. His clothes were filthy, half of his nails ragged and broken.

  He had expected a slew of questions when he’d arrived. An attack wasn’t possible thanks to the thick chain he had purchased at a local hardware store, but an attempt wouldn’t have been out of the question.

  He’d considered not using a chain, but he had to be sure Sheldon wouldn’t escape.

  The writer was essential to the plan.

  He felt bad that Sheldon’s ankle would be raw by the time they were done, but the only other option that had come to mind involved a piece of wood and a sledgehammer. He had opted for the less violent solution. Although, the irony of hobbling a man named Sheldon did appeal to his dramatic side. He’d always been a big fan of the work of Stephen King.

  Drew Sheldon didn’t say a word. In fact, he looked a bit petulant, which amused though didn’t surprise him. Most big-wigs in Hollywood considered themselves so important that they would react to a situation like this with a sullen, narcissistic mentality. Oh well, small talk wasn’t necessary, just polite.

  Time to move on.

  They had a lot to do and it was only a matter of time before either the detectives or that profiler guy and his blond sidekick he’d seen at the hotel started connecting the murders to the missing writer.

  Amazing it was taking them so long, actually. Then again, was it really that much of a surprise? He knew how easily the ball was dropped when personnel were scarce and resources were stretched. Happened in the movie business all the time. ‘Since you don’t seem interested in chatting, I’ll just cut straight to the point.’ He crossed his legs and got comfortable. ‘I’ve brought you here to write me a script – an original screenplay.’

  Sheldon’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Whatever the writer had been expecting, a job wasn’t it. His voice was shaky, but his words were defiant. ‘Like hell I will.’

  He grinned, glad Sheldon was regaining some of his feistiness. The writer was petrified – and who wouldn’t be – but at least this attempt at strength meant this was going to work. If Sheldon had been too scared, his writing would suck. After all, it would be difficult for him to come up with a brilliant script while pissing his pants.

  ‘We’ll come back to that then,’ he said with a wave of his hand, dismissing Sheldon’s words. ‘Let me show you some of my previous work; let you get an idea of what I can do.’

  He could barely contain his excitement as he fixed his flash-drive into the tablet he’d purchased just for this purpose. He’d been dying to show someone his work all at once. He hadn’t gotten to watch a reaction to any of his films in the flesh, though he had enjoyed reading the comments online, validating what he already knew: the fact that he was more than capable of creating what an audience wanted.

  He laughed every time he thought of the cops’ tech people desperately trying to take down his clips, only to have them pop back up again in just a few hours.

  ‘Take a look at this.’ He started the first video and watched Sheldon’s face with eager anticipation.

  Ten minutes later, he was stepping back, disgusted, as Sheldon dry-heaved into the bucket that had been serving as his toilet. He scowled. Maybe Drew Sheldon had been a mistake. Apparently, he couldn’t appreciate art.

  ‘If these aren’t to your liking,’ he said, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice, ‘perhaps my next one might better suit your fine palate.’

  He started walking toward the door. ‘Until then, I’ll just let my new improved movies play. Keep in mind, sir, that you only have two choices: writing my script or watching that pretty daughter of yours star in one of my masterpieces.

  ‘And I guarantee you,’ he added ominously, ‘my stunt people don’t survive.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Reilly shoved herself back from her computer and grabbed the coffee Daniel had just dropped by her desk.

  They’d been at the office in Clearwater since the early hours, trying to make sense of the mounting evidence gathered from the increasingly prolific movie-maker’s crime scenes. It was now late afternoon and Reilly was just beginning to flag, when she’d hit on something related to what she’d discovered last night.

  ‘Found a lead on the Texas Chainsaw thing?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Yes, but you’re not going to believe from where.’ Reilly stood up and crossed to the printer, grabbing the sheaf of paper that she’d just run off. ‘We’ll need verification from the locals, but I found this article.’ She handed the document to Daniel.

  ‘California?’ He took the printout and quickly skimmed through it.

  Reilly nodded, explaining even as Daniel read. ‘Several body parts were found in a landfill in Southern California, not enough to make an entire body, but the coroner said they looked like they could be from up to four different victims. And judging by what they did find, most likely homeless. Cut marks to the bones indicated that the victims were dismembered by chainsaw.’

  ‘So our man started in California and ended up here?’ Daniel nodded sagely as he came to the same conclusion Reilly had when she’d seen the location.

  ‘The film festival again,’ she said. ‘It has to be connected, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Perhaps these murders and the kidnapping are connected by more than just film. Maybe Drew Sheldon was tired of being just a screenwriter and wanted to move behind the camera?’

  ‘And maybe he wasn’t kidnapped at all,’ Reilly said, her mind racing. ‘Maybe he just wants the authorities to think that someone took him, as cover for when he’s out making his own movies.’

  ‘Could be,’ Daniel said. ‘But that’s a lot of maybes.’

  ‘You don’t agree?’ she said, frowning.

  Daniel was typically circumspect. ‘I just have a hard time believing that a man would bring his own daughter to the same place he plans to go on a killing spree. I agree that it’s increasingly possible someone at the film festival is involved, perhaps practicing on home turf and then going public here.’

  ‘Either way, it’s a good lead.’

  ‘What’s a good lead?’ Todd entered as Reilly spoke. He looked tired and she guessed that the brutality of the latest murder was taking its toll on him. ‘It better be something because this asshole’
s getting too cocky for my liking. He sent an email to the department this morning, “explaining” that the archery thing was a botched attempt. A botched attempt? A kid ended up speared to a bed, for Chrissakes!’ He put a hand through his hair.

  ‘Sit down, son.’ Todd complied and Daniel handed him a cup of freshly made coffee.

  Then he read through the email the killer had sent, uttering four short sentences aloud.

  ‘I have proven my skills in the area of gratuitous violence and now show that I can match the greatest of film-makers. Fans of the genre have acknowledged my superiority and have asked for more. Until the demand for my work disappears, I will continue to provide society with what they want. As other artists have not fulfilled society’s needs, I will do so proudly.’

  Daniel considered the words, both the stated meaning and the one hidden, the subconscious meaning of what the killer was saying, Reilly knew.

  ‘He’s narcissistic,’ he stated. ‘Most likely has been involved in the artistic community or has been shunned by it, either for poor work or inferior quality. He sees himself as an ostracized creative, misunderstood by those around him, and he’s using these murders as the way to prove to the world that they were wrong about him.’

  ‘Hell of a way to prove a point,’ Todd muttered. Then he asked Reilly about what she’d found.

  She indicated the laptop on the desk. ‘Based on what we learned last night – the possible Texas Chainsaw connection – I’ve been searching for unsolved murders where skin was missing from victims,’ she explained quickly. ‘I couldn’t find anything in Florida that fit. So I expanded the search to include news articles from other states. I figured if there was something that strange, it’d make the papers. And I was right. I got a hit in Southern California. Your dad and I were thinking it more and more likely that our killer is someone from the film festival, and not just because of the timing. If the detectives question—’