The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4)

by Hill, Casey

  Todd held up his hand. ‘I’ve already passed the information along about the skin to Detective Reed, but I think we need to keep this particular discovery quiet for now.’ He glanced at his father, who looked thoughtful. ‘The California connection, I mean.’

  ‘Why?’ Reilly looked from Todd to Daniel and back again, confused. She was missing something.

  ‘Because once a murderer crosses state lines, the Feds get involved,’ Daniel reminded her. ‘They’ll come in and take over.’

  ‘But that means more resources, surely?’ Reilly still didn’t understand. The Tampa PD already had too much work and not enough people to do it. How could bringing in outside help be a bad thing?

  ‘It’s been too long since you’ve worked in the States,’ Todd said. ‘The Bureau doesn’t play well with the locals, and Reed and Sampson will freak.’

  ‘Todd . . . for goodness’ sake . . .’ Reilly tried to reason with him.

  ‘I want us to nail this guy.’ His voice was hard. ‘I don’t want some gorilla Fed coming in and screwing everything up.’ He looked at his father. ‘No disrespect intended.’

  Daniel put his hands up. ‘None taken, I know how it works,’ he said. ‘And I also know that if the Feds do come in, it means we’re all well and truly out.’ He looked at Reilly. ‘In this situation I agree with Todd. We promised Alice we’d take this guy down.’

  Reilly opened her mouth to argue; then shut it again. She could understand their point of view to some degree. If being part of the team that caught Holly’s killer would alleviate some of Todd and Daniel’s helplessness, then she couldn’t blame them. And as long as they were making progress, and unless she saw any evidence of the investigation being compromised, she’d just do her job and leave the interdepartmental relations to Todd. It wasn’t like it was her call in any case; she was a guest here.

  And she’d never cared much for politics anyway.

  Later that evening at the beach house, she and Daniel sat in silence through two television shows that she wasn’t familiar with, and didn’t even try to follow.

  She barely noticed when Daniel said he was going to bed; her attention only returned when the news announced it would be headlining a story about the recent murders. ‘Leading news tonight – as it has been for the past week – the killer a self-confessed movie maestro has claimed another victim. Little is known other than that the victim was a male African American and was discovered outside a half-finished housing complex near Hillsborough Avenue.’

  ‘Maestro …they gave him a goddamn nickname . . .’ Reilly shook her head, exasperated. ‘And in related news,’ the newscaster continued, ‘an unnamed source at the TPD has confirmed that the killer sent an email, unsigned, to the department earlier today.’

  She sat up straight and sighed, wondering where this supposed confidential information had come from, even though leaks were unfortunately rife in police enforcement all over the world.

  The late-night newscaster’s voice was smug, as if he had personally tracked down the killer and extracted an interview. ‘In the email, the killer talks about another recent victim – an as of yet unidentified woman found in an abandoned house on the city’s south side. He explains that the victim had been targeted merely for rehearsal of a particularly difficult scene. The movie maestro apologizes for, quote, “taking a life without producing a piece of quality work” and signs off by promising that his next re-enactment will be unforgettable.’

  Unforgettable for all the wrong reasons, Reilly thought darkly.

  The news bulletin continued. ‘No word from our DA or local authorities as to how close they are to an arrest.’

  ‘Because they really want you to announce it to everyone, including the killer, that they’re closing in,’ She glowered at the newsreader, thankful Daniel had already gone to bed and hadn’t heard her talking to herself.

  ‘In other news,’ the reporter went on, ‘there have been rumors that Hollywood screenwriter Drew Sheldon, scheduled to be in town for the Tampa Film Festival, is not, as authorities have led us to believe, absent from the line-up but has in fact been kidnapped. With the alley next to the Millennium Hotel reportedly cordoned off as a crime scene, one can speculate that it was from this point that Sheldon was taken. Between the recent rash of murders and Mr Sheldon’s disappearance, citizens of the Tampa Bay Area can only wonder just what our law enforcement authorities are doing with their time. No one from the department has been available to take our questions.’

  ‘That’s because they’re all out doing their goddamn jobs.’ Reilly scowled and reached for the remote. Jeez, media really was the same all over the world.

  No one wanted to catch this bastard more than Todd and Daniel though. She stood up, deciding to try and get some shuteye. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep, but she was going to try.

  If they were going to catch this guy, they all needed to be at the top of their game.

  CHAPTER 24

  Maestro. It just had a certain ring to it. Son of Sam, Jack the Ripper, Hollywood Maestro. It could work. A chosen few knew his industry moniker, of course, though none of them knew his real name.

  He was an artist, not an idiot.

  And speaking of art, he needed to decide on something for his next creation.

  After his last reenactment had gone so well, he’d briefly considered purchasing a clown suit and taking a machete to it, but that wouldn’t work because he wasn’t supposed to be mixing genres or creating entirely new scenes with iconic characters.

  Unfortunately, that meant that addressing his adolescent fear of clowns would need to wait. He would do it though. Clowns and then that stupid Jabberwocky that had caused him to sleep with a nightlight for six months.

  He’d then considered going a bit more old-school to make a lasting impression. One of the off-screen death scenes that had always niggled at him was from a source that probably would’ve surprised most people.

  This killer had taken out hundreds, maybe even thousands, of innocent victims, all of whom died off-screen. Once he really thought about it though, he realized that using the Angel of Death from The Ten Commandments was probably a bad idea.

  First of all, he had no idea where he’d get so many kids at such short notice, and the idea of killing a bunch of infants did turn his stomach, even if it was for artistic reasons.

  But the deciding factor was a bit simpler than that. The resulting outcry from completing such a film would completely overshadow what he was trying to do. Aside from all of the people who’d label him a monster for killing kids, every right-wing kook in the country would start on a religious rant. That was the last thing he needed.

  No, the Maestro wanted to be appreciated, not reviled.

  So he moved on.

  He was still saving a couple of options until he had the perfect casting, but maybe he could dip into Se7en. He was fairly sure he could find a pregnant blond and the right-sized box, but without the reactions of the other characters, it just didn’t have the same impact. He could’ve been chopping the head off of any blond. The significance would be lost.

  Although, beheading did sound like a good idea. Censored films always did them the very same way: the victim, the cut away to the executioner and the fall of the axe, the roll of the head. Such a cop-out. And these days, with special effects taking the place of stunts and the abundance of vampires and zombies, decapitation was as common on screen as gun shots.

  All this meant was that he shouldn’t use just any old beheading. He needed something special. Something memorable.

  Two movies popped into his head simultaneously. One male victim, one female. Both with deaths unique enough that, with the right costume and set-up, they couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what they were.

  The latter would be a perfect sign-off piece before he began his own work with Sheldon. What better way to usher in a new era than to recreate the deaths of two characters based on real-life people, and use two iconic films to do it?

&
nbsp; The Maestro smiled. The setup for this one needed to be just right for both parts, but it was going to be well worth it when he was done.

  Now, he had one other thing to do before he could call it a night.

  He’d never considered himself a particularly articulate man. He tried, of course, but most of the time he thought he sounded stilted, pretentious even.

  It didn’t help that he was so much smarter than the people around him. It was difficult to put so much brilliance into words. As a result, he generally found himself rewriting his letters several times until they were letter perfect – no pun intended.

  He reread the second draft of his new missive with a critical eye. It was always hard to find the right balance of soul-baring without giving away his true identity.

  ‘What makes a particular film or scene stand out? Is it the writing, the directing, the acting? If popularity is the basis of judgment, it would seem that the audiences choose the most gratuitous, disgusting, shocking piece of filth possible and tell all of their equally unsophisticated friends . . .’

  The Maestro stopped. He probably should rethink the accusing tone.

  He wanted to bring the public to his side, not alienate them.

  Besides, he had to admit that making movies was much more fun than he’d originally thought it would be.

  ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink,’ Bradley announced as he put aside the arrow he’d been examining. Two sets of surprised eyes turned his way. ‘Look, we’ve been working our asses off for the last week and more. And I know I’m not the only one who could do with a bit of a break.’

  ‘Do you really think now is the best time to drop everything and go get drunk?’ The edge to Todd’s voice was sharp.

  ‘Todd,’ Emilie began, putting a gentle hand on his arm. ‘I don’t think that’s what Bradley was saying. And he’s right. You’re going to burn out if you try to keep going like this.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting we all go out and get wasted.’ Bradley’s voice softened. ‘I’m just saying that we’ve all been putting in insane hours this week. Let’s go out, have a drink and go home. Get some real sleep tonight, and come back focused and ready to keep working.’

  ‘All right,’ Todd reluctantly agreed. He put the most recent victim’s shirt back in its bag.

  They moved to a bar down the street often frequented by other law enforcement and by the time the team had ordered their second round of drinks, the tension had all but melted away. Even normally quiet Emilie had loosened up. Todd and Bradley listened with amusement as she shared a story about her first time counseling at summer camp when she’d been mistaken for a camper out past curfew.

  ‘So the security guard, looking very pleased with himself, escorts me in to see the camp director, who just happens to be my aunt.’ Emilie’s tale was interrupted when an overly intoxicated young man bumped into the table.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he slurred. His face broke into a large smile as he ran his eyes over Emilie. ‘You’re pretty.’ He put his hand on her shoulder.

  She shook it off, trying to be polite. ‘Thank you. Have a good night.’

  ‘I wanna have a good night with you,’ he continued, reaching for Emilie’s face.

  Long fingers clamped around the man’s wrist and Bradley yanked the young man away from Emilie. ‘I don’t believe the lady’s interested.’ His voice was firm.

  ‘And who’re you? Her father?’ The young man leered at Emilie. ‘Guess I shouldn’t tell you what I want to do—’

  The rest of the sentence was lost as Bradley’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. He shook his hand as the man tumbled to the floor.

  Todd raised an eyebrow, taken aback by this unusual display of violence. He looked from his partner to Emilie. Was there some kind of budding office romance going on here?

  ‘Dean,’ Bradley called out to the bartender. ‘You’ll want to get some guys over here to throw out the trash.’ When he turned, Emile was staring at him with some kind of wonder in her eyes. He shrugged and smiled. ‘I can’t stand men who don’t know how to treat a lady.’

  ‘And on that note,’ Todd said, glancing at his watch, deciding he wasn’t going to stand in the way of true love. ‘I should get going. I really like that idea about catching up on some sleep.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Bradley said. He picked up his coat and turned to the younger technician, leaving Todd in no doubt whatsoever that his suspicions were correct. ‘Want to split a cab, Emilie?’

  As they said goodbye and went their own way, Todd castigated himself for not having noticed his colleague’s growing closeness when it was right under his nose, though he guessed they were all working so hard he’d been focusing on little else but the investigation.

  Still, if he’d missed that, what else had he been missing lately? Was Reilly right about bringing in outside help and letting the FBI take over? Were he and Daniel too caught up in their own grief, too immersed in finding vengeance for Holly than being able to methodically examine the facts as they presented themselves. Or too pigheaded to accept anything other than their own theories? In short, was he really doing everything he could to find Holly’s killer?

  Not for the first time, Todd doubted his ability to see the wood for the trees.

  CHAPTER 25

  The slightly nasal voice of the nine o’clock newscaster in the background once again talking about the movie killings caught Reilly’s attention.

  ‘The recent spate of horrific murders remain unsolved, and as usual, neither the police nor the DA’s office have issued a statement, leaving many to wonder just how much actual work is being done to catch the killer. Or if the authorities are simply waiting for the Maestro to strike again.’

  She shook her head, exasperated. The perspiration on her skin was drying, leaving her feeling clammy and gritty. Definitely one of the things she hadn’t missed about the warmer climate. ‘You’d think the media would know better by now.’

  ‘I think it’s less about knowing better and more about just not caring.’ Daniel took a sip of his wine. ‘And about what they can get out of it in entertainment value rather than what’s right.’

  ‘Makes them not much better than the killer himself then, doesn’t it?’ Reilly commented darkly. The more tired she got, the loopier she became.

  ‘You know reporters just get pissy when the cops don’t tell all,’ he said, turning toward her.

  ‘I know,’ she muttered. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it. But . . .’ She looked up at Daniel as the thought struck her. ‘What you just said about caring more about what they can get out of it, rather than what’s right.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Todd.’ Reilly had been debating whether or not to tell Daniel about her concerns. ‘He’s putting himself under so much pressure to solve this case that I think he’s losing sight of the big picture. Like refusing to bring in outside help.’

  Daniel considered her statement for a moment before responding. ‘When Todd came to tell me that he wanted to go into the forensic field, it was said as a kind of challenge, like he expected me to try to warn him off, to tell him that he wasn’t going to be good enough for it. Since then I think every one of his achievements has been accomplished with a chip on his shoulder. He’s letting his grief over Holly turn into this need to fix things on his own.’

  ‘It’s not working though, is it? We need to do something.’

  ‘What you need to do right now is get some sleep.’ Daniel’s tone was amused. He stood up. ‘Let Todd work things out on his own. We can keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t cross any lines, but other than that, there’s nothing anyone can do. He’s a Forrest, after all.’

  ‘Meaning pigheaded to the last?’ Reilly raised a smile. ‘I’ll head for bed in a few minutes.’ As Daniel walked into the kitchen she tucked her feet up underneath her and closed her eyes, wanting to just rest up for a moment. When he came back, she’d get up and go to bed. The thought was still in her mi
nd as the darkness crept over her.

  It had all been a bad dream, Reilly realized, as she walked into her house. Her mom and sister were right there, laughing, talking, joking. She rushed forward, wanting nothing more than to put her arms around them both, hear them breathe, see them smile.

  Even as her skin touched theirs, she felt them start to cool under her touch. Despite this, she clung to them, knowing that if she pulled away, she would see the chalk-white flesh, the sightless eyes. If she didn’t look, then it hadn’t happened . . .

  Her eyelids were stone heavy, but she forced them open anyway. She had to stop that incessant buzzing alarm. Reilly sat up as her hand closed on her phone. She turned off the alarm and was halfway to the bathroom before she realized that she was still wearing the clothes from the night before. The best she could figure, as she climbed into the shower, was that she’d fallen asleep on the couch and Daniel had carried her to her room.

  The thought brought forward a memory. It was fuzzy, clouded by sleep and grief, but she knew it was true. After her mother’s funeral, after everyone else had gone home, back to their unbroken families, Reilly and her dad had sat up together on the couch until, finally, she had succumbed to her exhaustion. She’d only barely been aware of her father as he’d carried her to her room, but she’d never forgotten the feeling of being safe and loved.

  It had been that memory she’d clung to in the days afterward when Mike had abandoned the family, seeking solace in the bottle. No matter what happened, she always had the knowledge that he loved her.

  As she searched through the closet for something to wear today, her phone rang. She glanced down at the name and smiled.