by Hill, Casey
‘Chris, hi!’ Reilly switched to speakerphone. She was delighted to hear from him, but the cheeriness in her voice sounded forced even to her own ears. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the cobwebs.
‘Hello, stranger.’ Even though it wasn’t all that long since she’d last heard it, the Dublin accent sounded almost alien to her. ‘How’s the tan coming along?’
She smiled balefully. If only . . .
‘Hope I didn’t phone too early and wake you up or anything, but it’s lunchtime here—’
‘No, it’s fine, I was up,’ Reilly interjected. ‘How’s everything there?’
‘The same, up to our necks in it as usual. It’s not the same without you, though,’ he added fondly. ‘We all miss you, of course, but Kennedy in particular is bereft without you. Don’t think Gorman appreciates his particular brand of humor as well as yourself,’ he laughed, referring to Jack Gorman, the GFU colleague who was covering for Reilly throughout her enforced leave
She laughed, oddly touched to hear this. ‘Well, if he calls him “blondie” and makes Baywatch jokes about him too then I don’t blame him. Tell him I said hi.’
‘I will, of course. So while it’s always good to hear your voice,’ Chris went on, ‘there’s actually a reason I’m calling.’
‘I thought as much.’ Sounded like the lab had finally found something on the powder.
‘Well, you’d probably know more about this than I do, but seems the stuff on the table was antimony.’
Reilly’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’ Antimony (sulphide stibnite) was a metallic substance, produced mainly in China and used in alloying metal and tin. The initial jump her mind made regarding the metalloid was related to alloying used in fire retardants, and also for bullets and ball bearings. Though, trying to think about it from the perspective of the powdered form she had encountered, she recalled that in Egyptian times the component had been used in cosmetics as a form of eye make-up, and even today was still popular among Goths. The metallic form was harmless from what she could recall. But the stibnite component was extremely toxic.
Then Reilly thought about the violent vomiting episode she’d suffered at the hospital in the aftermath of her return to consciousness. Severe nausea inhibited absorption into the bloodstream, which is likely why the hospital had been unable to identify the compound in her blood.
‘What about the victim; is that what killed her?’ She thought back to the crime scene in Dublin where the victim had lay spread-eagled across the bed, hands bound, wrists raw from the struggle to free herself and/or the writhing to vomit. Her suspicions since had been that it was kinky sex mixed with drink and drugs gone wrong, whereupon the partner had gone running. The subsequent discovery of a hard to come by toxic material that no one in their right mind would take as a recreational drug put a different slant on it.
‘Karen Thompson believes that the girl didn’t specifically die from antimony poisoning, but it doesn’t mean she didn’t ingest the stuff – she had also been violently sick, remember?’ Chris said. ‘The extreme stress of being ill and bound may have just caused her respiratory system to shut down.’
‘Wow.’ Reilly ran a hand through her hair, not sure how to feel. ‘Did Julius – I presume it was Julius who ran the analysis – say anything else?’
‘It was Julius, yes, and only that he believed your blackout was the result of a strong nervous reaction to the stuff – we all know how well that nose of yours operates,’ Chris added lightly.
‘Not well enough this time,’ she muttered. ‘Well, thanks for letting me know. I hope the discovery gave you some kind of breakthrough in the case.’
‘Well, it’s something, but it’s mostly got O’Brien worrying that there’s someone going round out there trying to pass the stuff off as cocaine. Anyway, enough about work; how’s beach life? You must be getting bored of sitting around by now.’
‘Actually . . .’ Reilly quickly filled him in on the movie-maker investigation, or the Maestro, as the media now liked to call him.
Chris was incredulous. ‘You’re working a murder investigation – in Florida? But how?’ Then he got it. ‘Of course. Forrest.’ His tone was full of disapproval. ‘I can’t believe the guy dragged you into something like this when you’re supposed to be taking it easy. Christ almighty.’
‘It’s not like that.’ She explained how one of the killer’s first victims (that they knew of) had been a close friend of Daniel’s. ‘He asked for my help – how could I say no? You’d do the very same thing and you know it.’
‘I’m not so sure – sun, sea and sand sound pretty nice from where I’m standing. It’s lashing rain out again today; spring, my foot.’ Then Chris’s voice softened. ‘Look, I know what you’re like with things like this. A dog with a bone, as Kennedy says. Just try and keep your involvement as low-key as possible, OK? We want to see you back in one piece here very soon.’ Then he paused. ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
Reilly’s insides tightened. A week ago it would have been an easier question to answer, but now she wasn’t so sure.
She laughed, trying to make her voice sound light. ‘Sure I am, unless of course O’Brien decides I’m more trouble than I’m worth.’
Chris’s voice was warm in return. ‘Reilly, I think we all decided that a long time ago, but we still want to keep you.’ The words touched her more than she could imagine and she actually felt herself bite back tears. It had felt like a very long time since she and Chris had shared such an easy, comfortable conversation. ‘Listen, I’d better go,’ he said then, getting ready to end the call. ‘Stay safe and hurry back.’
‘I will,’ Reilly replied, eyes shining as she held the phone close, and suddenly missing the cold damp country across the Atlantic from which she’d been so sure she needed to escape.
CHAPTER 26
‘For the love of . . .’
Everyone in the lab stopped what they were doing and looked toward the door of Bradley’s office, waiting. Less than a minute later, the man himself entered the lab looking more bewildered than angry.
‘Something happen?’ Todd asked, as if no one had heard the string of expletives that had followed the original exclamation.
Bradley glared at him. ‘You and Emilie head to this address.’ He thrust a piece of paper at him. ‘You’re not going to believe what movie the sick fuck acted out this time.’
‘What is it?’ Todd asked, curious despite the growing feeling of dread.
Bradley shook his head. ‘You’re going to have to see it to believe it.’
As the senior investigator walked away, Emilie looked over at Todd. ‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’
‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘But we’d better get going.’
When they reached the crime scene, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Todd immediately knew that something about this one was different. The cops standing outside the building all wore the same slightly befuddled expression that Bradley had been wearing.
The ones inside merely pointed Todd toward the center of the building without a word. His curiosity growing with every step, he kept his eyes on the yellow police tape.
He stopped just inside it, his brain suddenly unable to process the simple command to move forward. It took him a moment to comprehend exactly what his eyes were seeing.
A crumpled shape dressed in a shapeless black garment, the material deteriorated in places. A puddle of green goo on the concrete beneath. A pointed black hat. And the unmistakable smell of chemicals and charred flesh.
‘Oh my God . . . no fucking way . . .’ Mouse-like Emilie (whom Todd had never before heard swear) pretty much summed it up.
Todd pressed the back of his wrist against his nose and took a step back. The fumes were becoming overpowering. He could feel himself growing light-headed as his body warred between gasping for air and not wanting to take in the toxic fumes.
Mark Reed was suddenly between him and Emilie, a filter mask in each hand. ‘Y
ou’re going to need these.’
‘Thanks.’ Todd fixed the mask over his mouth and nose, the tension in his chest vanishing as he drew in a clean breath.
Emile spoke again. ‘Did he seriously just melt the Wicked Witch with acid?’
Detective Reed’s voice was grim. ‘Which means we’re either looking for a girl from Kansas, or a pack of flying monkeys.’
‘Nitric acid,’ Bradley announced later, as he looked up from the test results.
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Todd turned his head. The latest victim’s hat sat nearby on the lab bench. ‘We can trace it to where it was purchased?’
His colleague shrugged. ‘Depends. If the killer purchased it here in the city then maybe, but it’s not like it’s all that uncommon. I’ll see what I can find, but I’m not holding my breath.’
‘What about the costume?’ Todd asked from where he stood next to the main table. The victim’s actual clothing had been neatly folded a few feet away from where she’d died, very similar to the archery victim. Emilie was currently examining them for any trace elements the killer may have left. ‘Any luck on that?’
‘Well, the dress was pretty much destroyed,’ the younger girl said. ‘But the tag in the hat said it was bought at a Halloween store. I’m still trying to find it. I think it’s one of those seasonal ones. He didn’t wear latex gloves under the black ones this time, but the acid was strong enough that any kind of skin or DNA I get is going to be corrupted.’
‘Pull it and bag it anyway,’ Bradley instructed her. ‘If they get an arrest, the detectives might be able to use it to prompt a confession. The killer might not realize that we don’t have anything.’
‘We might actually have more luck with the make-up,’ Emily continued, and Todd’s eyes narrowed as he turned the canister over. ‘It was bought locally. Some store called Crafty Creations.’
Bradley picked up the phone. ‘I’ll ask the detectives to get us a sample for comparison. They can also question the employees at the store, see if anyone remembers someone buying green stage make-up.’
Todd frowned down at the empty can. ‘I’m going to run a spectral analysis of the chemical composition.’
‘We already know where the stuff came from, so why does it matter what its chemical make-up is?’ Emilie asked.
‘If I can break down the specific chemistry of the nitric acid, we might be able to use that to trace where it was manufactured; from there we could get where it was purchased. Batches have chemical signatures that are unique to each one as well as to certain manufacturers. But, to get the analysis of the acid, I need to be able to eliminate anything that might have contaminated it. Basically, the remains and the make-up.’
‘How long will that take?’ Bradley asked, the impatience in his voice making his words sharp.
Todd bit his tongue before he could ask his senior colleague if he had any better ideas. They were all on edge. It wasn’t Bradley’s fault that the lab hadn’t found any leads, but he would be the one with the brass in his ear.
Keeping his voice as even as possible, he said, ‘Probably a day or so. I’ll start on the samples I have here while we wait for the detectives to bring the others, OK?’
‘Fine. Meanwhile,’ Bradley muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘we get to sit here and hope the sick fuck doesn’t strike again.’
The Maestro hated to admit it, but the investigators on his case – well, cases – weren’t as stupid as he’d originally thought. First, there was that old guy and his hot blond sidekick sniffing around, then some hard-faced brunette cop who’d given him the same disgusted look every woman gave him, even when he promised to make them stars.
Perhaps it was time to send the Powers That Be a message. The only real question was what to use next.
‘Any suggestions?’ He looked down at Drew Sheldon.
The screen writer was huddled on his waste-stained cot. The glare he gave wasn’t nearly as tough as the previous ones, but some spirit was still there. The notebook and pen sat next to him rather than across the room where the writer had thrown it every time the Maestro had given it to him. He considered the change a step in the right direction.
‘I’ve heard good things about Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer.’ He kept his tone conversational. No need to freak the man out even more. ‘Have you ever seen it?’
Sheldon shook his head, not meeting his eyes.
The Maestro continued. ‘It actually starts with a series of still-shot intercuts. They never show how the murders occurred, just the bodies afterward. There are enough ideas there to take care of the investigators and a couple of detectives.’
‘If they’re getting close,’ Sheldon’s voice was hoarse, ‘doesn’t it make more sense to just run? You can get away while they’re looking for me. I won’t say a word.’
‘I’m sure you won’t.’ He picked up the notebook and handed it to Sheldon. ‘Because as soon as you start writing, you’re in it with me.’ He leaned down, ignoring the foul stench. ‘It’s time for you to make a choice. I picked you because you’re the best, but if you don’t work with me, it doesn’t matter how good you are.’
The Maestro straightened and stepped away. He could feel the writer’s eyes on him as he began to pace. ‘You have two options. Either you begin to write an amazing screenplay for me, something that people will still be talking about in fifty years, or I use your daughter to recreate one of the scenes from Se7en. I’m thinking of casting her as Lust.’
Sheldon swallowed hard. The Maestro could almost hear the dry clicking in the writer’s throat.
‘I take it that’s a film you’ve seen.’
He didn’t want to have to start all over again with another writer, but time was growing short, especially if someone had figured out the connection between Sheldon’s disappearance and the murders. There’d been nothing in the news about a connection, but the Maestro couldn’t risk it. Being questioned twice in the last week had made him suspicious of just how much was known.
‘I’ll do it.’ Sheldon’s shoulders slumped. ‘Just tell me what you want.’
‘Very good.’ The Maestro could feel the grin spreading across his face. It was time to begin the next phase of his plan. Next time he wouldn’t need to use someone else’s work for the investigators and detectives.
He could use something entirely original.
CHAPTER 27
‘Where is everybody?’ Reilly asked as only a couple of days later, following a frantic call from Captain Harvell, she and Daniel approached yet another crime scene. The killer was now seriously escalating and the department was panicking.
‘I think a better question is why they had to put up a tent around the body.’ Daniel sounded like he didn’t want to know the answer to his own query.
The dread grew with each step that took her closer to the sterile white tent. It reminded Reilly of the quarantine areas she’d seen in movies, which of course was what made it particularly frightening with this serial killer. As Detective Reed approached them, she could see his grim expression even in the dim evening light. She really didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
‘Please tell me our killer didn’t decide to go with a scene from Outbreak or Contagion this time.’ Daniel spoke as soon as the detective was close enough to hear. ‘I’m not really that fond of quarantine.’
‘He didn’t put that up. We did,’ Detective Reed stopped in front of them rather than falling in alongside them, forcing both to stop too.
Alarm bells started to go off in Reilly’s head. Whatever was inside that tent had to be more graphic than anything the authorities had seen so far. And since they’d already had one person torn in two, another boiled, someone melted by acid and a face demolished, Reilly was positive that she didn’t want to know what lay inside the tent.
And she certainly didn’t want to see it.
The detective went on. ‘Trust me, this is one we don’t want reporters sneaking a picture of. We’ve got a perimeter set up,
but figured better safe than sorry.’
‘Is that where all the uniforms are?’ Reilly asked. She scanned the area again, seeing only the faint outlines of people at the edge of the park.
‘We’ve got a few at the entrance to the tent, but everyone else is making sure no one gets close.’ Detective Reed ran his forearm across his forehead. ‘Not that anyone wanted to be near this.’
Reilly’s unease ratcheted up a notch. She’d never seen a detective sweat quite so much, at least not in this way. Compared to the 105-degree day, the night’s low 90s was nothing for Florida. This wasn’t normal perspiration from the heat, this was something else.
‘What’s in there, Detective?’ Daniel asked, his tone suggesting that he didn’t want to know any more than Reilly did.
And he’d seen a lot in his fifty-odd years.
‘Have you ever seen the movie Braveheart?’ Reed asked. ‘You know how they keep the camera on Gibson’s face and hands during the execution scene?’ He pressed the sleeve of his jacket against his lips and didn’t say any more.
Reilly heard Daniel swear, but was unable to say anything herself. She’d always hated that movie. It was great up until the ending, whereupon her imagination had filled in the blanks and made her ill for days.
She still couldn’t watch it, just because she knew what would be coming. It was a scene she always thought of when she heard people talk about how kids today were desensitized to violence. Executions like that back then had been a form of public entertainment.
Apparently, the Maestro shared the same twisted mentality as the people of that particular era.
Reilly inhaled deeply through her nose, just close enough to catch a whiff of decay carried on the night breeze. She was prepared. She could do this.
And she continued to tell herself that as she and Daniel followed the detective to the tent.
‘He’s taken more victims in two weeks than most serial killers do in their entire lifetime and we’re no closer to catching him now than we were when he started.’ Mark Reed was pacing, but Todd ignored the detective, choosing instead to focus on the trace analysis he was running from the Braveheart murder scene. Everyone knew the senior investigator’s habit of pacing and ranting when he was frustrated.
