The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4)

by Hill, Casey

  ‘That’s not entirely true,’ Todd replied. ‘Dr Kase has . . . the body, so anything that was brought in with it, we have.’

  Reilly could see how hard it was for Todd to refer to his friend as ‘the body’ and ‘it’, but she understood what he was doing. They all had to do it, separate the victim from who they were when they were alive. If they saw every victim as a person, they wouldn’t have lasted long in this job.

  ‘Emilie.’ He handed an evidence bag with Bradley’s clothing in it to the redhead. ‘Analyze these, see if there’s trace – anything we can connect to our killer.’ He turned to Peni. ‘Keep working on the IP addresses and start searching for the new video footage.’ The computer expert looked suitably distressed and Reilly spoke up.

  ‘I’m on that,’ she said. Todd turned toward her, the expression on his face saying that he’d completely forgotten that she was there. Then he looked grateful.

  ‘OK, thanks. I don’t think any of our guys need to see . . . that.’

  ‘I’ll let Peni know if I find anything she needs to take down,’ Reilly continued. ‘She can stick with the IP addresses if she prefers.’

  ‘Thank you again.’ Todd’s voice softened.

  ‘What are you going to be looking at?’ Emilie asked Todd.

  ‘I’ve got some bugs to check out.’ Todd held up a container. Inside the murky ocean water floated several ants. ‘The Feds apparently decided to wash down everything and suck up the ants and the water together.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘They compromised the clothing?’ Emilie frowned, the expression foreign on her usually smiling face. ‘They could have washed away trace particulates, changed chemical compositions . . .’ She looked frantic.

  ‘I guess they were more worried about a few bug bites,’ Todd said darkly. ‘Which is why I want our team on this. Let’s get to work.’

  It was the longest day Reilly had had since arriving in Florida. The longest one she’d had in years, actually. Every search was fruitless as she watched the same footage over and over again, all unchanged.

  It wasn’t until Todd finished his analysis on the ants that she began to suspect that maybe she was looking for the wrong film.

  ‘Solenopsis invicta,’ he said triumphantly, a little bit of life finally returning to his voice.

  ‘What was that?’ Reilly turned to look at him.

  ‘The ant. It’s the Solenopsis invicta, a highly aggressive species of the fire ant,’ he told her. ‘Commonly called RIFA, the red imported fire ant.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Reilly pulled up a new browser window and typed a question into the search engine. ‘Damn it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was thinking the scene might have been from Indiana Jones, you know, the part where they . . .’ She skipped to the important part. ‘It’s not the same type of ant. The ones from the movie, while not entirely real, were based on the Dorylus ant.’

  ‘Maybe our killer couldn’t get his hands on the right bug,’ Todd mused.

  ‘Or,’ she said, ‘maybe it’s not the right movie.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he agreed, but she could tell his mind was racing. ‘But I’ll bet these ants aren’t easy to come by. I mean, they’re not like flies that you just go out and catch. If we can track down places that sell fire ants, maybe we can find out who bought them.’

  ‘I may have something,’ Emilie spoke up then. ‘But I need a second opinion.’

  Todd crossed to the other woman.

  ‘You know those fibers you found on Anton Williams?’ Emilie said. ‘The guy who had his jaw broken? I think the ones I found on Bradley’s clothes match.’

  He peered into the right microscope and then into the left one. ‘You’re right, they’re a match.’

  ‘So the killer has some sort of uniform he wears when he kills?’ Emilie asked.

  ‘Or maybe,’ Todd said slowly, ‘they aren’t from clothes at all.’

  ‘We ran them through a hundred different tests. Wool. Not something used in any type of car upholstery,’ Emilie countered.

  ‘They could be from a blanket,’ Reilly suggested, from where she’d been listening.

  ‘Something that might be kept in the trunk of a car,’ said Todd.

  ‘Exactly.’ Reilly nodded. ‘Which means both Anton Williams and Bradley were taken from one location and transported to where they were found, just like Holly and Aaron. The other three scenes, the killer was already on location. Since we have the truck the first victims were moved in, he must’ve gotten his hands on another mode of transport.’

  ‘Something with a big enough trunk for a person,’ Emilie supplied.

  ‘Which means we need to pull security footage around the docks and around the housing estate where Williams was killed. See if we can find a match,’ Todd finished.

  ‘On it,’ Peni piped up. ‘Gives me something to do while I’m waiting.’

  ‘Good work, Emilie.’ Todd smiled down at the redhead and Reilly saw that the younger woman managed half of one back. While not back to her usual self, it was an improvement. ‘Maybe we’re getting somewhere,’ he added, though his voice held no excitement, only grim determination.

  Worried, Reilly watched her friend turn back to his workstation. His initial grief had vanished, leaving behind an almost robotic veneer.

  She had a feeling he was going to crash, and soon.

  CHAPTER 32

  Todd wouldn’t say it, but Reilly knew he didn’t want to be alone that evening. She couldn’t blame him. Besides, after everything that had happened today, she was dog-tired and didn’t think she had the energy to drag herself back to the beach house, update Daniel on everything, and then be able to turn her brain off enough afterward to try and sleep.

  Her nightmares were bad enough most of the time. She didn’t want to think of what they’d be like after today.

  On the way back to his apartment, inspiration had struck and she’d asked Todd to stop at a nearby Publix grocery store. He might not feel like eating tonight, but nothing soothed her like cooking and a nice Cuban chicken sounded like heaven. She’d cooked a lot in Dublin in the very early days when she’d had more time on her hands, but finding anything like Texas sweet onion or adobo there had been virtually impossible.

  Now, as the chicken breasts were sizzling in the pan, she chopped the last of the onion, added the adobo powder and a few small sprinkles of oregano, cumin and black pepper. She padded across the kitchen to Todd’s fridge to take out the mojo sauce she’d already prepared, even though she wouldn’t need it until everything was done. The tile was cool against her bare feet, in direct contrast with the heat of the stove as she leaned over to stir the chicken and squeeze in more lime.

  ‘Again, thank you for coming with me today.’ Todd spoke up from the doorway where he’d been watching her.

  ‘It was nothing.’ She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the contents of the pan.

  ‘No, Reilly, it wasn’t nothing.’ Todd took a sip of his beer before setting it on the counter. ‘Seems like we’ve known each other forever, yet I couldn’t ever describe us as being close, even friends. What you did, coming with me today, calling my dad, and making me come away from the lab tonight, as well as helping out on this whole thing when you’re supposed to be on vacation – all of that is above and beyond. Just want you to know that I appreciate it.’

  Reilly slowly stirred the food, letting silence settle over the kitchen. She knew she should just say ‘you’re welcome’ and leave it at that, but part of her wanted to say more. There was a story that she rarely shared outside of the people who were involved, a reason she understood the pointlessness of words and the importance of a touch. The same reason why she hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight either.

  ‘Did your dad ever tell you about my family?’ She asked the question without turning around, her voice soft. If he’d gone back into the living room, he wouldn’t hear her and she wouldn’t ask it again.

  He hadn’t left. ‘Only that your mom was
. . .’ he hesitated suddenly. ‘Your mom died when you were a teenager, and you pretty much raised your younger sister because your dad didn’t handle it so well.’

  She could hear the curiosity in his voice, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t need to; Reilly was going to tell him. ‘My mother didn’t just die, she was murdered.’

  ‘I knew that too. I’m sorry . . .’ Todd began.

  She poked again at the contents of the pan with the wooden spoon. As the food cooked, Reilly continued, working to keep her voice steady. She rarely told anyone about this, and for years hadn’t been able to talk about it with anyone other than Daniel. And then Chris.

  ‘Like you said, I had a sister, younger than me by almost four years. She was Mom and Dad’s miracle baby. After me, the doctors said Mom couldn’t have any more, so when they found out she was pregnant again, they were ecstatic. I was too. I loved Jess from the first time I saw her.’

  Reilly closed her eyes, seeing her sister’s face as clearly as she ever did.

  ‘She was the one who murdered my mother.’ Her voice was flat. ‘Called me directly after it happened, possibly even before, I can’t be sure. Either way, by the time I got there, it was too late.’

  Familiar guilt surged through her. They called it survivor’s guilt, but sometimes Reilly didn’t feel like much of a survivor.

  She took a deep breath. ‘So I know what it’s like to have someone you love taken from you violently, suddenly. What it’s like to stand in that cold room and have to say the words that mean they’re never coming back.’ She turned to him. ‘And I also understand what it’s like to want to punish the person who did it – or worse, punish yourself for not stopping it.’

  Todd stood silent for several seconds before asking, ‘What happened to your sister?’

  Reilly turned back to the pan. Almost done. ‘Your dad didn’t tell you?’

  ‘No. All I knew was that you’d lost your mother. I didn’t know anything about . . . how.’

  She turned off the flame and poured the mojo sauce over the chicken, the aroma of lime and cumin as comforting as a warm Cuban breeze. ‘A couple of years ago, she got out of prison, followed me and my dad to Dublin. Tried to kill him; me too, I suppose.’

  ‘Dad never said a word.’ She guessed he was a little hurt by this, though it was nothing new. Daniel rarely discussed a case and Reilly should have known that he would never have betrayed her confidence about the Jess situation.

  ‘Main thing is, she didn’t succeed on either count.’

  ‘So is that why you went into this line of work originally?’ Todd took the plate she offered him. ‘Because of your mother, I mean.’

  They moved to the living room and he settled on the couch, balancing his plate on his knees.

  ‘I guess so.’ Reilly could feel her cheeks burning. ‘I never really talk about that to anyone other than my therapist.’

  He looked at her softly. ‘Then why me?’

  She considered the question, eyes on her food. Then she turned to look at him. ‘Because I’m a firm believer in having all the pieces of a puzzle before I try and figure things out.’

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ The Maestro threw the notebook at Sheldon. ‘Your first scene was brilliant. Creative, unique in delivery. But this? Complete drivel.’

  ‘I did what you wanted,’ Sheldon snapped. ‘I wrote a new murder scene for you.’

  ‘I wanted something inspired, something to set me apart from every other two-bit film-maker out there.’ The Maestro paced, his fury building inside him. Why in the world had he chosen a hack like Sheldon? Sure, he’d got a couple of Academy Awards nominations, but everyone knew that was just politics and sucking-up.

  ‘You want something so gruesome that no one will ever forget it,’ Sheldon translated, unable to disguise the disgust in his tone.

  The Maestro considered the statement for a moment and then nodded. ‘I guess if that’s the way you want to look at it.’

  ‘I’m not giving you anything else you can use to torture and kill an innocent human being.’ Sheldon managed to look almost dignified. Well, as dignified as someone could look when sitting in their own filth.

  ‘And you thought writing a scene where a man shoots an intruder was the best way to do it?’ His voice grew dangerously soft. ‘I can have no survivors, no witnesses. And do you really think I’d use an actual criminal in the scene?’

  ‘You know what?’ Sheldon said. ‘I actually don’t care. I’m done helping you. Threaten all you want. There’s no way you can get anywhere near my daughter.’

  ‘I thought you might say that.’ The Maestro crossed to Sheldon’s cot, reaching into his pocket. He handed the contents to the writer. ‘As you can see here, I have no problem getting close to your daughter. The joke of a security guard the hotel hired will do just about anything for a couple of hundred bucks.’

  ‘You son of a bitch,’ Sheldon whispered as he flipped through the stack of pictures. His face paled more with each one.

  Kai eating her meals at the hotel with a distracted, worried look on her face.

  Her angry, agitated expression as she yelled at a Tampa detective.

  Her young face, relaxed at last as she curled up on her bed, unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

  The Maestro sat on his chair, a smirk on his face. ‘Now, in case you’re wondering, I’ve done quite a bit of research into possible scenes I could use your daughter in.’

  Sheldon’s dark eyes blazed as he looked up at his captor. ‘Don’t you dare touch her.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want her to have the opportunity to do Jodie Foster’s scene in The Accused?’ The Maestro’s grin grew. He had the writer exactly where he wanted him.

  ‘You’re one sick . . .’

  ‘Write me a new scene. Two new scenes, as a matter of fact. Do that and your precious little girl might live to fail at her attempt to become a stuntwoman.’ The Maestro stood. ‘And make this one good. Write as if your life – and your daughter’s – depends on it.’

  The salt from the tears he’d hidden lingered on his lips, bitter against her tongue, and she pulled him closer. The rational part of her mind that would’ve said this was a bad idea had long since been banished by the part of her that ached to comfort him.

  He’d started talking about Bradley in halting sentences, telling her about how when Todd had first been hired, he’d been cocky and arrogant, thinking that his father’s name would automatically get him respect. How Bradley had called him on it, taken him to a crime scene where the remains of a drug dealer had been found inside an alligator, then laughed when Todd had thrown up all over his new shoes.

  When the story turned to Bradley spending the weekend with him for support after Todd’s only serious girlfriend had cheated on him, the tears had threatened to spill over. He’d started to speak and his voice had cracked, leaving him without words.

  A sense of helplessness settled over Reilly and so she did the only thing that she could. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. She was still there when he turned his face toward her. She wasn’t sure who had moved first, only that she blinked and then they were kissing.

  His lips moved against hers with an almost frightening urgency, his hands moving over her body, hesitating at each boundary until she didn’t protest. Their clothes left a trail on the floor as they made their way back to his bedroom, mouths never stilling long enough to question the wisdom of what they were doing.

  When he pressed her back against his cotton sheets, she had a brief moment of clarity before her eyes met his, and then she was lost again. She gave herself to him, wanting nothing more than to give him time without pain, time when he could forget everything but the feel of her body beneath his.

  He buried his face in her neck as he moved inside her and she could feel his lips moving soundlessly against her skin. She murmured words of comfort, stroking her hands through his hair, down his back, holding him as closely as anyone could be held. Their bodies
shuddered together, comforting pleasure washing over them.

  She held his welcome weight until he rolled them onto their sides; even then, she kept her arms around him. She waited for his breathing to slow before she closed her own eyes, secure in the knowledge that he would sleep now.

  It didn’t take Reilly long to join him, exhaustion claiming her so completely that this time no nightmares would touch her.

  CHAPTER 33

  A day later, the Maestro looked over the latest pages and smiled. Much better.

  Setting up the networked computers had been a stroke of genius on his part. Not surprising, considering that he was one. Giving the writer access to a keyboard seemed to have prompted Sheldon’s creativity once more.

  The new scene was brilliant. So completely unsettling that he actually felt sick at the idea. In his opinion, that was one of the marks of a good murder scene.

  The Maestro didn’t understand why the writer felt guilty. It wasn’t like he actually did anything. He’d barely be considered legally complicit. After all, no one blamed the lookout for the Titanic sinking . . . OK, so maybe that wasn’t the best example.

  He drained the last of his Scotch and pulled up a map on his computer. He had some shopping to do, as well as a little research. Once he had everything together, he’d go scouting for the perfect cast.

  Finally being able to film scenes written with him in mind, without having to consult anyone else, and minus any of the usual Hollywood bullshit fucking things up – never mind having the opportunity to act as well as direct – was far more exciting than he’d ever dreamed.

  Two days had passed and Reilly was still kicking herself for spending the night with Todd. She never did things like that.

  The morning after, she’d managed to slip out before he woke, leaving him a note saying that she needed to call back to Dublin to check in with her boss. While untrue, she guessed he wouldn’t be fooled into thinking that was the real reason she’d chosen to make her call from somewhere other than his apartment.