by Casey Hill
‘Yes.’
‘What did you find?’
‘The perp didn’t leave much. No sign of the weapon and there was very little of note in the line of trace – except for this.’ He held up a clear evidence bag.
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Reilly reached for the bag and slowly turned it over in her hand. Inside was a single strand of blond hair – long and straight. ‘Real or imitation?’ she asked Gary, wondering if the intruder had worn a wig and disguised himself as a female in order to get past security.
‘Definitely real,’ he replied. ‘It was one of the first things I checked.’
Reilly stared at the hair. Given the intruder’s interest in the case files, there was little doubt that it was someone connected to the killings. So was this yet another piece of staged evidence designed to throw them off the scent, or was there a possibility that the person they were looking for was actually a woman?
Later that evening, Reilly left the lab and headed toward the city centre. It was time to pay her father a much overdue visit.
In truth, she was dreading seeing him again. After their last conversation she had called him a couple of times but he hadn’t answered his phone. That was pretty normal – Mike spent a lot of time drunk or passed out and rarely bothered with social niceties like communicating with his daughter. But given the current situation, she couldn’t simply assume that he was OK.
Reilly looked out at the gloomy streets. Although spring was making its first tentative appearances in the city’s parks – she had already seen daffodils in the Phoenix Park – here in the grimy run-down inner city, there was nothing but gray, damp concrete beneath her feet, and gray damp sky above.
She rang Mike’s doorbell, listening for sounds of life inside. Nothing, as usual. She slid the spare key into the lock and pushed the door open.
‘Dad? It’s me,’ she called as she stepped inside.
Silence.
She stood in the hallway, her senses fully attuned. The flat was completely still but there was a strong, overpowering odour. Reilly scrunched up her nose in disgust and headed to the living room.
She wasn’t surprised by what she found. Mike was asleep – or passed out – on the floor. He was lying in a pool of his own vomit and surrounded by empties.
Reilly counted at least nine empty beer cans, plus several drained spirit bottles. It was clear that last night he had settled down for a long, hard session and had only stopped when his body had finally reached its limit.
She stepped over his inert body and opened the curtains. The dim light from the street lights made little difference, but once she got a couple of windows open, the fug gradually began to clear.
Reilly was fit and strong but it still took all she had just to roll Mike across the floor and prop him against one of the armchairs. How on earth was she going to move him into the bathroom and get him cleaned up?
She stood up and looked down at her comatose father. He was a big man, muscular in his prime, and even now he carried a lot of meat on his frame. He was at least fifteen stone, and fifteen stone of dead weight took a lot of moving.
Reilly suddenly reached a decision. She pulled her phone from her coat pocket, and snapping it open, punched in a number.
‘Chris – hi, it’s me,’ she said when he picked up. ‘Are you still at the station?’
‘Unfortunately yes,’ he replied. ‘Why, what’s up?’
She paused. ‘Well, look, I know you’re tied up at the moment, but I need to ask you a favor.’
‘Of course, what do you need?’
She looked again at her father, snoring loudly. ‘You’ve shared a secret of yours with me – I think it’s time to let you in on one of mine …’
Chris was the exactly sort of guy you needed when you were in a bind, Reilly thought. He was at Mike’s dingy flat in less than half an hour.
Now, he surveyed the room, his gaze resting on the empties from Mike’s drinking binge. ‘He likes his gargle, doesn’t he?’
Reilly arched an eyebrow. ‘Bit of an understatement.’
‘I suppose.’ He looked at the older man’s snoring carcass. ‘What do you want to do with him?’
‘I figured if we can get him into the bathroom we can dump him in the shower,’ she explained. ‘The water will wake him up and clean him up at the same time.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
Grabbing an arm each they hauled him across the living room floor, down the hall, and into the tiny bathroom. It took some maneuvering, but finally they had him propped up against the edge of the bath. Reilly slumped down on the toilet seat. Chris seemed pretty tired too.
‘Sorry to drag you into all this, particularly in your state,’ she said.
‘It’s not a problem, honestly.’
‘Have you made an appointment to see someone yet?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t really had the chance. Maybe when all of this is over …’
She gave him a doubtful look. ‘Doesn’t seem like you should wait that long.’ But there was little point in forcing him; she’d done her part and it was up to Chris to follow through on the rest. She couldn’t get too personally involved.
She turned on the shower. ‘Let’s get him situated.’
They both grabbed Mike’s arms, lifted him up and unceremoniously dumped him in the shower. As the cold water rained down he gave a violent shudder, coughed, then sat up, with a shake of his head.
‘What the hell?’ he cried, looking around wildly. Then his gaze settled on Reilly. ‘I might have fucking known.’
She shook her head in dismay. ‘You’re welcome,’
He suddenly noticed Chris. ‘And who the hell are you? Some new fancy man or something?’
‘He’s a colleague,’ Reilly said, testily, ‘and he helped me move your stinking carcass.’
Mike was still slumped against the back wall of the shower cubicle, his feet sticking out. He looked up at Reilly reproachfully. ‘Guy can’t even drink himself to death without some busybody coming round and trying to save him.’ He reached up and batted feebly at the water. ‘Can you turn that fucking water off? I’m awake, all right?’
Reilly looked at him for a moment longer, then slowly turned off the shower. ‘I’ll get you some dry clothes and a towel.’ She turned and left the bathroom.
Mike’s voice followed her out of the room. ‘And put the damn kettle on. Now you’ve woken me up it’s the least you can do.’
A few minutes later, Chris and Reilly perched on the two armchairs, sipping coffee. She had cleaned the place up a little – the vomit was gone, the empties were out with the rubbish, and she’d rearranged the furniture.
Her father was standing in his bedroom doorway – he looked pale and shaky and his hair was still wet, but at least he was upright and dressed.
‘Your coffee’s here,’ Reilly said, pointing at the table.
‘I see it,’ replied Mike. He began to make his way toward them, still obviously unsteady on his legs.
Chris stood up. ‘You need a hand, Mr Steel?’
‘I’m not a fucking invalid, man,’ he snapped. He reached the armchair and lowered himself into it.
Chris looked embarrassed. ‘Maybe I should go …’
‘Good idea,’ Mike grunted.
‘Dad, don’t be so rude.’
Mike reached carefully for his coffee and, managing to wrap both hands around it, brought it slowly up to his mouth. He paused before taking a first sip. ‘He offered to leave – I was just being obliging. Wouldn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or anything.’
‘Honestly, I should go,’ Chris insisted.
‘Wait a few minutes and I’ll come with you – I’m not staying either.’ Then she turned back to her father. ‘Dad, the reason I came here today is to warn you. Something weird is—’
‘Warn me?’ Mike spluttered over his coffee. ‘Warn me about what? That booze is bad for my health?’ He laughed bitterly.
‘I think it’s a bit too late for
that, don’t you? But no, this is serious. There’s this case I’m working on at the moment with Detective Delaney, and I’m worried this guy might be a threat.’
‘What would any of that have to do with me?’
‘This particular criminal has made some threats against Reilly, Mr Steel – threats of a personal nature. As a result, it might be a good idea for you to be on your guard.’
Mike raised his eyes to Chris. ‘Sonny boy, I’ve faced down more than a few scumbags in my time, and no two-bit skanky Irish drug dealer would have a hope of getting one over on me.’ Derision dripped from his every word.
‘This guy is different, Dad. He’s not your typical scumbag. And he seems to know a lot about me – about us … and our family.’ She gave Chris a sideways glance, deciding that there was no harm in revealing that much in front of him. With luck her father would cotton on to what she meant, and she knew for certain that he wouldn’t mention anything about Jess in front of Chris. Mike hadn’t been able to contemplate thinking about – let alone talking about – what had happened to his youngest daughter for a very long time.
This time her father paid attention. ‘What do you mean? What the hell has that got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Reilly said, now almost sorry she’d started the conversation. ‘As I said, just keep an eye out for anyone watching you while you’re out and about or maybe in the pub. This guy is dangerous, Dad and I don’t want anything bad happening to you.’
Mike snorted. ‘A bit late for that now, don’t you think?’ he drawled and she winced. Chris had moved to the window, evidently sensing the tension and trying to give them some privacy.
‘Ah, fuck it,’ Mike said then, waving an arm in the air. ‘If you say so. I’ll do my best to watch my back.’ Then his gaze rose to meet Reilly’s and it was as clear and focused as she’d seen in years. ‘Just make sure you do the same. I already lost one of my girls and I don’t think I could handle it if it happened again.’
28
For Reilly it was an almost surreal experience. Within barely forty-eight hours of news of his arrival, Daniel Forrest was standing in the boardroom addressing the investigative team. The profiler had initially been reluctant to do so – concerned he might be treading on toes – but she had convinced him that diving right in was the only way.
She scanned the other’s faces as Daniel spoke, his warm southern tones, softly modulated, drawing the detectives in. That was another trick she’d learned from him – if you lectured to people, they tuned you out, but if you lowered your voice, they needed to pay attention in order to hear you.
Chris and Kennedy were certainly paying attention – despite their initial misgivings about having a stranger on the ground, they understood that the profiler was visiting royalty in the world of criminal investigation, and a chance to gain insight from the very best. Kennedy was wearing his usual dour expression, but was taking notes as Daniel spoke. Inspector O’Brien sat quietly but wasn’t missing a word. Chris looked the most relaxed – he was listening intently but clearly thinking too and Reilly figured he was the most likely to have questions.
‘By definition, the nature of this case changed when this person tricked his or her way into the lab,’ Daniel explained. ‘Up until that point you had yourself a suspect with a Freud fixation, but you were still very much fishing in the dark.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Once direct contact was made – and by that I mean targeting Reilly directly and signaling a missing crime scene – now it looks like have a wild goose chase on our hands.’ Daniel stopped and let the significance of his last remark sink in, waiting for someone to rise to the bait.
Kennedy was first to respond. predictably. ‘That sounds very negative,’ he said. ‘Almost like you’re giving up already.’
Daniel gave a wry smile. ‘Detective Kennedy, I presume?’
He nodded.
‘Of course you’ve got a good point – we should always expect to catch such a killer. But why won’t a standard manhunt work?’ He scanned the faces and saw that Chris was nodding thoughtfully. ‘What’s on your mind? You look like you agree.’
‘Because this guy’s not ready to be caught?’
Daniel exchanged a brief glance with Reilly. ‘Correct.’
‘Everything we have so far, he’s given us,’ Chris added and again Daniel agreed.
‘But surely Reilly walking in on him was a mistake, maybe we’re giving this person too much credit?’ O’Brien suggested, looking almost apoplectic that the supposedly great Daniel Forrest hadn’t already produced their suspect on a plate.
‘Perhaps, but it was obviously a chance he was willing to take,’ Daniel replied. ‘After all, it wasn’t as if he had to run a gauntlet of high-tech security and armed guards. What we know about criminals as deeply organized as the taboo killer suggests that he’ll be extremely difficult to find. As I’m sure you know, guys like this don’t operate by the same rules as you and I. Generally speaking, serial killers have disorders in their social make-up – they are antisocial. According to the DSM – the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders – that means they consistently display the following criteria.’ He ticked each point off on his fingers. ‘Firstly, they don’t conform to social norms – for example by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest. Secondly, they are deceitful; they repeatedly lie, use aliases, and con others for personal profit or pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Starting to sound like anyone we know?’
The team nodded solemnly.
‘They are also likely to have a reckless disregard for the safety of themselves or others and lack remorse – in particular they are able to rationalize having hurt or mistreated other people.’
Kennedy looked thoughtful. ‘So what you’re saying is that the guy will do anything to get what he wants – to achieve his goal.’
‘Exactly,’ Daniel replied. ‘But based on the recent escalation of not only the killings but the personal contact, he isn’t finished yet. And until he is, anything is fair game,’ he concluded somberly.
Reilly shivered involuntarily. ‘That’s a scary thought.’
‘It is, yes.’ He looked serious. ‘Which brings us to where we stand now. We have two goals at this point,’ he continued. ‘Firstly, we need to try and figure out what he’s going to do next.’ He turned to Reilly. ‘And from what you’ve told me about the arrangement of the files, it looks like there’s also a missing crime scene to find.’
O’Brien stood up. ‘Better get moving then. Delaney and Kennedy – keep going on the missing persons reports and see if anything turns up there. Seems like a needle in a haystack to me but if that’s all we’ve got to go on at the moment—’
‘Actually there is something else,’ Chris said and the others looked at him with interest. ‘The hotline took a call this morning from someone who thinks they recognize Clare Ryan and Gerry Watson from the newspaper reports.’
Reilly raised an eyebrow. ‘Both of them?’
‘Yes.’
Her heart pounded. If the tip worked out, it could ascertain what had up to now been an elusive link between any of the victims.
‘Well, what are you doing sitting here then?’ O’Brien moaned. ‘Follow it up.’
‘We were just about to, before we were summoned to meet Agent Forrest here,’ Kennedy said sardonically, getting up out of his chair. ‘So if that’s all—’
‘Just put a lid on it and get a move on,’ the Inspector barked before turning to Reilly. ‘Steel, you review everything on the existing crime scenes and bring your friend up to speed on what we have so far. See if we’ve missed anything that might help us get ahead of this guy.’
‘What about the accomplice angle?’ Reilly asked. She’d told them about the blond hair and her belief that the killer might not be working alone.
‘That sort of speculation is Agent Forrest’s department, I believe,’ the Inspector told her, his tone brusque. ‘For now, we can only work with what we’ve already got.’
<
br /> ‘Thank you for having me,’ Daniel told the other men, solicitously. ‘I promise I’ll do my utmost to help bring this to a satisfactory conclusion.’
Reilly gathered her things. While she was relieved to have Daniel on board she couldn’t help but wonder how, with so many people already dead, that this situation could ever be concluded satisfactorily.
29
Chris and Kennedy weren’t quite sure what to make of Mick Kavanagh, the 50-odd-year-old alcoholic, who from his miserable surroundings in the St Vincent de Paul shelter, told them how he knew Gerry Watson and Clare Ryan.
‘They were nice to you,’ Kennedy repeated with no small measure of frustration.
‘Yeah, not everyone is you know,’ Kavanagh said, eyeing the detectives suspiciously. In truth, Chris was amazed that the tip had come in at all; the homeless community were for the most part hugely distrustful of the law, and it was rare for them to offer a response to the most basic of questions, let alone offer help on something that didn’t concern them. But this case was big news. ‘I normally wouldn’t get involved in stuff like this, but the things that are going on, and to ordinary people … well, it’s terrible.’
‘We know,’ Kennedy agreed. ‘Tell us about Clare Ryan.’
‘The blond one? She was a bit of bleeding heart … you know the type, trying to get me to reconnect with my family and give up the gargle that kind of thing,’ he said. ‘Poor kid doesn’t know much about the real world, although I s’pose she does now,’ he added, shaking his head morosely. ‘She was a nice kid though and I liked talking to her; she reminded me of my own one when she was that age.’
‘What about Gerry Watson?’ Chris asked, pointing to a photograph of the young camper. ‘Now that fella never said much, but if he passed me on O’Connell Street in the mornings, he used to come back with cup of coffee,’ the older man replied. Chris recalled that Watson was a student at the Dublin Institute of Technology just off the city’s main thoroughfare. ‘Never gave me any money, though.’
