Taboo

by Casey Hill

  ‘No, nothing really. To be honest, I wouldn’t have known anything about it all only I bumped into him on the way out.’ Her lips narrowed slightly. ‘Your father, he’s a lovely man but well, he isn’t really the chatty type, you know?’

  Reilly nodded.

  ‘So, I mentioned something about keeping an eye on the place for him while he was gone and he said that would be great, then off they went in the car.’

  ‘You’re sure you can’t describe that car for us, Mrs Kelly?’ Chris asked.

  She bit her lip. ‘Like I told you before, I really couldn’t say for sure. It was black I think, and quite big, one of those people carrier things, but I didn’t really pay much attention.’

  People rarely did, Reilly thought, feeling more frustrated by the second. Kelly’s account had given them nothing else to go on, although she supposed she should feel grateful that the woman had given them the heads-up about Jess in the first place.

  She and Chris stepped into Mike’s living room. ‘So, what are we looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘I wish I knew, but based on what we’ve found previously I’m thinking anything that looks out of place. Papers, photographs, scraps of paper, anything that might give us some idea of where she’s taken him.’ She recalled what Daniel had said about Jess laying down crumbs. ‘She enjoys leaving clues, however vague or insignificant they might appear.’

  Reilly tried to picture her sister there, what she had said, what she had done.

  What had Mike thought when she’d appeared? Her dad, like herself, had no clue Jess had been let out on parole, and she was probably the last person he expected to see. Was he happy – or scared? What did Jess say, if anything? Had she drugged him to get him away or was he compliant? What had she said to convince him to leave and where had they gone?

  Leaving Chris to comb the living room, she went through to her father’s bedroom.

  The room was pretty bare – spartan almost, and contained only a narrow bed with a cheap headboard, alongside a small beside table, and a chipboard wardrobe. There was no character in the room, no decoration, nothing that showed any touches of personal care apart from a cheap, generic Home Sweet Home sign above the bed. Reilly stared at it for a moment, thinking it was almost ironic.

  Home Sweet Home? Hardly. So much for Mike’s big dream of returning to the land of his birth …

  All at once, Reilly felt guilty for not seeing enough of her father, for not taking better care of him. Now, if Jess had her way, she might never get the opportunity to do so again. What did she want? Had she only taken him to get at Reilly, use him as some kind of pawn in this sick mind game she was playing?

  She took a deep breath and sat down on the side of the bed, hoping that wherever Mike was, he was holding up OK. Then, almost without realizing it, she lay down and rested her head on the pillow. She could still smell her dad’s distinctive scent on it and it instantly took her back to childhood – a place that made her feel warm, safe and secure.

  She could still remember how her father used to hold her, and put his strong arms around her. Whenever Cassie left during one of her ‘episodes’, Reilly suffered nightmares, and would wake in the night in fear, an empty darkness haunting her dreams, a vast black pit of despair waiting to swallow her up. But Mike was always there, a shoulder for her to bury her face in until the darkness receded.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Chris asked from the doorway.

  She sat up, quickly wiping away the tears. ‘It’s just …’ She indicated the sparsely decorated room. ‘This whole place is just so impersonal, so … soulless. He had so much invested in coming back to Ireland, you know. When we were kids, he always talked about it so wistfully, the vibrant green of the fields, the sea – gunmetal gray he used to call it.’

  Chris raised an eyebrow. ‘Then how did he end up here in crappy inner city Dublin?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure – all he could afford, I guess. And of course, Ireland’s changed so much in the meantime that the reality failed to live up to the fantasy.’

  He nodded. ‘Happens a lot. Sounds like your father was quite the romantic back in the day.’

  ‘He was, before … everything,’ she said sadly. ‘But little by little life and the bottle sucked it all out of him.’

  ‘His love of the ocean came out in you, though, ‘ Chris said, gently.

  ‘Maybe.’ She gave a weak smile and began straightening the bedclothes. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing helpful here.’

  ‘Well, I found something in the living room you might want to see. It was sitting on the coffee table and I don’t remember seeing it the last time I was here.’

  Her head snapped up. ‘What have you got?’

  She followed him through to the living room, where he sat on the sofa and picked up a slim leather volume. ‘Looks like the family photo album,’ he said.

  Reilly sat beside him and he slid the album over so they could both look at it.

  He had it open about halfway through and pointed at an old photo – two girls sitting side by side on the swings in some long-forgotten park. Jess, about seven years old, smiling sweetly, her blond hair forming an almost angelic frame around her face.

  And beside her, Reilly, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. It was the only style her dad could manage for them until she’d learned to take care of herself. She had an altogether more serious expression on her face and was staring intently at the camera. Not sad, but not happy either.

  Reilly reached out, gently touched the photograph with her thumb. ‘I remember that dress,’ she sighed.

  Chris looked at the photograph, then back up her. ‘You haven’t changed much,’ he commented. ‘Still that same serious expression.’

  ‘I had to grow up fast.’

  ‘What age would you have been there? About twelve?’

  She nodded. ‘I was eight years old when Mom left for the last time – that was really the end of my childhood. With her gone I had to take on so much and I remember that feeling, the realization that there really was nobody else to do those things – look after Jess, cook for my dad, clean the house.’ Even now, the memory of her lost childhood haunted her. Reilly gazed at the cheap curtains, the outside lamppost visible through them. ‘I had to be Jess’s mom – and she was still missing the old one.’

  ‘So she resented you?’

  ‘She wanted a sister to play with and a mom to do all the things moms do. What she got was a sister bossing her around and struggling to cope. So yeah, I guess she resented me. I could never replace mom, but she’d kind of lost her sister too.’

  Her thoughts were far away, replaying the dark days of her childhood that had somehow led to the present day nightmare.

  ‘Here, these are the ones I thought you might want to see,’ Chris said, turning back to the first few pages.

  Reilly dragged her thoughts back to what he was showing her. These were much older photographs, black and white – old people she didn’t recognize, standing very formally for photographs, dressed in their Sunday best.

  ‘Mike’s folks,’ she said. ‘I never met them, but those are his parents and the ones the back must be his grandparents.’

  ‘They’re a happy looking bunch, aren’t they?’

  It was true. Despite the Sunday best clothes and formal pose, there was a certain gaiety in the faces, a love of life that shone through. It was an expression Reilly remembered from her father when she was young, before Cassie left.

  Chris turned the page again and Reilly couldn’t help but smile. ‘That’s Dad, as a baby.’ A round-faced infant gazed from the pages, piercing blue eyes seeming to see right through the camera. ‘He always had those amazing eyes …’

  ‘Is that him too?’ Chris asked, a sudden excitement in his voice. He was pointing at another black and white photograph of a young boy, about seven years old standing on a quayside holding up a large fish, a triumphant expression on his face.

  ‘Yep, that’s my dad,’ she confirmed. ‘He used to love fishing, sa
id he and his father used to go almost every chance they had.’

  ‘You said the family were originally from a fishing village?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘I know where that is,’ Chris said. ‘My father used to take me fishing there in the summer holidays.’ He peered intently at the picture. ‘No doubt about it – that’s Greystones. I still go down there from time to time – it’s only a twenty-minute drive south. It’s hardly a village anymore, more of a big commuter town now, but there’s an area of older houses down by the harbor, and I’d swear that’s where most of these pictures were taken.’

  ‘Greystones,’ Reilly repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. ‘It does sound familiar.’

  Chris sat forward. ‘This might be a bit of a long shot,’ he began tentatively, ‘but didn’t Mike mention something to the neighbor about his daughter wanting to go—’

  ‘Back to her roots.’ Reilly closed the photograph album with a loud thud. What did that mean? Was it a kind of tip-off from Mike, who knew Jess’s appearance meant trouble, and hoped that Reilly would notice his absence and start asking questions? If so, the fact that he had the presence of mind to do such a thing could only mean that Jess had coerced him, couldn’t it?

  Then suddenly she thought of something else. ‘The sign …’ She jumped up from the sofa and headed back into Mike’s bedroom.

  ‘What is it?’ Chris asked, following her.

  She pointed to the Home Sweet Home sign on the wall. ‘That’s new, I don’t remember seeing it before today.’ Earlier she’d thought it ironic, but now she realized it might very well be significant. A crumb of sorts.

  She looked at Chris. ‘Let’s go for a drive. I think now might be a good time for a spot of fishing.’

  39

  They drove south through the early afternoon traffic, Chris at the wheel. The N11 was lightly trafficked at that time of day and Reilly almost relaxed, looking around at the green countryside rushing past the window. She had been so busy since her arrival that she had never left the city, barely finding the time to squeeze in a little sightseeing around the centre.

  She thought about where they were going and what they might find. Yesterday she had joked with Daniel about how naked she felt going into situations without a gun, and for him it would have been almost unimaginable – after thirty years in the FBI, old habits died hard.

  Use your instincts, he had told her – one of his mantras to all trainee investigators. Still, Reilly thought wryly, she would be much happier using her instincts and a .38.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  She jumped a little at Chris’s voice. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten that he was there. ‘I was just thinking about what Daniel said before he left,’ she told him.

  ‘I bet you wish he was along for the ride instead of me,’ he said.

  ‘Actually, no.’

  Surprise showed in his face.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Reilly continued. ‘He’s an incredible investigator – the best – and it has been great having him around. But ultimately,’ she paused. ‘Ultimately, I guess, this is our show, Chris. We’ve come this far, and now we need to finish it – one way or the other.’ She bit her lip at the thought of what they might find. Despite her fears about her father, she didn’t think she was ready to come face to face with Jess.

  His face grew serious, as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘If we find something, we can call for backup.’

  ‘Right.’ Reilly gave a short bark of laughter. ‘And the Greystones SWAT Unit will be on the scene in seconds, I suppose?’

  He chuckled. ‘Not quite, but there’s actually a decent-sized station based not far from there – in Bray. Either way, Kennedy knows where we’re going and I promised to keep him updated. So if we find her, and things get out of hand—’

  ‘Somehow I don’t think that it’s going to pan out like that,’ she told him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Think about it, Chris,’ she began. ‘Without trying to sound negative, Jess has been in control of this from the very start. Everything we’ve got that has moved us forward has come from her – and she’s still in control.’

  He sighed. ‘So she’s expecting us, and whenever we do find her—’

  ‘Everything will be played out according to her rules.’

  Chris accelerated to pass a large articulated lorry. ‘So what does that mean – in reality, on the ground?’

  ‘Exactly what Daniel said to me before he left,’ Reilly said grimly, ‘We need to have our wits about us.’

  A little while later, Chris turned off the motorway and onto the secondary road leading to Greystones village.

  ‘You must know this place pretty well to recognize it from those old photos,’ Reilly said

  ‘I used to love coming down here with my dad,’ he admitted. ‘He grew up in Enniskerry, down the road and inland a bit – and he used to bring me out here most weekends when the weather was good.’

  ‘So you’re into fishing. All that talk of me surfing and you never once mentioned that you were into fishing.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not,’ he replied. ‘But my old man loved it and I loved being with him.’

  ‘Sounds like you guys haven’t been here for a while,’ she ventured.

  ‘It’s been a few years,’ he said, quietly. ‘The last time I came here with father he was already seriously ill - he had heart disease - so we just came and sat on a bench down there at the harbor, enjoying the views. He died a few weeks later.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He glanced sideways at her. ‘No, it’s OK – it’s a good memory actually.’

  ‘So what’s Greystones like?’

  ‘It’s changed a lot. Lots of new houses built for commuters.’

  ‘Same story the world over, I suppose.’

  ‘Right. Big draw for tourists too as it still has that traditional Irish seaside town thing going on – a pretty harbor, fishing boats, the sea. There’s a new marina under development at the moment too’

  ‘It sounds pretty idyllic.’

  ‘It is,’ Chris confirmed. ‘Quite a few city dwellers have moved down this direction for the “good life”.’

  ‘So amidst all the blow-ins, one more out-of-towner like Jess really wouldn’t stand out much,’ Reilly pointed out.

  Chris shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised. You’ve got the genealogical info on your family that I asked you to get?’

  Reilly patted her bag. ‘Right here.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. There are still a few old haunts where the locals hang out and some families here go back hundreds of years, know everyone and everything that’s happened since the Vikings arrived. I’ll just turn on my local charm and they’ll tell me everything we want to know.’

  Reilly looked dubious. ‘It could very well be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Maybe yes, maybe no,’ admitted Chris. ‘But keep in mind that at the back of it all this, Jess wants us to find her.’

  As they rolled into the village, despite her nervousness, Reilly was impressed by her first glimpse of the pretty Victorian houses on the way toward the seafront. Gray clouds swirled overhead, tugged along by the wind. The harbor was full, small blue, red and white pleasure cruisers jostled on the moving water alongside rusty orange fishing boats. They all rocked gently back and forth to the rhythm of the waves and wind.

  ‘You weren’t joking,’ she said. ‘It is beautiful. Look at those houses, they must be at least a hundred years old.’

  He watched her face. ‘Of course, I was forgetting,’ he teased, lightly. ‘You come from a country where anything that pre-dates Ronald Reagan is considered historic.’

  Pulling into the harbor, they found a small car park and pulled into an empty space.

  As soon as they stopped, Reilly climbed out of the car, glad to stretch her legs. The fresh air hit her, a strong spring breeze coming in off the sea. She ran her
fingers through her hair and breathed deeply.

  ‘Nothing like it,’ Chris said, watching her carefully. He led her along the edge of the harbor. The boats were bobbing gently on the waves, the lines slapping frantically against the masts in the breeze, setting up an insistent, repetitive beat. Seagulls wheeled overhead looking for scraps.

  ‘I can see why you liked coming here with your dad,’ she commented.

  And now she could also see why Mike had been pining for a return to the place. Was there a possibility that she’d got this all wrong, and that her sister had brought him here, not out of malice but of love? No, that wasn’t Jess’s style; she had never been sentimental, never had any time for Mike’s old tales of yore. If she had taken him here it was for her sake, her own reasons, not his.

  Reilly closed her eyes and let the wind blow directly into her face. She longed for this to be over, longed for the time and the peace of mind to come somewhere like this and truly relax – not for thirty seconds, but for a day, a week …

  Then a sudden shiver ran through her. It was beautiful, but also bitterly cold, and who knew what awaited them here? She looked over at Chris – he had his jacket wrapped tight around him.

  ‘So, where do we start?’ she asked.

  ‘There.’ He nodded to a building up ahead of them, a large pub with pale yellow walls and a slate roof.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The Beach House – it used to be the centre of things around here but it’s changed a bit since I was last here. It looks to be pretty upmarket these days.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ she wondered.

  He glanced sideways at her. ‘We? We do nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I mean is that you are not the person to be talking to the folks around here.’

  Reilly looked affronted. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re too damned American.’ He gave her a small wink as he pushed open the door. ‘You’ll scare the life out of the locals.’ Inside, he took off his windbreaker and carefully placed it across the back of a chair, then loosened his tie and undid his top button. ‘Whereas plain old Chris Delaney, who used to come fishing here with his dad, will blend in so easily that he’ll open them up like a fresh clam.’