Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (23 page)

Reuben
tutted.  ‘What a sordid mind you have, Detective Dinosaur.’

‘
You work as many of these cases as we have, you assume the worst, you know that,’ Kennedy replied quickly.

Reuben’
s loud sigh came down the line. ‘I’m afraid I can’t deny the truth in what you say. I’ve learned to expect the worst, and still not be surprised when it’s even worse than I imagined.’

‘I’ve never suspected that,’ Reilly added quickly. ‘If these are replacements for his family – his children – then maybe there’s nothing sexual in this.’

‘
I concur,’ said Reuben firmly. ‘While I could be wrong – I seem to recall being so once before, in the eighties I think,’ he added devilishly, ‘I would be very surprised if there were any sexual element, any abuse at all in this scenario.  I think he loves these kids like his own children.’

There was a long silence.

‘So how do we move forward?’ asked Chris finally.

‘Like I said,
I would begin by looking for men who have lost a large family, in a car crash, something similar. And I would also be on the lookout for new abductions or missing children. I think he will want to replace the latest escapee, Sarah.’

‘
We actually had another attempt a day ago,’ Chris informed him.  ‘Unsuccessful.’

‘Oh
, I do love it when I’m proved right!’ Reuben crowed.

‘
Still, it’s only a matter of time before he tries again. How do we get to him first?’ Chris demanded impatiently.

‘
Go back to the boy, see if you can get more details from him, and think carefully about how you might locate where he’s hiding them. After all, there can’t be too many places in the area that could double for an earthly paradise.’

‘Anything else?’ Reilly asked.

‘Well for starters, my dear, don’t forget this place isn’t actually mythical. Do what you do best … follow the breadcrumbs. Allow them to lead you right along the path to Tir Na Nog.’

It had not escaped Jack Gorman’s notice what his daughter was working on. When Reilly returned to the GFU after the conference call with Reuben he collared her in the hallway, a scowl knotting his bushy dark eyebrows together.

‘
You’re not helping, you know,’ he said by way of introduction.

His comment caught her by surprise – Gorman rarely said anything to her unless they were
directly consulting on a case. ‘Not helping?’

‘
Lucy,’ he barked. ‘This case you’ve got her working on. It’s not helping her.

She
still thinks she’s going to find her sister, after all these years…’ His voice trailed away.  ‘But she’s gone. There’s no way around that, and raking over old coals won’t bring her back.’

Reilly looked at his dark eyes, half hi
dden behind his thick glasses. Were his eyes moist, tears lurking at the corners?  ‘Jack, I’m no psychologist—’

‘
No, you’re not.’

‘
But I know this is important to Lucy,’ continued Reilly. ‘Grace disappeared when she was just a child.  Lucy feels helpless about what happened. I think she’s trying to understand it better, come to terms with it in her own way. And perhaps by helping others who have gone through a similar experience …’

Gorman stared down at his feet, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket
and wiped fiercely at his nose. ‘No good will come of it,’ he croaked. ‘Grace is gone, and that’s all there is to it. Do you not think I’ve used all the tools at my disposal over the years to try and find her?’

Reilly watched him as he shuffled away, his head
bowed. Oddly she felt that the conversation hadn’t been about Lucy but about himself, the demons playing inside his head, and the thoughts that tortured him in the small hours of the night.

Chapter 23

Conn
was sitting in the lobby of the children’s home when Chris and Kennedy returned the following day. 

‘
He’s been waiting out here since I told him you were calling. He said something about a music player?’ Maggie said as she ushered them inside. Chris told her about the player and the disks and checked that it was OK for Conn to have them.

‘Of course. That’s very decent of you,
Detective.’

‘You came back!’
Much to Chris surprise, Conn immediately walked up to him, his eyes scanning for the promised CD player.

‘Here you go
– just like I told you.’

The boy’s face broke into a rare smile and he uttered a shy thank you.
‘I know you want to ask me some more questions,’ he said in Irish, ‘but can we play together a bit first – you know, like last time?  Nobody else here can play.’

‘Of course. I’ve been practising a bit myself too, want to make sure I can keep up with you.’

Conn
glanced back over his shoulder at Kennedy, who was walking behind them with Maggie. ‘Where’s your girlfriend today?’

Chris laughed. 
‘She’s not my girlfriend. And she’s busy with other stuff.’

They turned into the music room,
and Conn led Chris straight to the piano.  ‘Listen. I made this one up.’ He laid his hands on the keyboard, almost reverentially. ‘It’s about Tír na nÓg.’

Kennedy hung back and pretended to be busy on his phone.

Chris
was heartened by the boy’s obvious delight at seeing him again, the rapport now established between them.  Hard fought but worth it. He tried to imagine what it must be like to be trapped inside yourself for this long, not connecting with anyone, not trusting anyone, wondering why the world would play such a cruel trick on you.

Conn began to play the piano.
It was a haunting melody, half developed, but almost the better for that. He wandered around it, leaving then returning, drifting at times, but always coming back to the same core.

Following their discover
y and the consultation with Rueben, the team had heavily researched both Tír na nÓg and the Children of Lir. It was Reilly who’d pointed out that both stories shared a theme of immortality – or eternal youth at least.

The Swans of Lir were innocents who had been punished for no good reason
– evil had been committed against them. The tale of Tír na nÓg, on the other hand, was a story of sanctuary from the evils of the world, a place where music and beauty were celebrated and happiness lasted for ever.

Chris ha
d enjoyed discussing the stories and their potential bearing on the current case with Reilly.  Since the discovery of his circumstances and his determination to keep things hidden, it had felt as though she’d thrown up a wall around her, no longer willing to be open with him. If he was going to hide things, then so was she.

But t
he two had spent the previous evening pouring over texts to try and figure out how best to approach the investigation from hereon. It had been a rare opportunity to try and rebuild bridges, little by little, and regain some of the closeness they’d once shared.

Conn
was lost in his music, his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes gazing out of the window, occasionally turning to Chris. Finally he slowed and the notes gradually faded away.  He was almost breathless. He turned and gazed at Chris, the unasked question in his eyes – did you like it?

Chris
nodded slowly, then began to play. A smile engulfed Conn’s face – Chris was playing his melody. Not quite the same – his own variation, his own interpretation – but unmistakably the same tune.

E
ven though he didn’t have kids of his own Chris liked to think that he had a way of connecting with them that came naturally. He was using every ounce of that here with Conn.

As his hands caressed the keyboard he looked
at Conn. ‘This is what Tír na nÓg is all about?’

Conn
nodded.

‘
I don’t think I’d want to leave either.’

Chris played for a moment more, then gently rested his hands on the keys. 
‘Can I ask you a few questions now, then we’ll play some more?’

Conn
said nothing and gazed out the window.  Chris looked at the side of his face, wondering what passed through his mind when he played the piano – was it conscious thought, or was it simply emotions racing around, forcing their way out through the music?

He caressed the keys, not really playing, just letting
Conn’s melody guide him, slowly, gently circling it, creating the mood, the feeling that Conn’s playing had evoked.  Without stopping playing, Chris began to question him.

‘
When we talked the other day, you told me about the man who brought you to Tir Na Nog. Did he have any other name?’

‘
Athair,’ said Conn.

Chris’s pulse quickened.
‘Anything else?  The girls …did they ever call him anything else?’

Conn
shook his head.  ‘Athair mostly, and sometimes Setanta. He was our father, but he was sort of our mother too – he did everything, like real parents should.’

Real parents …
Chris touched the keys and repeated Conn’s melody again.  ‘What kind of things did he do?’

‘
I don’t know – all the things your mum and dad would do, I suppose – he fed us, looked after us, tucked us in at night, read us stories about the bad places beyond Tír na nÓg. Places like this,’ he added sadly.

Chris thought about his next question.  He found his hands guiding him, and changed from
Conn’s tune to an old Irish folk song. Conn looked at him sharply.

‘
You know that one?’ said Chris.

‘Sarah
used to play it.’ 

Sarah …
Chris tried not to look too excited. Repeating the melody, he kept his voice light. ‘Do you remember anything before Tír na nÓg?’

Conn furrowed his brow. ‘
Little bits of stuff come into my head sometimes, you know, like when you’re not sure if it’s real or from a dream?’

Chris
smiled. ‘I get that a lot.  Is it something I remember, or a story I heard, or did I dream it?’

‘
Yes. Father said we were special, that we were chosen but that our dreams would try to trick us sometimes, and we should ignore them.’

‘
Can you tell me about any of them? The dreams?’

Conn
looked thoughtful.  ‘I kind of remember my minnie, she shouted a lot when I did things she didn’t like.’ He gazed up at the ceiling.  ‘But I remember a really old lady mostly. She played the piano, old songs like you just did, I remember her face had so many cracks and lines on it.’

‘
Who was Minnie, was she your sister or something?’ Chris asked.

Conn smiled. ‘
No, stupid, my minnie was my mother. Before I was chosen.’

Chosen…

Chris changed to another old song, one he himself had learned from his grandmother
.

Conn
smiled. ‘That’s another one.’

‘
Did you have a piano at home? In your first home I mean, not Tir Na Nog.’

‘
I don’t think so – I can’t remember…’

‘But
you remember this old lady, maybe your gran, playing the piano. Anyone else you remember?’

Conn sighed.  ‘Father told me to forget them. Said I was better off away from them.’

That makes sense, thought Chris
. Focus them on the here and now and forget what they might have left behind.

‘
There’s a man I see sometimes in my dreams. He always makes me wake up, he isn’t very nice. Father said that he took me away from there because of him, and that I’d always be safe with him and the others in Tír na nÓg…’

He went quiet.

Move on, thought Chris, move on before you lose him. He quickly changed his playing back to Conn’s melody, bringing him back to Tír na nÓg.  ‘So what else can you tell me about Tír na nÓg?  It sounds like a very special place.’

Chris could almost feel
Conn’s mood lift as he brought him back from the dark place. ‘It was lovely,’ he began.  ‘But I never realized how lovely it was till I got stuck here.’

‘Did you ever go anywhere else away from there,
to school or anything like that?’

Conn
shook his head.  ‘Father said the land would be our teacher. We would often walk through the woods or play down by the beach in summer, but he also made us do some stuff inside the house – times tables and reading. We did lots of reading.’

A house … beach …
the woods
Chris looked at him with interest. ‘Did you have a lot of books there in the house?’

‘
In the kitchen there was a whole wall that was just books, and we were allowed to read any one we wanted.’  He looked at Chris.  ‘Sarah used to read to me a lot.’