TRACE - CSI Reilly Steel #5 (Forensic novel Police Procedural Series) (10 page)

‘Yes. He looked after me. He stood by me. He knew what was best.’ He sounded almost like he was reciting a lesson.

‘How did he know what was best for you?’

‘He knew how things worked. Knew that my mam and Frank were just out to get me. Wanted to send me away to school. Brendan looked after me.’

She guessed Frank was the mother’s new husband, Darren’s stepfather.

‘Where is Brendan now?’ she asked.

‘No one knows. He must be dead though, because he wouldn’t go and take off somewhere without saying something. Someone must have got him.’

‘Did your brother have lots of enemies then?’

‘Sure,’ said Darren. ‘People were afraid of him. They wanted him dead.’

‘Were you afraid of him?’

Darren looked away. ‘He would never hurt me.’

‘Were you afraid of him?’

Still he didn't reply and Reilly sat silently for a minute. She could feel the guards waiting behind her, staring at her and Darren. She had the feeling that if she waited, he would say more.

‘Did my brother hurt me? Yeah,’ he said. ‘Plenty of times. He would hit me. He killed my dog. He would tear up my schoolwork, piss on pictures of my girlfriends, my family. Yes, I was afraid of him. But everything he did was love. Everything. See this burn?’ He pointed to a long burn down his forearm. ‘He did this with the blade of a knife he had held in the fire. Every time he hit me, or took something from me, he did it to make me stronger. Because he loved me.’

Reilly was overwhelmed. She felt ill. ‘Did your brother try to take Grace from you?’

Suddenly a stream of filthy words and invective flowed. The man who had spoken to her so reasonably a minute ago was now going crazy. He threw his body over the table between them. His teeth were bared in a yellow rictus, his hands made into claws. Reilly shot her body backwards, sending her chair flying. The guards were on him in seconds, but she had felt the hot air of his breath, felt his words land on her like blows.

Outside, she gulped for air. She still had her recorder grasped in her hand, thank goodness. She didn’t remember picking it up, didn’t remember being escorted from the premises. She stumbled back to the car park, where Chris was waiting, leaning against the car.

‘Reilly my god, what’s wrong?’ He held out his arms to steady her, and she fell against his chest. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’

The strength of his arms around her seemed to trigger something in her, and without warning, Reilly found herself wrapping her arms around him. Then without warming, she pressed her lips against his, trying to fill herself up with the smell of Chris, the taste of him, anything to block out the events of the past hour.

Chapter 15

Pete Kennedy was waging his own private war against Harry McMurty. Chris seemed to think he was a dead end in the investigation, but he just had a feeling about this kid that couldn’t be ignored.

He found out where McMurty lived and followed him there. He watched him leave his house and go running in the mornings, and he watched him leave for work, perfectly groomed and strutting down the street like he owned it. He watched him flirting with girls at the restaurant, and had no doubt that he was up to his same old tricks.

He hadn’t seen him do anything incriminating, yet. But Kennedy had no doubt, if he kept watching, that McMurty would slip up.

Reilly would rather have done anything else than go into work on Monday morning. She thought about calling in sick. She thought about just crawling back into bed and ignoring the world. Instead she gave herself a talking to, one of the variety her father might have given her: You just lift your chin up honey, and get back to work. I didn’t raise you to hide under a rock whenever you did something stupid.

Because she
had
done something stupid. Appallingly stupid. In that moment of emotion, she had kissed - practically
jumped on
- Chris Delaney, sending years of a good working partnership straight down the toilet.

Yes, he had responded, but how could he not, given the circumstances? She had basically been distraught. She was mortified about running into his arms like a scared little girl, but there had just been something about the encounter with Darren Keating that shook her to the core.

It wasn't just that he tried to attack her. It was that something under his exterior was so hurt, so badly damaged that it made her afraid. There was something else to this story, Grace’s story, but she hadn’t stayed in the room long enough to find out.

Eventually she’d come to her senses and quickly pulled away, mumbling a quick apology and shutting down any conversation about what had just happened.

She knew he had been just as stunned as she was, and the journey back across the city had been excruciating. Every time Chris tried to speak to her she had started to talk about the Armstrong case; details they had already been over. She couldn’t stand to hear any of his platitudes, or his “I’m flattered but I don’t think this is a good idea speech”. She already
knew
it wasn’t a good idea.

They were scheduled to go to a restaurant called Hammer and Tongs today to enquire about their use of antimine, and to look into any links with Rose Cooper’s former workmate Harry McMurty. There would be no cosy lunch this time, though. Reilly would keep things strictly business. She didn’t know how to begin to repair her relationship with Chris, to make him feel safe around her again.

Now she just had to get through the day.

But if she thought it was going to get any better, she was sadly wrong.

She had a stack of emails and messages from the lab waiting and now she could see someone making a beeline for her office. Couldn’t they just give her a minute to hang up her coat first?

But she would have happily talked to anyone, over what happened next. Jack Gorman walked past her in the hallway. “Steel. My office. Now.”

She knew it wouldn’t be good, and it wasn’t.

‘We talked about this,’ said Jack. ‘We talked about this and I set out the ground rules and you agreed to them.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘So why don’t you tell me, if you understood and agreed to those rules, why my daughter was undergoing hypnotherapy on Friday, while conveniently enough you were in Mountjoy interviewing a former witness? What the hell is wrong with you Steel? You were interviewing a witness who has been questioned a hundred times! Do you know how this looks?’

‘I just needed to - ’

‘I don’t care if you needed to bloody well dance on the table tops. I don’t care what you need at all, Steel. The point is, you shouldn’t have been there. You shouldn’t have been anywhere near Keating. There’s a task force in place and now I’ve got my colleagues, the ones who are actually supposed to be working this case, breathing down my neck.’

‘They might be breathing down your neck, Jack, but they’re not helping you find your daughter.’

‘And as of now, neither are you. We’ve got a job to do here in the GFU and that’s what I want you to be doing. No flitting off on Friday afternoons on a wild goose chase.’

‘I resent the implication that I was ignoring my work, Jack. That’s not true. And further to that, you don’t control what I do in either my work or personal time. I made a promise to Lucy to help and I’m sorry, but I’m going to act on that promise whether you like it or not. You weren’t there the other day with Keating; there might be something …’

Jack Gorman was so angry that for once Reilly didn't follow through on her argument. She could almost feel the heat coming off him. He had a right to be, she knew. She had expressly gone against his wishes. But with good reason.

‘Please, Jack. I really think I’ve got something. I just need more time. I’ll keep a low profile.’

‘According to you,’ he said, ‘I can’t stop you.’ Then his voice softened a little. ‘I appreciate you trying to help our family, but your job isn’t going over old ground Steel, it’s covering new.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do, Jack. You know I’m good at my job.’

‘I know you used to be. But since you’ve got back from your leave of absence I don’t think you’ve not been on your game. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. So I’m warning you now, as a colleague and a friend: Do your job.’

She was almost shell-shocked when she left Jack’s office. Was he right? Had she been off her game? Sure, she had been jet lagged for longer than usual, and was definitely finding it harder to get back into the swing of things, but she thought that was visible only to her.

She would just have to push herself harder. She would go down to the lab herself this afternoon, to go over the evidence. Something mundane like analyzing trace might help her to focus her mind; really narrow in on something.

He was right about one thing, she really did seem all over the place since she’d come back, the ongoing murder investigation, the cold case, her relationships …

Her mind shutting down at the thought of what had happened with Chris, she thought again about what had Jack had said about the cold case. She shouldn’t be meddling. But how could she stand by and watch the task force scratching their asses, when she now knew that there was more to Darren Keating than met the eye? It would be a different story if she trusted the other detectives to do the job. But she didn’t. And she didn’t care what Jack said; Lucy was relying on her she wasn’t going to give it up. Not while there was a sliver of hope, however faint that might be. She owed it to Lucy.

Reilly turned to her emails and with a deep breath, began to methodically sort through them. From Gary was some background information on Brendan Keating, which she’d requested before heading out to the prison on Friday. She would read that later. It wouldn’t do for Gorman to walk in and see her reading it. From now on, she would work on Grace’s case outside of work hours and in her spare time only.

From Julius: “More promising evidence in the Armstrong AND Cooper case.” Well, that was some good news, at least.

The last one from Chris, she almost deleted without reading. Don’t be silly she told herself. It’s probably something about work. But something stopped her and she was just about to click on it when another email right below it caught her attention.

It was from Lucy’s hypnotherapist.

It could be because of the amount of time that has passed,
it read,
or because of the extreme effort that Lucy has put into forgetting this particular event, but it is hidden very deep. I will need to go very slowly with her, to avoid traumatizing her completely. I have no doubt that there is something to be found, but I don’t want to harm the patient in the process of extraction. You might consider the consequences if we uncover something damaging. Audio transcript attached.

Reilly downloaded the audio file and put her headphones in. She listened to the therapist put Lucy into a sleep-like state, a place where her defenses were lowered and she could free associate. Whatever was in her unconscious wouldn’t come up against the same barriers as it did when she was awake.

Once she was under, the therapist began to ask questions in her low and pleasant voice. Reilly felt like she was listening to something very private. She didn’t have the right to someone else’s memories. But Lucy had consented beforehand, agreeing that it was necessary.

‘Are you happy with your sister?’

‘No, I am angry with her.’

‘Why are you angry with her?’

‘You know,’ says Lucy. ‘Because she won’t tell.’
If Reilly didn’t know better, she would think she was listening to a recording of an eleven year old. Lucy sounded so young, so childlike.

‘Won’t tell what?’
asks the therapist.

‘The thing. In the house. You know,’
she says again, insistently.

‘Why don’t you tell?’
The therapist tries a different tack.

‘If I tell, they will do it to me, as well. That’s what she said. Don’t tell.’

‘What will they do to you?’

‘You know,’ says Lucy. ‘You know.’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you told me, but now I don’t remember. Please tell me.’

Lucy begins to whimper and cry.
‘I can’t tell,’ she says. ‘I can’t tell, or something bad will happen to Grace. I can’t tell.’

Chapter 16

Lucy was at her desk with her headphones in, and she jumped a meter in the air when Reilly tapped her shoulder.

‘Reilly. Oh my God, you scared me!’

‘Sorry. I just came by to tell you, if you don’t want to do this anymore, it’s OK. The hypnotherapy I mean. I’ll keep working a few angles, but you don’t need to be involved if you don’t want to. It’s probably too much.’

Lucy looked taken aback. ‘No, why would you think that? Of course I want to keep going. I’m not that soft that I would change my mind after one session.’

‘But I thought … I got the impression from your dad that you didn’t want to do it anymore. Because it upset you.’

‘It did upset me. But Reilly, you were right I know something is there. I know that there’s something that I’ve blocked out. I talked to Dad because I thought he might remember something himself. I asked him if he remembered Grace being particularly distracted or down in the dumps before she went missing, and he got so upset. He thought I was blaming him and mum, which of course I wasn’t. And he’s adamant that Grace didn’t run away or had maybe done something … herself, and he thought I was implying that.’

Reilly felt like a heel for putting the family through all this again. There was little question of Grace having committed suicide though, given that no body had ever been found. And that her necklace had been. ‘You’re sure you want to keep going?’ she asked Lucy again. ‘The therapist says it will be really heavy going and it’s only going to get harder.’

‘I want to keep going,’ she insisted. ‘Gary helped me see that it could actually be good for me. All this energy I’m putting into keeping a secret from myself? I’m sick of it, Reilly. I want to be free. Don’t worry about Dad. I’ll handle him, ok?’

‘The thing is,’ said Kennedy, who had appeared in her office when she got back. ‘I just know this guy’s up to no good. I want to put a closer watch on him.’

‘They’ll never agree to it. We’ve got nothing on McMurty, and those are huge resources.’

A plate of pastries wobbled between them. Reilly did have a weakness for pastries and she was steadfastly trying to ignore them.

‘I’ve just got a feeling about this guy. You understand those feelings don’t you? He might not be smart enough to be our murderer…but maybe he is. He’s into all that dating stuff on the internet too. I had Gary check.’

‘I’ll try and get you something but I’ve already got O’Brien playing target practice with my head. He wants something solid from the evidence. And: so far we’ve just got bits and pieces.’

‘Well, what does the chief bloody well expect? For us to pull something out of a magic hat? If our jobs were that easy there would be no murders. I saw Gorman stomping around your desk earlier too, like a big, red bull. Someone should shove a pin in his hind, see how he likes it.’

Reilly couldn’t help but laugh. There was no love lost between Gorman and Kennedy. It was strange, because they were both of the old-school way of doing things.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But I think you should go to the restaurant with Chris this afternoon, despite your dislike of fine dining. There will be no eating today, just business.’

‘Grand. We’ll see if we can’t get a read on this fella.’

Before he left, Reilly gave in and split a pastry with Kennedy. What was life for, anyway, if you couldn’t comfort yourself after the morning from hell?

So,’ said Julius, positioning a slide under a microscope, ‘whoever was lying on Jennifer Armstrong’s bed, was wearing a material that didn’t shed. But it did leave a residue of a chemical called magnesium stearate.’

Reilly immediately recognized this as the finishing agent on spandex. So basically, tights, exercise gear, things like that. ‘

‘Because it’s so thin, I had hoped that we might be able to get a skin sample though the fabric. Or maybe semen, if the unsub’s reaction was sexual one. But I don’t think it is. Anyway, along with DNA from the hair, we also now have the fabric agent linking these two crime scenes. The same trace occurring at both scenes.’

‘OK. What kind of person wears spandex. Someone who exercises obviously. Or…’ she continued, her brain suddenly spinning into a familiar overdrive. ‘It might be a very smart thing to wear to a murder. Like you said, it doesn’t shed fibers as such. So what if the killer wore normal clothes to the murder site, took some clothes and changed into exercise gear to run home in? He wouldn’t be noticed. There’s thousands of people running to and from work in the city.’

‘You’re right, it’s completely anonymous. No one would think twice.’

‘Another thing. If the unsub was on or in the bed, and we could get something from his clothing, then why wasn’t there more trace left behind?’

‘My theory is that he was wearing a head covering of some kind. This guy came prepared.’

‘Any treads?’

‘Very vague,’ Julius said, pulling out the tread imprints. ‘Guy’s light on his feet.’

‘And a runner would be light on their feet too, wouldn’t they?’ Reilly moved in to look at the treads. The footwear in question looked to have a strong raised arch, and thick ridges, the same indentation disappearing every centimeter.

Her face brightened as finally some of the puzzle was starting to come together. ‘I think our guy was wearing running shoes.’