Aftermath (10 page)

T
his time
, Mrs Mullins let the detectives inside without complaint and, as expected, no one was there.

By the looks of it, no one had been there for quite sometime. The small room was bare-bone empty, impeccably cleaned but not the least bit lived in. The fridge was empty, cabinets bare, wardrobes empty. All of the furniture looked unused. There wasn't even a TV to be found.

"Do you rent the flats furnished?" Chris asked Mrs Mullins.

"These places are usually halfway houses between prison and jobs. I only keep them stocked up with the essentials."

He nodded and looked around. He could already tell this was a cold lead.

“The guy’s never even stepped foot in here."

"Quite possible," Mrs Mullins agreed. Then she shrugged and left them to it.

T
he GFU team
arrived shortly thereafter to sweep the flat. Reilly walked slowly around the perimeter, then criss-crossed the small room, only looking and not touching.

Once that was done she would walk along each wall and look inward, under furniture or at the lower parts of the opposite wall, hoping to find something that might further implicate Richard O’Donnell, footwear so they could ascertain his shoe size, or a definitive print that would put him inside the Morrison household.

On the first pass, she found nothing of interest. There were no trash bins, or trash. The refrigerator was completely empty. There were no pictures on the walls or on the shelves, no books, records or personal objects of any kind.

The place was simply not lived in.

Lucy and Gary swept the area with UV and didn't find anything of note that way either. No hair fibers or skin flakes in the bed, no prints on the windows or door knobs.

They went through the empty closets, drawers, cabinets. Nothing.

Reilly fell into a quiet state, which often happened in times like these. To the average observer it almost looked like she blanked out, or had begun daydreaming even.

But really she was just finding an internal silence.

Putting all thoughts aside in order to be completely empty and receptive. Sometimes in those moments there were strikes of inspiration or wisdom.

Or something occurred to her that hadn't before.

But this time, nothing. It was like trying to prove the existence of a ghost.

B
ack at the GFU
, she tasked Rory with investigating the magistrate's records on O’Donnell, specifically for family members or friends with close ties to the suspect.

The guy was holed up somewhere, he had to be.

In the meantime, Gary went to the hospital to expedite the transfer of Josh Morrison’s clothes to the GFU, in the hope that examination and analysis of the bloodied garments might tell them something else about the person who’d so viciously attacked him, be it O’Donnell or otherwise.

There was one other thing niggling in her brain. Who had deleted the data on Josh Morrison’s iPhone and why?

According to the timestamp, this had happened six minutes
after
the 999 call, so it had to been Annabel, as Reilly couldn’t imagine a scenario whereby the attacker would have hung around long enough to do so, with the cavalry already on the way.

Which, for the moment at least, put Mrs Morrison right back in the spotlight.

She dropped by Rory’s workstation on the way back to her office.

"The iPhone, I presume you took prints from it?"

“Of course. Before I hooked it up. Got both husband and wife.”

She supposed that wasn't at all out of the ordinary, spouses often used each other's phones.

She bit her lip, thinking hard. ”Any way to tell if it was reset locally, or remotely?”

He stared at her. ”To get that information we'd really need to get a subpoena."

"Why don't we, then?"

"Reilly, we'd have to subpoena Apple. The courts would have to subpoena... Apple Computers."

“OK, I get it," she sighed. That should only take…oh about eight months or so.

B
ack in her office
, she saw that she had two missed calls from O’Brien. She returned the call right away, realizing that she might as well just get the inevitable dressing down over with.

“That wasn't a report yesterday, Steel, that was a mockery! The man was stabbed in his own home. The best the GFU could come up with is that the wife didn't do it? That his twelve year old daughter, didn't do it?"

"I understand, sir. It's very frustrating.”

"Frustrating? No, it's embarrassing, that's what it is. Do you know how many calls an hour I'm getting from Phoenix Park? Do you have any idea how many government offices, civil servants, media representatives and God-knows who else has called this office over the last forty-eight hours?"

"A lot?" she attempted meekly.

"That's an understatement. And what do I tell them? Three days in, and you have nothing. Absolutely nothing..."

“With all due respect sir, we do have a suspect."

"Well let’s all have a party …what? What do you mean you have a suspect? Where in this report is a suspect mentioned?”

“Something came to light today, sir. The detectives are working on it. Looks like it was indeed a robbery gone bad."

"I don't care if it was a Satanic ritual gone bad, book the man and let's close this out, do you understand me?"

“Yes sir, I want it closed too, every bit as much as you do. Believe me."

“Good because there's more. And take this however you want. But if there isn't any progress by tomorrow morning, Steel, I have to mix things up, do you understand? I need to move the investigation around to somebody that can get results. That’ll be even more embarrassing than what's happening now, so don't make me do it. I don't want the GFU to look incompetent. It can't happen. So do your bloody job."

He hung up the phone.

Well that was fun….

Such a fuss, she thought. And all over an assault on some trumped up celebrity. She could understand the pressure the chief was under, with all the media pressure but this wasn't even a homicide.

Just as she suspected, Jack Gorman was next to pay her a visit. Obviously he was getting his ear bent from Phoenix Park too.

Closing the door behind him, his aged face looked worn and tired, and his eyes glazed with exhaustion. Reilly wondered what he'd been through that day. How many media interviews, how many interdepartmental calls, how much pressure from O’Brien.

The whole country had blown this case out of proportion and the GFU were at the epicenter of it.

He sat down and regarded her for a while.

"I know you, Steel," he said at last. “You usually don't show your hand until you know you have a royal flush. Maybe this time, you don't need to play it so close the chest. Be honest with me, what do we have on this?"

She sighed. “A cold suspect, Jack. We can place him at the scene, but we can't directly connect him with the crime. If - when - we find him though, the pieces should come together.”

"You sure about that?"

"One hundred percent sure."

"Because if you bring this guy in and it doesn't come together. Where does that leave us?"

“Back at square one," she said, just above a whisper.

W
hen Jack left
, and the notion was still playing at the front of her mind, Reilly realized that deep down, she didn't truly believe this O’Donnell guy was the one.

Her gut was telling her otherwise.

From the very beginning she’d thought that something about this robbery thing didn't ring true.

So why, in the face of weak evidence, was she willing to pursue that angle now?

Was it pressure to close the case? Pressure from O’Gorman and the media? An attempt to prove to Chris that she wasn't being irrational?

Was her judgment cloudy? And what about her instinct?

D
espite her best
intentions to keep him at a distance, Reilly couldn't deny that Chris Delaney was a handsome son of a bitch.

Now, as they met up for a bite after work under the auspices of catching up on the search for O’Donnell, she tried her best not to be distracted by it, as she had so successfully ever since their first case together over two years prior.

The hard lines that had in the meantime appeared on his face from sleepless nights and tough cases day after day, only contributed to his brooding exterior. He'd seen stuff, been through stuff. He had regrets, empathy and wisdom. They’d all seen too much.

And mostly, they saw it together.

This whole thing was a mess. Reilly didn't want any of it. She didn't want her pregnancy to get in the way of her work, her friends. Her colleagues.

Yet here she was, having a catchup with Chris after work in the guise of catching up on the investigation.

She knew she needed to clear the air and get over the stupid personal stuff that had been affecting their interactions lately. They needed to be the well-oiled machine they always had been.

There he was at a corner table, eating French Fries...chips, she corrected herself, and drinking Guinness. iPhone out, thumbing through who knows what.

She slipped into the chair opposite him.

“Hey you,” she said like a teenager who awkwardly needed to discuss a fight she’d had with her best friend.

“Hello yourself.”

They both stared at each for a moment and then started speaking at the same time.

“I know I've been weird," she began.

“Look, I'm sorry if …” he said.

They stopped at the same time, both chuckling nervously.

Chris stepped up. "Just... just let me, okay?"

"Okay."

"You're a good friend Reilly. At this stage, probably my best friend. And I don’t like being an arm's distance away like this. Lately, I don't know … it's been hard work. Is there a way we can reset all this somehow? Start over?"

She paused for a time, collecting her thoughts. This wasn't about friendship, she knew.

It was about something much more than that. He knew it. She knew it. They’d been on a road together when suddenly a massive construction zone had popped up out of nowhere, forcing their paths apart.

"Starting over means we have to scrap all the stuff we learned, doesn't it,” she stated, refusing to meet his gaze.

Chris fiddled with a chip. "Maybe not start over but …try again?"

Still she didn't look at him. “Try what again?"

He went quiet. ”Do you really want me to say it, Reilly?"

Something stirred inside her and she didn't think it was the baby.

“Chris, you and I have been very close for a long time, there's no doubt about that. And recently… I guess that was about to turn into something more… That was until … well you know as well as I do that things are a lot more complicated now."

"Of course I know that," he said. "I'm not an idiot. But like you said yourself, we've been through thick and thin together. It's just … I don't know, it feels like you're pushing me away altogether now. A bit like I’m only getting a drawing of you instead of the real you. Even though I told you before I’d be there for you, support you in any way you want … instead you just put this wall up, and I can't handle it. You’re just so … cold."

"It's not just you, Chris," she admitted softly. “Maybe I just can't let anyone in right now."

"Lookit, I know I can be an asshole sometimes too…” He shook his head. “Oh I don’t know, this whole bloody thing pisses me off."

"What pisses you off, Chris?” she said, hackles rising instinctively. “The fact that I had the audacity to sleep with someone else instead of you?"

His face changed. ”This is what I'm talking about, Reilly. You never used to talk to me like that. I'm not your enemy here. We’re in the same boat."

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it? Since when have we not been in the same boat? I thought we had an understanding. When we're on a case together we're a team. We have the same agenda."

"That hasn't changed."

“Come on. We've been butting heads ever since this Morrison thing kicked off. We can't see eye-to-eye on anything lately. You're not letting me in. We’re not working on this together. And we're losing it, Reilly. We are losing it because of that. The case is slipping away and there's not a thing I can do about it. You won't talk to me."

"I don't have anything to say," she said quietly. "I know the case is slipping. But it has nothing to do with you and me. There just isn't enough evidence…”

"What about this lead then?"

"I hope it's him, I
think
it's him,” she added trying to convince herself as much as Chris. “I’m just not sure we can directly connect him to the attack."

"There's more you're not saying," he said, looking down at his food.

“Chris … honestly it’s not worth saying, not now anyway."

He sighed, clearly holding back. Taking a deep breath he leaned back in the chair and did his best to soften his demeanour.

"How's the baby?" he asked gently.

She shrugged, a little taken aback by the sudden change of subject. "Everything seems fine."

"Have you told Forrest yet?”

“Not yet. I still need to figure out if …”

“If what?” He stared at her. “If you’re going to go back to Florida, is it?”

“Is that it? You think I’m giving up on the GFU?”

“I don’t know. There’s no doubt that things have changed since you got back from that trip in more ways than one. You’ve changed, Reilly. The passion and drive and sheer tenacity you used to have just isn't there any more. Anyone with half a brain can see that.” Chris gripped the stout with both hands, absently looking into it.

What the hell…?

Frustration welled up. He really did view her as unstable, unpredictable.

Not dedicated to the work. Her very judgment was in question, yet it was her judgment that made her a good investigator.

It was the single quality that made her who she was.

Yet Chris seemed to be doubting that now, doubting everything about her. He couldn't even tell for sure if she would stay with the force. What sort of trust did that represent?

Or lack of it.

She couldn't look at him. Instead she found a place on the wall to look at. Wood paneling with a portrait of some random Irish chieftain from the 19th century, complete with top hat and mustache.

"I don't know what to say to that," she said at last. Emotion welled up against her will. She pushed it back, but it had to be obvious. If not tears, then anger. Or both. "I thought we understood each other better than this," she said finally.

"So did I. But what am I supposed to think? You leave, you come back—and you're this completely new person.”

"I
am
the same person, Chris. I actually think that’s what's bothering you. Even though I’m pregnant, I’m still the same person whereas you expected something different. That time, during the Ellis thing when my hormones were all over the place, you enjoyed my being this kind of … damsel needing rescuing, didn't you? And then when I figured out what was going on, you didn't expect me to just go off and do things on my own. Take control of my own responsibilities..."

“Control of your responsibilities? Reilly, you haven't even told the father.”

That stung. The temperature at the table decreased several degrees.

"I'm sorry, look I didn't... I'm sorry."

"There's nothing else to discuss.” She stood up and began to walk out, but then stopped. "I want you to know something," she said just above a whisper, as Chris quietly waited. “It might be easier if we were friends, but we don't have to be either. I have a job to do. So do you."

And she left him, halfway horrified at the words that had come out of her mouth. She didn't know in that moment if she meant it, or just wanted to cut him deeply like he’d cut her. She couldn't even say objectively who was right or who was wrong, or even why they were fighting like this.

But her hackles were up. Her claws were out.

Her only recourse now was to bury herself deeper. To get the job done.

Do the job right, catch the bad guy and find the missing piece of evidence no one else could see.

To be ahead of the game. Smarter. And whether or not Chris Delaney was supporting her, Reilly would soldier on.