Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (11 page)

The discovery of a recent hit-and-run victim found with such a tattoo has been linked to another unsolved death of nine years. In both cases the dead woman had the same design tattooed onto her back. 

Authorities are now trying to figure out the girls’ identities and are working on the theory that they may both have been part of a cult which brands its members, and is potentially located in the Wicklow/Dublin mountains close to where the bodies were found.

Anyone who recognizes the angel-wing tattoo (pictured above) should contact the newspaper directly at this email address …

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Reilly felt herself slump upon reading the article. Whenever the press got involved in a case like this it added complications and caused untold headaches. Not only did they have to spend time answering questions and run the gauntlet of photographers when they were out in the field but, there was the added pressure from Chief Inspector O’Brien, who was demanding a fast resolution.

‘You’ve seen it then?’ Chris stuck his head round the door of Reilly’s office. He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘It’s in all the tabloids.’

Reilly drew the paper closer, still shocked to see the photo of one of the angel tattoos beneath the headline.

‘How the hell did they get their hands on that though?’

‘Who knows? It’s a lot easier these days when all this stuff is stored on the computer system. And all those journos have sources within the force –  you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours et cetera.’ The cynicism oozed out of Chris’s voice. 

‘And the cult theory?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Is that true?’

Cultism had been part of her studies at Quantico, and she’d worked firsthand on one particular case in North Carolina while still a rookie: the New Eden Cult as they had become known. Years later, she still had nightmares about it.

He shrugged. ‘We have to explore every avenue ...’

Yet nobody had bothered to share this new avenue with
her.
She felt a pang of annoyance at effectively being sidelined in the investigation. She couldn’t help herself respond. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’

‘We were going to mention it at this morning’s debrief.’

‘But obviously decided that the press should hear it first,’ she said, unable to conceal her annoyance.

He looked duly chastened. ‘That’s not how it happened, you know none of us  tells those scumbags anything. James MacDonald raised the idea originally and it was late when we finished with the tattoo guy yesterday. He reckons it’s a safe bet that the
tattoo is indicative of some kind of membership. Of what, we’re not sure. Sorry, we just haven’t had the chance to—’

She cut him off. ‘Fine. So what next? I take it you’ve heard from O’Brien about this?’ She indicated the newspaper.

He nodded wearily. ‘He was waiting in the office first thing when I arrived this morning. He’s absolutely livid.’

‘I don’t blame him. This is going to raise hell.’

‘It has already. Anyway, we’d better go. He’s giving a statement at ten and wants us all there.’

She narrowed her eyes.  ‘Us?’ She liked being part of the investigating team but could do without this exposure.

He nodded. ‘It’s an order.’

‘Crap.’ Reilly’s day had started badly and clearly wasn’t going to get any better.

‘OK, the jackals are outside, I’ve got to tell them something. Bring me up to speed in two minutes. Now.’ Chief Inspector O’Brien glared at Reilly, Chris and Kennedy, his deep red complexion and unusually unkempt flyaway gray hair giving away the depth of his frustration with the media reports. His assistant sat in the corner of his office, fingers poised over her laptop, ready to record every word they said.

Reilly spoke first. ‘Hit and run four days ago – a seventeen-year-old female apparently wandering the country lanes around Roundwood in her nightclothes, no ID, nothing distinctive except a tattoo of angel wings on her back. And she was five months pregnant.’

Chris picked up the thread.  ‘We canvassed the immediate area with the help of the local police but nothing turned up. No one knows her, no one’s ever seen her. However, on the plus side, we’ve since identified the vehicle that hit her and had the driver’s father in for questioning. Seems it was a straightforward hit and run and he fled the scene. He is now out of the country but word from the Met is we should have him in custody imminently.’

‘Well, that’s something at least. But if it’s a straightforward hit and run, where are the press going with this cult nonsense?’ the chief asked as his assistant tapped down some notes behind them.

‘We linked the tattoo with a cold case from nine years ago,’ Reilly continued.  ‘Another redheaded girl, though older, pretty much the same tattoo design. Found dead in a patch of woods in the Wicklow mountains. COD was listed as exposure at the time.’

Kennedy spoke next. ‘We talked to a retired detective, James MacDonald, the chief investigator at the time. He believes this girl may have originated from a hippy commune or something similar.’

They all fell silent and O’Brien looked up, waiting for someone to continue.  ‘So is it a cult thing or not?’

‘At this point, we can’t say. However, the similarities in the girls’ appearance as well as the tattoos suggests there may be more in play than our initial discovery. Based on these similarities, we’re now working on the theory that they may well have originated from the same group – be it a group of New Age Travelers or otherwise.’

‘Otherwise? Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like the otherwise bit?’

Reilly spoke up. ‘Well, like the newspapers suggest, there’s the possibilty that the tattoo is some form of … branding.’

The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Christ.’

‘Sir, it’s just one theory at this point,’ Chris said. ‘We piece together shreds of information and, little by little, we form a picture. You understand that.’

‘
I
understand that,’ growled O’Brien, ‘but the press don’t.  They watch
CSI
and think everything is solved inside an hour by a team of good-looking scientists, and comes wrapped up in a big red bow.’  He nodded towards his assistant.  ‘Print that off for me.’  She duly closed her laptop and hurried from the room. O’Brien perched on the edge of his desk. ‘So what do I give them?’

‘The cat’s out of the bag now,’ Kennedy said. ‘We give the public what’s helpful to us, and keep back the stuff we don’t want them to know. It may be no bad thing, as sooner or later we’d have needed to launch a public appeal to try and identify these girls anyway.’ He looked at Reilly, who nodded.  ‘The photo of the tattoo is already public, sir, so we focus on that, see if it rings a bell with anyone.’

O’Brien nodded.  ‘Fine.’  He stood up, and looked them over.  ‘I suppose you lot look presentable enough. Let’s go.’

Kennedy looked at him in horror. ‘You want us all to come to the press conference?’

O’Brien nodded.  ‘Of course. It will look better if I have a team beside me, backing me up. Makes it look like we actually know what we’re doing…’

Kennedy hitched up his trousers and straightened his tie. ‘Josie will have a fit,’ he said to Chris. ‘She hates this tie.’

Half an hour later, Reilly stood behind O’Brien and gazed out over the assembled journalists, the cameras flashes half-blinding her.

Standing like this reminded her of prize-giving days at school, when the award-winning students were paraded up to pose with the principal and get a photo taken. It always struck her that it was much more about the school and how well it had done than actually celebrating the achievements of the individuals. She’d hated school, the cliques, the teams and had sought solace in her books. And Jess. She hadn’t needed validation from anyone else but her back then.

O’Brien briefly outlined the facts of the case, referring to the notes his assistant had typed up.

‘As you can see, our enquiries are ongoing.’  He paused, turning on his most sincere expression. ‘In cases like this we rely very strongly on the public to help us. We will therefore be distributing detailed pictures of the tattoo at the end of this briefing, and would ask anyone who recognizes it to please contact us on the information helpline.  All calls will, of course, be treated with the utmost confidentiality.’

Chris sighed, and muttered under his breath, ‘A thousand nutjobs a day, that’s what we’ll get.’

O’Brien stepped out from behind the podium and lined himself up in front of the investigative team. Reilly hoped deep down inside that the hassle they were about to go through as a result of going public with the tattoo might, just might, be rewarded with something useful.

The cameras flashed, blinding them for a moment, then O’Brien clapped his hands together and addressed the journalists. ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen. Any questions for our investigators?’

The questions rained down, microphones were thrust forward and a scrum of eager faces swarmed around.

‘Why is he branding them?’

‘Is it a paedophile ring?’

‘What are we dealing with here, some kind of religious nutjob? Is it true you’re looking at a cult? Is it a new Waco?’

Reilly sighed and discreetly flexed her foot to halt the onset of cramp. As usual the questions were piling up, but so far the answers were frustratingly elusive.

Chapter 14

Later that afternoon, Reilly was back at the lab. Before her on the workbench lay the remnants of what was left in the evidence box from the cold case: the dead girl’s clothes and old, well-worn footwear.

‘Can you come over here a sec?’ she called out to Rory as he worked away at his own bench.

‘Be right there, boss, just finishing up here,’ he said, not even lifting his head as he delicately placed two sample slides into the ‘Perkin’. The Elemental Analysis machine was used for determining mineral content and quantity from trace material. It burned the samples in pure oxygen and measured the elements present.

Following Reilly’s direction, the GFU had embarked on a detailed reconnaissance soil map of the entire country, and it was hoped that in time any sample could be matched to within a small area with only basic analysis. There was already a general soil map dating back to the 1980s, which was far less specific but still useful in pointing them in the right direction.

Rory closed the door
of the ‘Perkin’ before snapping off his latex gloves.

‘You’re testing soil samples?’ Reilly asked.

He nodded. ‘I’m running comparison tests on the mud Gary collected from the hit-and-run scene.’

She turned back toward the items on the bench.  ‘These shoes from the cold case; there’s deep tread full of dried mud on the soles. I’ve scraped back some of the fresher stuff – most likely from the last few steps she took through the surrounding countryside – but there seems to be older clay and stone particles embedded into some of the treads.’ Reilly indicated the shoe she had been examining. She had used tweezers to pick out some rock particles and placed them in a petri dish; alongside was another dish holding the clay.

‘If we can compare the soil from the inner tread with the general soil map, it might help us get an idea of the terrain on her route before she reached the hillside.’

‘What about the rock particles? You want me to run those too?’

Reilly nodded. ‘Please.’

Rory carefully picked up the evidence bag containing the other trainer and carried it over to his bench where he gently placed it so as not to dislodge any of the soil. The computer screen attached to the Elemental Analysis machine had a message flashing. Rory moved the cursor and clicked print. The central printer sparked to life in the corner of the lab.

He opened a file on his desk and took out the analytical printout from the traces of clay collected from the hit-and-run site, the ones they’d  suspected of having fallen from the vehicle involved on impact. He glanced at the document as he made his way to where the printer was frantically spewing out a complicated series of icons and letters.

As he watched, the results started to appear upside down, and he knew what to look for – the more unusual, rare elements that indicated that the samples were the same. Even before the printout was finished and despite being upside-down he already knew the answer.

‘Good news,’ he called over to Reilly, optimism in his voice, ‘looks like we have another nail for our van driver’s coffin.’

She smiled, knowing only too well the feeling of uncovering irrefutable evidence that would help put away the guilty party.

He started to recalibrate the machine by burning some benzoic acid in the combustion chamber. This would remove any interference with the tests he was preparing to do with the soil and rock samples from the shoes. As the machine was cleaning and adjusting, Rory set about separating the soil samples from the soles. Pulling on fresh gloves he flicked on the circular light and magnifier and pulled it across so he could take a closer look.