Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (7 page)

‘No alcohol for me tonight either; I’ve got an early start tomorrow,’ Reilly said, returning to the table after placing the shrimps in the oven.

‘This ’mole is awesome, sweetheart, takes me right back to those Friday night fiestas we used to have back home.’

She smiled. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Funny, though, isn’t it, the way we still call it home? After all, we’ve both been in Dublin for a couple of years now.’

‘Yep. I used to call Ireland home when we were in Cali and now I’m here it’s the other way round.’ He chuckled. ‘Hey, you remember that time back home you all came to see me marching with the fire trucks at the big Paddy’s Day Parade in the city?’

Reilly gave a bittersweet smile. ‘Of course! Jess looked so cute in her little leprechaun outfit, she’d been so excited about it for weeks beforehand.’ She paused;
they rarely mentioned Jess – it was almost as if she’d been airbrushed out of their lives.

Never out of their past though.

Mike was too lost in his own memories to notice. ‘Yeah, and your mother wearing her green wig and that “Kiss me I’m Irish” T-shirt. Seems like a lifetime ago now…’ He looked into the distance, a wistful expression on his face.

Reilly realized with some regret that the edges of those precious happy family memories – epsecially the ones featuring Jess – were starting to blur. 

She felt as though certain aspects of her life had always been on hold. With their mother’s absence, the fun and innocence of childhood had ended too soon certainly, but now something else concerned her: the lack of any new happy memories.

She’d grown up all too fast, focusing on Jess and making sure she was OK and then after that completely on work, which was the only thing that seemed to bring her solace. Her obsessive nature didn’t leave much room to be swept along on life’s great roller-coaster ride.

Still, Reilly felt safest in situations she could control, and if not risking the highs also meant bypassing the lows, she could live with that, she thought as she loaded another tortilla chip.

She and Mike both ate in silence, sipping on their decidedly non-potent cocktails. Talk soon returned to everyday matters about work and life in general. Much to his disappointment, and not for the want of trying, he hadn’t managed to pick up a job in Dublin. A retired fire officer by profession, he was too old for anything in a similar field, and given that Ireland was suffering a major economic downturn, work was hard to come by for any man, let alone one of his age. While his fireman’s
pension was supplemented by Irish state welfare, he was the kind of man who needed a reason other than financial to get up in the mornings.

When the chips were almost finished, she fetched the fajitas from the oven, and they both began to expertly load them onto warm tortillas.

‘Got a phone call the other day from Todd Dempsey actually,’ Mike said between mouthfuls.

‘Todd from Sausalito?’she said, recognising the name of one of his old co-workers from the fire department. ‘What was the wife’s name again?’

‘Sally. Yeah, they called to invite me to this big retirement bash he’s having next month.’

‘You should go. It’d be great to see all the guys again, wouldn’t it?’ Reilly drew a line of salsa and sour cream across a tortilla before loading it with shrimp and vegetables and folding it into a cone.

‘I’m thinking I might, and Maura’s keen to go too.’

Reilly grinned. ‘I’ll bet she is … Californian sunshine for a few days instead of this.’ She indicated the damp weather outside.

‘We were actually thinking we might stay a while – like you say, miss some of the bad weather.’

Reilly stopped chewing. What did he mean ‘a while’? Just how long was he planning to stay?

‘Seeing as neither of us has much going on here,’ he continued, ‘and I thought it would be great to see the place again, especially given the … cloud I left under.’

She smiled tightly. ‘Sounds like a good idea, most appealing actually.’

The very idea of home, of bright sunshine and great surf appealed to Reilly just as much as the evocative scent of fresh lime earlier. In truth, she felt an ache of homesickness just thinking about it.

‘Shit, honey, I never even thought … you should come too, we could make a holiday out of it.’

She shook her head. ‘Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could get the time off from work,’ Reilly lied, the prospect of playing gooseberry to her dad and his girlfriend outweighing the prospect of a vacation. ‘Maybe some other time. But yes, you and Maura should definitely go. And enjoy.’

Still, Reilly had a niggling worry in the back of her mind.  She was really only here in the first place because she’d followed her father back to his homeland to keep an eye on him. Now, he no longer needed her, was way past needing her. If he returned to California would he be tempted to stay?

And if he did, what was left in Ireland – other than work – for her?

Chapter 8

My dreams are restless, the past rising up to haunt me or delight me by turn. The dark dreams take me back to that place, that hole I was in, the pit of despair. I left that place behind, never to return, but even though my conscious will refuses to go back there, at night it returns to remind me of whence I came. I will not go back …

But the past also brings back happier times, and lately my dreams have been filled with
her,
the moment I realized that she was my future, that there was another way, another path that would lead to great happiness.

She was skipping at the time, those flaming curls bouncing with every step. She looked so sweet, untouched, but with a quiet maturity that shone through her sadness like sunshine on a rainy day.

He didn’t appreciate her, I knew, didn’t know what he had, an angel sent down in human form. And as I watched her I knew, knew what I must do, knew that with me the flame of youth that burned so brightly within her would last for ever, and all fear and suffering would be banished.

When I freed her she seemed almost to be expecting it. There was no fear, no reluctance … she had been waiting for me, as though she knew the earthly paradise we would create together.

She was the beginning, the foundation, the bedrock on which our world was built, and now she is gone. We must continue, but how?

‘Pig’s blood?’ Reilly repeated in some disbelief as the following morning, she read through the lab report Lucy had just given her.

‘Don’t forget soot,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘Pig’s blood, soot and some form of pure alcohol.’

From her rudimentary knowledge of tattoos Reilly knew that most professional tattoo artists used inks that were pre-made – pre-dispersed they called it. Whereas this one seemed like a homemade concoction. With luck, an artist that took a more organic approach might stand out and be remembered within the tattooist community.

‘And seeing as different types of pure alcohol are difficult to individuate,’ Lucy went on, ‘we’re going to test that further in order to narrow it down.’

In any case, what was it that had forced a pregnant young girl out onto a solitary country road so late at night?

Later that morning, Reilly received a call from Chris.

‘Looks like we might have struck lucky on the van for the hit and run,’ he said. ‘Body shop in Ballymount, a company van brought in for work after a supposed “animal strike”. Our media release set off some alarm bells and the owner called it in. We’re on our way now, but could do with one of your crew to give it the once-over.’

‘No problem, I’ll send Gary,’ she said, and he noticed the same coolness in her tone that had been there for the last few weeks. He was tempted to just come right out and ask if she was going to squeal on him, but it wasn’t the time or the place. And to be truthful, Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

‘Thanks,’ he said, his tone equally clipped. ‘Will let you know how it goes.’

The auto-repair shop was tucked away on an anonymous industrial estate on the outskirts of the city along with a couple of lockups, a delivery company, furniture shop, the usual fare.

The premises was easy to spot; the tarmac out front had taken on a pale color from the fine mist of dust and spray paint, and several cars with various windows and lights covered with newspaper and tape awaited a new paint job.

Chris and Kennedy sought out the owner in the main building. Kennedy got straight to the point. ‘You called in with the van tip-off, Mr Danson?’

Danson nodded.  ‘Yeah, a guy brought it in this morning, wanted a quote to fix up the front end and put a new windshield in. I remembered the news report about that hit and run, so I thought, better be safe than sorry.’ He filled them in on the details of the van’s owner, a courier.
‘I’ve got a mobile number somewhere.’

Back in the car, Chris punched in the number and held the receiver to his ear.

‘Hello, Connolly and Sons; Shane speaking,’ a man answered in a business-like tone.

‘Mr Connolly, my name is Detective Chris Delaney. I wonder if you could confirm that are you the registered owner of a white Ford Transit van, registration number 08-MH-3457?’ He used a direct yes or no question, to not give Connolly any time to think.

‘Yes, yes, that’s my van,’ was the nervous reply.

‘Mr Connolly,’ Chris said, his tone ominous, ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat.’

Chapter 9

Rory sat hunched over his computer screen. There was a vast amount of information in the Central Database. New cases existed in both physical and digital form, which made searching for information or cross referencing with older cases much easier, especially for somebody with his analytical brain.

His friends nicknamed him ‘Data’, after the android on
Star Trek TNG
, one of his all-time favorite TV shows, due to the fact that he shared the uncanny ability to sift through and locate information, and also had a terrific memory for detail.

He quickly scanned through the older digital case file, hoping for something to jump out.

And when two hours later it did just that, Rory smiled.

‘Bingo,’ he grinned, getting to his feet.