Taboo (9 page)

But his fatigue was temporarily forgotten when Reilly suddenly flinched. Something Karen was saying had caught her attention and, bit by bit, he let the doctor’s words swim back into focus.

‘ … Slight recent trauma to the anus – some bruising, minute lacerations—’

‘Excuse me, Doctor?’

‘Yes?’ Karen looked up from her examination of Redmond’s body; if she was annoyed that the other woman had interrupted her flow of observation, she didn’t show it.

‘The anus shows some form of trauma?’ Reilly repeated.

‘Consistent with recent sexual activity, yes.’ She indicated the body. ‘There are also traces of what I suspect may be latex. But nothing major, nothing forcible, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting … sorry for the interruption, please keep going,’ Reilly said, giving Chris a sideways glance. He made a mental note to ask her afterward what the hell
that
was all about.

A few minutes later, Karen completed the remaining external visual examination and then, positioning her cloth mask tightly into place, she picked up a scalpel and made a neat Y-incision into Redmond’s chest.

As always, he was impressed by the deft, fluid motion of her gloved hands and for a while the room was still as she worked, breaking through the ribcage and skilfully removing and weighing organs, and recording concise observatory remarks for transcription; her soft features all the time fixed in an expression of intense concentration.

Once samples had been taken, the organs returned, and every incision sutured, the ME finally snapped off her gloves and dropped them in a nearby biohazard container.

‘Well?’ he asked Reilly when the procedure was complete and they waited in the hallway for the doctor. ‘You heard what she said – it was a straightforward suicide.’

‘Yes, but what about the anal trauma?’ she argued. ‘Redmond was a married man; his wife identified his body and was apparently inconsolable. She’s the one who is convinced that this was no suicide.’

‘Of course she was,’ Chris replied. ‘Who wouldn’t be? Sounds like he might have been a closet homosexual, which makes his suicide even more plausible, doesn’t it?’

‘I suppose,’ Reilly bit her lip, her disappointment palpable. She’d had high hopes that the ME would find something out of kilter. ‘I don’t know …’ She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s just that when you add this to the other strange findings we’ve had on this case, I think there’s something else going on, something we’re not seeing.’ She looked up at him, her tone of voice almost apologetic. ‘You can call it a gut feeling, if you like, but I’d wager a lot that this is no simple suicide.’

‘Gut feelings don’t count for much in this business,’ he pointed out.

‘I know, but the trace—’

He cut her off. ‘Look, as far as everyone else involved in this thing is concerned, there’s nothing suspicious about the guy’s death. Now, I know there’s evidence common to this and the Ryan crime scene, but as we’ve said before, there could be a simple explanation for that.’ He tried to look sympathetic. ‘We’ve agreed to consider it along with the Ryan case for the moment, because of the fibers mostly, but sooner or later we’re going to have to come up with something more substantial than a paint sample and a hunch.’

Reilly had a determined look. ‘You may be right – but there’s something I want to check with Karen before we go.’

‘What?’ he asked, exasperated. Did she never give up?

‘Remember in there, when she collected penis swabs? I want to take a look at those samples properly, find out what they are.’

‘Jesus, what do you
think
they are?’ he asked, disbelievingly. ‘We’ve already clarified that he  could be a closet homosexual.’

‘There’s no harm in checking though, is there?’

‘But—’ The rest of his sentence was interrupted as Karen, now dressed in civilian clothes, joined them in the hallway.

‘Is everything all right?’ she said, a penetrating look in her saucer eyes.

‘Sure,’ Reilly said. ‘I just need a favor. Those swabs you took from Redmond earlier? I’d like to take them back to the lab with me tonight for analysis, if that’s OK.’

‘Tonight?’
Karen looked taken aback by the request. ‘You can if you want, but we’ll be sending everything from today over to GFU in the morning anyway. But, if it’s really that urgent, I can sign those samples out for you now.’

‘I’d really appreciate that, thanks.’

As Chris and Reilly walked with Karen to her office, she gave them both a searching look. ‘It’s unusual to have someone from Serious Crime around here for a suicide procedure, let alone a GFU investigator,’ she said, her tone wary.

Reilly was noncommittal. ‘I’ll be honest, Doc, this is a bit of a fishing mission. We have some anomalies in the trace collected at the Redmond crime scene, some things that may connect this with another,
ongoing murder investigation.’

‘The Ryan murders?’ Karen was sharp, no doubting that.

‘I really can’t say at this point.’

‘All right.’
The ME sat at her desk and pulled out the forms to transfer the samples to Reilly’s care. She wrote quickly, signed with a flourish and handed her the paperwork. ‘There you go.’

‘Thanks.’

As they turned to go, Karen called out to them. ‘Ms Steel?’ She stopped in the doorway. ‘Am I missing something here?’

‘I think we’re
all
missing something,’ Reilly replied, her mouth set in a hard line, ‘and I’m determined to find out what.’

Gerry Watson’s love of the simple things in life belied his young age. When most 26-year-olds would be in their element in a bar or nightclub, he was more content to head for the hills with his tent and camping gear. He always felt most alive in the wilds, an area without a phone signal was not a curse for him and he could happily live without text messages and social networks. No, to him the wide open spaces of nature were the places to be enjoyed most, and the longer he could spend in that environment, the more his worries melted away.

He had acknowledged the place he now laid was one of the best spots he’d set up camp, something that was not easy for a ‘local expert’ like him to admit, as he had not been the one to discover it. The view from where he lay was awe-inspiring, a ‘promised land’ view of rivers, waterfalls and sunlit mountainsides. He lay in his tent beside the camping stove and pan; an earlier meal now cold as the afternoon winter sun struggled to emit any real warmth. Gerry didn’t care though; he was a million miles from the worries of the world and that was what mattered most.

Of course, nature wasn’t all a bed of roses and had its annoyances, even at this time of the year. Though unseasonably mild, it seemed every flying insect within a twenty-mile radius seemed intent on plaguing him, but there was little point in swatting at them.

Also, wilderness such as this had far more nasty inhabitants than a few flies, and when the first rat darted from behind a large boulder, entered the tent and inquisitively sniffed just below Gerry’s ear, he didn’t notice a thing.

When sharp rodent incisors pierced his flesh, the only resulting movement was his exposed skin twitching, as the larva of swarming flies sought nourishment from inside. The look of terror etched on his face was appropriate, but it was a look Gerry had been wearing since days earlier his life had slowly been taken from him. 

Reilly could tell it was nasty even before she got to the campsite – the grim faces of the officers as she approached told her everything she needed to know. It was now eight in the morning and she’d been fast asleep when the call came in around six-thirty.

The uniform standing guard nodded as she approached. ‘Might want to put your mask on – it’s pretty rank in there.’

She nodded her thanks and pushed through the door of the white forensic marquee that had been erected to enclose an expensive North Face four-man tent.

Given that her sense of smell was one of her best weapons, wearing a mask was actually the last thing Reilly wanted to do –. Still, the wave that hit her as she stepped inside took her aback.

She paused and closed her eyes. At first she found herself fighting back the waves of nausea while she tried to let her olfactory organs filter out the different smells from the chaos and give her some clues, something to work with.

The overpowering odor was the smell of death – the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh. But there were other smells, too, fighting their way through and she tried to relax and let them come to her. Vomit, but that was likely to be fresh, probably from whoever had found the body.

Reilly opened her eyes and saw Karen Thompson moving away from a body which was bathed in the harsh floodlight. Looking around, she could now see that the crime scene was deeply compromised. There were footprints all over the grass where someone had stepped in and out of the entrance to the tent – probably whoever had found the body. There was also a pool of vomit near the tent – again, most likely the first on the scene.

Damn
.

The pathologist’s dour face brightened a little when she saw Reilly. ‘Hey. Sorry to see you again so soon.’

She gave her a small nod in response. ‘It’s been quite a night, huh?’ She looked past her toward the body. ‘What have we got?’

‘One body, male, single gunshot wound to the chest.’ Karen shook her head, a grim look on her face. ‘The tent was open so exposure to the elements means time of death isn’t immediately obvious; that’s pretty much all I can say at this point.’ She gave Reilly’s arm a brief pat of encouragement as she stepped past her.

Reilly stood and surveyed the scene. She tried to let her eyes scan around before she concentrated on the corpse but it was hard to ignore.
Focus,
she told herself,
look for the details.

The North Face emblem on the tent caught her eye. She was familiar with the logo from her own love of the outdoors and had often used a similar kind of tent on her many camping trips to Yosemite back home. Reilly let her eyes settle on the victim. Like the
Ryans, the guy was young, in his twenties and unremarkable looking, someone you wouldn’t look twice at if he passed you in the street.

His position was strange though – he had clearly been posed after death. He was lying inside the open tent with his head propped against his rucksack, one arm loose by his side. The other arm was propped across the open wound on his chest so that his index finger pointed toward the opening of the tent.

Reilly shuddered involuntarily and looked away – the finger seemed to be pointing directly at her. It seemed very personal and made her feel that somehow she was being accused. Trying to ignore these feelings, she turned her attention back to her immediate surroundings.

She closed her eyes, tried to picture it – what had happened?
And why? It was bizarre, sinister even – but what did it mean? And the pointing finger – what was it pointing at? The police? Some other unknown person? A clue? It could mean anything. Trying to push these unanswerable questions from her head, Reilly began her examination of the scene.

She pulled her flashlight from her bag and moved in closer to the body, running the beam across it to reveal the little details that could often get lost in the overall picture.

Upon closer inspection of the victim’s face she saw that he was actually quite good-looking, with a mop of dark hair, athletic build, and strong white teeth. Teeth weren’t normally the first thing she noticed in a situation like this, but this guy’s mouth was set in a grimace, gums exposed.

She ran the flashlight over his face; there were no signs of trauma, no marks or injuries here other than the animal bite marks on the neck; just that face, teeth clenched, eyes locked shut in a death mask of horror. A streak of maggot-infested vomit ran down the front of his shirt.

Reilly clicked off her flashlight and sat back on her heels. Who would do something like this? Besides the gunshot wound, the odd posing, twisted grimace and pointed finger seemed to be an attempt to deliver some macabre message. But what?

Could this be drug related? It seemed the mountains were a long-time
favorite amongst Dublin drug lords for dumping bodies. But this particular body hadn’t just been dumped; it had been painstakingly
exhibited.
Why?

A quiet voice disturbed her reverie.
‘Reilly?’

She looked around and saw a bleary-eyed Chris Delaney outside the tent. ‘Hey.’

He paused and running his gaze over the body, seemed to shudder. ‘The face … it’s beyond weird, isn’t it? Wonder what the hell that’s all about?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Poor bastard; the rats really did a job on his neck.’

She nodded.
‘Looks like he’s been up here a few days.’

‘Kennedy reckons it’ll just be another gangland dump but I’m not so sure. Those guys don’t waste time setting up tents and camping gear; usually they just toss the body and leave.’

‘That’s what I thought. It doesn’t feel like a dump to me.’

‘Well, I’ve certainly never seen anything like it before. Find anything significant?’

‘Not yet. I’ve not long arrived and the rest of the team are still on their way.’

Chris lurked in the opening. ‘Well, we’ve got the hikers who discovered the scene to interview.’ He glanced at his notebook.
‘A couple in their thirties. They found the body earlier while out walking the dog.’

And compromised our crime scene
,
Reilly thought, irritably. Then she paused, trying not to betray her annoyance. ‘Why don’t you go talk to them? The crew and I will process this and then we can compare notes later?’

He nodded.
‘Sounds good. Anything of interest we’ll let you know.’

When he left Reilly’s gaze returned to the scene. She was thinking, scanning, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Her eyes fixed on an un-smoked cigar sitting on a camping stool. Well, if this was gangland, somebody involved certainly enjoyed smoking the odd Corona.

Her reverie was interrupted once more by the arrival of the GFU team at the tent, their kit boxes in their hands.

‘Bloody hell,’ Gary exclaimed.

Lucy said nothing but her face was pale.

‘Hey, guys.’ Reilly was suddenly struck by how inexperienced they were, how unprepared to deal with this level of decay, and felt a pang for them. She thought fast. ‘Gary, you help me with the body. Lucy, you start with the …’
The younger girl’s eyes seemed to be fixed on the squirming maggots. ‘Lucy?’ She finally looked away, her eyes still glazed by the nastiness she had just been confronted with. ‘You start processing the camp area.’ Reilly indicated the array of expensive camping equipment. ‘It seems there was food being prepared at the time as the stove is on but the gas has run out – I’d like to know what was being cooked amidst all of this.’

Lucy finally shook herself back to life.
‘Right. I’ll get on it.’

Reilly watched her as she crouched beside the stove, set her bag down and snapped on some gloves before pulling out her flashlight
. Good girl,
Reilly thought,
you’re learning fast.

She turned back to Gary. He looked far more composed and was already scanning the area.
‘Seems there are two sleeping bags inside. We have some officers sweeping the area in case there’s a second victim, but there’s also a chance this guy was sleeping with the enemy so to speak, so I want this tent picked through with a fine-toothed comb.’

‘No problem.’

‘We’ve got to work quickly,’ she told him. ‘This guy’s been dead a while and you don’t need me to point out that our scene is degrading fast.’

Meanwhile, the couple who’d found the body, Mark and Rebecca Ward, were being looked after by a couple of uniforms. They sat in the back of one of two four-by-four vehicles that were able to negotiate the rocky trail from the forestry road. The Jeeps had now become an assembly point for ferrying people to and from the crime scene. The couple’s Yorkshire Terrier, Banjo, sat between them on the back seat. Mark’s fingers were looped through his collar, in order to rub his neck and keep hold of him at the same time.

Chris was glad of the opportunity to talk to them so soon after the discovery. Normally by the time reality kicked in and people had time to consider the enormity of what had happened, the less helpful their witness statements were, and the more susceptible to outside influence they became.

‘Hey there. Mark and Rebecca, isn’t it?’ he said, sitting down in the front seat while facing into the back between the headrests. ‘I’m Detective Delaney, and this is Detective Kennedy. We’d really like to ask you a few questions if you’re up for it.’

They both looked pale and tired as they acknowledged the detectives. Rebecca’s entire body was shaking, and Mark raised his eyes with a small nod. Someone had given them blankets and she was trying to pull hers in as tight as she could to stop the shaking, as if it was the temperature and not the shock of seeing and smelling the rotting corpse of Gerry Watson that was making her shiver.

Kennedy stood outside the open passenger door and took out his notebook. ‘So, probably best if you just tell us how it happened from beginning to end, or what you can remember, anyway.’

Chris patted Rebecca’s arm. ‘Talking about it will let it out, help get it off your mind.’

‘Yeah, OK.’ Mark spoke first. ‘We hike this area all the time and often bring Banjo up here at weekends. He loves charging around in the undergrowth and you can’t let him off the lead anywhere near our house.’

Banjo looked up, his ears twitching at the mention of words ‘walk’ and ‘lead’. His tongue lolled happily at the side of his mouth as he licked his already moist nose. If it hadn’t been for that, Chris thought, the body would probably still lie undiscovered now. ‘We always stay on the forestry road, because most of the smaller trails up the hill are muddy this time of year.’

Taking up the story, Rebecca rubbed Banjo on the head. ‘We were just on the way back to the picnic area where our car was parked. I couldn’t see Banjo anywhere so we called him but there was no sign. Mark started walking back the way we came and shouting louder.’

‘He usually comes when he’s called,’ Mark added. ‘I heard him bark and saw some movement amongst the ferns up the hill, so I shouted again. I thought he was probably chasing something or digging in a rat hole, there are so many smells up here he goes crazy.’

Rebecca smiled a little. ‘We were just laughing at him as we made our way through the ferns and it was only when we reached the top of the hill where the ground flattens off that we saw the tent.’

She pointed to edge of the clearing two hundred yards from where the Mountain Rescue Jeeps had forced their way through. ‘We didn’t want to go over at first,’ she added.