The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4) (31 page)

It had been a while since he’d fired it, but he’d been meticulous about keeping it in good condition. He loaded it, just as a precaution, and double-checked the safety. As he slipped it into his waistb
and and pulled the back of his T-shirt over it, he spoke out loud. ‘Just in case. That’s all.’

As
Todd hurried back into the kitchen to pick up his keys, he couldn’t help but mentally add that if the sick fuck gave him an excuse, he wouldn’t hesitate to put him down.

CHAPTER
36

Reilly stepped into the cool silence of the lab and felt a rush of relief that it was empty. Granted, it was five o’clock in the morning and they’d all been working late the night before, but she doubted she was the only one having problems sleeping.

She’d hoped that she’d be the only one coming in early though. She needed some time to gather her thoughts without constantly worrying about Todd or
Daniel. With Daniel’s part in the current interference from the Feds, the tension between father and son had really ramped up lately.

She set down her bag and pulled up her email program. She was still waiting to hear
back from the costume designer about the dress from the Mary, Queen of Scots, murder. She’d passed on the information to Bradley at the time but of course the poor guy hadn’t been able to chase it up, and the others had been inundated ever since. So Reilly had followed it up herself.

A familiar ding indicated
that her mail was done loading and she perched on the edge of her stool as she sorted through it. Usually, back in Dublin, the GFU wouldn’t double-document every exchange, but with the team’s personal stake in the investigation now, she needed to make sure everything they did was above board. Reilly didn’t want the killer getting off because the defense hinted at impropriety. She needed to have facts to back up everything the lab did, every piece of evidence, every finding, every conclusion.

The next email
was the one she’d been waiting for and she printed it out even as she read it.

I apologize for taking so long getting back to you. I had some trouble finding the order you’d requested as it appears to have been processed over a year ago. The dress in question was one of six I sold to a production company for a film they were making. The garments were shipped to Stars and Moon Productions in Los Angeles.
Someone from the production company actually called me back a few months later to ask about a return and refund because funding had been cut. However, I only received back five of the dresses. When I contacted the company, the director stated that he wanted to keep one as a souvenir and agreed to pay for it. I believe the director’s name was Wesley. I hope this helps with whatever you’re investigating. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. Sincerely, Magda Evanwood.

Reilly
stared at the screen, her heart racing as she realized just what it all meant.

Wesley Fisher; t
he up and coming director who’d wanted Drew Sheldon to write him a screenplay. She reached for the phone. Surprisingly, given the hour, it only rang a few times.

‘
Agent Kent,’ she said. ‘We have a suspect name.’ Her first instinct had been to talk to Todd, but given the level of rage and thirst for vengeance simmering inside him at the moment, she figured better to play things by the book.

‘
A name?’ The Fed sounded surprised. ‘How’d you get that?’

Because it’s my job
, you idiot
.
Reilly bit back the retort before it crossed her lips. ‘A costume designer just emailed me. Short version is, she sold a dress worn by one of the victims to movie director Wesley Fisher.’

‘
And?’

Reilly
closed her eyes, fighting the urge to ask the agent if he was being deliberately obtuse. ‘Fisher is here in Tampa at the film festival. Daniel Forrest and I talked to him before.’

‘
You talked to a potential suspect?’

‘That’s not really the point.’
Reilly spoke through gritted teeth. She didn’t remember the other Feds she’d worked with being this thick-headed. ‘Fisher had issues with Sheldon because Sheldon wouldn’t write a screenplay for him.’

‘
So you’re sticking with this theory that the screenwriter kidnapping and the murders are being carried out by the same person?’

Reilly
wanted to scream. ‘Yes. The profile fits. And now the evidence fits.’

‘
But you don’t have anything physical to connect the two.’ The agent sounded uninterested. ‘Without forensic evidence, all you have is circumstantial at best.’

‘
Look, I don’t care if you believe my theory or not.’ Reilly’s temper flared.

While she was still admired in her field for her expertise, a lot of the cops and prosecutors she’d worked with before she’d left considered her decision to move out of
the country as a slap in the face. Then again, based on the way Agent Kent had been talking to her from moment one, she wondered if anything like that even came into play. ‘It doesn’t matter. Fisher needs to be questioned about the dress in any case. The designer confirmed she sold it to him. So either he’s the killer and placed it on the victim or he’s some way connected to whoever did.’

‘
All right,’ Agent Kent said. ‘I’ll send someone over to the hotel to look into it. I don’t suppose you have a receipt with Fisher’s name on it?’

‘No.’
Reilly clicked the mouse. ‘But I’m forwarding you the email now.’

‘Fine. We’ll take it from
here.’

Before
Reilly could say anything else, the line went dead. This whole hanging up before saying goodbye the Feds always did was really getting on her nerves.

‘
Asshole,’ she muttered as she slammed down the receiver.

Now all she could do was wait.

Seven a.m. and Todd still hadn’t made it in. Reilly frowned.

She knew he’d been pissed about how things had gone with the FBI,
and with his dad. Knew that he’d been weirded out by what had happened between them, too.

But she’d thought they’d moved past that. And she’d never though
t he’d blow off work. A harried-sounding Emilie had called to say that she was running late, but that hadn’t really surprised Reilly. The youngest member of the team had never worked one of these types of cases before, certainly not one where she knew a victim. It took a lot out of veteran agents. For a newbie, Emilie was doing very well.

Against her better judgment,
Reilly picked up her phone. It was possible that Todd would be more likely to answer if she called from the lab rather than her cell. As she sat and listened to it ring she questioned her reasoning. If he was late and saw that work was calling, he’d most likely assume it was her on the other end of the line. When it went to voicemail, she left a brief message and hung up. Where was he?

A beep at her computer distracted her and she crossed to it. When she hadn’t heard back from the
field office by six-thirty, she’d decided to run her own data-mining search on Fisher looking for anything related to his visit to Florida on anything other than the film festival.

She knew Agent Kent wouldn’t approve, but she really didn’t care at this point.

Wesley Fisher. Rented, one full-sized storage unit. Gatlin Boulevard.

Why
would a director visiting from California need a storage unit here in Florida? Reilly mused as she reached for her phone again. What could he possibly be storing? Or more to the point . . . who?

She tapped impatiently on the
desk as she waited for Agent Kent to answer. After a minute, she heard the usual clicks and buzz as she was transferred. The voice that answered was female and not one Reilly recognized.

‘
Hi, this is Reilly Steel from the Tampa CSI department. I’m the liaison on the movie-maker murders, and also the Drew Sheldon kidnapping.’ She kept her tone professional, without a hint of the frustration and annoyance just below the surface. For all his talk of taking the information she’d provided and making logical conclusions, Kent had yet to acknowledge the connection between the kidnapping and the murders.

‘And how can I help you
?’ The woman sounded vaguely bored.

‘I called in earlier this morning
with the name of a potential suspect. Agent Kent was supposed to check it out but I haven’t heard back yet. I just—’

The woman interrupted in the same flat tone.
‘Federal agents do not always have the luxury of keeping local law enforcement updated during the course of an investigation, especially lab technicians. If you’re that concerned, I suggest you contact your local precinct to see if they’ve received any new information. Other than that, I can only recommend that you wait until Agent Kent is able to contact you. He will do so at his earliest convenience, I’m sure.’

‘
But I—’ The line disconnected before Reilly could explain any further. She stared at the phone. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ After a moment, she dialed again. ‘Fine, you want me to contact the locals, don’t get pissed if my information gets them the arrest.’

‘Tampa Police Department.’ T
his woman sounded a bit more polite.

‘
Hi, this is Reilly Steel from the CSI department. I’m looking for either Detective Reed or Detective Sampson.’

‘I’m sorry, Ms
Steel,’ the woman apologized. ‘Detectives Reed and Sampson are out engaged in something for the FBI.’ Interviewing Wesley Fisher? Reilly hoped so, but she didn’t have a cellphone contact for either of the detectives to hand. She was sure it was in the files somewhere but . . .

‘
Captain Harvell?’ Reilly hadn’t wanted to go to the captain because it wouldn’t improve her relations with the detectives, but time was of the essence. She just hoped the detectives saw it that way and not that she was going over their heads.

‘
I’m sorry,’ the woman apologized again. ‘I’m afraid Captain Harvell called in sick today. Some sort of stomach bug that’s been going around. Can I take a message?’

‘No.’
Reilly shook her head, trying not to let her emotions bleed through to her voice. ‘I’ll talk to them later.’

‘
Very well. Have a nice day.’

‘Thank you. You too.’
She said the words automatically, her brain already racing through her next options. It was possible, she supposed, that the detectives or Agent Kent would arrest Fisher, but doubtful. If Fisher was spooked and ran, he might kill Sheldon as a loose end. Someone needed to check out that storage unit before Fisher knew they were on to him, and if the cops and the FBI were both too busy, it didn’t really leave a whole lot of other people to step in.

‘
This is a bad idea,’ Reilly murmured as she reached for her cell and dialed Todd’s number. ‘A very bad idea.’

CHAPTER 37

The Maestro paced in front of his newest acquisition. He’d considered cleaning the dried blood off of the young man’s face, but had ultimately decided against it. He just hoped it would show on film as blood and not dirt. ‘You know, if you were really this eager to break into the movie industry, all you had to do was ask. You’re a good-looking guy, very much leading man material. I’m sure we could’ve found something for you without all of this drama.’

‘You can kiss my ass,’
the dark-haired man spit out, glaring up at his captor.

‘If you insist.’
He was vaguely amused by the investigator’s anger.

‘Not something you’re used to
yourself though, is it?’ The reply was snarky, pale eyes flashing with anger.

The
Maestro laughed, amused by the young man’s fire. That would make for an excellent performance. ‘I guess you could say that. Though my recent foray into a new genre of movies has contributed to a change in the way I’m viewed these days.’

‘
You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?’ The man squirmed in his chair, apparently thinking he looked as if he were simply trying to get comfortable.

The
Maestro wasn’t fooled. He knew the younger man was testing his bonds. Not that it would do any good. He had purchased high-quality handcuffs a few days ago. After all, one never knew when extra restraints would come in handy. Anyway, the other man wasn’t entirely wrong. He did love to hear himself talk. He was the only one with whom he could carry on an intelligent conversation.

Others always fell so short.

‘I’m The Maestro now, a film-maker like no other.’ He spread his arms wide in a grand gesture. ‘Wesley Fisher is a failure who tried to raise the consciousness of his audience by creating meaningful pieces. Four movies, each grossing less than the one before. No one wanted to watch something uplifting and thought-provoking. No, they were too busy spending their money to see bad actors pretend to die in inexplicable ways.’