Endgame: CSI Reilly Steel #7

by Casey Hill

  “We’re very sorry about your brother, bud,” Kennedy intoned sympathetically before getting right back to the point. “According to the report, you found the vic … your brother earlier? Can you tell us now in your own words what happened, exactly, from the moment you woke up?”

  “Like I said before, I got out of bed, saw the trashed-up house, went to look for Graham, and found him … like that, in his bedroom.”

  Chris bristled. Again, for a guy who just found his own flesh and blood beaten and battered to death in their own home, Simon Hackett seemed spectacularly unfazed. Was he simply in shock, maybe still too drunk or maybe doped to appreciate that this was actually happening? It was the only way to explain how he could be so unaffected by such a deeply traumatising experience.

  “That’s everything that happened, exactly, from the moment you woke up?” Chris pressed scornfully. “As detailed as you can be?”

  Simon scowled at the two of them. “Okay, I woke up, scratched me hole, pulled on my jocks, drank a glass of water, pissed, blinked… What more do you want from me?”

  “To start, how about a little respect - if not for us, then for your own brother?”

  “Chris,” his partner warned in a low tone, and he took a breath.

  The kid’s attitude was grating, yet it would do them no good to get in a verbal spat with a witness - asshole or not. Chris tried to put himself in the brother’s shoes for a second. Last night, he’d had a few drinks and the craic with his mates and went to bed like any other night. But when he woke up, his brother was dead.

  Assuming of course, that the guy had nothing to do with the attack.

  He approached the situation from another angle, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice. “Simon, how about you describe to us bit by bit what happened, but maybe leave the hole-scratching out of it.”

  Simon sighed again. “I got up around seven, because like I said, I needed a slash. The house was trashed after last night, but it was Graham’s party and I sure as feck wasn’t cleaning it up, so I went upstairs to wake him after I had something to eat. When he wouldn’t answer the door, I went in and found him…on the floor. Then I came back out and called the guards.”

  Kennedy jumped back into the questioning then after Simon opened up a little.

  Chris glanced up at the bedroom window, then back at Simon, who was regarding him with the same apathetic stare. “Did you hear or see anything suspicious last night?”he asked, already not expecting a straightforward, simple answer. “Maybe overheard an argument or sounds of a struggle coming from your brother’s room?”

  “Look, there were about ten or fifteen people here, so you tell me what I should’ve seen. Graham had a party to celebrate the end of his exams. People were in and out of the house all night and most of them were his friends but strangers to me. I was here with some of my own mates, but we left at about midnight to go to a club in town. The last time I saw my brother, he was out in the back with some girl, looking cosy. And before you ask, no, I don’t know who she was. I think they went out at some stage, maybe? Anyway, when I got back home … sometime after half-two or three, I crashed just after and was zonked until this morning, like I already told you.”

  “And you heard nothing suspicious that could have woken you or roused your attention? Signs of a struggle in the bedroom or raised voices from an argument?” Chris was trying to get a handle on the timing, though the ME would soon be able to give them a ballpark as to time of death.

  But given the fact that the Simon hadn't heard anything - and it would have taken quite a ruckus to cause the mess upstairs - it was reasonable to assume that the attack on the younger Hackett brother happened while the elder was out at the nightclub. Again assuming he was being upfront and telling the truth. Chris studied the brother’s hands and face looking for any tell tale injuries that might contradict his story.

  “I told you already, I conked out. The next thing that happened was my morning piss, unless you want to know about my dreams too?”

  “Where are your parents?” Kennedy asked then, while Chris had to bite his tongue. By now, this kid’s attitude was getting right up his nose.

  Simon was quick to answer that one. “Spain,” he said, with a little more vigor than he’d possessed for the previous questions, like this was one he hadn’t been asked yet. “We have an apartment over there and Graham and I were supposed to fly down there and meet them this weekend once his exams were finished.” He looked away. “I guess that won’t be happening now.”

  Kennedy scribbled this down in his notepad. “And have you spoken to them today?”

  “Not yet.”

  The detectives shared a look. Someone, likely one of the first responders would have no doubt already contacted the parents, but the fact that their own son had neglected to do so was strange - considering the distraught circumstances. Though perhaps Simon was merely the kind of guy who didn't react well to grief?

  “We strongly encourage you to get in touch with your folks, son,” said Kennedy gently. “I’m sure they’re desperate to talk to you.”

  The detectives kept up their questioning until Simon grew so irritable and uncooperative it was no longer advantageous to continue. Chris had to wonder what kind of parents would raise a kid so disrespectful to law enforcement, not to mention blatantly insensitive to his own brother’s murder. Though obviously the kind that took off to Spain on holidays rather than stayed around to encourage their son during his final exams.

  Yet he tried not to make too many assumptions at this early stage and eventually he and Kennedy walked away from the kid in silence.

  The interview hadn’t revealed much. In fact, the only thing the questioning of Simon Hackett had managed to do was set Chris’s suspicions of the kid on high alert. He took note of the nightclub Simon supposedly attended last night, fully intending to check it out; grief-stricken or not, they weren't taking anything for granted and the older brother’s reaction was just plain weird.

  From their position out front, the two men could see a couple of neighbors - some still dressed in their nightclothes - watching the uniforms and forensics moving around and through the Hackett house. They were all straining to see over the tops of their respective hedges or fences, which Chris thought was ironic, considering all the trouble they must had gone to putting them up.

  The detectives shared a look, then made their way to the house next door.

  A middle-aged couple was standing beneath their porch observing, and when the detectives approached, the woman quickly disappeared into the house, while the man took a few steps forward to greet them.

  “Good morning,” Chris said, “I’m Detective Chris Delaney from the Serious Crimes Unit, and this is my partner, Detective Pete Kennedy. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors and anything you might have witnessed last night, if that’s okay.”

  The man nodded and put his hands on his hips, glancing over at the house next door before focusing his gaze back on the detectives. “Of course. Anything I can do to help. That poor boy … I heard the terrible news from one of the other officers earlier. Who would have … ? Though I might as well warn you, I doubt I can be of much help.”

  Just then the door behind him opened and the woman he’d been standing on the porch with bustled out, two cups of coffee in her hands. She hurried up to the detectives and handed them each a cup.

  Kennedy politely refused. “Thanks, but we’ve just had some. Your names?” he asked, opening his notebook up.

  Chris knew better however and gratefully accepted, even though he had indeed just finished a coffee. But you never refused an offer of hospitality from a potential witness. “You’re very kind, thank you,” he smiled at the wife, turning on the charm.

  “I’m Emily Green and this my husband, Thomas,” the woman told Chris, as she took a spot next to her husband, facing the detectives. She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it … poor Graham. Who’d believe that something like that could happen a
round here? These are very quiet parts, this kind of stuff never happens.”

  Addressing the couple together, Chris asked, “So did you hear or see anything suspicious last night?”

  Thomas Green placed his arm protectively around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him. “No – other than the usual.”

  Kennedy raised an eyebrow which encouraged the man to keep going. “Well, the older Hackett boy throws a party every few months, whenever the parents go abroad. Sometime around midnight the noise gets to be a bit much, loud music, shouting, whatever.”

  “And did this noise ever bother you and your family?”

  Green shrugged, “It was a bit annoying at times, but our houses are far enough apart that it doesn’t really affect us too much. The first couple of times the ruckus got a bit over the top, we called it in to the local station who came over to caution them, but it didn’t do a lot of good. Ah sure, you know yourself how kids are.”

  After discussing a little further the Hackett children’s party exploits, the detectives were very quickly put to rest about any suspicions concerning this couple. Feuding Irish neighbors were surprisingly notorious for getting out of hand and escalating quickly, but it was obvious the Greens’ qualms about the party noise were nowhere severe enough to warrant the violence that had occurred next door.

  “OK,” Kennedy said in conclusion, “thanks for that - we’ll get outta your hair.”

  The detectives made their way through the rest of the neighbouring households, gathering information that almost matched the Greens’ word for word. Most of the families stayed out on their lawns to watch the drama unfold at the house in their midst.

  The lights of a TV news crew caught Chris’s eye. A blond journo he recognized held a microphone up to an older lady who was being interviewed. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but he could guess without being able to lip-read. Much like the Greens just now, the local reaction was always the same.

  Words and expressions like ‘shocked’, ‘terrible’, ‘who would have thought this would happen round here?’ always seemed to roll from people’s tongues. Chris was always surprised by how people were surprised. But then again, most people didn't get to see what he did day in day out.

  The detectives made their way back to the Hackett residence and walked around back.

  The rear garden was something to behold – a good sized lawn of rolling greenery, as well as extensive and elaborate bedding featuring vibrant plants and a beautiful gazebo.

  A wooden decking area to the rear just off the kitchen looked to have been the preferred spot for last night’s gathering; there was a table full of empty beer bottles and cans, but mostly sickly smelling alco-pops that suggested a younger crowd. Blasted sugary crap had a lot to answer for.

  Back in Chris’s day, teens didn’t tend to get as out-of-their-heads drunk because alcohol tasted like alcohol, and you could only take so much of it. Whereas now it tasted like gummy bears and they were all knocking it back like there was no tomorrow.

  Which in the case of poor Graham Hackett, there wasn’t.

  He and Kennedy surveyed through the debris, keeping most of their initial observations to themselves. They were both aware that the upcoming investigation would bring a never ending workload involving bereaved parents, a whole host of witnesses and a lot of dead ends, before eventually (hopefully) they found their killer. With this thought in mind, and knowing how much talking and surmising they would have to do to reach the point before they even had a suspect in custody, the detectives let the air around them fall silent, as if soaking up the calm before the impending storm.

  3

  Back inside the house, which was now clear of first responders, Reilly and her team had taken full charge of the since isolated crime scene, and secured the property while Dr. Thompson the medical examiner, prepared Graham Hackett’s body for removal to the morgue.

  She watched for a moment as Gary moved through the room, photographing and cataloguing the scene, then turned to Karen Thompson, who was just finishing up her preliminary examination of the body. “Does he have anything to tell us?”

  The ME looked up from the victim’s battered form. Her gaze caught on the impact blood spatter on the wall before she met Reilly’s. “Blunt head trauma and shoulder lacerations aside, there’s also a broken shoulder and multiple finger fractures - defensive injuries - suggesting a defensive posture during the struggle. Based on lividity, we’re looking at time of death somewhere between two and five am. Really can’t say much more until I get him on the table.”

  Reilly nodded, suspecting as much.

  If only the dead could speak …

  Having just rolled the victim and his clothes for trace evidence, she removed her gloves and donned new ones, before moving over to the desk at the bottom of Graham Hackett’s bed.

  She stood there for a moment cataloguing the items on top. Just some exam papers, flotsam and jetsam and what looked like flyers and informational material from universities, as well as littered with gum wrappers and stray pens. She remembered what Chris had said about last night’s party being related to the end of state examinations. To think of all the time the poor kid had spent between these four walls studying for exams.

  And all for nothing.

  She pulled the drawers open and looked through them. They were mostly older school assignments and blank sheets of A4 paper. Reilly pulled a stray piece of paper out, examining the scribbles for a moment, only to find they were what looked to be poetry, or song lyrics. She glanced at the overtly macho room around her and wondered if perhaps this was a note from a girl, or maybe a classmate’s paper? As it didn't seem to fit with the profile she’d built up of this kid so far. But of course as Reilly knew well, appearances had a habit of being deceiving.

  As she riffled through some other papers in the drawer, she came across a box of what looked like prescription medication. She carefully pulled the box from the drawer for closer examination. The instructions on the outside were not written in English but rather some form of Cyrillic script. Inside the box were two blister packs, one full, the other half-used.

  Reilly placed the box into an evidence bag, trying to fathom why a teenager would be prescribed medication which didn’t come with English instructions.

  The other drawers featured the same messy configuration of chewed-on pens and crumpled papers. She visualized the kid swiping them off the desk and into the drawer, telling himself he would sort through everything when he got the time. She regarded the overall mess again with a hint of the feeling that had hit her when she saw his body the first time that morning.

  Would her future son or daughter be this disorganized?

  She shook her head in an attempt to clear the thoughts that had permeated her head since she had eventually acknowledged that this pregnancy was, in fact, real and happening. Soon she was going to have a baby that would turn into a toddler and eventually a kid, then a teenager, and there would be nothing she could do about any of it.

  She was about to turn away when something on the floor next to the desk caught her attention. Reilly pulled the chair out and crouched down awkwardly. She still hadn’t quite gotten her balance settled with the additional load she was carrying, and it took her a moment to maneuver so she could reach the object, glad she hadn't missed it.

  An iPad was wedged between the leg of the desk and the wall, its screen completely shattered. But Reilly definitely didn’t miss the blood that had seeped into the shattered portion of the screen as she slid it into an evidence bag.

  “So much blood …” Gary was saying, shaking his head. “Surely it shouldn’t be that hard to track down someone from the party who went through a fight like this.”

  He was right; on the walls was a considerable amount of cast-off spatter, typically occurring when an object swung in an arc flings blood onto a nearby surface. Secondary cast off spatter occurred when the assailant swings the bloodstained object back before inflicting another blow, and
it was easy to tell the direction of the impacting object by the shape of the spatter. Counting the arcs also revealed the minimum number of blows delivered - in this case at least three.

  Reilly placed the newly bagged and tagged iPad into an evidence bin. “There were more than a dozen guests apparently; with luck the detectives will be able to identify them quickly enough. For gatherings like this it’s nigh on impossible to know who came and went in the relevant timeframe though.”

  “Yep. And add booze and whatever else to the mix and you’ve got one hell of a breadcrumb trail …”

  Reilly continued to walk the grid, her meticulous eyes moving over every inch. The spatter was clearly indicative of blood coming off the weapon as the attacker swung it. Based on the patterns, she suspected something long and thin, like a baseball bat.

  “Look at this,” she said then, indicating a piece of spatter on the wall just behind Gary. Unlike the others, this appeared smudged a little, as if something - or someone had been pressed up against it. “Someone involved in the attack hit the wall here - be it the victim or his attacker. When Dr Thompson is done, check the marks against whatever the victim’s wearing. And then make a note of the smudge and input to iSPI,” she said, all the while scanning the room for anything that could work as a potential murder weapon.

  Gary raised an eyebrow at her, “Oh, so you’re actually going to let me do it this time,” he said looking pleased.

  It was true that Reilly liked to handle as many of the tasks involved in cataloguing a scene that she could - including the GFU’s virtual crime scene reconstruction program – but the main concern in the back of her mind just then, rapidly inching its way to being the most important, was her aching feet and the twinge in her side every time she twisted in just the wrong way.

  As Gary placed markers and input measurements and photos into the iSPI app, Reilly moved back towards the corpse again, able to more closely examine the blood on the carpet now that the ME was done. It had pooled beneath the spot where Graham Hackett had eventually fallen and spread onto a blue blanket near the kid’s head.