by Casey Hill
That was good and easily verifiable information, Chris thought satisfied. If nothing else, it gave them a firmer timeline between Holly leaving the house, and Graham Hackett’s time of death.
“Is there any other activity on your phone that might be useful?” Kennedy asked. “We’ll need to take it to the lab for analysis.”
Holly looked horrified at the idea, but at the same time realized she had little choice. “I don’t think so, we took a good few Snaps at the house earlier in the night and posted some stuff on Insta too. But mostly just texts between me and my friends…Do you really need to take my phone?”
“Sweetheart, some of the information on it may well be important …”
“Your mother is correct, Holly. Some of the info on there, photographs etc might prove very useful to help figure out what happened to you - and Graham. Don’t worry - our tech team will not under any circumstances invade your privacy. Our investigators are simply trying to collate images and correspondence from various people on the night to help establish a full list of attendees, things like that.”
“Well I have no objections per se, but I’d rather discuss that with my husband before agreeing to release the phone if you don’t mind,” Mrs Glynn put in then, knowing that her solicitor husband would want to be kept in the loop. He was already annoyed not to be here for this. But he was in court this morning and couldn't get out of it.
“Of course that’s fine, we can discuss it with your husband and I can arrange for someone from the GFU to collect the device at a later time,” Chris said knowing from experience how difficult Mrs Glynn’s husband could be.
Yet at the same time, wasn't the man already banging the table with Inspector O’Brien, insisting that they find his daughter’s attacker? He could hardly then refuse to hand over a piece of evidence that could well be crucial in doing just that.
Chris smiled inwardly, realising that Reilly and the gang would probably be getting that phone a lot faster than they’d thought.
“OK Holly, that’s about it for now - you’ve been very helpful. Is there anything else you think might be helpful to us? It doesn't matter how random you think it might be,” he asked, as a visible wave of relief crossed the young girl’s face at the mention of the word ‘finished’.
Holly looked up and gently shook her head. Chris and Kennedy stood to their feet, a little disappointed that they’d been able to get so little from her.
“Thank you for your time ladies, we appreciate it. Holly, here is my number if any other details happen to come back to you over the next few days,” Kennedy said smiling at her.
He and Chris stood up and were making their way round the coffee table toward the hallway when Holly spoke up again.
“Cigarettes…” she announced, as if answering a direct question. “His breath …it stank of cigarettes.”
Chris wasn't entirely sure if this piece of information could possibly help, but it was better than nothing. From what he could tell about Holly’s friends and classmates so far - particularly the Gaelic players - the boys were more interested in building muscle via chemical means than sullying their lungs with cigarettes.
But if nothing else, it gave them something to look out for once they did manage to put together a better picture of the people in attendance at the Hackett house that night - despite Holly’s insistence that she didn't know her attacker.
The true question was: would any information they gleaned from Holly Glynn - today or in the future via her mobile phone - help find Graham Hackett’s killer?
15
“What are you guys doing?” Lucy asked as she entered the cyber unit.
Gary and Reilly were standing in front of a PC screen display Rory had projected on a blank wall to enable them read through the information on his computer.
“Correspondence found on the Graham Hackett’s iPad,” Reilly told her.
Her curiosity piqued, Lucy looked up as Rory scrolled down through some of the messages he had extracted from the iMessage app.
(GH, 10:44 pm) Hey, I saw that you liked my picture
(BS, 10:46 pm) What’s not to like? ;)
(GH 10:47 pm) If you liked that pic, I’ve got another one you might like more…
(BS, 10:48 pm) I’ll be the judge of that…
“Holy hell…” Lucy let out a shriek of revulsion as a ‘prominent’ picture of Graham Hackett’s anatomy unexpectedly followed.
Gary tittered at his girlfriend’s discomfort, while Rory scrolled quickly back to the top of the message feed.
“Lots of similar stuff, all with different girls,” Rory was telling them. “Some older than him judging by their profiles, and even some younger, flirting and freely sharing explicit pictures like this one. Hackett maintained lots of these kinds of conversations, some of them concurrently.
“For feck’s sake…” Lucy gasped, “Who are these girls? And why are they sending around pictures of themselves like this?”
Reilly recalled that Lucy had grown up in a small suburban part of Dublin, her life hugely sheltered once her sister Grace, had gone missing. For her part however, she remembered what it was like to be amongst boys like these growing up, boys good at sport and admired and adored for it - you felt special just to talk to them.
She could recall easily the girls in miniskirts at her old high school back home, flooding around the boys after their big Friday night football games. Hanging off their arms as they all left to celebrate the latest win.
The drama that rang out through the hallways during school hours was nauseating though. There were many times one girl had stolen another girl’s guy and fights would break out, hair pulling, scratching, even clothes ripped off in revealing places. Reilly could still hear the insults the girls hurled at each other as these fights sprouted up spontaneously. What she always found sad was that these girls blamed the other girl for stealing their man but they were never upset with their man for cheating.
Boys in the US were getting football scholarships all the time. And once they were in college, there was almost always the chance that they would be drafted into the professional leagues. If a girl managed to hang on to him for that long, she would definitely get a piece of that money. So overlooking a bit of cheating on the side was not too high of a price to pay. She figured it was the same in Gaelic games, though from what she’d learned, the domestic game was not a professional sport, so nothing in it for those players except pride and plaudits.
Rory took a sip of his Red Bull. “You aren’t even seeing the half of it, Luce. Imagine if this was your job, going through kids’ saucy pictures to try find a murderer amongst them.”
“That isn’t your job though,” Gary pointed out,“you get to go through adults’ saucy pictures, as well.”
Rory rolled his eyes at him and reached for the can, which he put back down when he discovered it to be empty. He picked up the phone, buzzing for one of the interns in the lab to get him a new one, and Reilly crossed her arms, glaring disapprovingly.
“What?” he said, throwing his hands up. “Isn’t that what interns are for.”
“Those pills found in Graham Hackett’s drawer,” Lucy said then, catching Reilly as she headed out, “turn out to be performance enhancing drugs, anabolic steroids to be precise.”
So Graham Hackett was definitely a substance abuser. Reilly used the information to update her mental profile of the victim’s personality. He was a talented athlete, and very popular with the other kids at school - especially the girls. He came from a solidly middle class family, yet was clearly engaging in illegal activity in the form of performance-enhancing drugs. Where’d a kid that age get the drugs from? That aspect alone might give someone a reason to come after Graham Hackett – maybe he didn’t pay his debts, or shot his mouth off about something he shouldn’t have …
Heading back to her office, she fished her phone from her pocket and called Chris, but it was Kennedy who answered. “What is it?” he said gruffly.
“Hello to you, too
,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Chris is driving. We’ve just finished interviewing the Glynn girl and her mother,” he told her. “She seemed pretty shaken up ‘bout the whole thing. According to the mother, Hackett and the girl went out for a while and he also knew the other Glynn kid, Conor. The brother wasn’t at the party that night, but was on the gah team with Hackett.”
“Gaah team?” she repeated frowning.
“GAA team. It’s how the culchies say it.”
“OK.” Reilly already knew that ‘culchies' was slang for country people, and from her limited research, she knew that Gaelic games originated from more rural area of the country. She sighed, realizing she’d never fully get the hang of the multi-faceted and often downright bewildering Irish lingo.
Gah.
“Spoke to the parents yesterday, and got a bit more out of the older Hackett kid but he’s not off the hook just yet.”
“You know, it might do some good for you to refer to people by their names now and again,” Reilly said, holding back a chuckle. Whether intentional or not, Kennedy always managed to lift her spirits.
“Been doin’ it this way for fifteen years Blondie, and it’s worked OK so far.”
“If you say so,” she laughed, then added, “Well, the reason I called was the pills in Graham Hackett room have indeed been confirmed as steroids - which I’m assuming will also come back in the tox-screen. Ask around about that, whomever he got his ‘roids will surely be of interest.”
“Righito,” Kennedy replied. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
16
A little while later, Reilly gathered her things and loaded the preliminary case files into her bag, ready to go over them at her kitchen table during the weekend.
She sighed. While she always enjoyed her work, today she wanted nothing more than to go home to her bed where her mind had been going all day long.
If such horrible things could happen to kids - Graham Hackett in his own home and Holly only minutes from hers - both kids with loving parents and promising futures - just how helpless would Reilly be to protect her child?
Despite herself, she was suddenly reliving a moment during a previous case when the serial killer dubbed The Chef was stabbing her with a syringe filled with poison.
She had managed to save another girl from certain death at the time, but when Reilly was falling to the floor and there was nobody to help her, she was aware she had made a very bad decision.
For her baby as well as herself.
If Reilly couldn’t keep herself safe, how could she be trusted to keep her future son or daughter safe? Wasn’t her own job already a major source of danger? But what were her options, giving up the thing she loved, or risking danger for her child?
Her mind readily supplied her with a vision of Holly Glynn in the hospital post-attack – shaking, scared, and emotionally scarred – and she tried to suppress her shudder.
What did the world hold for girls? Constant danger, constant threat, to one like Holly, who had just been attending a party with her fellow students. To celebrate their long-awaited graduation.
Reilly recalled the countless times her gender had been shoved in her way on the path to a successful and carefree life. In her line of work, it was always a hindrance, something that her colleagues took extra care to notice. They ranged in their actions anywhere from trying to protect her, to openly harassing her.
The thought had been stewing in her head since she’d interviewed Holly the other day, and though she had tried to ignore it, now it was being broadcast in her mind as something of utmost importance.
A boy would have a better chance in the world.
All of the evils Reilly had seen, every dark act she had observed in all her years of service, from the darkest alleys in San Francisco to the most elegant households in Dublin, the blood stained the same. Men and women bled the same, but the thought still wouldn’t quit.
If her baby was a boy, it wouldn’t have to suffer the sexist comments she’d so often received every time an ignorant male was threatened by her position of power. If her baby was a boy, at least he wouldn’t have to fear for his safety every time he made his way down the street.
Graham Hackett’s twisted form shoved its way back to the front of her mind and she tried to shake it.
Maybe it didn’t matter what gender her baby was.
As if thinking about her future as a stressed new mom wasn’t enough to distract her from her work, the prospect of Todd’s imminent arrival was weighing her down too.
What would his take be on all of this? What would he expect from her or vice versa? Their fling in Florida had primarily been based on passion and the intensity of the case they were working together. Beyond that they didn’t really know one another - certainly not long enough to be bringing a child into the world together.
Whereas she and Chris had been working side by side since she moved to Dublin – and for a very brief moment they had crossed a boundary between colleagues, between friends. More than once she had leaned on him for emotional and mental support, and they had confided in each other. Reilly wanted nothing more than to confide in him her thoughts and worries about Todd.
But her instincts told her that bringing Todd up to Chris at this point would be a mistake, regardless of how comforting he could be. Now was not the time for her to be giving in to the kind of feelings Chris elicited.
Instead they needed to return to their usual rhythm, colleagues and friends, nothing more.
Later, she stood in her small kitchen, making what she hoped was a nutritious supper. The smell of spinach and chicken wafted around her but it did nothing to spike her appetite. She had all sorts of nutritional pill bottles lined up on the counter that she was supposed to take every morning, and some at night, but she still felt pressed to eat well.
As she turned to plate her food, she caught a glimpse of her couch, stagnant in the small sitting room. That was where Todd would be sleeping next week, and thinking about it made her glance at her food with distaste.
Although the time she had spent with him in Florida was amazing, Reilly had never expected or wanted anything lasting. Neither, she suspected, did Todd.
Still once she’d finally told him about the unexpected result of their brief liaison, he had immediately stepped up, offering to help in any way he could. Hence the upcoming visit to ‘talk through their options.’
Reilly sighed and looked down at the food she had prepared, no longer feeling hungry enough to eat it. But she knew that it was essential for Bumposaurus, so she braved it and picked up her fork.
17
“Steel,” a voice called out, as Reilly was approaching her office on Monday morning. It was none other than Inspector O’Brien, the police chief and Reilly’s boss.
The sun was streaming through the windows of the GFU building – a rare sight – and the air was poignantly strong with the heady smell of coffee.
Although Reilly had been tossing and turning all weekend with the uncomfortable aches in her back and the disturbing thoughts in her head, the lab had been the first place she wanted to go when she awoke at the sound of her alarm.
Now being here, everything was right with the world again - except for the eternally disgruntled O’Brien currently headed her way. “What news have you on the Hackett situation?” he asked without preamble.
Reilly took a deep breath and regarded her superior with a calm look, recalling how it was O’Brien who had insisted on the enforced leave period that set her on course to the sojourn to Florida, which had resulted in her pregnancy.
She still hadn’t quite forgiven him.
As always O’Brien’s bluster seemed to calm a little when faced with Reilly’s imposing form. Normally she was a force to be reckoned with anyway, but her pregnancy had lent her a whole new air of intimidation that hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“I just got here, Chief,” she said, aching to make it to her office and find a seat. She had taken the stairs instead of the lift
again, though for maybe the last time until all of this was over. Her feet were swollen and tired, and her back begged her to rest it against the soft leather of the chair behind her desk. “However, while we don’t yet have a murder weapon, we do have lots of trace and a strong social media trail to follow.”
The chief had since taken a step back and was eyeing her ruefully, as if he too was becoming aware of just how far along her pregnancy now was.
“Good,” he said, in a tone uncharacteristically meek for him, “And just to let to know the father of the Glynn girl called my office, my office, twice on Friday and again this morning to make sure we’re ‘doing our jobs’. I did my best to ensure Mr Glynn - in so many words - that my finest investigators are working tirelessly to find out who attacked his daughter, while also trying to ascertain Master Hackett’s killer …” Here he donned his disgruntled face again. “But he informed me that if we don’t turn up some relevant information soon, he’s going to the press - or worse.”
Reilly recalled Michael Glynn pacing outside his daughter’s hospital room the other day, as well as the look of frantic fury on his face.
“Normally - as you know - I wouldn’t pay any attention to such threats,” O’Brien continued without a trace of irony, “but the man is well known in the High Court for being….well you know, and I have no doubt he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve. Men like that are used to having things their own way.”
“We’re doing what with can with the limited information his daughter’s given us,” Reilly assured him, mindful that if she didn’t sit down soon, she would seriously injure someone on her way to the nearest chair. “But rest assured we’ll find something soon.”
“Good.” The chief nodded gruffly again, and she turned to make her way to her office with a relieved sigh.