by Hill, Casey
On each side of the fireplace were shelves covered with books. There was quite a collection but they were old and tatty.
A glance at the nearest shelf suggested considerable insight into McAllister and the life he had created here. There were titles Reilly had never heard of, but names like Cu Chulainn and Fionn mac Cumhail jumped out at her as being related to the same mythology that McAllister had used to brainwash his captives with.
Reuben would have a field day here, she thought, fighting the urge to take down some books and start reading through them, knowing there were far more pressing issues at hand.
She looked over at Gary and Lucy as they slowly worked their way through the room, collecting and tagging items of interest as they went. She had been impressed by Lucy’s strength. When the news came through about McAllister’s escape, and that it looked as though he had only very young children with him, she knew that whatever faint hope the young tech might have had for finding her sister here had been very quickly dashed.
Given her emotional state of mind, Reilly had given her the opportunity to sit this one out. But no, Lucy had insisted that it was business as usual as she collected trace for DNA analysis and any evidence to cross-reference with all those missing children cases that included her own sister.
‘Hey, boss,’ Gary called out, startling Reilly from her thoughts. ‘I’m pretty much finished with this room now, want me to start on the kitchen?’
‘Just make sure Rory is done dusting in there first. Anything interesting?’
‘Well, it’s certainly a nice change from the usual mess; not a drop of blood anywhere. Plenty of hair though, mostly long red strands but some gray ones too, possibly animal, and belonging to those, I’d imagine.’ He indicated out the window to the driveway where McAllister’s van was parked. Inside were two nervous-looking collie dogs that had begun chewing and clawing the glass angrily when the team had first parked up. McAllister must have had another form of transport waiting at the far side of the lake.
‘We’ll get the ISPCA in to secure the dogs before we sweep the van,’ Reilly said, picking up a pair of knitting needles and some wool that looked to have been hurriedly tossed into the corner.
‘Reilly, you might want to take a look at this…’ Rory called out from the kitchen, and she went to join him. ‘I was just checking the back of this,’ he pointed to one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘There seemed to be a lot of fingerprints there,’ he said, standing aside to let her see. ‘I gave the back cover a little nudge, and it came loose.’ Behind the false back were two shoeboxes filled with invoices, receipts and other documentation.
‘Excellent. This could tell us something about McAllister’s movements and, with luck, give us some clue as to where he’s heading next,’ she said, examining an invoice for a Celtic cross headstone, listing the address and phone number of one of McAllister’s clients.
She flicked through the papers to see if there was anything of interest from a forensic point of view.
Next, Reilly moved on to the bedrooms. As she did, she spotted something through the bay window overlooking the lake. On a grassy area beside the water was a large erratic rock standing up in the earth. It looked to have some sort of carving on the front, and at the base grew an array of small shrubs and spring flowers.
She stopped in her tracks as the thought dawned on her, and quickly unzipped her coveralls to find her phone.
Chris answered immediately. ‘What’s up?’
Reilly pulled her facemask away from her mouth, as she quickly explained what she’d found. ‘Looks like we’re going to need our friends with the grave excavator again.’
Later that evening, back in Dublin, the meeting with O’Brien was stormy to say the least.
‘We should have had the Water Unit in support – it was pretty obvious that McAllister wasn’t going to just ask us in for tea,’ Kennedy said, looking tired and dejected.
‘Yes, well, you know what they say about hindsight, Detective,’ O’Brien said, sitting back in his swivel chair, as they dissected the events of a very long day. ‘But let’s move on – there will be plenty of time for post mortems later; the Park have already been on looking for explanations,’ he added, referring to the Garda HQ in the Phoenix Park. ‘Let me worry about that, you lot just concentrate on finding this guy and getting those kids back, whoever they are.’ He turned to Reilly. ‘Anything from the house that will help track McAllister down?’
‘We found a passport for him amongst the documents, none for the kids unsurprisingly. The photo is old though, as the passport was issued several years ago, but it’s the best we’ve got. Chances are he’ll lose the beard in the meantime.’
‘Any clues as to where he might be hiding?’
‘We have all hands on deck going through the two boxes concealed in the kitchen, but nothing jumps out just yet.’
‘This guy may sound cuckoo but he’s certainly not stupid,’ Kennedy put in. ‘He planned his escape with the boat, so no doubt he’s also planned his next move.’
The door opened, and O’Brien’s secretary appeared carrying a tray of coffees, a little jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes. She hurried in, set them on O’Brien’s desk, and scurried out.
Reilly reached for a cup, blew on it to cool it, and took a quick sip. ‘If I were him I’d be looking to get as far away as possible as fast as possible, or I’d have another place to hide.’
Chris sighed. ‘Well, the ports are covered, his Scottish background might make fleeing the country an option for him. Other than that, we have to hope the vehicle check or the evidence collected from the house yields something.’
‘There were some invoices related to his stonework issued in McAllister’s name,’ Kennedy said. ‘He seems to have carried out regular work for one company in particular, called Mount Leinster Memorials.’
‘That’ll be your next port of call. Steel, any helpful forensic trace from the house?’ O’Brien asked, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
‘My team is currently working on that, sir. We’ve also ordered cadaver dogs to search the property.’
And while Reilly guessed the dogs would find the corpse they’d dug for once before, she sincerely hoped that was all they’d find.
Chapter 31
I heard them plotting their invasion. The children knew this day would come, that evil wasn’t to be kept from our door eternally. Once one had fallen for Kelpie’s charms the seal of paradise was broken, and soon the festering waters of that pitiful world beyond our borders would pour in, their stench preceeding them.
It is the turning of the season, when the winds blow and the trees begin to blossom, and all God’s creatures feel the earth moving beneath them; restlessness is in the air. We have left our sanctuary but together we are strong, the bells have not yet tolled.
This is merely an interlude. I must protect the flock and I must grow them too – for strength lies in numbers.
Change is in the air, the herd is restless. Our paradise may be lost but another awaits …
In the GFU lab, Reilly and the team stood around the trays and bags of evidence they had collected from the McAllister place.
‘OK, priority goes to anything that might give an indication of where McAllister could have gone with those kids. Let’s see if we can outsmart him.’
She tasked Gary with going through the mats from the van, hoping to isolate material common to the house, and then see what they were left with: natural or unnatural, plants, minerals, rocks, soil or any chemicals/synthetics.
‘No problem, boss, I’m on it.’ He sprung to action with surprising gusto for a person who’d had little more than a couple of hours’ sleep.
‘Rory, I want you to process the prints and partials – check if they happen to match what’s already on file.’
‘Will do.’
In the hope of identifying the children McAllister had with him, Reilly then tasked Lucy with cross-checking anything found in the house with the current missing children files.
It would be a painstaking and likely fruitless process but they had to try.
For much of the morning, the team busied themselves collecting various evidence bags and equipment to launch into what seemed from the outset a mammoth task.
Reilly went over to where Julius was sifting through the books. She thought about the complexities of McAllister’s brainwashing and how he had created an elaborate belief system to keep the children in check. However, he had not accounted for the fact that childish fear was not a lifelong fear. Children grew into adulthood and began to question everything, no matter how sterile and controlled the situation around them.
But the question now was what would McAllister do next?
She was startled back to reality by her phone ringing.
‘Hey, Chris.’
‘Some good news. We just got word on a registration on that van in Clondalkin.’
It took Reilly a moment to figure out what he was talking about. ‘The attempted abduction?’
‘The very one. A neighbor reported a blue Volkswagen van cruising their street right around the time that Jade Carney’s mum called us. One of our guys here checked the CCTV cameras and managed to pick up a plate.’
She sat forward. ‘You have an address?’
‘Yes, we’re headed straight there now. With any luck that’s where we’ll find McAllister, and hopefully the kids too.’
‘Well, if it is the place, we’re ready to move.’ She looked up as Gary entered the room, a thoughtful look on his face.
‘Great. Will keep you posted.’
Hanging up the phone, Reilly shared this latest piece of news with the team.
‘Did Detective Delaney happen to mention where the house is?’ Gary asked, reading from a report.
Reilly recognized his tone.
‘No – why?’
‘Pegasus has just thrown up a strange result from the mats, and I was wondering if McAllister might have been spending time in Eldorado.’
She frowned, completely confused. ‘Eldorado?’
‘Yes, you know … the city of gold.’
Chris and Kennedy waited patiently while the locals jimmied the front door of the house that matched the registration of the van.
‘There you go. You’re in,’ said the officer with the crowbar and stood back.
The front door swung open and Chris poked his head inside. ‘Gardai. Anyone home?’ His voice echoed in the empty house.
The hallway contained nothing but a pair of wellington boots and an umbrella – no photographs on a sidestand, no pictures on the walls, nothing.
‘Cozy,’ muttered Kennedy, following him inside.
There was an archway through to a dining room with similar décor, which then led on to the kitchen. Chris opened the fridge – all it contained was half a packet of stale butter and some out-of-date eggs.
Kennedy rummaged in the cupboards – tins, packets, simple no-recipe food. ‘Not exactly homely ...’
‘Let’s check upstairs.’
The stairs creaked slightly as the detectives ascended. The upstairs of the house was as devoid of personality as the downstairs. There was a small bathroom – avocado bathroom suite, no shower – and two bedrooms. One contained a double bed, neatly made, and a wardrobe of obviously charity shop clothes. The other was set up as an office – a desk against the wall, bookshelves and a small radio, though no computer or other electronic equipment.
‘This is beyond spartan,’ Chris said, shivering. He didn’t think he had ever seen a house so austere. ‘It’s downright creepy. If it weren’t for the lack of dust, you’d think no one had lived here in years.’
‘Whoever does live here doesn’t like to move with the times, that’s for sure,’ Kennedy agreed. He shook his head. ‘No sign of McAllister here anyway. I’ll go get the forensics, see if they can dig anything up.’
As Kennedy clomped back down the stairs Chris gazed around at the bookshelves. They were mostly empty apart from a few books including Salem’s Lot by Stephen King, another nameless novel with a torn cover, and a couple of textbooks on physiology and anatomy. Something about them sent a fresh shiver down Chris’s spine.
There was definitely something off about this place.
The man raised the binoculars and scanned his front garden. One of the cops had come back out – there were also several others in uniform, and then two figures in white suits entered with bulky toolboxes.
Forensics.
He watched as one of the cops, in a crumpled jacket and tie, called them in. They would violate his house, their dirty shoes on the carpet, their sticky fingers in every corner. It was no longer his. It was time to move on.
Again.
He lowered the binoculars, slipping them away in the daypack he wore, and walked quickly to his van, taking the keys from his pocket.
He would have to disappear, cover his tracks. He had stayed out of sight for too long to allow them to catch up with him now. He would have to be more careful though.
Two close calls in a few days was cutting it fine.
He slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. It purred into life. He had maintained the van himself, kept it running perfectly, but like everything else, it was now expendable.
He knew exactly where he was going, had planned for every eventuality; there was nothing left to chance. Everything would go exactly as he had foreseen it.
When he was back in control, he would build another world in which to fulfill his desires and fantasies. Where he would go and who he would become he had not yet decided. What he had decided, though, was that he would go for blonds; not your trashy peroxide types, but pure Aryan blonds.
Hard to find but worth the hunt.
The roads were quiet, but he drove carefully, exactly at the speed limit as he always did. He couldn’t help but smile as he passed a squad car racing the other way, lights flashing, on its way to some petty crime, the officers unaware of what they had missed, and who they had passed, his nice new number plates unnoticed.
A little while later, he rolled to a halt, then climbed out, taking care to avoid the puddles. He lifted a broken latch and slid the gates open.
Inside was an abandoned warehouse – it had stood deserted for many years, just another empty building on a quiet country road, another anonymous place that no one ever visited.
He drove in through the gate, then stopped to close it exactly as it was, before driving the van in through the open loading bay and all the way to the back of the warehouse.
He climbed out and looked around. No one in sight, but he couldn’t take any chances. He stood very still and listened – not just for ten seconds, as an amateur might, but for a minute, two minutes, three minutes.
The only sounds were the ticking of the engine and the exhaust as they cooled, a branch from an overgrown tree worrying the wall of the building.
Satisfied that no one was around, he opened the back of the van.
Stacked inside were three large cans of petrol. He lifted them out, set them on the floor, then walked around and opened all the doors. There could be no trace, nothing to link the vehicle to him.
One by one, he emptied the cans of petrol over the van, thoroughly and meticulously, making sure to cover all the surfaces, soak the seats, the steering wheel … and the floor in the back where he had scrubbed so assiduously to remove the bloodstains.
When all three cans were empty, he placed them back inside the van, and pulled the box of matches from his pocket.
He paused, took a moment to analyze his feelings –they were a mixture of something he was familiar with. Fear and excitement, horror and delight? Yes, he was used to mixed emotions. On this occasion though, it was satisfaction at executing his plan so competently, as well as regret at having to give this one up and start over with a new one.
Then just as quickly he kicked back into action – lit a match, dropped it into the box, watched as the whole box flared up into a large flame, then tossed it into the van.
; Poof. The petrol lit instantly, almost sucking the air out of his lungs as the flames roared into life. Blue and yellow, they raced around the van, inside and out, like a starving animal searching for food, and within seconds the entire van was alight, the flames dancing, devouring.
Then the man turned on his heel and walked calmly away, the smell of burning petrol and rubber in his nose, his plan becoming clearer in his mind.
It was time to assume a new name, move into his new kingdom, which was already prepared and waiting for a day such as today.
It was time to begin again.
Chapter 32
Chris, Kennedy and Reilly took seats in front of O’Brien’s desk for a debrief.
Chris spoke first. ‘We followed up on the van from the attempted aduction in Clondalkin. It was registered to a house in Whitestown in the name of Martin O’Toole. Turns out he’s been dead for eight years, although he has somehow managed to drive the van and keep drawing disability benefit, which is quite a trick.’
‘How does this still happen in this day and age?’ O’Brien said, rolling his eyes. ‘The left hand never seems to know what the right hand is doing …’
Kennedy looked at his notes. ‘He had a co-signatory on the disability benefit. His carer is listed as Clive Farrell. He’s come up a blank though – doesn’t seem to exist, so it’s likely to be a scam.’
‘Anything linking the place to the Wicklow house?’
Reilly sat forward. ‘No, sir, the place is clean, too clean. We think it was used as a safe house. However, my team’s initial examination was only preliminary; we would like to have a closer look, but the order initally was to fall back and keep surveillence in place.’
‘Which begs the question, if this place is indeed McAllister’s safe house, why didn’t he use it?’
‘Maybe it wasn’t remote enough or wasn’t suitable to prolong the Tir Na Nog fantasy,’ Chris suggested.