The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4)

by Hill, Casey

  ‘I see.’ Reilly’s eyes widened. She wasn’t sure what to think. How long was ‘a while’? Was her father considering a return to the States for good? It certainly sounded like it.

  ‘So seeing as you’ve got time to spare, you should pop over this direction when you’re bored of sunbathing.’ He chuckled. ‘Knowing you that won’t take long.’

  ‘Well, actually I’m kind of helping Daniel out with something here,’ she informed him quietly.

  ‘Helping out with something . . . you mean an investigation?’ She could picture him frowning. ‘I thought you said you needed peace and quiet.’

  ‘Well yes, that was the idea but . . .’ She went on to give him a quick rundown of recent events, and how she’d offered to help Daniel with the investigation.

  ‘Sweetie, this is not good. You’re addicted to work, a bit like myself and the bottle, I suppose,’ he added, and she smarted a little at the words. ‘Why spend so much of your time – free or otherwise – caught up in all this tragic business? I would’ve thought this family would have had enough of that by now . . .’

  He was right, Reilly admitted. It was an addiction of sorts.

  But Daniel had asked for her help and she wasn’t going to refuse. Not when there was a sadistic killer out there.

  The question was, Reilly wondered, as she said goodbye to her father, how many such killers did she need to chase before it was enough?

  CHAPTER 12

  It was amazing how much goodwill a couple of bags of donuts and a few hot coffees could buy. Reilly had come up with the idea for her and Daniel to bring breakfast to the CSI team the following morning, and it hadn’t taken much to convince him to go along with it.

  He’d since completed his unofficial ‘official’ profile the night before and emailed a copy to the detectives investigating Holly’s death, but hadn’t yet received a reply.

  She knew he was frustrated, especially when his son was only able (or indeed willing) to fill in very few of the informational gaps.

  ‘Thought you guys might not have had time to get breakfast,’ Daniel smiled as Bradley appeared in the corridor outside the lab to take the goodies.

  ‘Bless you.’ He grinned as he reached for one of the cups of coffee. ‘We’re going to be pulling sixteen- to eighteen-hour days from now on. Sugar and caffeine are now officially my best friends.’

  ‘So, nothing yet?’ Daniel tried to keep the question casual, but the look on Bradley’s face said he wasn’t fooled.

  ‘You know I can’t share details of an ongoing investigation, Dr Forrest,’ the investigator said, his voice gentle but firm. ‘On the other hand, if the department decides to bring you in then I’d be only too happy to get your take on what little evidence we have so far.’

  Daniel nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

  Then Bradley smiled at Reilly. ‘Speaking of evidence, how did you figure out that Otto Wright was innocent that time? All the news said was forensics cleared him.’

  She found herself pleasantly surprised by another reference to her previous career, another blast from the past from her San Francisco days, and she wondered if it was another attempt at flirtation on Bradley’s part. If so, she was happy to humor him.

  ‘Toxicology revealed that Mrs Wright had been poisoned by a certain brand of insecticide,’ she told him. ‘When the crime scene techs brought in the bottles they’d found in the Wrights’ garage, I noticed that both bottles were still sealed and appeared to have the same amount of liquid inside. Everyone assumed that Wright had just thrown away the bottle he’d used to poison his wife. I took a closer look at the two bottles we had and noticed that the seal in both had a tiny hole, just big enough for a syringe.’

  Bradley made a face. ‘Still don’t understand how that proved his innocence.’

  ‘Wright had passed out when I showed him the needle I was going to use to draw his blood. He couldn’t even look at a syringe, much less use one,’ Reilly told him. ‘That meant the killer had to have access to both a syringe and the Wrights’ garage.’

  ‘His paramedic nephew,’ Bradley nodded.

  ‘That one was just luck,’ Reilly admitted. ‘If you want complex forensics, you should’ve been on the case I had in Dublin my first year there . . .’

  Just then, a twenty-something young man poked his head out of the lab. ‘Bradley? Detective Reed just called, said you weren’t answering your phone. He wants to know when you’re going to get those prints done for the Sheldon case.’

  ‘Tell him we’re working on it, Miguel,’ Bradley called back. ‘And that would be why I wasn’t answering my phone,’ he added with no small measure of irritation.

  ‘The Sheldon case?’ Daniel repeated, and Reilly’s gaze darted toward Todd, who’d just come up behind his partner. A frustrated shake of his head answered the question. ‘You’re working another case?’ Daniel’s voice had gone dangerously hard and Reilly tensed.

  Bradley instantly went on the defensive. ‘We’re working on lots of cases just now, Dr Forrest,’ he continued, his tone once again formal and professional. ‘Thank you again for breakfast.’ With that he retreated inside the lab.

  Todd remained in the hallway. ‘Some hotshot Hollywood screenwriter in town for the Tampa Film Festival hasn’t been seen for two days,’ he informed them quietly. ‘His daughter reported it yesterday and the department’s taking it seriously. There are only so many of us—’

  ‘So Holly’s murderer walks free while you waste your time trying to find some coke-head who’s probably sleeping it off somewhere?’

  Reilly put her hand on Daniel’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, she thought he was going to shake her off. Then the muscles relaxed beneath her fingers and he was in control again.

  ‘I’m just trying to help.’

  ‘No, you’re trying to take over.’ Todd’s face was pale, this time with anger, his entire body radiating tension. ‘I think you should go.’

  ‘Fine,’ Daniel snapped. He thrust a finger in Todd’s direction. ‘But if you fuck this up, you get to be the one to tell Alice Young.’

  Afterward, as Daniel and Reilly walked back to the car, he tried to explain the reasons behind his determination.

  ‘For a while after Bruce died, I was worried that Todd was going to be jealous of all of the time I spent with Holly whenever we came down here to the beach house. It never happened. She used to follow him around and he loved it. About a year after it happened, he asked me if I thought I’d ever date Alice. He wanted Holly to be his little sister.’

  Reilly didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Better than anyone, she understood the need to talk about someone lost in a vicious and cruel manner, but she also knew that there wasn’t really anything she could say. She hadn’t known Holly, had no memories to share. The only thing she could do was listen. The ride back to Clearwater was quiet, punctuated by other snippets of Holly’s life, anecdotes that Daniel needed to share.

  Reilly stared out the window, her mind filled with the images Daniel was drawing. Images of a cute little girl with blond pigtails.

  ‘Every year after Bruce died, Holly would give me a card on Father’s Day that said, “To my Number Two Dad”. As the years passed without Alice dating anyone, I became the closest thing Holly had to a father. I was there for volleyball matches and school plays. I taught her to drive, sat next to her mother at graduation.’

  As they travelled along Gulf To Bay Boulevard, the sun warmed Reilly’s face as it peeked out from behind the clouds and she closed her eyes for a moment. The little girl that appeared in her mind had blond pigtails, but it wasn’t Holly. No, this face was familiar.

  Daniel looked across at her. ‘You need to be on this, Reilly.’

  ‘I wish I could help but—’

  ‘You heard what Bradley said, this case is only one of many for the department.’ Daniel’s voice took on a pleading note Reilly had never heard before. ‘I know I’ve offered you a job with my firm before, but this isn�
�t a job offer this time. This is a friend asking for help.’

  He put his hand on her arm, his expression grave. ‘You have a knack for reading people as well as their surroundings. Most crime scene investigators don’t have that. You don’t just understand the science, Reilly; you get the whole picture. I need you to help me get the whole picture.’

  CHAPTER 13

  He was pleased with his next location. He’d checked it out weeks before, confirming that the boarded-up housing estate was virtually abandoned after dark.

  It was risky, he knew, doing this outside at night. If he’d just been a mere killer, it would’ve made more sense as the shadows and dark would have hidden the crime.

  But he was an artist. He needed people to see his work.

  And to do that on film, especially a night scene, he needed good lighting. After all, what would the point be of going to such lengths to create his masterpieces if the lighting was poor? Especially when filming in black-and-white.

  Once satisfied that he’d eliminated any interfering shadows, he stepped out of the line of sight and turned on the cameras. Donning his mask, he returned to his car. He’d parked nearby, trusting in the dirt he’d allowed accumulate to obscure the color. He’d also liberally applied dirt to the license plate earlier that evening. Most of the time, he parked far enough away from his locations that no possible witnesses would see it.

  Tonight, that hadn’t been an option.

  He opened the trunk of the car. Eyes as black as pitch glared up at him.

  The young man’s skin was dark brown, his face still holding on to a bit of baby fat that made him look even younger than the twenty years his license claimed. Again, easy pickings, another desperate wannabe hoping to see his name in lights.

  Well, that would be a certainty now, though possibly not in the way the kid had anticipated.

  Wiry muscles indicated that this one might have put up a fight if he’d tried to use chloroform. Fortunately, he’d found a better way to get what he needed.

  He picked up a bottle of water from the truck and spritzed the liquid over the bound and gagged youth, ignoring the young man’s thrashing. He then took his new toy from his jacket.

  He may have been overly warm, but it was worth not having scratches from fighting victims. It also allowed him to carry things such as the electric cattle prod he’d found online.

  He was unable to contain a gleeful smile as he jabbed the end into his captive, chuckling as the young man’s body twitched and jerked as electricity ran through him.

  Then he pocketed the prod and grabbed the young man’s shoulder, dragging his prize from the trunk, and ignoring the sound of pain when the young man’s head hit the ground.

  The soon-to-be-famous wannabe could barely walk, stumbling as he was dragged toward the cameras. He shoved the young man to the ground and grabbed the prod.

  One more jolt and those black eyes glazed over.

  He manipulated the limp body into a kneeling position and bent over his victim. The young man’s eyes were fluttering, but he was still awake enough to do what was needed. Ripping the tape from the young man’s mouth with one hand, he used his other to shove the weakly protesting face toward the curb.

  ‘Bite it,’ he hissed into the young man’s ear.

  It didn’t matter if the cameras picked up his words. He’d learned enough to mask his voice. Only a true sound expert had any hope of matching those two words to his regular voice and he doubted it would ever come to that. He considered it well worth the risk.

  The young man had tears rolling down his cheeks as he did as he was told. He rested his teeth gingerly against the concrete. With his hands bound behind his back, he had no way to defend himself and the man watched the realization come over the youthful face.

  He recognized the scenario, understood what he was supposed to do. And more to the point, what would happen when he did.

  Beautiful. It was time.

  He straightened, took a step back and, before the young man could react, lifted one heavy boot and slammed it into the back of his star’s head.

  A satisfying crunch. Limbs twitched as the blood pooled.

  Another perfect death scene.

  It was Saturday evening and Daniel had called Todd to invite him over to the beach house for dinner in the guise of wanting to discuss Holly Young’s memorial service, which Reilly guessed was more of an attempt to try and break bread, and smooth the waters after their bust-up at the station the day before.

  When Todd arrived around seven, she could tell that he was trying to remain respectful to his father, but there was an edge to him that made her nervous. She could only imagine how pressurized things must be at the lab.

  They dined outside on the deck beneath the lanai, and Reilly and Todd did their best to make small talk over drinks while Daniel finished preparing creole jambalaya in the kitchen.

  ‘So how long are you in town, Reilly?’ Todd asked, popping the cork on a bottle of Corona. She could hear the tiredness in his voice.

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest – as long as your dad will put up with me, I guess.’ She sipped a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc and explained about her enforced leave from the GFU and the reason behind it.

  ‘And the lab still doesn’t know what the stuff was? Jeez, I thought we were slow.’

  ‘They’re a good group, just backed-up and busy – same as you guys.’

  But she too was wondering exactly when the team in Dublin would complete their analysis and come back with an answer about the mysterious off-white powder.

  ‘Can’t think of anything off the top of my head that would cause you to black out,’ Todd was saying. ‘Arsenic wouldn’t do anything fast . . . ricin is easy to identify – not to mention that if it was that, you’d already be dead – and white heroin would have you bouncing off the walls. Are you sure it wasn’t just a rogue batch of cocaine?’

  Leave it to a pair of crime scene investigators to turn small talk into a discussion about the side effects of chemical compounds, Reilly thought, raising a smile.

  She shook her head. ‘I really can’t say. I didn’t get to see, taste or have anything to do with it once I got out of the hospital.’

  The peppery creole scent wafting out from the kitchen filled her nostrils, and her stomach growled, threatening rebellion if she didn’t feed it. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma. She’d missed the way her home country’s ethnic cuisine borrowed flavors from so many other cultures. She’d never really taken to the Dublin versions of Mexican, Cuban or Cajun/Creole, where chefs tended to dampen down flavors to suit the Irish palate.

  When Daniel came out to serve the food, he was limping.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Todd enquired.

  ‘Twisted my knee while playing beach volleyball earlier.’

  ‘Nice job, Dad,’ Todd shook his head. ‘You know, you’re not as young as you think you are.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m in my prime,’ his father insisted with a wink.

  ‘Yeah, I forgot, you’re Batman.’

  Reilly smiled. It was good to hear the two bantering.

  She looked at the feast Daniel was laying on the table and nearly jumped out of her seat. ‘Oh my God . . .’ she gasped, unable to believe what was she was seeing. ‘Is that . . . corn bread?’ Homemade Southern-style American corn bread was her absolute favorite and she hadn’t tasted the stuff in almost three whole years. She practically launched herself at the plate, grabbing a thick piece and biting down into the buttery, melt-in-mouth crumbly texture. Heaven . . .

  Todd chuckled. ‘Wow, you really have been away too long, Steel. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl get that excited about food. Guess they don’t do corn bread in Dublin.’

  Reilly smiled happily through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘No – they don’t, not like that. And they don’t do stone crab, or coconut shrimp or creole spices like this . . . mmm.’ She sat forward in her chair, dipping the corn bread into the spicy r
ice stew, unable to remember the last time she’d felt so contented.

  ‘So now you know the way to this girl’s heart is through her stomach,’ Daniel chided, raising his wine glass to her and Todd for a toast.

  Then he turned to his son. ‘Well, like I said, I wanted to talk to you about the memorial,’ he continued, his tone softening. ‘Alice decided that she wanted to hold a service next week. Once the body’s released, she’ll have Holly cremated. She doesn’t want to do an actual funeral.’

  ‘I see.’ Todd blinked and looked away quickly, seeming to be struggling with his emotions. Reilly guessed there hadn’t been a lot of time for grieving over the last few days and the mention of the memorial was making the loss of their close family friend all the more real.

  ‘She’s asked if you might read something at the service,’ Daniel continued, ‘and I told her I’d ask.’

  ‘Sure. Of course I will.’ His son’s reply was hoarse.

  ‘So how are things at the lab?’ Daniel asked then. ‘You guys any closer to finding answers?’ The question was casual, but the atmosphere instantly shifted.

  Reilly opened her mouth, prepared to play peacemaker, when Todd surprised her.

  ‘You’re right, Dad,’ he ran his hand through his hair. ‘What you said yesterday. Priorities are shifting day by day. The mayor is putting pressure on the department to find this missing screenwriter guy – says it’s bad for tourism – and the DA’s now trying to suggest that some of these deaths aren’t related, because we simply don’t have enough evidence to convince him otherwise.’

  ‘Is there anything at all we can do?’ Reilly asked, realizing the depth of the frustration Todd was feeling. ‘Not officially, of course, but anything that might help take the load off with Holly’s investigation – grunt work, even?’

  She knew better than most that grunt work was the bane of most forensic departments, yet could often be the most fruitful.

  Todd thought about her question for a moment. When he finally answered, he sounded cautiously hopeful. ‘Bradley pulled Emilie off of trying to track down suppliers for the cameras as it was just too time-consuming given the current workload. It’s probably a long-shot, but do you think you could try that? I can get you details of the makes and models, but not the equipment, obviously.’