Taboo

by Casey Hill

  Reilly raised an eyebrow. She supposed she couldn’t argue with that. ‘OK, plain old Chris Delaney,’ she said, taking a seat at a nearby table, ‘go and work your magic …’

  He gave a wry grin. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, turning slowly. ‘Wish me luck …’

  40

  Chris strolled into the bar and looked around. It was virtually a maritime museum, the walls of the pub were decorated with a huge range of maritime artefacts, many of them recovered from local wrecks by the pub owner and his diving mates.

  Ignoring the displayed items, Chris focused on the patrons. There were several noisy Dubliners at the bar, drinking cocktails and telling jokes in loud voices, a quiet couple sitting solemnly at a small table with cappuccinos, and over in the farthest corner, three old guys hunkered down over pint glasses.

  Chris moved to the bar, ordered himself a pint, and quietly watched them from a distance. They were deep in conversation, talking and laughing with the easy familiarity of old friends. All looked to be in their late sixties or early seventies and might have known the Steel family, and maybe even Mike himself as a kid.

  He sipped at his pint for a couple of minutes, waiting for just the right moment – preferably when their glasses were almost empty. When the time had come, he made his way over to their end of the bar.

  ‘How’s it going, lads?’

  The three looked up, eyes showing different degrees of suspicion. There was a grunt and a couple of idle nods in response.

  Chris kicked straight into his story. ‘When I was a boy my dad used to bring me down here fishing a lot. We had some family here we used to visit and I was trying to track down their house, for old times’ sake – I was wondering if you gentlemen might be able to help me out?’

  The men looked from one to another, trying to decide how to respond. Chris acted quickly. ‘It looks like you’re all running low there – can I get you another one?’

  ‘Why not?’ The oldest of the three – at least he looked that way, with his wispy white hair and missing teeth – thrust his glass out toward Chris. ‘Same again, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Well if you’re buying …’

  Chris waved to get the barman’s attention. So far so good. ‘Same again, all round,’ he told him.

  Reilly fidgeted as she waited at the table. She wasn’t good at waiting at the best of times, but now was even worse. She tried to get into the mind of her sister, tried to figure out where Jess was going with this. Attempting to guess her next move was virtually impossible – they hadn’t managed it once yet in the investigation.

  Clearly, she’d taken Mike to get Reilly’s attention, and brought him somewhere (here?) that was significant – namely their dad’s ancestral roots. Home Sweet Home.

  But then a second thought, even more disquieting, crossed Reilly’s mind. What if they were wrong and they didn’t find her here? What would Jess do then? Would she harm Mike and then seek Reilly out to finish it? Or would she just vanish, leaving no trace, nothing but a trail of bodies?

  No, that wasn’t an option. There were here for a reason and Jess wanted them to find Mike – to find her.

  But where would she be keeping him? Was it somewhere she herself had been hiding out? This place was a very short drive from the city, so if Jess had found somewhere around here to hole up, it would have been all too easy for her to stay out of sight, just close enough so she could keep an eye on her handiwork and Reilly’s reaction to it. But even if their hunch was right and she had taken Mike or based herself here, how on earth were they supposed to find her?

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ A member of staff appeared by Reilly’s table as she was daydreaming.

  ‘Oh, a coffee please,’ she replied, automatically.

  ‘No problem.’

  He hurried off with her order and she gazed around the pub once more. Well, if nothing else, it would be interesting to see if Chris could come up with any local info on her family history.

  Come on, Chris, she thought, glancing toward the four men at the bar, use that Irish charm.

  The barman returned and distributed fresh pints to the men. All three took a slow, solemn first sip, as if sealing the deal, and then turned back to Chris.

  ‘So how can we help you?’ the oldest guy asked. He had wrinkled skin, deeply tanned, and more hair on his nose and ears than on his head.

  ‘Chris Delaney, good to meet you.’ He held out his hand and all three men solemnly exchanged handshakes.

  ‘Patrick Riordan,’

  ‘James Murphy.’

  ‘Peter O’Callahan.’

  ‘What family are you looking for?’ wondered Riordan, his blue eyes sparkling in his wrinkled face.

  ‘Steel is the name,’ Chris told him, recollecting what little family history he’d gleaned from Reilly. ‘Michael Patrick Steel, father and son – the father was a carpenter and so was his father before him, Connor Michael Steel.’

  The three looked at each other. ‘There was a Steel family,’ Murphy said. He was younger than the others, still had his own teeth, and was dressed in a dark blue cabled sweater.

  ‘Bunch of them around here,’ O’Callahan confirmed. Chris stared at his hands. They were huge, gnarled – he’d been some kind of mechanic, Chris would bet good money on it.

  Riordan stayed silent and sipped at his beer, deep in thought.

  ‘Any idea where they lived? They moved to America when I was quite young as I recall.’’

  A light went on in O’Callahan’s eyes. He leaned forward, revealing worn holes in the elbows of his faded wool jacket. ‘You’re right – there was a local family that moved out to America – Steel the carpenter, that was him, I’m sure.’

  Chris felt faintly excited, sure he was getting somewhere. ‘Do you know where they lived?’

  O’Callahan scratched at his stubbled chin. ‘Can’t say as I do …’ He thought a moment more. ‘I think he had a workshop out on the old Bray Road,’ he added.

  Sullivan nodded. ‘I remember him now, hell of a footballer, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Goalkeeper, wasn’t it?’

  ‘He could stop the ball like no other I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘It was a sad day for that team when he left,’ O’Callahan concluded.

  ‘A sad day.’

  All this time Riordan had sat silent. Then he suddenly sat forward. ‘Lived out near those new builds on the Cliff Road, I think.’

  ‘New builds?’ Chris frowned. There were lots of new estates in Greystones, mostly occupied by commuting Dubliners.

  The man smiled. ‘Well, they were new back then compared to the rest of the stuff here – a few bungalows, built in the Fifties, I think.’

  Chris’s heart began to race. This was something. ‘And you think the Steels lived in one of those?’

  ‘Now, I couldn’t tell you that. All I know is they were from out that direction somewhere.’

  ‘And what direction is that?’

  ‘Windgates, up the hill there, about a quarter of a mile out the Bray Road,’ he said, pointing vaguely to the location.

  Having got what he came for, Chris finished his pint and held his hand out. ‘Gentlemen, you’ve been very helpful, thank you.’

  One by one they shook his hand. As he turned to leave, Riordan called out to him. ‘Mr Delaney?’

  Chris turned back around, wondering what other crucial titbit one of them might have remembered.

  The older man had a sparkle in his eye. ‘Which branch of the guards do you work for then?’

  41

  ‘Bungalows?’ Reilly queried as Chris slipped on his jacket.

  ‘Yes, not far outside the town, the way we came in actually. They reckon your father’s family lived out that direction.’

  The wind hit Reilly with a blast as she stepped outside. What had been a pleasant fresh breeze when they arrived had now turned into a strong wind, laden with Irish drizzle, blowing hard in her face. She pulled her coat tight around her and stepped outside.


  Chris was right behind her. He looked up at the darkened sky, clouds racing past overhead and they both quickened their step as they made their way to the car.

  Although the area in question was according to locals only supposed to be a quarter of a mile up the hill, it seemed to take forever for Reilly and Chris to locate it.

  Inside the car, she glanced at her hands, realizing her knuckles were white. Unclenching them, she tried to relax and slow her heart rate. But it was just too difficult. Now, they were no longer operating on a hunch; her father had indeed grown up around this area – this place was his roots.

  Alongside her, Chris was keeping a close eye out for the Fifties bungalows or anything that might indicate they were in the right place. But Reilly thought it was almost impossible to differentiate any of the residences from the ones they were looking for, as it seemed there were countless older one-off houses, interspersed between the newer, more modern ones.

  When the housing gradually thinned out a little and they emerged in a sparser, less populated part, he slapped the steering wheel. ‘Damn it. Cliff Road my arse! We’re almost into Bray now and I can’t pinpoint anything like the area those guys talked about. Can you?’

  Reilly said nothing, just shook her head in silent frustration.

  ‘I’ll drive down a little further and find somewhere to turn. Maybe we’ll spot something on the way back.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Reilly thought her mind would explode if they didn’t make more progress soon.

  Some three hundred meters down, they spotted a man with a walking stick along the side of the road. He looked to be older than the three men Chris had been talking to in the bar and pulling the car up alongside him, Chris rolled down the window and called out to him. ‘Excuse me, sir?’

  Reilly studied the man as he approached the window. She would guess he was in his mid-eighties, maybe even ninety. Like many old men he had shrunken with age, though it looked like he’d never been huge to start with. He was probably no more than five foot one or two, bent over, and looking worn and tired. He wore a worn tweed jacket and a dark gray flat cap pulled down over his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, we’re a bit lost and I wondered if you might be able to help us.’

  It was a moment before the man looked up, but when he did his eyes were clear and bright, an almost startling shade of blue.

  ‘We’re looking for a row of bungalows out this road,’ Chris continued, pleasantly. ‘I believe the area is called Windgates?’

  ‘How was your drive down?’ the man asked, suddenly

  Reilly saw that Chris was momentarily put off stride. ‘Drive down?’

  ‘You’re from Dublin, right?’

  ‘Well, I am yes, is it that obvious?’

  ‘You’ve got big city written all over you,’ the man commented. ‘The smart clothes, the accent, the impatience.’

  ‘Well, sorry if I seem a bit rushed, but it’s quite important.’

  ‘Important, you say?’ the man repeated. Reilly leaned across Chris hoping she’d have better luck getting what they needed out of this old-timer.

  ‘My family is from round here and we’re trying to track down my grandparents’ place.’

  The man looked at her with interest and she could tell he thought she was just another Yank trying to trace her Irish roots.

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said slowly, and Reilly felt like shaking him. Was this guy going to help them or not?

  ‘My father was Michael Steel – so was his father,’ she continued, quickly. ‘He was a carpenter, moved to California in the early Sixties …’

  ‘I remember Steel the carpenter,’ he replied, softly and Reilly’s heart sped up. ‘He was a good craftsman, as I recall.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Chris said, quickly. ‘Do you know where they lived?’

  The man never took his eyes from Reilly. ‘Aye, I remember.’ He took a step back and leaned on his walking stick. ‘Do you know what they call me around here?’ he said. Reilly wanted to scream with frustration. They didn’t have time for a chat, goddamnit!

  Chris’s tone was measured. ‘No idea.’

  ‘The walker, that’s what they call me.’ He looked back and forth at the two of them. ‘Ever since I was a lad I’ve loved to walk – all over town, out of town – when I was a lad I used to walk all the way as far as Wicklow sometimes. It’s been a good few years since I did that,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘but I still walk, downtown, up and down these roads.’

  Reilly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as suddenly she realized this guy wasn’t as she’d first thought a doddery old fool, but was in fact, sharp as a tack.

  ‘What have you seen, sir?’ she asked, quietly.

  ‘The Cliff Road,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I remember when that whole area was just fields …’ He scratched his chin. ‘It’s still a quiet place to walk though, mostly young families, so there’s often kids playing around outside.’

  ‘That’s where the Steels lived?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s just a little way off the main road here once you get to Windgates, a cul-de-sac. I used to go down to the end and stare out at the harbor, watch the seagulls swooping in on stormy days to peck at the crops.’ He sighed. ‘Last house on the left was the Steels’. Of course, for the last thirty years old Mrs McGovern lived there. Kept herself to herself, while the house gradually became more and more run down around her.’

  ‘And then?’

  Reilly could feel Chris squirming with impatience beside her. She stayed quiet, gave the guy the time he needed to tell his story.

  ‘A good while back, Mrs McGovern moved out, to one of them nursing homes – don’t fancy it much myself, but I guess it suited her.’

  ‘And now the house is empty?’ Reilly prompted, almost afraid to take a breath. That had to be it, it had to be where Jess was hiding out.

  ‘No, next I heard, some Dublin family had bought it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Reilly’s face fell.

  ‘But the place a few doors down, that’s empty,’ he said, his blue eyes watchful. ‘It’s being done up and far as I know nobody’s moved in yet. You know the way people these days need everything perfect before they’ll set foot in a place. Hasn’t been touched in a while though so whoever owns it must have ran out of money. Nothing new these days.’

  Being done up. Reilly froze, all at once recalling the paint flecks they’d found at the early crime scenes, the gypsum plaster, paintbrush bristles …

  That had to be it; the renovated house had to be Jess’s hiding place.

  ‘Thank you so much for you help, sir,’ she said, quickly, eyeing Chris. ‘You said it’s just off the main road?’

  ‘Yes. If you head about a quarter of a mile down the direction you came from and take a turn to the left, just after the vet’s.’

  ‘The vet’s?’ Reilly wanted to cry out with joy. That must be where Jess had been getting the pentobarbital. Suddenly all the pieces were fitting into place.

  ‘You’re been a great help, thanks,’ Chris told the older man, and without waiting for a response, maneuvred the car into a three-point turn. ‘He said the house has been vacant for a while. That’s where she’s been hiding, Chris, I’m sure of it.’ Reilly’s mouth set in a thin line. ‘And chances are, it’s where she’s taken my dad.’

  ‘There it is,’ she said, quietly. They had turned off the Cliff Road and soon came upon a row of small, nondescript bungalows a little way down. One of them had various building materials scattered outside and was very obviously undergoing renovations

  But instead of turning into the cul-de-sac, Chris pulled the car over to the side of the road. Reilly gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘I just want to talk this through,’ he explained. ‘At this point, we should probably call for backup.’

  Reilly inhaled deeply. ‘Do what you like, but I’m going in now.’

  ‘Reilly. We—’

  ‘We what?’ She cut him off. ‘Chris, surely you knew I
didn’t come all the way down here to just sit and wait in the car?’

  ‘Well, if we aren’t waiting for backup, what are we doing?’

  Reilly stared out the window at the surrounding area, such a mundane setting for what could be the conclusion to a tortuous week. A man hurried past in the rain, coat up tight around his neck, a small dog dragging on a lead behind him. ‘I think I need to do this myself. She’s my sister and she’s made it very clear this is all about me.’

  Chris looked at her in amazement. ‘You’re joking. Reilly, she’s a unstable killer, responsible for the deaths of at least nine people—’

  ‘I know, but my father is in there. We can’t just go in all guns blazing and risk messing this up. Well, if we had any damned guns, that is.’

  He looked at her. ‘Well you might not, but I do. And before you ask, no, I’m not giving it you; that’s more than my job’s worth.’

  The truth was, she still had no idea how to approach this, but the one thing she did know was that if Jess was in there, she wanted to face her alone. Chris was right; she had been responsible for untold damage, but now that it had come to this, Reilly could only look at it as a family matter. She might be able to talk to Jess, make her see sense, or at the very least, prevent her from hurting Mike.

  When she explained this to Chris, he was dubious. ‘Not a good idea, you can’t go in there alone, not when you have no idea what to—’

  ‘Then I’ll just make it look like I’m alone,’ she interjected, her tone urgent. ‘Damn it Chris, we don’t have time to wait around! It’s my dad in there, who knows what Jess could be doing? I need to go in now.’ She put her hand on the door handle. ‘Call in the others and, in the meantime, see if you can find another way in, around the back maybe so you can keep an eye on what’s happening.. Then if something goes awry we can both work it from there.’