Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (16 page)

Kennedy went to shake his hand. ‘Thank you again
, Mr Forde, you’ve been most helpful. Please pass on our sympathies again to your wife. Officer O’Neill will be able to make the necessary arrangements for you both to see your daughter  soon.’

Pat Forde nodded. ‘Thank you,
Detectives. The last ten years have been … a living nightmare, to say the least.’

Chris was deep in thought as he shook the man’s hand. It all sounded fine on the surface, but for some reason he didn’t believe that everything had been hunky-dory in that household.

He’d interviewed enough grieving families over the years to spot the signs.

Sarah Forde’s father was hiding something.

But what?

Chapter 17

How did the infection come in?  That is the question that haunts me.  The outside world is always trying to find a way through our defenses; I must remain vigilant, watch constantly for attempts to breach our walls, to get among us, to spread poison.

I have my suspects, those
close by who have cast covetous eyes upon us.  Do they think I didn’t see the way they looked at her, the lust and longing her beauty provoked?  Her long limbs, her proud gait, her flaming hair, all these things and more they wanted.

I tried to keep them away, but I cannot be everywhere at all times.  Did one of them turn her head, whisper poison in her ear, infect her mind with thoughts of the other world, the one we have sought to keep from us?

She had everything here, but like Eve, honeyed words made her want more, want something beyond love and happiness. And so she left us.

So now
I must again head out into the wicked world to find another, guide them to our home, and welcome them to the bosom of our family.

Reilly phoned Chris’s
mobile while he and Kennedy were on their way back from the Forde house, explaining that she had a new theory.

‘I was thinking again about the whole cult angle
. Right from the start I was never convinced it had legs. However, I did have another thought.’

‘Go on.’

‘It struck me when I was going through Sarah Forde’s file after you left earlier. Sarah was reported missing in early 2002, yes?’

Chris nodded,
momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t see him. ‘According to the records, yes.’

‘And the body of our cold
-case victim was discovered late the previous year –  end of October to be exact.’

‘
Right ....’ Chris frowned. ‘What of it?’ he asked, trying not to sound short,  but it had been a very long day, and he wasn’t really in the mood for one of Reilly’s famous theories.

‘So what if Sarah was some kind of replacement for the girl who died?’

‘Replacement …’
A automatic chill ran down Chris’s spine.

Alongside him in the driver’s seat, Kennedy
frowned at his reaction. His mind reeling, Chris took a moment to explain her theory to him.

‘Holy shit
…’

‘
I’m not sure I like the implications of that,’ Chris said to Reilly.

‘I don’t like any of it, but you have to admit it has a sort of warped logic to it,’ Reilly continued.

‘
You make it sound like someone's collecting these girls.’

At this, he heard Kennedy emit a
nother low curse. 

‘Sarah went missing when she was
seven years old. There’s no way she would have ended up in a cult … or hippy camp or whatever … of her own accord at that age. So we can only conclude that somebody else was involved, somebody responsible for the tattoo and perhaps the pregnancy too. Which means that we need to be looking at an abduction situation.’ Reilly took a deep breath. ‘Viewing it from that perspective, I’m having a hard time believing the date correlation is just coincidence. It would make sense if losing one girl would prompt whoever is behind this to find another for the camp or cult or whatever.’

‘
But that’s exactly it – for
what
?  What would an abductor want them for?’ he said, asking the obvious question. ‘There were no signs of sexual abuse or anything like it on either girl.’

             
‘No sign of abuse, but at least one of them was sexually active, and may have been for some time,’ Reilly said, truly hoping that they weren’t talking about some kind of paedophile ring.  ‘It’s already been suggested that the tattoo could be viewed as some form of branding. Your hippy friend insists that this doesn’t happen amongst them, that any such collectiveness is anathema to their way of life.’

             
‘I get what you’re saying but—’

‘
And I had another thought.’

He gave a deep sigh.
‘Go on then, this day is shot to hell anyway, why not ruin it further,’ he said, his tone softening. She truly was like a dog with a bone. And that was part of the problem between them just now. ‘What else has been brewing in that brain of yours?’

Chris could see that Kennedy was trying his utmost to keep his eye
s on the road and not be distracted by the conversation, and was almost tempted to tell him to pull over. But it was late, and they were still a good hour away from base.

‘
Well, if we go along with the notion that somebody is abducting these girls for whatever reason – is it one at a time, or are there several?’ Reilly posited. ‘Remember all those missing person hits that fitted the pale skin/red-haired description?’

Chris rubbed his face
at the idea of a full-blown abduction scenario. ‘Ah hell …’ The very idea was turning his brain to ice. Yet he had to admit, it made some sense.

‘We can’t overlook anything
. So I’m thinking, instead of going back over missing person files,’ Reilly continued, ‘we need to narrow it down a little more, and concentrate on searching for missing
children
.  If, like Sarah, red-haired pale-skinned girls are being abducted when they are young, it means our cold-case girl would have gone missing back in the nineties.’

‘
Which means this has been going on for a long while …’

‘Too long.
And he may well be on the hunt for the next addition.’

‘
Doesn’t even bear thinking about,’ Chris replied, deeply unsettled by the notion. ‘But for the moment, it all comes back to the same thing – where did Sarah and the other angel come from?’

‘Or to put it another way,’ Reilly said ominously
, ‘if there are more, where is he keeping them hidden?’

The following morning,
Kennedy stood at the back of the queue at Starbucks.

He watched the various characters in
front of him, all desperate for an early morning caffeine hit before heading off to various cubicles in office buildings around the Interational Financial Services Center.

As he daydreamed he became aware of the car horn beeping outside
. He turned to see Chris with one hand holding a phone to his ear and the other beckoning him back to the car. Whatever it was, it better be important, he thought, reluctantly giving up his place in the queue; going without his morning fag and cuppa was not the way he wanted to start the day.

‘
What’s up?’ he asked, opening the car door. Chris held up a hand to silence him as he finished the phone conversation. ‘On our way now, we’ll be there in five.’

Hanging up the phone, he turned to look at
Kennedy. ‘Guess who walked into Pearse Street station this morning?’

‘Enlighten
me.’

‘Young William Conn
olly. Looks like the old man came through. He’s been charged and remanded.’

Nice one, Kennedy thought, as God only knew how long it would have taken the UK authorities to track him down and escort him back. ‘
Is he on his own?’

‘
No, his father showed up with him for moral support.’

They breezed through the early morning traffic using the siren and lights, taking only a couple of minutes to travel the short distance to Pearse Street station. Inside Fitzmorris, the senior officer on duty who had made the formal arrest, greeted them and led them up to the interview room where Connolly was being held.

‘No solicitor?’ Chris queried.

‘
Not present, but they’ve indicated that they had consulted with one during the arrest. He knows his rights.’

‘
OK, let’s go.’ Chris nodded to Kennedy before turning back to Fitzmorris.

‘
Have you got the video set up?’

‘E
verything is ready to go. Brady here will take the notes so you can get him to sign the statement afterwards.’ He indicated a young female officer who waited outside the interview room as they approached.

William
and his father stood up nervously as they entered and Chris was taken aback at how young the kid looked. His complexion was pale and tired, acne scars still visible across his cheeks a reminder of his young age, and the black lines under his eyes telling of recent sleepless nights since he’d run poor Sarah Forde down.

Kennedy walked across and pulled out a chair without saying a word
. Chris and Brady did likewise. Saying nothing, they made a great show of shuffling through file notes that had been sent over from Harcourt Street.

It was a practi
sed move; they wanted him to feel nervous. It would be easier to get a clear and concise statement that way. Chris suspected that he didn’t need to try too hard. The kid looked petrified already.

Chris was still unsure what the kid’s
version of events would be – would he claim to have no knowledge of hitting Sarah, that he’d thought it was an animal or something?

And if so, w
ould he be telling the truth?

Chris
could feel Connolly’s discomfort and out of pity he told him to take a seat. It was obvious that this was not a kid used to being in this type of position.

He
and Kennedy had often walked into an interview room containing some scumbag who’d sit, feet up on the desk, issuing demands and acting like they owned the place. This boy was not one of those.

‘
William Connelly,’ he began, his tone neutral. ‘I’m about to commence the interview. It will be recorded by video and in writing. You have already been advised of your rights so we’ll get straight to it. Any questions before we begin?’

‘
No,’ Connolly replied in a croaking voice. Chris hit the record button on the camera as Kennedy read out the file number, date and charges relating to the hit and run. Connelly remained seated, his head slumped as the charges were read out for the record.

‘Mr
Connolly, do you admit to being the sole driver of the vehicle, registration number 08-MH-3457 on the night of the fourteenth of March last on the R134 road in Wicklow?’

‘
Yes,’ Connolly confirmed, sitting uneasily in the chair.

‘
Can you describe in detail what happened that night?’ Kennedy asked in an authoritative tone.

Connolly took a deep beath. ‘Umm …
I was driving home from Blessington. I’d just helped a friend move his stuff from a flat he was moving out. It was dark, a bit drizzly. I put the wipers on…’

‘
Can you approximate the speed at which you were driving?’

He kneaded his forehead. ‘I was well under the limit … I wasn’t in a hurry.
I was listening to the Chelsea game on the radio. I was probably doing thirty, maybe forty, tops.’ Chris noted to himself that this tallied with the iSPI projection.

‘
I came around the corner and there it was … something just standing there looking at me through the mist. I hit the brakes, but  it didn’t even try to get out of the way. It was just standing there in the road as if it was waiting for me …’

‘
When you say there “it”, what exactly are you referring to?’

‘
Look, I know it sounds stupid, but I thought I was hallucinating. It looked like a ghost. As the van slid closer, I saw it was a girl and all of a sudden, she turned her back to me …’

Chris
bit his lip, tempted to interrupt and ask what kind of ghost would leave a couple of grand’s worth of damage to the front end of a van, but he knew the importance of letting Connolly describe events in his own way.

But it was interesting that he’d said Sarah actually turned her back to him.

‘You say she “turned her back to you”. Can you elaborate for us?’

‘
Like I said, she made no attempt to jump out of the way. I mean, she must have seen the headlights before I came around the corner. She just folded her arms and turned around, calm as you like. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked, I didn’t want some suicidal nutjob to ruin my life.’