Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (38 page)

‘
I thought we had an arrangement, Miss Steel. I thought I could trust you. But you are the Leanan Sidhe, whispering all I want to hear while plotting against me.’

Leanan Sidhe …
Reilly had gleaned the name from the Irish mythology books they’d taken from the lake house. Right then she couldn’t remember the details but knew it wasn’t good.

O’Connor looked
worried, but he kept his wits about him.  ‘Ah it’s not her fault, boss, blame me, I tried to sneak in.’

The shotgun didn’t move.
Reilly could see that McAllister now looked tense, edgy – dangerous.

‘
I’ll just stay here,’ the photographer offered, ‘and you and the lady go right ahead with what you were doing, all right?’ He took a step backwards, his hands up to signal his intent.

‘Don’t move.’

O’Connor froze in mid-step with the shotgun aimed right at him.

‘
Mr McAllister, please, just let him go and you and I can talk,’ begged Reilly.  ‘It’s as he says – he just sneaked up behind me.’

‘
Liar. You’re all a bunch of liars.’ McAllister flicked the shotgun to indicate that they should move towards the building. ‘Come on, let’s go. The only way to stop a beast is by taking its head.’

Back at the house, it took more than a few seconds for Gary to realize that the deadened empty stares weren’t alive or even human, but dolls.

No, n
ot dolls, he realized then – mannequins.

Mannequin heads to be precise.
They reminded him of a toy his sister got for Christmas once; just a disembodied head with all this hair she used to spend hours arranging in different hairstyles. He shone the torch around; there must have been two or three dozen heads with hair, all of varying lengths and colors.

‘Anything interesting up there?’ Lucy called out.

‘
You are not going to believe this. Here, take a look,’ he said, descending the ladder and handing her the torch.

‘What is it
?’ She looked uncertain.

‘You tell me
– some weird shit that’s for sure,’ he said, as Lucy climbed the ladder and shone the light around inside.

‘Oh God, that’s seriously creepy!
It’s no wonder dolls always freaked me out when I was small. They’re evil-looking.’

‘
I’ll put the ladder up through the trapdoor so I can get in there properly. I got some prints from the hatch; we might get more up there than we did in the rest of the house.’

‘
The Diary of Edmund Harold
…’ Lucy mused.

‘
Who?’

‘One of the books I saw
downstairs – it’s about a wigmaker.’

‘
You think that’s what the guy does for a living?’

‘
Either for business …’ Her eyes widened, and she got back up to take another look. ‘Oh Jesus, Gary…’

‘What?’

‘The hair …there’s some skin attached.’

Gary felt sick. ‘You’re not suggesting …’

‘It’s definitely human,’ Lucy confirmed. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘But w
here the hell would anyone get that much hair?’ Gary asked. But already afraid of the answer, Lucy didn’t reply.

Chapter
39

Reilly and O’Connor edged forwards into the
old smelting house; it smelled of mildew but there was a fireplace, a makeshift kitchen and a door off to one side. She wondered where the kids were, but couldn’t make out much detail. Only a thin trickle of light came through the windows due to the security grille on the outside and layers of dust on the inside.

‘
On the ground, now!’ McAllister was wound up tight, his tone of voice leaving no room for discussion.

Reilly and the photographer threw themselves down on the damp floor
. She could feel the cold against her cheek, through her clothes. She tried to keep an eye on what McAllister was doing, but he stepped quickly round behind them.

‘
You're a cop,’ he snapped at Reilly, ‘do you have any handcuffs, restraints, in your bag?’

She
lifted her head slightly to look at him, and shook it.  ‘I’m a forensic scientist, not a police officer.’

She could see
him thinking – this had taken him by surprise, and he was not sure what he was going to do next.

‘
Listen, mate,’ began O’Connor again, ‘just let us go, that will be the easiest thing for you.’  He began to climb to his feet and turned towards the door.  ‘We’ll get out of your hair and—’

It was a bad decision, and helped make up
McAllister’s mind. As O’Connor moved, a loud blast echoed off the bare walls.

In the time that it took Reilly to realize what had happened, the photographer had slumped forwards, his wide eyes staring at Reilly as
he hit the floor. He scrunched his face up in pain. ‘He fucking shot me!’ he cried.

McAllister
loomed over him. ‘I told you to lie down.’

Reilly looked up
, horrified. ‘What have you done?’

The older
man looked almost as shocked as O’Connor. ‘What I had to do.’  He looked down dismissively.  ‘He’ll be all right.  It’s only a seat full of pellets.’

The photographer
groaned. ‘Oh God, oh God…’

She glanced up at
McAllister. He was watching her carefully.  ‘I’ll need to call in now,’ she said, ‘and let my team know what’s happening. They’ll have heard the shot; they’ll want to send people …’

‘You call in – but you tell them exactly what I say.’

‘I won’t lie.’

‘You’ll do what I say.’

He hurried over, reached into her coat pocket for the
phone, and shoved it in her hand. ‘Call them. Tell them everything is fine. Say there’s an idiot intruder here and I’m not happy about it.’

‘And what do I say about the shot?’

‘
Tell them there was an accident, but everything’s fine.’

Reilly looked at his wild eyes. She could see how the pressure was mounting on him, how he was changing
. The earlier trust they’d built up was disintegrating.

She
took out the mobile and called Jacobs, putting him on speakerphone.

There was an almost immediate response,
the negotiator’s calm voice filling the room. She felt instantly better, reassured. ‘How are you doing?’

Reilly kept her eyes on M
cAllister. He hovered over her, so tense it almost seemed that he was holding his breath too.  ‘Everything is fine.’

‘
That’s good.’ Jacobs’s voice was warm, but she could hear the hint of enquiry.

‘
We have a problem though.’  McAllister’s jaw muscles tensed as she said this but she hurried on.  ‘A photographer got through the police cordon somehow, he sneaked up to the house alongside me.’ She stopped, wanting to give Jacobs time to absorb the information, give him time to think.

His response was measured. ‘
I see. That is … awkward.’

She could imagine him
back at the trailer, trying to figure out what was going on.  ‘Inspector O’Brien is with me now. Is there anything else we need to know?’

There it was, in the question.
He had heard the gunshot, but Steve was smart enough not to ask about it directly. And O’Brien also now knew she had gone rogue. She felt her throat go dry.

‘
I’m fine,’ she answered quickly.

‘
That’s good to hear.’

He had understood. Reilly was fine, but
not necessarily everyone else. ‘Is there anything you need?’

‘David understandably isn’t happy about the photographer being here,’ she said, using his first name to suggest familiarity. ‘It has complicated things.’

‘
Of course,’ replied Jacobs. ‘I’m sure he feels betrayed, even though you knew nothing about it and there was nothing you could do.’

Clever.
Express McAllister’s feelings, but exculpate Reilly.  ‘David and I need to make the photographer more comfortable for the moment,’ Reilly informed them, ‘then we’ll call you back.’

‘
Very good. We’ll listen for your call within fifteen minutes.’

Exactly what she needed – a commitment, a deadline, something to get
McAllister to understand that this could not continue indefinitely. 

He was picking up some of this, and
looked angry. He grabbed Reilly’s arm, and chopped his hand across his throat to indicate that she should end the conversation.

‘OK, I have to go now.
I’ll update you in a little while.’

‘
Good talking with you, Reilly.’

The line went dead. McAllister grabbed
the phone from her, and slammed it down on the table. ‘I suppose you think that’s clever?’

Reilly pointed at the photographer, lying on the
floor, eyes scrunched shut in pain.  ‘Look at him. He needs proper medical treatment, we need to get him to a doctor …’

‘
Not yet we don’t.’  McAllister stepped back.  ‘OK, on your feet both of you, move into the corner.’

Reilly helped O’Connor to his feet – he was panting, wincing, blood seeping through his pants.  He limped, leaning heavily on
her, groaning the whole way.

As soon as they stopped he collapsed to his knees and looked up at McAllister
, who still held the shotgun. ‘I need a doctor.’

‘
You’ll see a doctor when I say so,’ he growled. He circled around them.  ‘If you’re a scientist, then you can treat him.’

‘
I’m used to examining dead bodies,’ Reilly told him, ‘and unless you want him to become one, you need to let him go.’

‘
Treat him. Tell me what you need. We have supplies here.’

Reilly
sighed in exasperation. She had medical training, yes, but was not exactly experienced in treating gunshot wounds. ‘OK, put the shotgun down – believe me, neither of us is about to run out of here.’

He
looked dubious, but after a moment placed the gun down by his side.

‘
OK,’ Reilly continued.  ‘Help me to get him up onto that,’ she said, pointing to a nearby table.

McAllister quickly cleared the table, then grabbed O’Connor under one arm while Reilly held the other. Together they manhandled him up onto the table,
the photographer groaning in pain the whole time.

‘
We’ll have to get your clothes off,’ Reilly told him.

She
slid the trousers down – they  were quite bloody, and he looked to have at least a dozen pellets in his legs and backside. She tapped the camera bag he wore and slid his pack off – it was dripping wet. She set it down, looked inside, and raised an eyebrow as she pulled out his dripping thermos. ‘Saved by your tea.’  She held the thermos up for O’Connor to see – it had four holes in it.

Now he could see the damage he had caused, McAllister looked contrite.
‘So what do you need?’

Reilly quickly examined O’Connor’s injuries.
‘I can’t get the pellets out – he’ll need a hospital for that … I guess water, a couple of clean cloths, then whatever you have for these wounds – dressings, tape…’

He nodded to another door to the right
. ‘Running water’s in there, and some towels in that box by the door.’ As he spoke he rummaged in the bottom of a larger box just inside the entrance. He retrieved a large biscuit tin. ‘First aid kit,’ he informed Reilly, setting it on the table.

She
ran some water in a bowl she’d found amongst the supplies, grabbed two towels, and returned to the table.  She looked down at O’Connor. ‘You all set?’

He nodded, and closed his eyes. 

Reilly set to work cleaning the wounds.

As she
did so, she thought about what would happen next –  O’Connor’s appearance had completely changed the rules. Where did they go from here? 

Chapter 40

‘
Jesus Christ. You let her go out there
alone
?’ Chris had returned to the trailer with Kennedy and O’Brien and was outraged to discover that Reilly had been sent to talk to McAllister. God only knows what that madman could do to her …

Jacobs
gave him a cool, detached look. ‘Detective, I understand that you have strong feelings for Miss Steel—’

‘You’re damn right I do! S
trong feelings that she shouldn't be alone with an unstable lunatic!’ he shot back, anxiety dripping from every pore.