Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) (6 page)

‘You are kidding me,’ Reilly said, partly in shock but also annoyance. It was later that evening and she was back at the city morgue, discussing the autopsy findings with Karen Thompson.

She had examined the girl carefully; there had been no outwards sign of pregnancy, nothing showing at all. ‘How did I not spot it?’

The ME shrugged. ‘Some women, especially younger first-time mothers, or first-time pregnancies rather,’ she corrected herself quickly, ‘don’t show until seven, maybe even eight months.’

‘I know, I guess …’ Reilly paused, searching for the right words to explain her surprise. ‘It just doesn’t fit my image of her. She seems so young, so innocent – beyond innocent even, otherworldly. When I examined the body it almost felt like I was handling a china doll.’

‘I know what you mean. I try to view the bodies I examine as dispassionately as possible too, but I agree – this girl does have an unusual air about her.’ She picked up her case notes.  ‘Based on bone growth I’d place her at around seventeen or eighteen years of age. Oh, and here’s another strange thing…’

Karen paused, and Reilly raised her eyebrows in anticipation.

‘Dental records.’

‘Helpful?’

‘Non-existent. The girl has no fillings, orthodontics – nothing.’

Dental records were often a last resort in trying to identfy unnamed victims. Without them they were back to square one.

Reilly sighed. ‘Damn.’

‘I’ve ordered hair analysis,’ Karen continued, ‘which should give us a clear picture as to what she was, or indeed wasn’t doing before she ended up out there.’  Hair analysis was an extremely effective way of testing for drugs in the system and would in essence give them a six-month pharmacology record for the girl.

‘Again, I’m not picturing her as a good-time girl,’ Reilly stated, but knew from experience that appearances could be deceptive.

‘In any case, somebody, somewhere knows who this girl is,’ Karen said.  ‘And sooner or later they'll come forward to report her missing.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Reilly’s gaze rested on the comments in the respiratory section. ‘Any thoughts on the lung inflammation?’

‘That’s a strange one,’ the doctor replied. ‘She was suffering from silicosis –  unusual at her age – it is typically associated with somebody much older. It can often be an occupational disease, hence its other names:
miner's phthisis, grinder's asthma, potter's rot, to name a few.’

‘Any idea at this stage what could have caused it?’

‘Exposure to some form of silica dust for starters, but further analysis should tell us more. Anything else on the tattoo?’

Reilly shook her head.  ‘Not yet. We’ve sent a sample of the ink for analysis.  We should have something back in a few days.’

‘Well, you don’t need any advice from me of course, but if I were you, I’d be focusing my search on that tattoo.’

‘Our next port of call. Thanks, Karen, I appreciate it.’ As she headed through the door the doctor’s next words sailed after her.

‘Not now, I hope.’

‘What?’ She paused and looked back.

‘I meant that I hope you’re not going off to chase it down this minute, the tattoo I mean.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s after six on a Friday evening, Reilly, and if you’re anything like me you’ve been on the go all day. Head home, get some rest and try and leave the detective work to the detectives.’

Reilly smiled. Karen knew as well as Reilly did that this job was far from a nine-to-five. ‘Don’t worry, home is exactly where I’m going now. Believe it or not,’ she added mischievously, ‘I have a date.’

The city center was buzzing with after-work revellers as Chris and Kennedy crossed the Ha’penny bridge.

Taking in the surrounding landscape Chris noticed a group of seagulls occasionally dipping into the dark water for a tasty titbit and emerging with weeds on their beaks. It immediately reminded him of the algae found on the hit-and-run victim. Where had it come from and what did it mean?  Happy as he was to have some trace material that might help with identifying the girl’s origins, right now it simply remained another enigma.  Like her.

So for the moment, they’d decided to investigate a different aspect instead.

Continuing on over the bridge they passed through the archway that led to the cobbled streets of Temple Bar. They eventually saw the sign they were looking for.  ‘Tiger Tattoos.’  Kennedy pushed open the door and they stepped inside.

It was a small store, the walls covered in various tattoo designs – gothic, Celtic, skulls, almost any style was available. In racks in front of the wall was book after book of even more designs, everything from puppy dogs to roses, death-metal logos to elegant flowing scripts.

‘Hello there.  What can I do you for you two gentlemen?’ A thin man in his forties had emerged from the back and was looking at them with interest.  He had a
shaved head and thick, dark eyebrows, his arms covered in a maze of richly colored tattoos.

‘Are you the boss?’ Kennedy asked.

He nodded.  ‘Yep. Jimmy Tiger. And I’m guessing you’re not here for a tattoo.’

They were both dressed in dark slacks, tieless shirts and light windbreaker jackets which screamed law enforcement to anybody with an ounce of street wisdom. 

‘How did you guess?’ Chris flashed Jimmy his badge.  ‘Detectives  Delaney and Kennedy,’ he informed him. ‘I wonder if you could look at a few photographs for us, see if you might recognize the work?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

Chris took the photos of the angel wings out of his inside pocket and spread them out on the counter. The tattooist slipped on a pair of black plastic framed glasses, and studied the images for a moment.  ‘That’s good work…’ he murmured. He ran his finger across the lines. ‘And judging by the skin I’m guessing it’s a woman. She dead or something?’

‘We can’t comment on that,’ Kennedy told him.

‘I understand.’  He peered at the pictures again and moved closer to the doorway for some more natural light. ‘There’s only so much I can tell you without seeing it firsthand, but whoever did this has a pretty distinctive style – a lefty too, which is unusual.’

Chris looked up, interested. ‘You can tell something like that from the photo?’

‘Yep, from the direction the ink is going.’ He slid his glasses down to the end of his nose and looked from one detective to the other.  ‘Don’t think it’s by anyone I know though. I’ve not seen this work before, and I’m familiar with the style of most artists around here.’

Chris nodded. He knew it was too much to hope that they would strike lucky straight away.  ‘Well, thanks for looking.’  He slid the photos back into his pocket and turned towards the door.

‘But I’m probably not the person you need to be talking to,’ Jimmy added.

They stopped and looked at him enquiringly.

‘If I were you, I’d talk to Rasher,’ he said.  ‘If there’s anyone who can identify these for you, it’s him. He’s a lefty too, only one I know.’

‘And where would we find this … Rasher?’

‘Well, let’s just say he doesn’t have a shop with a sign out front like this,’ he said. ‘He works by invitation only.’

Chris raised an eyebrow. ‘All sounds very underground ...’

‘Last I heard he was down in Bray,’ the tattooist went on.  ‘Just ask around at any of the pubs on the seafront  and they’ll tell you where to find him.’

Chapter 7

‘Sorry, I got held up.’ Reilly had the apology out of her mouth before she opened the door of the car.

‘No worries, sweetheart, just got here myself. Here, let me help you with those.’ Mike Steel took the grocery bags out of her arms as they walked up the path towards an imposing redbrick Georgian house.

Situated on a quiet Ranelagh residential street, yet within walking distance to the lively village center, like many similar houses in the area it had been subdivided into flats. One of those was the place Reilly now called home.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she told her father. ‘I’m making shrimp fajitas.’

‘Nice one.’

Reilly thought back to when they were living in California.  Back in the days before their mother left, and well before he’d started hitting the bottle, Mike used to make that very dish for the family every Friday night without fail. There was truly nothing on earth like the scent of fresh chili and lime mingling with the warm Californian air.

Opening the door to her flat, she punched in her alarm code and flicked on the lights before making her way straight to the kitchen.

‘How’s Maura?’ she asked, referring to her father’s girlfriend as he set the bags down on the worktop. ‘You should have asked her to come along.’

Reilly had met Maura, a pleasant woman in her early sixties, a couple of times, but didn’t know her terribly well, nor understand what she and her father could possibly have in common. Mike was a recovering alcoholic with a chequered – to put it mildly – family history, whereas Maura was a kindly widow who by all accounts lived a staid and uneventful life. The complete and utter opposite of her mother, Cassandra. Then again, Reilly thought sadly, maybe that was a good thing…

‘She’s grand. She meets up with the girls on Friday nights.’ He took some avocados out of the bag and gave them each a little squeeze to test for ripeness. ‘Actually I’m surprised you didn’t cancel on me again this time,’ he added, eyeing her. ‘Not working late tonight?’

She sighed. ‘Dad, you know that in this job you don’t get much control over the workload …’ she began, but it was a wellworn argument at this stage. ‘And actually yes, I probably should have stayed on at the lab tonight, but I wanted to see you.’

‘You spend way too much time in that damn place if you ask me. Work is like an addiction for you but then again,’ he said with a rueful smile, ‘I guess we’re an addictive kind of family.’

She knew the comment was lighthearted, but still his words got to her.

‘Actually, I’ve got lots of things going on besides work,’ Reilly lied. ‘I’ve really started getting back into the running. I’m thinking about training for a marathon this year…’

‘You sure know how to let your hair down.’

This time she smiled. ‘Ah, spare me the lectures – and enough about my life,’ she said, starting to peel and deseed the avocados. ‘How’re things with you? Still all loved up with Maura?’

‘Don’t change the subject. But speaking of loved up, how’s that fancyman of yours?’ When she looked blank, he continued, ‘The tall fella I met before.’

‘You mean Chris? We’re just workmates, Dad, you know that.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mike’s voice grew serious for a moment. ‘I really wish you had someone to take care of you, sweetheart, the way you’re always taking care of everyone else. I can’t help but feel guilty about how you gave up so much for me, moving all the way over here to look after me when I couldn’t look after myself.’ He emptied a bag of nachos into a large bowl. ‘I was a mess, I know that, but still …’

‘Dad, coming here was a
choice
I made, and it wasn’t just about you. I wanted a new challenge.’

And she’d certainly got that with the GFU.  In all her time in law enforcement she didn’t think she’d ever worked so hard or been so busy.

‘It’s just … well, you’ve always had everybody else’s best interests at heart, and now that the worst of our troubles are in the past, I just want to make sure you’re happy.’

‘I will be if you put those tortillas in the oven and set the table.’

Mike reached across and gave her shoulder a squeeze before kissing the top of her head. As Reilly scooped the flesh from the avocados into the mixing bowl, she realized how great it felt to see her dad so happy. He was clean, sober and seemed content with life for the first time she could truly remember.

She proceeded to chop onions, chili peppers, tomatoes and coriander, then piled them into the bowl with the avocados and started to mash them all together.  Next, she sliced open a couple of limes and squeezed the juice into the bowl, the fresh citrus smell hitting her delicate nose. If there was one smell guaranteed to transport her right back to California, to a different time and place, it was this.

Reilly finished mixing the guacamole and carried it over to the table where Mike was now sitting.

‘Here you go – the famous Steel ’mole. Get stuck in,’ she said, digging a generous portion onto a tortilla chip and popping the whole thing into her mouth. The kitchen was soon alive with the sizzling smells of a Mexican cantina as she blackened the fresh shrimp along with sliced onion and mixed peppers; the  chilis making her eyes water.

Reilly grabbed two glasses and a bottle of virgin margarita from the cupboard. She set them down on the table and grabbed another chip.

‘You want to finish these before I bring on the fajitas?’

‘Why not, these beauties deserve to be savored.’ He looked hesitantly at the margarita bottle. ‘Is this…?’

‘Of course.’

‘Go ahead and spice your own up if you want.’