Inferno (CSI Reilly Steel #2) (36 page)

Luke stood up, and walked round to stand in front of him. ‘I agree you were very co-operative. But I can’t let you go right away – I need to check on some of the information in your confession, make sure you were telling the truth.’

He kneeled down again and cut the bands that secured Ricky’s feet.  He was about to stand back up when Ricky kicked out hard and sent him sprawling.

Luke looked up in surprise.  Ricky got to his feet and quickly delivered another vicious kick, this time to the other man’s ribs. Luke fell backwards, landed hard on the concrete floor, and tried to roll away, but Ricky knew this was his one and only chance. He stumbled forward towards Luke, and kept lashing out with his feet, delivering one wild kick after another.

For a moment it looked like he had done enough. Luke had been caught unawares, was unable to fight back, unable to ward off the kicks. His glasses were knocked off, flew across the floor and disappeared in the dirty straw.

But Luke had waited too long to let everything slip away so easily. Crawling across the floor he finally managed to dodge one of Ricky’s kicks. Then he reached out and grabbed at his leg, pulling hard.

Without his arms free to balance him, Ricky toppled over, landed on his back, his arms pinned beneath him. Luke half jumped, half crawled across the floor, and threw his body on top of Ricky’s, landing punches down on his defenceless victim.

Blow after shattering blow rained down, Luke’s flailing fists finding their target again and again, pulping Ricky’s face, splattering blood across the floor, until he could no longer muster another.

Finally he rolled off him, and lay panting on the floor beside him. He couldn’t see clearly without his glasses, but it was obvious that Ricky wasn’t going to be giving him any more problems for a while.

Luke pushed up onto his hands and knees. His ribs ached from the kicks he had absorbed, his lip was busted and bloody, while his hands and arms smarted from the reckless, relentless blows he had delivered.

Half-blind, blood and saliva running from his mouth, he crawled around on his hands and knees, desperately feeling among the mud and straw of the cold floor for his glasses. Suddenly his hand hit something cold, hard and metallic. He closed his fingers around his missing glasses, gave a gasp of relief and slipped them on.

One lens was cracked, but Luke could still see well enough.  He sat up and looked around.

He climbed to his feet, his ribs aching with every movement, and looked down on his captor. Ricky lay on the floor a couple of yards away.  His face was a bloody pulp, his nose clearly broken, one eye already half closed, blood flowing freely from his nose and mouth.

For a moment Luke thought that he’d killed him, but as he watched, Ricky took an almighty heaving gulp of breath, coughed violently and tried to open his eyes.

Luke stood a safe distance back from him. ‘I could kill you here and now.’

Ricky looked up at him through his bloodshot eye. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Not yet. I’ve got something special planned.’

He leaned over Ricky, grabbed him beneath the armpits, and hauled him to his feet. Ricky was still dazed from his beating, was barely able to stand, even with Luke supporting him.

‘Where are we going?’ he mumbled.

‘To get you cleaned up.’

Ricky looked confused, and tried to twist round and look at Luke. ‘Cleaned up?  Why?’

‘I’ve decided to let you go,’ he told him, his voice calm, soothing.

Ricky blinked his one good eye.  ‘Let me go ...’

‘I have your confession. The police will lock you up for a lifetime once I give them that.’ He led Ricky towards a door at the end of the barn.

‘But you’ll definitely let me go?’ It was a crumb, a life raft, something to cling onto in the waters of despair.

‘Yes.’ They had reached the door. ‘Let you go, give you a head start before I go to the police with the tape.’ Luke reached for the door handle.  Before he could open it, an eruption of savage barking sounded from the behind the door.

Ricky flinched against him. ‘What the fuck is that?’

‘My security.’  Then Luke glanced back towards the main doors of the barn.  ‘Oh. I think we might have visitors ...’

‘Visitors?’ Ricky was still dazed, confused by the sudden change of events.

‘I think the police are here. Let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll stall them while you escape.’

Kennedy rolled the car slowly into the driveway with the headlights off.  He cut the engine, and looked over at Chris. ‘Looks like someone’s home ...’

They peered out through the rain-splattered windscreen. There was a plain white van parked right outside the barn, and a faint glow of light from inside the building.

Getting out, they closed the car doors as quietly as possible, then crept across the muddy yard, Kennedy’s torch showing up the maze of puddles. They were halfway across the yard when a fresh bout of pain struck Chris and he stumbled, and splashed into a deep puddle, twisting his ankle.

‘Crap!’

No sooner was the word out if his mouth than the dogs responded, striking up a howling cacophony like a savage, ever-vigilant siren.

Kennedy glared at him. ‘So much for stealth.’

‘Shit, sorry.’

Kennedy went on ahead, making straight for the main doors to the barn. The light was creeping out from around the edges of the double doors, illuminating the driving rain that pelted down upon them.

Chris followed, panting, his drenched hair plastered to his head. He didn’t need this, not now, of all times.

Reaching the wooden doors, he paused and wiped his face, then put his eye to a crack in the door. Kennedy was pressed close – Chris could feel the heat of his body – his head above his, also peering through the crack.

The barn was dimly lit, but he could see the chair lying on the floor, the video on the tripod, a small table and chair in the corner – an artist’s sketchpad and a set of pencils on the table.

Chris sniffed the air outside the door, realizing he was yet again aware of the strong ammonia smell that had been present in the Darcy household. It was especially strong here, by the door.

Reilly was spot-on. This was definitely the place.

Then out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention, something moving in the darkness across the yard.

‘Did you see that?’ he whispered to Kennedy.

‘What?’

‘A movement. In the bushes over there.’

‘What kind of movement?’

‘I don’t know, but we’d better check it out.’ He was hoping against hope that Kennedy would offer to take a look, because at that very moment, the pain was so bad that Chris didn’t trust his own legs to hold him up.

‘I’ll go. You stay here and keep an eye out,’ his partner offered. ‘Where did you see it?’

Chris indicated the thick bushes surrounding the perimeter, and Kennedy duly crept over, his footsteps slow and cautious. Then after a couple of seconds, he turned back and looked at Chris. ‘You eejit,’ he hissed, his voice a high whisper. ‘It’s just a bloody fox.’

A fox?
he repeated silently, when suddenly it came to him. Of course, fox-spray ... that was the source of the ammonia smell, he realized instantly. Chris knew from experience that foxes were notorious for marking their territory; they used to have terrible problems with them at his parents’ place in Enniskerry. The scent would get dragged into the house from walking in the garden, and the smell was so pungent it was nauseating.

The animals were particularly territorial when their feeding grounds were disturbed.  Such as a farm that was usually abandoned but had been recently reoccupied....

Evidently, Luke Darcy had been walking fox spray he’d picked up here into the various murder scenes, and Reilly’s delicate nose had picked up on traces of it in smaller, more enclosed areas like the church tower and factory freezer.

Kennedy moved back to the door and nodded inside. ‘Looks like this is definitely the place,’ he said.

Chris nodded. ‘It’s all there – but does he have Webb?’

The dogs continued to bark, roaring and snapping out their rage.

Kennedy pulled his face away from the crack, and turned back. ‘From the sound of those dogs, he’s probably in there right now. Could already be dead.’

Chris shook his head. ‘If he were dead, the dogs would be too busy eating to make that much noise.’

‘God, that’s disgusting ...’

‘It’s true.’

‘You want to go in there?’

Chris nodded.

‘What about the dogs?’

‘Dogs I can deal with.’

Kennedy seemed to know the decision had already been made.  He put his hand on the rusty handle. ‘I’ll follow your lead – the usual, OK?’

Chris winced, trying to ride out yet another burning spasm. ‘No problem ...’

Ricky flinched as Luke shoved him into the room. The dogs were huge, three enormous Rottweilers, chained up in a horse stall on the far side of the room, snarling, snapping and jerking at their chains. It looked as though they could pull them free of the wall at any moment.

Racked with fear, Ricky felt his bowels loosen. ‘Jesus Christ ...’

Luke gave him a hard shove, and he fell to his knees in the stall, just a couple of feet from the snarling dogs. Seeing him so close and covered in blood simply inflamed their fury.

‘Say hello to my boys.’ Luke snapped the door of the stall closed, then walked calmly into the stall adjacent to the dogs. He peered over the short wall at Ricky – the rapist’s eyes were fastened on the dogs, primal fear gripping his face.

‘In Dante’s
Inferno
,’ Luke informed him, ‘rapists are torn apart by dogs – that’s what I call justice. Savagery to match a savage crime.’

Ricky looked up at him, and began to blubber. ‘Please, man! Please! Anything but this ...’

Luke reached over the low wall dividing the stalls.  ‘May the devil have mercy on you, because I have none.’

W
hile Reuben decided to follow the team to the farmhouse location, Reilly chose to remain at the station and wait for news. She’d done her job in finding the place, so really there was little else for her to do.

Except perhaps try to uncover the answer to one single outstanding question.

Adams, wasn’t it? Melanie Adams. Hoping she’d remembered correctly, she turned back to the police computer and typed the name into the system.

And there it was.

A medical report, transcript of victim statement, and follow-up supplemental statement from victim’s partner.

Reilly’s heart sank, and she began to read the details of exactly what had happened to Chris’s ex-girlfriend seven years before.

––––––––

T
he pub was busy with the usual Friday night crush, but in one corner of the room there was a special celebration going on. A group of young men and women stood with their glasses in the air.

Peter, a handsome31-year-old with short blond hair, was giving a toast. ‘Here’s to Chris and Melanie,’ he proposed.

A dozen or so glasses clinked together. ‘To Chris and Melanie!’

Chris smiled.  His dark hair was buzzed short, his features lean and hardened, but his face still wore an air of innocence. ‘Here’s to you, Mel.’

Melanie was beaming.

Peter clinked his glass against Chris’s. ‘You lucky dog, I can’t believe she said yes.’

Chris nodded, and looked over at Melanie. She was chatting with some of her friends, her dark silky hair catching the light. ‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he admitted.

Melanie gave a shy smile, reached across the table and squeezed Chris’s hand. He slid over beside his new fiancée. ‘You doing all right?’

She nodded, the big smile still fixed firmly on her face. ‘I still can’t believe we’re getting married. It was just so unexpected ...’

Chris gave her a quick kiss. ‘Believe it.’

The sudden sound of his mobile phone broke the moment. He pulled it from his pocket, and looked at the screen – his face showed surprise. ‘It’s my dad. I’d better take it outside so I can hear him. Back in a minute.’

He stepped away from the crowd, and brought the phone to his ear.

‘Dad, what’s up?’ It was clearly not good news as his father rarely phoned his mobile; in fact, Chris was amazed his old man even knew the number.

‘It’s your mother,’ his father said, his voice trembling, and Chris’s stomach sank. ‘She’s had a little accident – fell off a stepladder while trying to change a light bulb. God only knows what she was doing up there in the first place – that kind of thing is my department but—’

‘Is she OK? How bad was the fall?’

‘They reckon she’s broken her arm – she’s in Beaumont Hospital –  I’m with her now –  but they want to keep her in overnight for observation. She banged her head too, so they think she might have a concussion.’

‘I’m coming over.’ Saying goodbye, Chris slipped his phone back in his pocket, and walked back over to the table.

Melanie looked up, concerned.  ‘What’s up, hon?’

‘It’s my mum,’ he informed her, explaining about the accident.

‘You need to go see her,’ she said immediately.

Chris nodded. ‘Dad’s with her now, but he’s got to leave in a few minutes – he’s working nights ...’

He turned to his mates, who were all listening with concern. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut out early.’

‘No problem, mate – say hi to your mam.’

‘Yeah – hope she’s OK.’

Chris turned to Melanie.  ‘I can drop you home now if you want?’

She shook her head.  ‘No, don’t worry about me – that’ll take you too far away from the hospital.’ Melanie lived on the opposite side of the city to Beaumont Hospital. ‘I might have one more, and then take the DART back with Fiona later,’ she insisted, referring to her best friend, who lived in the same locality. ‘You go on – and give your mum my love.’

Chris looked uncertain.

‘Seriously, go. We’ve done it a hundred times before. I’d go with you, only not being family, they probably wouldn’t let me in.’

‘Not being family – yet,’ Chris reminded her with a soft smile. But she was right. The Dublin hospitals were especially strict on non-family visitors outside normal visiting hours.