Taboo (17 page)

As soon as she looked at her desk, she knew that someone had been there. Last night, when she’d been checking the bookshelf at her apartment, she’d known something was missing but she couldn’t pin down what it was.
Now
she knew.

Sitting upright in the middle of her desk was a photo album – her photo album. Oh Christ, had the killer somehow got inside her apartment? How … and more importantly why? Recalling last night’s edginess and the gut feeling she’d so easily discounted, her heart began to thunder inside her chest. What was going on here?

The album was turned away from her, the cover facing forward so that Reilly had to walk into the office and around to the other side of her desk to see which page it was opened at.

It was a family photograph, at least fifteen years old, from a different time, a different life. The Steel clan were still innocent, still happy. Their mom had left for good this time – the seeds of the future were already sown – but the three of them were happy, Mike and his two girls.

It was Halloween. Reilly had a protective arm around Jess who was staring up in admiration at her. But it was the costumes that made the picture so pointed, so revealing. Reilly had never been comfortable with the whole Halloween thing, the witches and devils and vampires the other kids liked to dress up as. So, as usual, she was wearing an outfit she had put together herself – some kind of angel/fairy outfit with a pair of diaphanous wings.
Any therapist would have had a field day with that one
, she mused.

Jess, on the other hand, had always loved the whole dressing-up thing. She was looking positively radiant, dressed all in pink –her favourite
color – and clutching a pretty bunch of flowers.

But perhaps most disconcerting of all was the Post-it note affixed to the photo. It simply read,
‘Happy families.’

Reilly stared at it for a moment, temporarily forgetting that there could be a crazed criminal loose in the building. Suddenly, she longed for those long-ago halcyon days when she and Jess adored each other, their dad was sober and Reilly’s biggest worries were getting her homework done on time, or whether she’d still have a blackhead on her face when she went out on her Saturday night date.

Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze away from the photo and brought her mind back to the grim reality of the present day. What was all this about? Was the killer taunting her? Did he know about Jess and what had happened to her? But how could
he
know? No one knew, no one except Reilly and her dad, and of course the people involved …

Reilly shook her head to clear her thoughts, trying to work this out. The killer had been in her apartment and in her office, of that there was no doubt – but where was he now?

She looked around office for a more appropriate weapon – the shoes just weren’t going to cut it. Her eyes glanced over books, magazines then finally settled on a bottle of wine sitting on her shelf – it was a gift from the Christmas party and she’d forgotten to take it home.

Reilly dumped the shoes by her desk and grabbed the bottle. Holding it around the neck she gave a couple of swings – that felt better, something with a bit of weight to it. She listened once more,
then headed out of her office toward the lab.

The dreary corridors had never looked remotely threatening before, but now every door she passed was a potential hazard. Reilly pressed herself against the wall and slid along, checking each door she passed. Every time she eased open a door her heart
was in her mouth, nervous in case the door creaked, fearing that someone would suddenly leap out – and do what?

As Reilly paused in the doorway of a deserted office she realized that she didn’t even know why the killer would be here. The photo album showed that he had been in her apartment – which was a scary enough thought – but he could just as easily have left the album on display there. The effect would have been just as dramatic, and without the same risk.

With sudden comprehension, Reilly realized
that
was the key. The killer was showing off. He was showing the police that there was nowhere they could go, nothing they could do that he didn’t know about – which also meant that he could have access to the case files, the evidence …

Reilly slid the door closed, eased down the corridor, hoping that Simpson had obeyed her instructions and called the nearest unit for backup.

Finally, she reached the lab. She paused, took a deep breath and tried to picture the layout in her mind – where there was good cover, where an intruder might be hiding, what he might be looking at.

It was a large room with plenty of places to hide – there were benches, desks, filing cabinets, equipment. Shit, she thought, you could hide a whole SWAT team in there. Reilly listened one last
time, then slipped into the room.

The lights were off but there was a dim glow coming in from the corridor outside. She looked right and left and saw no movement. She listened intently for any sound, any movement, but still it was silent. Breathing quietly, she bent low and crept along a wooden bench that ran toward the back of the room, in and out of the odd-shaped shadows cast by the testing equipment.

As Reilly neared the end of the bench she could see straightaway that the intruder had been there – several of the large gray filing cabinets were open and the Taboo murder case files were scattered over the desk.

Feeling certain that the intruder was no longer there, Reilly stood up slowly and set the wine bottle – her only weapon – on the counter. She scanned the room one more time then looked at the file. It was spread out across the desk, the photos lined up,
the papers out of order.
Had the killer been looking for something, or was he trying to communicate something? What had he thought of it?
she wondered.
Had he taken or changed anything?

Trying to clear her head of her doubts and fears, Reilly ran her gaze across the desk.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound from behind her, by the door. She spun around just in time to see a figure glide from the room and turn into the corridor.

Damn! He had been there the whole time, watching her. How could she have been so stupid as to relax and start looking at the file when she hadn’t cleared the room?

Fueled by adrenaline and anger, Reilly sprinted after the intruder, her stockinged feet sliding on the slick floor. She scrambled to the door, just in time to see someone disappear into the stairwell. Reilly careened after him, her feet slipping and sliding, cursing the lack of a walkie-talkie, a gun, backup – all the things she would have taken for granted back home. And as that thought crossed her mind, she realized that the killer would be all too aware of just how patchy her resources were.

Reaching the door to the stairwell, Reilly threw it open – and ran straight into the barrel of a .38.

Chris pushed open the double doors to the GFU unit and stepped inside to be met by a worried-looking Simpson. ‘That’s it?’ the guard asked him, accusingly.

He was confused. ‘That’s what?’

‘You’re the backup?’

‘Backup?’ Chris looked at the security guard like he was crazy. ‘I’m just here to see Reilly Steel.’

‘She’s the
one who told me to get backup,’ Simpson hurriedly informed him. ‘She said that there was an intruder in the building.’

‘And she told you to call it in?’

‘Said the person was dangerous,’ the man went on, ‘and told me not to try and stop him myself.’

His heart started to race and he was immediately concerned. ‘So where is she?’

‘Ms Steel? She went on upstairs.’

Chris was puzzled; none of this was making sense. He made a snap decision. ‘I’m going to go up and check on her,’ he informed the guard. He stepped toward the lift,
then paused, turned back to Simpson. ‘You did call it in, I hope?’

‘Of course.
They said they’d send a patrol over as soon as they could.’

Whatever that meant,
Chris thought, worriedly. Chances were neither Simpson nor the nearby patrol had a clue of the urgency of the situation. The GFU building was new enough as it was and few on the force would expect to have to fight off a potentially dangerous suspect there. Still, if Reilly’s suspicions were correct, he hoped the cavalry arrived sooner rather than later – for both their sakes.

‘When they arrive, tell them everything you’ve told me, OK?’ The lift arrived and he stepped inside. ‘And make no
mistake, this guy could be
very
dangerous.’

Reaching the fourth floor, he emerged slowly from the lift and looked left and right.
Silence. Unholstering his gun, he edged along the corridor. If this was indeed the killer then they knew that he would be armed, and more than willing to kill.

Chris headed toward Reilly’s office, pausing briefly to glance through the small window of the door to the stairwell. What he saw froze him to the spot – there was a woman crouched on the stairs. She wasn’t moving.

Taking a deep breath, he shouldered the door open.

‘Put your hands where I can see them!’ he instructed.

The woman lay very still, face down, her blond hair covering her face.

‘I won’t ask you again!’

Still no response.

Certain now that this was no feint, Chris bent down and gave the woman a nudge. She groaned and slid further down onto the steps. He bent down and brushed her hair back from her face.

‘Christ.’ There was no mistaking Reilly. He turned her over but she just flopped against him, her face deathly pale, not showing any sign of life. He pressed his fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse and leaned over her mouth, trying to catch any sign of breathing. Then, very faintly, he felt a tiny, weak pulse against his fingers.

‘Reilly.
Reilly, are you OK?’ he called out, trying to rouse her. But she made no response. Then, despite the groaning ache in his limbs, Chris wrapped his arms around her and slowly climbed to his feet. What the hell had happened?

Reilly was drowning. The waters were rising fast and she was trapped, her foot caught, held fast beneath the murky waters. She struggled, pulled with all her might, but her foot wouldn’t break free.

The waters were swirling around her face. She held her chin high, trying to keep her face above the tide as long as possible, but the progress was inexorable. The water lapped at her neck, her chin, her ears, reached her lips.

Reilly had never feared the water – she had always been comfortable in and around it, seeking it out as a playful companion, but this was different. This water was cold, murky, eddying around her as the level rose, chilling her to her very core.

She clamped her mouth shut, aware for the first time in her life how truly precious air was. Breathing only through her nose she looked up at the gloomy sky, dark clouds raining down on her upturned face.

The clouds veiled the whole sky, a dark cloak over her life, her dreams. But for a moment, just before the waters closed over her nose and eyes she thought she saw a chink in the clouds, a tiny point of sunlight trying to break through the utter and endless darkness.

Then the waters swirled over her and she gave in, allowed the calm, cool darkness to overwhelm her and carry her away.

It was peaceful. She opened her eyes, could see nothing in the murky water. She closed them again, feeling the pressure building slowly in her lungs as the carbon dioxide level rose, as her body’s instinct to breathe grew stronger.

But she didn’t answer the call. She fought down the urge, forced herself to relax. The water was fluid, soothing, swirling around her, supporting her, relaxing her. There was no more fighting now, just blessed peace …

‘Reilly? Reilly. Open your eyes, come on.’

The darkness was welcoming. If she could just sleep … no more work, no more
worries, no more …

‘Reilly.’

The light shone again, brighter this time, intruding on her tranquillity, pulling her back from a long, peaceful sleep.

‘Reilly, open your eyes, love.’

Like a leaf tugged along by the wind, Reilly felt the two different forces pulling at her. The calm, quiet, dark peace of the water, and the loud insistent voice, the bright light.

Her eyes opened with a start. She looked around, bewildered, trying to find something familiar, something that made sense. There was a sharp stabbing pain in her arm. She tried to pull at it, wrench the source of the pain out, but a strong hand stopped her.

Slowly, fighting hard to control her muscles, to focus her eyes, she looked over and saw a paramedic firmly holding an IV in place.

‘What …?’ She couldn’t form a question. Her mouth didn’t want to obey her
commands, her eyes were rolling around in her head as the ambulance rattled over the city streets.

It was all too much effort. It had been so much nicer in the water. She closed her eyes again, wanting desperately to return to the sleep, the cool, calm depths of the water.

‘Reilly, come on – stay with us.’

Something familiar in the voice made her open her eyes – and there, leaning in to look at her was another face. This one she recognized but couldn’t place.

Names spun through her mind, like memories rising up from a deep, faraway place – Jess … Mike …Tommy – none of those sounded right. Who
were
those people? Then suddenly her eyes blazed in recognition. ‘Chris …’ She reached a hand out to him.

A smile creased his face. ‘Good girl.’

Her eyes tried to roll back, but Chris was in her face, keeping her alert and conscious. ‘Focus on me, Reilly,’ he ordered.

She let out a deep sigh, finally back in the present, and fought to bring her senses back under her control. She tried to raise her head a little and looked around. She was in an ambulance, though she couldn’t figure out why. ‘Where am I?’

‘I found you in the stairwell of your building,’ Chris volunteered gently. ‘Simpson said you’d reported an intruder.’

As soon as he said it, everything came flooding back.
The killer. The killer was there, in the building. Like a scan of a movie at high speed, a series of images flashed across her consciousness: the photo album in her office, her and Jess in their Halloween costumes, the files spread out on the counter in the lab, and then finally the stairwell. She remembered seeing a gun, that cold, unwavering flash of metal, and then something had … what? Maddeningly, her memory failed her.

‘What happened?’ she
asked, her mouth dry.

‘You were out cold when I found you,’ Chris replied, a concerned look on his face. ‘I guess they’ll have to run some tests to see if—’

Suddenly the final image locked into place in Reilly’s brain. A hypodermic. ‘Pentobarbital,’ she gasped.

Chris looked at her in amazement.

Reilly licked her lips. Speech was still hard work. ‘He was there, Chris. He was there. I think he was trying to get a look at the files – and then I interrupted him and he injected me with pentobarbital.’

Chris looked puzzled. ‘How the hell did he gain access to the lab?’

‘He must have broken in to my apartment and stolen my ID. I couldn’t find it this morning and then Simpson said—’

Then something struck her. How could the night watchman confuse her with someone who looked nothing like her, who was most likely male, for Christ’s sake?

‘Actually no,’ she told Chris, the realization striking her. ‘It couldn’t have been him who attacked me just now. We were right before – there has to be somebody else involved.’