Inferno (CSI Reilly Steel #2) (24 page)

‘Mrs Ellis, the bar manager.’

The girl continued chewing furiously, bringing to mind a ruminating cow.

‘Well, could you go and get her for me, please?’ Lucy asked.

It wasn’t long before Mrs Ellis appeared. She popped out through the doorway looking slightly breathless, and turned towards the barmaid. She was in her mid-forties, with short brown hair and a slightly worried expression on her face. 

She bustled over. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’

Lucy smiled, keen to reduce the woman’s obvious nervousness.  ‘Hello, Mrs Ellis. My name is Lucy Gorman, I’m an investigator with the GFU.’ Lucy proudly showed her ID, feeling like she was in a TV show or something. It was merely her lab access card and nothing like an official investigator badge, but the woman wouldn’t know that. ‘I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me?’

. ‘The guards ... is something the matter?’

‘No, no, not at all, ,’ Lucy smiled. ‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the local area.  Have you lived around here long?’

Mrs Ellis drew herself up to her full height.  ‘Born and bred here in the village.’

‘That’s wonderful.’  Lucy looked past Mrs Ellis to the barmaid, standing just behind her and pretending not to listen. Lucy indicated the empty table behind them.  ‘Could we sit somewhere quiet and chat for a minute?’

The older woman caught the glance. ‘Oh, of course!’ She untied her apron, tucked it under the bar, scampered out from behind it and led Lucy over to a small table that looked out over the deserted car park.

‘So how can I help you?’

‘It’s nothing serious. I just wanted to talk to someone with local knowledge.’

Lucy opened her handbag and pulled out an OS map that covered the local area. She spread it across the table. ‘Do you know of any abandoned stables or barns around here – anywhere horses might have been kept?’

‘Well, you’re in Kildare, honey, the place is riddled with stables! But abandoned, you say?’

‘Either abandoned, or else quiet, tucked away. Somewhere private.’

‘There’s a few places you might want to look,’ the woman informed her. She found a spot nearby on the map, pointed at it with her stubby finger – Lucy noticed that her nails were chewed to the quick. ‘Bradshaw’s farm would be worth a look.  There’s a couple of old stables there ...’  She marked the point on the map with a red pen.  ‘You might also look there – it’s not much more than an abandoned plot of land, but we had some travellers through there a couple of years ago. Then there’s ...’ her eyes scanned the map, ‘... ah, here it is.’  She pointed to a spot about four miles out of town on a quiet country lane. ‘That’s probably your best bet.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s so isolated. Just look at it. That lane’s a dead end.  It winds up at the estuary, and the farm has been abandoned for about seven years, since old Mr Harrington died.’  She leaned in closer. ‘It was hardly more than a ruin even when he lived there – can’t imagine what it’s like now.’

‘Do you know who owns it these days?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Not sure. I think some relative inherited it. It’s up for sale now.’

Lucy smiled. ‘That’s very helpful, thank you.’ She began to fold her map.

‘You won’t be going to these places on your own now, will you?’ Mrs Ellis asked, looking dubiously at her. ‘I presume you have a big strapping partner with you—’ Then she put her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I know we’re not supposed to say things like that these days, but—’

‘It’s fine,’ Lucy waved her apology away. ‘And don’t worry, of course I’ll have somebody with me.’

‘Good. The world is a funny place these days, and I don’t like the idea that it might be me who’d sent a little scrap of a thing like yourself off to ... I’m sorry, there I go again. No doubt the likes of you are so well trained these days, you could kill me stone dead as soon as look at me!’

Lucy smiled. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine.’

Having finished collecting soil samples from the first two farmlands, Lucy headed to the third location Mrs Ellis had indicated on the map. As the bar manager had pointed out, it was near the bottom of a lane, with no other buildings anywhere around.

The lane was rutted, full of potholes – she had to pick her way carefully along it at barely twenty miles an hour, weaving a path around the various obstacles. The high hedges on either side blocked her view, and the farm was so well hidden that she almost missed it.

Lucy hit the brakes and looked to her right. Through a small gap in the hedge a narrow track disappeared round a curve.  She backed up, then turned onto the driveway, noting a ‘For Sale’ sign tacked onto a nearby fence post. The terrain was even more potholed than the road, but after about fifty yards or so it opened out into a farmyard.

Straight ahead was an old farmhouse – traditional style, two up two down, brick built, the tile roof showing signs of neglect. To her left was a low concrete outhouse. Lucy cut the engine, took a moment to look around and allow her mind to absorb what was there.

She pushed the car door open and got out.

What to do? Should she give Gary a call back at the lab just in case, let him know where she was? Then again, this was only a fishing mission, no need to overexcite anyone just yet. She was here to take soil samples, that was all.

But while she was here, Lucy figured she might as well take a look around.

She stepped over towards the rundown building, taking care to step on the drier, frostier patches of ground so that she wouldn’t leave any footprints. If this was a place of interest, the last thing she wanted to do was leave prints behind.

Up close the house wore its air of abandon like an old coat. The window frames were rotten, the paint peeling, the glass covered in years of grime. She stepped up to one of them and tried to look inside, but with the bright glare of the blue sky above, it was impossible to see anything of the gloomy interior.

She glanced around the small garden – it was wild and overgrown – then paused as a noise floated to her on the still air. A vehicle was approaching.

Lucy froze.  With her car sitting in the entrance to the yard there was no hiding the fact that she was there, and no way to escape if someone pulled up behind her. If someone did appear she would just have to bluff it out, say she was looking to buy the place or something.

The engine noise grew closer, sounding suddenly very loud in the quiet yard.  Lucy turned, and looked towards the narrow driveway, expecting all the time to see a vehicle pull up behind hers. Her nerves were taut, the skin on the back of her neck standing up ... then the noise started to fade as a car just carried on past the lane and further up the road.

She breathed a sigh of relief.  It could have been anyone – a fisherman, someone going to take their dog out for a walk ...

She glanced again towards the outhouse and a sudden loud barking startled her. From inside, several dogs – large ones, from the sound they were making – had become very agitated indeed, snarling and growling ferociously.  They weren’t simply sounding a warning, they wanted to attack whoever was out there.

Lucy had a strong desire to leave immediately.  The place was unnerving her.  She bent quickly, scooped some soil into a plastic evidence bag and sealed it tight. This was what she had come for, after all.

An icy wind raced around the side of the building and whipped at her legs.  She shivered. She had been here long enough, and was pushing her luck coming on her own. It was time to go.

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping.

‘W
e’ve turned up something on Jennings,’ Kennedy said.

Chris looked up from his desk. ‘The doctor? What did the wife have to say?’

It had now been over a fortnight since the first murder, and in the hope of finding so far elusive common ground between all four victims, Chris and Kennedy had arranged further in-depth interviews with the families.

Chris had just returned from the Coffey house, where Mrs Coffey had revealed she had no knowledge of Dr Jennings or Alan Fitzpatrick, nor could she think of any reason (other than work related) why her husband would be in possession of John Crowe’s mobile number.

‘Seems the doc has a previous conviction,’ Kennedy said triumphantly.

‘What?’ Chris sat forward. This he hadn’t expected. By all accounts Dr Jennings seemed your typical salt-of-the-earth GP. The staff at his surgery had been devastated to hear of his demise, and had nothing but good things to say about him.

‘Yep. His wife brought it up, actually; is convinced his killer is someone with a grudge.’

‘So what’s the conviction?’ Chris asked, somewhat heartened that they seemed to be getting somewhere. But he wondered why the conviction hadn’t turned up in their initial background search on Jennings.

‘An interesting one,’ Kennedy continued. ‘About a year ago, one of Jennings’ patients stockpiled antidepressants he prescribed and used them to top herself.’

‘Criminal negligence then?’ Chris queried.

‘The very one. Wife says he was really torn up about it. Seems the patient was a rape victim, and he was doing everything he could to try and help her, blah,blah,blah.’

Chris was silent for a moment as he tried to take in the implications. A rape victim.

He could understand why the doctor had been torn up about a patient suicide, especially if the supposed remedy he’d offered to try to ease her pain had had the very opposite effect. Or had it?

‘I don’t get it. How come none of this turned up Jennings’ background search?’

‘Good question.’ Kennedy slumped down behind an adjacent desk, and set Jennings’ file on top of it. ‘Which is why we need to go a little deeper where our good doctor is concerned.’ He looked at Chris. ‘I’m gonna give our HSE guy a call, see if he can dig up Jennings’ disciplinary record.’

‘Good idea.’ Chris nodded approvingly. The suicide incident would surely have been reported to the Health Services Executive, Jennings’ employer.

An hour later, the detectives had their answer. Kennedy’s HSE contact duly faxed over a copy of the incident report – although the name of Jennings’ patient – the suicide victim – was blacked out.

‘Man, they really do take this patient confidentiality thing to heart don’t they?’ Kennedy complained. ‘Although I s’pose we should all be glad of that. Would hate for anyone to see the ins and outs of my last medical,’ he joked, reminding Chris that he himself had a force medical coming up soon. Given that he was rarely without pain these days, he felt his palms clam up at the thought of what they might find.

‘So what’s the lowdown?’

‘Aha!’ Kennedy tossed the three-page fax across to him. ‘Mystery solved. The wife had it only half right. Yes, Jennings was charged, but there was no conviction because the judge ordered a suspended sentence.’

‘And Jennings walked away a free man?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Let’s look at the judge then – see if he’s the missing link between Jennings and the other three,’ Chris suggested, somewhat heartened by the discovery but  frustrated by it too.

While the finding pushed the investigation closer to the right track, insomuch as it gave them some form of motive for the doctor’s murder, without knowing who the suicide victim was, they couldn’t turn their attentions to any potential grudge-bearers.  Like the cooking sauce, the equine soil and the pencil, it was another piece of the overall puzzle. Unfortunately, it still didn’t move them forward towards completing the jigsaw.

Later that evening, Reilly looked at Chris, who sat slumped in a chair in front of her. His skin was ashen, his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and despite  having just outlined an apparent breakthrough regarding motive concerning Jennings, his defeated demeanor remained.

Not for the first time, Reilly wondered if the arthritic-like problems from last year had returned. Certainly, something was going on that was causing the normally upbeat detective to look and sound so worn down.

She glanced at her watch. It was after eight p.m. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, seizing an opportunity to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

Chris shrugged. ‘Eat? What’s that?’

She gave him a dubious look.

‘I don’t know ... breakfast maybe?’ he finally admitted.

She stood up. ‘That’s it.  We’re out of here.’

‘Reilly, I honestly—’

She cut him off. ‘You can’t think straight if you don’t get some food inside you. I’m one with the medical background, so don’t argue.’

‘You’re right, but—’

‘I said, no arguments.’ She reached round the back of the chair upon which Chris was sitting. Pulling a dark wool coat from it, she threw it at him and grinned.  ‘Get your coat  dinner’s on me.’

Outside, she sniffed at the damp air.  ‘Hell, it feels like weeks since I was out in the fresh air.’

‘I hear you.’

She glanced at him. Under the wash of the sodium streetlights his skin looked wan. Something was seriously taking its toll on him. Reilly now felt faintly guilty that they’d spent so little time together lately. Especially after everything they’d been through before.

.Chris looked up and down the quiet manicured grounds outside the GFU building. ‘Not exactly culinary central around here, is it?’ he pointed out.  ‘Did you have anywhere in mind?’

‘Of course.’ She led him out of the grounds, and eventually pointed down a quiet side street. He followed along, and a little way down Reilly pointed out a sign for an Italian bistro called The Opera House. ‘Here.’

He shook his head. ‘I never even knew this place was here. How on earth do their customers find them?’

Reilly gave an enigmatic smile. ‘Julius tipped me off about it. They’re pretty new but very, very good. Not to mention convenient, especially for a quick bite to eat after late nights at the lab.’

Chris followed her into The Opera House. The small restaurant was tastefully decorated with just enough Italian paraphernalia to give it charm. Only two other tables were occupied.

The waitress sashayed over, having some difficulty walking in her black satin  pencil skirt. She took their coats, and directed them to a booth by the window. They settled onto red velours benches that faced each other across a deep expanse of red-and-white-checkered cotton tablecloth. Reilly noticed Chris’s gaze idly following the waitress as she tiptoed back to the bar.