Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) Read online

  She shook hands with all three of them on arrival; a firm, crisp handshake which belied her stature. ‘You’ve come to speak to Conn?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Thanks for taking the time to see us.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ She led them down the hallway. The building was brightly lit, with rooms on either side: a canteen, an art room where several children were busy gluing leaves onto a huge sheet of paper. ‘I believe you were talking to Simon about him. You do know Conn won’t speak English, don’t you?’

  ‘I speak some Irish,’ Chris told her. ‘Enough to converse, at least.’

  ‘That’s good but even so there are no guarantees. We’ve brought Irish speakers in before but to no avail. Doctor Marsh, the psychologist, says Conn has selective mutism. He spends a lot of time in his own world, and seems oblivious to what’s happening around him.’

  ‘So he is able to speak English?’ Kennedy asked.

  Maggie nodded. ‘He certainly understands it,’ she said. ‘It’s just I personally have never heard him speak anything other than Irish, but I know some of the staff have heard him mutter a word or two of English.’

  ‘How long has he been here?’

  ‘Two years, on and off. We try to find placements for the boys, families who can foster or adopt them, but Conn defies us.’

  ‘Defies you?’ Chris enquired.

  ‘He’s been with three foster families, all Irish-speaking, but each time he rebels and is back with us within days. The families say he is unmanageable, almost feral.’

  The sound of someone playing a piano came from a room up ahead. Maggie indicated for them to look inside.

  A young boy was sitting at the keys. There was no recognizable tune, yet the music was not discordant. Reilly thought it had a wistful, haunting air to it.

  ‘He’ll play for hours,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s the only thing that really calms him down. It’s obvious he’s had lessons at some point, but mostly he just plays his own compositions, like now.’

  They listened as the plaintive notes swirled around them. Maggie stepped into the room. ‘Conn? You have some visitors.’

  Reilly looked at the boy. He was around eleven years old, small for his age, with the same distinctive mass of red curls and pale Celtic skin as the dead girls. He played gently, caressing the keys, appearing not to have heard, but at the same time his eyes gave a quick glance towards the doorway as she spoke, and she noticed his shoulders tighten slightly.

  ‘These people would like to talk to you,’ continued Maggie.

  The music picked up pace, becoming more frantic; Conn’s obvious anxiety seeped into his music. The tempo was building, his hands moving faster, striking the keys harder – a determined effort to keep the world at bay for a little while longer while he lost himself in the music.

  Maggie nodded for Reilly and the detectives to go in. They all stepped into the room and the music picked up again, the boy’s hands moving rapidly across the piano keys, the melody becoming lost in a frantic effort to make noise, enough to block out the visitors, block out the world.

  There were chairs against the wall and Maggie indicated that they should sit. Kennedy and Reilly lowered themselves into the chairs, but Chris remained standing alongside the piano, a little way away from Conn. Maggie started to say something else, but Chris motioned for her to stay silent.

  ‘Dia duit Conn,’ he began. ‘Chris is aimn dom.’ Hi Conn, my name is Chris.

  Instantly the music got louder and faster. Conn’s discomfort with the intrusion was patently obvious. The boy shifted on the bench, turning his body away from them. Chris looked at the others and nodded towards the doorway. Reilly, Maggie and Kennedy obediently followed him back out into the corridor.

  ‘Maybe I should try to have a word on my own for the moment,’ Chris suggested as the music flooded out into the hall. ‘Less intimidating for him.’

  The others now a safe distance away, he returned to the room and tried again.

  ‘Is maith liom do chuid cheoil - an déanann tú do amhráin féin a scríobh?’ I like your playing – do you write your own songs?

  For a second Conn did nothing, then he looked up at Chris with some interest.

  Chris indicated the keyboard. ‘An féidir linn seinnt le chéile?’ Can we play together?

  The boy considered the question for a moment before looking around the empty room. Then he slowly stood and closed the piano lid before turning and walking towards the window. Eventually, he started to hum a tune, not one Chris recognized, but more a random tune of discomfort.

  Chris waited in silence for few moments more, but still Conn refused to acknowledge him.

  Eventually, he rejoined the others in the hallway.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detectives. Clearly he’s not up to talking today – he can be like that sometimes.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s best if we leave it just now, and call back in a day or so,’ Chris suggested. It was frustrating, but realistically all they could do for the moment.

  In the meantime, he had to try and think of some way to get this enigmatic boy to talk.

  Chapter 19

  I dreamed of a haven, a place of infinite peace, of eternal beauty and everlasting happiness, and I found it – not in my dreams, but in reality. It is a place of wind and earth, grass and water, horses and birds. But what good is heaven when you are there alone?

  And so I became the guide…

  I often wonder why I was chosen. Is it my gifts, my ability to talk to a child, to calm their troubled mind? Or that I can recognize the lost souls, the ones that have been battered by the winds, damaged by the cruelties that we hurl at the young?

  And so I gather them in, the lost children. I bring them here to a place where they can heal. A place without fear, without evil, a place of infinite tranquility, where they can remain children for ever.

  They do not fear me when I find them – they know that I mean them no harm. They understand that my words are true, not honeyed invitations to a darker world – the world of adults, the world of pain – but rather, an invitation to a better life, a life without hardship.

  And so I have gathered them here with me, have created this place we call home, this magical, mystical land across the water. They are my family, and I am their protector, their father, and though some may disagree, ultimately their saviour…

  The detectives were on their way back to the station from the children’s home when the call came. Reilly had driven her own car, and had early on left them far behind.

  ‘Clondalkin station just called in an attempted abduction,’ a younger officer told Chris over the phone. ‘Guys in the responding squad car remembered us and called it in because the girl has red hair.’

  Chris looked at Kennedy. ‘You said “attempted” – the girl got away?’

  ‘Yeah. Apparently she started kicking up blue murder when he tried to snatch her. Some other kids nearby noticed, and seems the guy panicked and took off.’

  Chris’s pulse quickened. ‘Give me the address.’

  [1 line break]

  Springfield was an anonymous estate in Clondalkin just off the N7 heading west out of Dublin.

  Chris parked the Ford by a quiet row of former local authority houses and double-checked the address. ‘Number forty-seven, this is it.’

  Kennedy climbed from the car, and looked up and down the street. ‘It’s quiet,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe that’s why our guy picked it.’ Chris slammed his car door and held the gate open for Kennedy as they walked through.

  The front door of number forty-seven popped open before they had time to ring the bell. A blond woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in jogging pants and a Guess T-shirt, was waiting for them. ‘Are you the guards?’ she asked shakily.

  ‘That’s right.’ Chris quickly made the introductions. ‘We believe there was an attempted abduction on your daughter earlier?’

  The woman who introduced herself as Tracy Carney nodded. She ushered them into a narrow hallway littered
with kids’ toys, the hall table stacked with a few weeks’ worth of junk mail.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ Tracy called over her shoulder as she led them down the hall towards the kitchen. ‘Four kids; you know what it’s like.’

  As they passed the doorway to the living room, Chris glimpsed a gaggle of children sprawled out on the carpet, eyes glued to the television.

  The kitchen was not much better. The counter tops were littered with dirty dishes, the table showed the remains of lunch – a bowl of baby mush, plates with left-over bread crusts, and empty crisp packets. Tracy grabbed the plates and the bowl, pitched them in the sink, and ran a dirty tea towel across the stained table.

  ‘Can I get you anything – a cup of tea maybe?’

  ‘No, we’re fine, we’ve just had lunch,’ said Kennedy hurriedly. One look around the kitchen had been enough to discourage him.

  ‘Suit yourself. How about you, Sergeant?’

  Chris managed not to grin at being called sergeant. ‘A cup of tea would be lovely,’ he replied.

  Before she could begin to organize the tea, there was a scream from the living room followed by loud shouting. Tracy groaned heavily. ‘’Scuse me a minute.’

  She hurried off down the hall, shouting at the kids as she went.

  Chris stood up, found the kettle and tried his best to fill it with water from the cluttered sink.

  ‘Jesus, do you have a death wish or something?’ Kennedy whispered.

  ‘Wimp,’ Chris teased. ‘Home interviewing 101; always accept a cuppa. Puts people at ease.’ He switched the kettle on, and sat back down at the table. ‘Of course, in your case it’s too late for redemption. She’ll have already labeled you as stuck-up.’ He looked up and smiled as Tracy came back in. ‘I put the kettle on.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a love…’ She scowled back towards the living room, which was decidedly quieter now. ‘Little brats. I don’t know what to do with them sometimes.’

  ‘Could you tell us what happened today with your daughter?’ Kennedy asked, getting straight to the point.

  Tracy ignored him, addressing her reply to Chris. ‘You just can’t imagine that kind of thing happening in an area like this …’ She sniffed and shook her head sadly.

  ‘We never like to think of these things happening in our own backyard,’ Chris sympathized. ‘Your daughter – what’s her name?’

  ‘Jade. She’s twelve.’

  ‘OK, so where was Jade when it happened?’

  ‘At the playground – she was home today with a little sniffle, didn’t seem right to send her to school I thought,’ she said, apparently missing the irony of letting the kid hang around in a playground instead. ‘Anyway, she says this man came up and started walking with her as she was coming home. I’m always warning them not to talk to strangers, but you know what it’s like, in one ear and out the other…’ She rolled her eyes.

  Just then, the decibel level started to rise again from the living room. ‘Luke, don’t make me come in there again!’ Tracy roared. Chris winced and she turned back to him. ‘Sorry, where was I?’

  ‘Jade was walking home from the playground…’

  ‘Yeah, and this fella came up and started talking to her. She says he tried to get her to go in his van with him.’

  ‘How did she get away?’

  ‘Done what I told her,’ said Tracy proudly. ‘I said to her, any man ever tries to grab you, you kick and scream till he lets go. And that’s what she done. Then of course she came running home here bawling, and told me what happened.’

  ‘You've obviously taught her well,’ Kennedy said.

  ‘Too right. You’ve got to teach them to be tough these days. No room for shrinking violets around here, and not many fellas you’d want to be grabbing you either,’ she added dourly.

  ‘Where’s your daughter now, Mrs Carney?’

  ‘In the living room. And it’s Miss,’ she added with a smile and a pointed look towards Chris, who visibly gulped.

  ‘Could we talk to her, please?’

  ‘Jade,’ Tracy screeched. ‘Jade! Come here for a minute!’

  They heard footsteps approach, and saw a young girl walking slowly down the hall towards them.

  ‘Hurry it up, they haven’t got all day, you know.’

  Jade came and stood before the detectives. This, thought Chris, was a girl who was used to being in trouble. Her whole demeanor suggested that she was expecting to be told off.

  Tracy busied herself making the tea. ‘Answer their questions, all right?’

  Jade nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

  ‘Jade,’ Kennedy began, his tone kindly. ‘Your mum has told us a little bit about what happened earlier. We know you’ve already answered some questions but we have a couple more, OK?’

  The girl nodded as she wiped her runny nose on her sleeve.

  ‘You were at the playground, yes? Was anyone else there with you?’

  Jade nodded.

  ‘Can you tell me who?’

  ‘Britney Burke, Ethan and Robert Halley, and Molly Cowen.’

  ‘Do they all live locally?’

  ‘Some of the local kids,’ said Tracy, setting Chris’s tea in front of him with a smile.

  ‘Do you know where they live?’

  ‘Britney and the Halley boys live on this street too,’ said Tracy. ‘Molly lives with her gran, just around the corner.’

  Kennedy turned back to Jade. ‘Jade, when you were at the playground, did you see the man there?’

  The young girl nodded, and finally looked up. ‘I think I noticed him one time … kind of walking around in the field behind.’

  ‘Did it seem like he was watching you?’

  ‘Don’t know. But he was definitely there.’

  ‘So when you left the playground,’ he continued, ‘where was he?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not sure. He was just suddenly walking next to me near the car park.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  She shrugged again. ‘Asked me about stuff I liked. Games and stuff.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘And sweets,’ she added. ‘He said he had some sweets in his van.’

  ‘Not very original, is it?’ snorted Tracy. ‘That one was old when I was a kid.’

  ‘It’s often the simple things that work,’ Chris said. He turned back to Jade. ‘Do you remember anything at all about the man? What he looked like or anything about his van?’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘He was kind of old.’

  ‘Kind of old?’

  ‘Yeah, not like real old, but you know, kind of old…’

  ‘How old? Like me?’ Kennedy pointed to himself, ‘or him?’

  ‘Definitely old like you and fat too,’ Jade replied and Chris tried to hide a smirk.

  ‘And his van?’

  She screwed up her eyes, trying to remember. ‘It was a dark color.’

  God, it was like pulling teeth, Chris thought. ‘When you say dark, do you mean black, brown, blue even?’

  ‘Maybe dark blue … I think.’

  ‘Anything else you remember about it?’

  Jade thought again. ‘When he opened the door it was one of those sliding ones like the knackers have – there were no seats in the back.’

  ‘Jade!’ her mother scolded. ‘I told you we don’t use that word. Those people are called travelers.’ She looked at Chris and rolled her eyes.

  ‘That’s great, Jade. Your answers have been really helpful. Is there anything else you remember about the man or the van? What he wore, his hair color, what he smelled like, anything at all…’

  ‘His hair was kind of dark, but had those silvery bits at the side.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘And he didn’t smell nice.’

  ‘Did the smell remind you of anything?’

  Jade shook her head. ‘Just not nice.’

  Afterwards, Kennedy and Chris walked down the street from the Carney house. The field and the playground could be seen at
the end of the road.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Kennedy asked.

  Chris made a face. ‘She’s not really a redhead, not like the others.’

  ‘More like a strawberry blond,’ Kennedy agreed. ‘And not exactly pale either. But if he’s desperate …’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Still, she seems like a bit of a handful and much older than Sarah and the other girl when they were likely first abducted,’ Chris pointed out.

  ‘I can’t imagine anyone trying to brainwash that one. She’d soon tell you to fuck off.’

  He chuckled. ‘I hear you. That’s the problem with interviewing kids though. They are such unreliable witnesses, and usually so desperate to please they’ll say anything just to be helpful.’

  Kennedy gave a bitter laugh. ‘In my experience, that’s not so different from adults.’

  They had reached the field. The playground was to their left – a set of swings, a merry-go-round, a small climbing frame and a slide. Two boys sat side by side on the swings, barely moving. They were both in their early teens, and both had a mop of dark hair.

  ‘What did Jade call them again?’ Chris said. ‘Ethan and Robert Halley, wasn’t it?’

  Kennedy nodded. ‘Two likely lads if ever I’ve seen them. We should have a little chat – I wouldn’t say the kids around these parts miss much.’

  The boys looked up as the detectives walked in to the playground. Kennedy was right – the boys had the wary look of a pair of foxes ghosting through a suburb late at night. There was little doubt in Chris’s mind that they would bolt at the first sign of a threat.

  The boys’ eyes never left the detectives as they walked over to them.

  ‘Cops are you?’ said one of them.

  Chris raised an eyebrow. ‘What gave us away?’

  ‘The smell,’ said the other under his breath and the first one grinned.

  ‘What did you say?’ Kennedy said, stepping forward, a menacing look in his eyes.

  The two boys looked at each other, taken by surprise. ‘Nothing, just messin’ is all,’ one of them replied.

  ‘Well cut the lip, quick as you like or you’ll both be marched home for your parents to sort you out.’