The Watched (CSI Reilly Steel #4) Page 6

  ‘Emilie, we need to talk in private. Do you mind?’

  ‘No problem.’ She pulled out a pair of earbuds from a drawer, stuck the end in her phone and the buds in her ears. She gave Todd a thumbs-up and, a moment later, was bobbing her head in time with something high energy. Reilly had her money on bubblegum pop.

  ‘All of Emilie’s clearances haven’t come through yet,’ he explained, ‘Something about time spent in South America – so when we have anything she’s not cleared for, she gets to wear headphones.’ Todd’s tone was brisk, businesslike, but Reilly sensed something deeper behind it. ‘So, I assume you asked Alice some questions while you were there, probably had a sneak around the house too I’m guessing.’ He glanced directly at Reilly, correctly deducing that this was the reason for her sudden appearance as Daniel’s sidekick. ‘Anything interesting?’

  She looked at Daniel, who nodded for her to continue. ‘Holly’s room didn’t indicate any trouble. It was fairly neat with a small amount of clutter. She had a picture of a young man that Mrs Young identified as . . .’

  ‘Aaron Overton,’ Todd supplied the name. ‘He was victim number two.’ He hesitated, before adding, ‘Technically.’

  ‘What do you mean, “technically”?’ Daniel asked.

  Reilly’s heart sank, anticipating what was coming next. She’d been afraid of this. Holly’s death wasn’t a crime of passion by an ex-lover, and Reilly had a bad feeling it wasn’t a mugging gone wrong either. Nothing quite that simple.

  ‘Overton was shot by a police officer. One of ours.’

  ‘But he couldn’t have been the perp.’ Daniel was shaking his head. ‘Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a murder investigation.’

  ‘Dad, you know I can’t . . .’ Todd began, but he looked pained at having to keep any knowledge about the circumstances from his father.

  ‘Tell us how Holly died,’ Reilly surprised herself by asking. ‘How they both died.’

  Todd’s face paled and she immediately wished she could take the request back. When, with a halting voice, he started to describe the scene he’d arrived at earlier that day, the desire to do so grew even stronger, but, of course, there was nothing she could do now, no way to un-hear the gruesome details.

  And, as bad as it was for her to hear, it had to be so much worse for Daniel, who’d been like a father to Holly. And Todd . . . despite his apparent stoicism, Reilly’s heart ached for him. No one should ever have to see a loved one mutilated like that.

  By the time Todd fell silent, Reilly knew that her face was probably as white as his and she had the sudden need to sit down. She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth. She’d heard worse and she’d certainly seen worse.

  Maybe.

  ‘My God . . .’ Daniel was equally horrified. He closed his eyes.

  Todd looked at Reilly. ‘Was there anything Mrs Young gave you that could tell us maybe where the two of them were in the hours leading up to their deaths?’ Todd struggled to find his professional voice again.

  Reilly answered so Daniel wouldn’t have to. ‘She said that they had gone to an audition that morning.’

  ‘Do the detectives have any other leads?’ Daniel asked after a beat, his voice hoarse.

  ‘Dad.’ Todd’s eyes dropped, unable to meet his father’s gaze. ‘You know I can’t. Bradley’s barely letting me stay on the case, and unless the department want to bring you in . . .’

  ‘Don’t give me “can’t”.’ Daniel’s voice hardened and Reilly looked up at the rancor in his tone. ‘This is Holly we’re talking about. You’ve known her since she was a kid.’

  ‘Which is exactly why I can’t say anything.’ Todd looked to Reilly for help, his expression beseeching. ‘And even if we both weren’t too close to this case, you know I couldn’t. I’ve already said too much. If Bradley found out I gave information . . .’

  Daniel took a step toward Todd, his hands clenching into fists. ‘I worked for the FBI for nearly three decades and I’m on retainer with this department. My security clearance is so far above yours—’

  ‘Was, Dad, it was.’ Todd held his ground, his inherited temper flaring. ‘You’re not with the Bureau anymore and this isn’t your case.’

  Daniel took another step forward and Reilly knew she had to act before his frustration made him do something he couldn’t take back. She slipped between the two men, facing Daniel, and put her hand on her friend’s chest.

  ‘Daniel.’ She gave him a gentle push. ‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’ When he didn’t answer, she pressed. ‘Now.’

  Still glaring at his son, he allowed Reilly to lead him away. As soon as they were out of earshot, he opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head, effectively cutting him off.

  ‘You know better.’

  ‘But—’ Daniel started to protest.

  ‘How many times have you said “no” to a grief-stricken relative or friend?’ Reilly interrupted. ‘How many perps have you seen get off on a technicality or the implication of impropriety? Do you want to see the same thing happen to Holly’s killer? Todd needs to do this by the book. At least until they ask for your help.’

  ‘But I don’t trust them on this,’ Daniel confessed, keeping his voice low. ‘The department’s understaffed and overworked. I know of at least four other ongoing cases the detectives already have. This is going to get pushed back and the longer the trail’s cold, the harder it’s going to be to find this guy. They need my help.’

  ‘Daniel.’ Reilly’s voice was soft. ‘Bradley has everyone in the lab working late. That tells me they are making this a priority. And didn’t you tell me yourself how good Todd is at his job? Do you honestly think he’s going to miss something?’

  Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘They’re all good at their job, Reilly. But we don’t need just good on this. We need great.’

  CHAPTER 7

  This one had been much easier than the last. He was rather impressed by his own learning curve. His hands shook with excitement. It was time to stop being passive and get right into the thick of it.

  Now that he’d made his first big splash, it was time to show the world just what he could do.

  His eyes narrowed as he examined the angle. Not quite right. He looked around the bathroom with distaste. What a dump. Granted, it was clean, but that was about the only positive thing he could say about it.

  ‘How can you live here?’

  A groan was his only answer and the only one he’d expected. The chloroform had worked wonderfully since he’d gotten the hang of it. He hadn’t even needed it to get in the door. All he’d had to do was tell the stupid bitch who he was, and she’d all but tripped over herself inviting him in. Worked every time, as he knew it would.

  Girls in this business were all the same.

  This one appeared to be in her mid-twenties, dark hair though not precisely the right shade, and pretty enough. She was also fairly tall which was going to make this much easier. He smiled with satisfaction, pleased with his choice.

  When he’d told her that there was something she had to do for him before he could consider her, she’d readily agreed. Although, judging by the tiny shorts and ‘Damn Right I’m Sexy’ T-shirt she’d been wearing when she opened the door, she’d had something else entirely in mind as a trade.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever she’d been thinking let him get close enough to do what he needed to do.

  He stepped back and looked over the area with a critical eye. The bathroom was small, but had what he needed: a tub.

  He crossed to the tub, gloved hands moving expertly over the wires, though he stopped short of touching the steaming water, the heat bringing a sheen of sweat to his face. Then he took a step back.

  It was time.

  Over the rubber gloves, he pulled on a new pair of ordinary black ones.

  Then came the newest addition – a mask. He had too much work to do to risk his actual face being seen. The last thing he needed right now was the inconvenience of a police inv
estigation.

  He checked himself in the mirror, just to make sure he couldn’t be identified. Pleased with his reflection, he moved on. After making sure everything was set up to his satisfaction, he squatted next to the girl and ran his hand over her hair.

  ‘Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ he whispered, keeping his voice low. The girl moaned; eyelids fluttering as she struggled to open them. Perfect timing.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and stood. As he dragged her from the corner to the tub, she began to move, body responding to the pain in her head. Noises fell from her lips, but nothing loud or intelligible enough to cause a problem. The walls in the apartment might have been paper-thin, but the pounding music from the party down the hall was laying a rather loud soundtrack to proceedings.

  He manhandled the young woman into position, easily brushing aside her attempts to push him away as she slowly returned to consciousness. His fingers tightened in her hair and he took a deep breath, excitement coiling hot and hard in his stomach. He was going to have to do this again.

  ‘What . . .’

  That was his cue. He shoved the girl’s face into the now bubbling water. Her limbs flailed, fingers scrabbling against the wet porcelain. Her screams were muffled and the smell of boiling flesh filled his nostrils. He forced her head further under the water, wincing as the hot liquid soaked into his gloves, but not letting up. There was always a price to pay for art.

  Besides, the thrill of the moment was more than making up for the pain.

  All too soon, the girl’s struggles weakened and the only bubbles in the tub were from the heat. He released her, letting her face stay under, dark hair fanning out in the water.

  He stood, panting, every cell in his body humming as adrenaline raced through him. Logically, he knew his fingers were scalded, but his brain wasn’t processing anything negative at the moment. This had been the most exhilarating experience of his life. The girl’s muscles were twitching, one involuntary spasm sending her arm over the edge of the tub. Her hand splashed down into the water, the sound drawing him from his reverie.

  He reached down and grabbed a handful of wet hair. Balancing himself carefully, he pulled her from the water, her body somehow heavier in death.

  The skin was red and blistered, swollen to the point of making the girl unrecognizable. Beautiful . . .

  He carefully lowered her to the floor, not wanting to damage his prize.

  He took a step backward and, for a moment, he just stood there, admiring his work. Then reluctantly, he slipped off his gloves and placed them on the floor next to the doorway. They’d never touched his skin so there’d be no trace of him on the fabric, and were common enough that they could be found at any one of a hundred stores.

  No, it would be much riskier to take them with him. The gloves couldn’t be linked to him unless he took them, but they were easily linked to the crime scene, most likely covered with the young woman’s hair and maybe even skin cells.

  Much safer to leave them.

  He slipped his mask into the pocket of his jacket and exited the apartment, all the time keeping his stride even, looking for all the world like someone who belonged.

  Even if anyone had been looking into the grubby hallway at three in the morning, all they would see was an average-looking man leaving a girl’s apartment so as to avoid risking an awkward morning-after conversation. He doubted a single person would have even been able to describe him.

  Soon, though, everyone in the world would know who he was.

  CHAPTER 8

  ‘Everything all right?’ Bradley handed a bag of takeout food to Emilie, though he was speaking to Todd.

  ‘Fine.’ Todd knew his reply was clipped, but he really didn’t feel like talking about it. He’d already got close to the line by letting his dad notify Mrs Young, but knew he’d overstepped it by explaining to him and Reilly how the victims had died – though Bradley didn’t know the last part.

  He knew that he couldn’t push his luck by sharing any other information about the investigation. Not that they had much to share.

  ‘I see you decided to look over the camera equipment,’ Bradley said, ignoring the tension in the room as he pulled out a thickly rolled burrito from the bag. ‘Find anything?’

  Todd carefully set down one of the cameras found at the crime scene and stripped off his gloves. ‘This is an expensive piece of equipment, but nothing that can’t be bought at a local Radio Shack. The serial numbers have all been burned off with some form of acid, which is tricky without damaging the equipment.’

  ‘So it’s not his first rodeo.’ Bradley spoke through a mouthful of chili beef. At Todd’s look, he said, ‘Sorry, been watching too many Westerns lately. Go on.’

  Todd continued, ‘All of the equipment’s clean. No trace of the acid used, though I’d guess it’d be nitric. Easy to obtain, hard to track. No prints, no partials or trace. Nothing we can use. He probably wiped everything down, and used gloves when handling.’

  ‘Did you check for a memory card?’

  He nodded. ‘Clean as well. And empty.’

  Bradley took another bite of food before replying, ‘If the memory card was empty, then there’s a good chance the recording was transmitted somewhere else.’

  Todd swore as the penny dropped. ‘The bastard was watching.’

  ‘Let’s get a tech in here and see if we can get something that way.’ Bradley tossed his chopsticks back into the box.

  ‘Is anyone even working tonight?’ Todd asked.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got someone better who owes me.’ Bradley grabbed his cell. A few seconds later, he spoke. ‘Peni? I’m cashing in that favor.’

  Twenty minutes later, a young woman who looked more like a model than a computer tech entered the lab. Nearly six feet tall, with short black hair and obsidian eyes, she was exactly the type of woman Todd would’ve been hitting on under different circumstances. Not, he had to admit, that he limited himself to a specific type. It was more about the intelligent fire he saw in the eyes, no matter the color. At the moment, he had a pair of light gray ones sneaking into his thoughts; light gray framed by blond hair, sparkling as perfectly shaped lips curved upward in a smile.

  Bradley’s words cut through the reverie. ‘Peni Westmore from the Cyber Crimes Unit, meet Todd Forrest.’

  ‘Daniel Forrest’s son, impressive. Though no doubt there are some latent daddy issues.’ She winked at Todd. ‘Another time maybe. Now, where’s this stuff I’m supposed to take a look at?’

  Todd motioned to the table, amused despite himself. He liked the way she handled herself even if he didn’t care for the mention of his father. Still, he guessed he should have been used to that by now. It had been hard enough trying to overcome the specter of the respected criminologist when Daniel was still at Quantico. But when he’d moved down to the beach house permanently last year and started working with the department, all bets were off.

  ‘Am I looking for something specific?’ she asked, her tone becoming more professional.

  ‘Pretty much anything you can give us is good.’ Todd stood and stretched. His joints were stiff from sitting so long.

  ‘This makes us even now, Bradley.’ Peni pulled on a pair of gloves.

  ‘I don’t know about that . . .’ he said.

  ‘I do. I’m missing Ivy’s poetry reading. Do you know how pissed she’s going to be?’

  ‘Sleeping on the couch tonight, then?’ he grinned and Todd turned to look, intrigued by this revelation about her sexuality. He never would have guessed.

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  Bradley chuckled. ‘Just yell if you find something interesting.’

  ‘Erm, sir?’ Emilie cleared her throat across the room, ‘I finished the analysis comparison you asked for. Only some of the sand and debris from the bodies matches the soil sample you took from the scene.’

  ‘And the rest?’ Bradley asked, all playfulness gone now.

  ‘Dr Kase found dried leaves and wood slivers not cons
istent with the crime scene photos,’ Emilie continued. ‘In fact, it’s not consistent with any beach.’

  ‘Could all of that have come from being transported in the back of the truck?’ Todd asked.

  ‘Get me a sample to match and I can tell you for certain,’ Emilie said. ‘But that’s as good a theory as any. What I can tell you is that the extra sand that doesn’t match with the crime scene has a higher concentration of quartz, which is consistent with a stretch of beach approximately fifteen miles from where the bodies were found.’

  ‘Good work,’ Bradley said.

  ‘The trace came back on the 911 call too,’ she went on.

  Todd sighed. ‘Let me guess, burner cell, no way to track who made it.’

  Emilie nodded. ‘And it hasn’t been used since that call was made.’

  ‘Do you think we can get a hold of the call?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Emilie said as she returned to her desk.

  ‘Damn.’ Peni sounded impressed.

  ‘What?’ Bradley and Todd turned their attention to the cyber expert.

  She looked up from the laptop. ‘This guy’s good.’

  ‘So he was watching then?’ Bradley said, crossing to his friend.

  ‘He wasn’t just watching.’ Peni pointed to a set of specs. ‘See this here? Your unsub sent the footage to an email address. This is some serious encryption.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t crack it tonight though, not with this laptop.’

  ‘What do you need?’ Bradley asked.

  ‘My own equipment.’ Her expression was serious. ‘Whoever this guy is, he knows what he’s doing.’

  The phone rang and as Bradley reached for it, Todd mulled over the new information. The killer had come prepared with chloroform, and had stolen a truck that could transport the victims. He’d set up cameras to not only watch the kill he’d staged, but to keep a record of it, for what purpose Todd wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Then there was the murder itself. This wasn’t just a garden-variety killing. No knives, no guns, no suffocation.

  This was . . . Todd searched for the word he wanted. Dramatic, he decided. Holly’s killer was creative and intelligent.