Taboo (14 page)

When he reached the restaurant, Chris found Reilly waiting just inside the door. He brushed the raindrops from his shoulders.

‘Great weather, huh?’ she commented.

‘You think
this
is wet? Wait till summer.’

The waiter led them to their table. The restaurant was pleasantly crowded, a mix of locals and tourists; oriental music played softly in the background and the room was lavishly decorated with golden Buddha statues.

Reilly picked up the menu and immediately chose
rice noodles with tofu, but Chris was lost. ‘I’m more used to Chinese,’ he admitted. ‘I order in from my local takeaway far too often but I’m not sure about Thai.’

She scanned the menu. ‘You like beef?’

‘Of course.’

She turned to the waiter. ‘My friend will have the beef in black bean sauce, house fried rice, and some mixed vegetables on the side, please.’

The waiter scribbled a note and hurried away. She looked up to find Chris staring at her smiling.

‘What?’

‘You are
so
American.’

‘Is that a compliment or an insult?’

‘A compliment, I think,’ he laughed. ‘It just seems that Americans are much more comfortable and confident in any situation. Nothing seems to faze you.’

She smiled.
If only you knew
. ‘You should see me trying to set the alarm on my cell – I can never remember how to do it.’

The waiter brought their drinks – a beer for Chris and fruit juice for Reilly. He nodded at her drink. ‘Even that’s very American. No self-respecting Irishman or woman for that matter would go out for dinner and drink
fruit juice
. I’m not a big drinker at the best of times and even I wouldn’t go for that.’

‘What – I should be drinking beer?’

‘After the week we’ve just had, damn right you should.’ He raised his bottle. ‘Cheers.’

He started to take a sip but Reilly stopped him. ‘Hold on.’ She flagged down a passing waiter who hustled over. ‘Could you get me one of those – what’s it called?’

‘Chang,’ Chris informed her.

‘A Chang beer, please?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the waiter replied and headed toward the bar.

‘That’s more like it,’ Chris said. ‘Now we can have a
real
Irish toast.’

‘With Thai beer?’

‘Ah, it’s the thought that counts.’

The waiter was soon
back with Reilly’s beer, and she held it up for a toast. ‘
Slainte
, isn’t that what you guys say? So, what are we drinking to?’

Chris
clinked his bottle against hers. ‘Here’s to catching the bad guys.’

Reilly nodded slowly,
clinked her bottle and brought it to her lips. ‘To catching bad guys.’

Their food arrived and they set to it with gusto, all the while discussing their thoughts on the case so far. T
ttt
he beer bottles quickly piled up on the table, Reilly easily keeping up with Chris, and gradually their tongues loosened, and the conversation became more relaxed.

Finally, Chris pushed away his empty plate. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to visit the loo – all that beer.’ He slid his chair back and pushed himself to his feet, then let out an involuntary groan as the pain shot up through his knees and hips.

Upon his return, he was pleasantly surprised to see a coffee waiting for him. ‘How did you know I wanted coffee?’ he asked her.

She grinned. ‘You’re a cop.’

‘Touché,’ he smiled, then took a sip. ‘You got it spot on too – white, no sugar. How did you know that?’

Reilly shrugged. ‘I’ve seen you drinking white coffee before, and you obviously look after yourself, so I figured no sugar.’

He shook his head. ‘A regular Sherlock Holmes in our midst. I’ll have to be careful what I say and do around you.’

‘It’s already way too late for that.’

He looked at her, expecting to see a grin on her face, but instead realized that her expression was serious. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I already know everything I need to know about you.’ She gave an enigmatic smile as she sipped at her coffee.

He sat back and crossed his arms across his chest. ‘You do, do you? Go on then, let me have it.’

Reilly peered at him over the top of her cup for a moment, her smile half taunting. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m a big boy, I can take it,’ he insisted, lightly. ‘But go easy on me …’ he added, a little more seriously.

Reilly set her coffee down and settled back in her chair. OK, let’s start with family. It’s something that was always very important to you, but I’m guessing your parents aren’t around anymore.’

She was right on the money, but Chris wasn’t going to let her know that. ‘Hardly a headline grabber. You just got lucky.’ His dad had died last year, his mother just under a year before. Although the official diagnosis was a heart attack, Chris very much succumbed to the belief that Tom Delaney had died of a broken heart. A fanciful and impractical notion, but given how close his parents had been he reckoned it was completely feasible.

’

Ignoring his comment, she continued. ‘You’re a bachelor – not because you don’t like the idea of marriage, but because you’ve been burned in the past – bigtime burnt and you still haven’t got over it.’ She took another sip of her coffee. ‘Am I right?’  Chris was trying to hide his surprise by burying his face in his own cup. This time, she was only partly right but he wasn’t going to tell her that. ‘Interesting theory,’ he replied, cautiously. ‘Go on.’

‘The job is the most important thing in your life, you take it very seriously, and are dedicated and quite ambitious but not ruthlessly so.’ Then she drained the cup and set it down in the saucer with a clink. ‘And you have a medical condition that you don’t want anyone to know about.’

The final comment hit home the hardest, and for a moment he stared at her, pale-faced. Then he shifted in his seat. ‘Wow, you were doing so well there and then you blew it at the end.’

Reilly narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you’re not in pain, something like that?’ Her tone was challenging.

‘The odd ache and pain,’ he said, ‘but nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘I may have had …’ she paused, counting on her fingers, ‘… well, three or four beers, but I’m not drunk.’ She fixed him with a fierce gaze. ‘For a supposedly fit guy who works out a lot, you move pretty gingerly at times.’

Chris looked at her for a moment before replying. Music tinkled quietly in the background. ‘You seem very sure of everything.’

‘Most of it was an educated guess,’ she admitted.
‘But the pain thing? That’s the one I’d put good money on.’

He nodded slowly. ‘I don’t know what to say …’ He worked his jaw hard. ‘Does everyone on the force know I’ve got a problem?’

Reilly shook her head. ‘I doubt it. Kennedy, maybe. Has he ever said anything?’

‘No. As you know he’s pretty out of shape
himself – probably considers groaning to be a normal part of getting up out of a chair.’

‘So what is it?’

‘I wish I knew,’ he admitted, shrugging. ‘It’s been coming on for the past six months or so. I have no idea what it could be.’

She looked at him in amazement. ‘And you’ve done nothing about it?’

‘It’s not that simple. If I go to the force’s doctor and there’s a problem, it’s on my record. They’d put me behind a desk quicker than you can say surfboard.’

She nodded and he knew she understood that for someone like him, that would be a virtual prison sentence. ‘What are the symptoms?’

‘A lot of joint pain – knees and hips mostly. And the tiredness – it’s just overwhelming,’ he admitted. ‘There are times when I can barely make it out of bed in the morning. Then other days it’s not that bad.’

Reilly looked thoughtful. ‘It could be any number of things, really.’ She was clearly thinking something through. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come by the lab tomorrow and I
can run a blood test, try to at least get some idea of what the problem might be? We can do it on the quiet, nobody needs to know.’

He hesitated before finally speaking. ‘You’d do that for me?’ It was a big deal, not to mention a punishable offence, and he was slightly taken aback by her concern. Then he figured that the dogged investigator in her probably just wanted to get to the bottom of it. Either way, he wasn’t going to refuse.

She nodded. ‘On one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘Whatever it is, you promise to get it dealt with.’

He thought for a moment.
‘Fair enough.’

Just then the waiter arrived with the bill and Chris grabbed at it before Reilly could get her hands on it.

‘Not this time; you got the last one.’

‘Well, then we’ll split it.’

‘No. And if you’re willing to do the blood test for me, the least I can do is pick up the tab for this.’

Reilly relented. ‘OK.’

Chris peeled three twenties from his wallet, and handed them to the waiter.

‘Why don’t you call over to the lab about ten o’clock tomorrow – it’s usually quiet around that time,’ she suggested.

‘Ten o’clock,’ he repeated, wishing he could feel more excited about it. ‘It’s a date.’ Immediately, he cursed his choice of words.

She smiled a little.
‘Whatever you say.’

The following morning, Reilly arrived at the lab early as usual, looking to take advantage of a few minutes of peace and quiet before everyone else arrived.

Last night at dinner Chris had given her the heads-up that, given the seriousness of the situation, Jack Gorman might be called back from vacation early and she wanted to be sure she had a complete overview of the investigation so the older guy wouldn’t be able to call her out on anything.

And truth be told, she wanted to make sure she was far enough into it that Gorman couldn’t elbow her out of the way. He was so determinedly old school that she guessed he’d go crazy at the idea of relatively inexperienced forensics like Gary and Lucy being allowed to process a crime scene. And although Reilly knew it wasn’t a problem and their work was meticulous, she wanted to satisfy herself that no one else would be able to find fault with her methods.

The call of the security guard halted her as she approached the lift.

‘Ms Steel?’

She turned to see him walking toward her. He was in his early sixties, a bit overweight, with trim gray hair brushed neatly back to cover the growing bald patch. Smithson … Simpson … something like that. Reilly had noticed him before, mostly because he was always friendly. She had him figured for a retired cop.

He hurried over to her, his limp noticeable, and handed her a large manila envelope. ‘A courier brought this by for you this morning.’

‘Thanks a lot, Mr …’ she peered at his name badge, ‘Simpson.’ He gave her a small nod in return and she continued on to the lift, lost in her thoughts.

‘You’re welcome.’ Simpson turned and limped back to his desk.

Reilly felt the package. It was heavy, and felt like there was a folder or a thick file in there. The lift arrived, and she stepped inside and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

As the lift jerked into motion she opened the envelope and slid the contents out. It was a book, and catching sight of the title her heart skipped a beat.
An Introduction to Freud.
She quickly looked inside the envelope – there was no note, no compliment slip, nothing.

Half intrigued, half scared, Reilly rapidly flicked through the pages. Sure enough, there was a bookmark and a section of text had been highlighted. She read the heading: ‘Little Hans.’ It meant nothing to her.

The elevator stopped at the fourth floor. Clasping the book tight, Reilly hurried into her office. She flicked on the coffee machine, slung her coat and her bag down on an empty chair, then settled herself down and began to read.

‘
Little Hans’ was a young boy who was the subject of an early but extensive study of castration anxiety and the Oedipus Complex by Freud.

 
Hans developed a strong fear of horses, to the extent that he was afraid to go outside. He said that he was afraid that if he did a horse would bite his penis off.

 
Freud interpreted this as a fear of his father, as a result of what he called the Oedipus Complex. The Oedipus Complex describes a process by which boys acquire their gender identity, their sense of being male.

Freud believed that during the phallic stage (between around three and six years old), boys develop an intense sexual love for their mother. As a result of this, they see their father as a rival who wants to get rid of them.

However, because the father is far bigger and more powerful, the young boy develops a fear that his father will see him as a rival and castrate him.

The only way to resolve this castration-threat anxiety is to adopt a
defense mechanism – in this case what Freud called ‘identification with the aggressor’.

The boy, therefore, begins to stress and magnify all the ways that he is similar to his father. He does this by adopting his father’s attitudes, mannerisms and actions. He thus develops a sense of being male, his gender identity.
 

A similar process in girls is called the Electra
Complex.

Reilly sat back in her chair, puzzled. What did it all mean? And, more importantly, who had sent it to her?

Then the thought struck her; Daniel, it had to be.

She looked at her watch, then picked up the phone and dialed his number. Clearly, Daniel had figured they should do some synchronized reading on Freud, irrespective of time zones. It was the very early hours on the East Coast but knowing Daniel he would have been up all night, researching and familiarizing himself with all things taboo.

The phone rang for several seconds.
‘Reilly?’ He sounded surprisingly groggy. ‘What’s going on? Did something else happen?’

‘No, I …’ she said, suddenly wrong-footed. ‘Sorry to wake you, but I thought … well I just got the book you sent me and—’

‘I’m sorry – what book?’ he asked.

By the tone of his voice Reilly immediately knew she was mistaken. Daniel hadn’t sent her this book with its carefully underlined passage. And if he hadn’t, then who had?

‘You didn’t send me a book on Freud?’

‘No. You’ve got enough going there and I figured it’s my job to get the lowdown on such matters. Why?’ Now he sounded distinctly more alert.

‘I got a delivery this morning, a book on Freud with a highlighted passage. I presumed it was from you.’

‘Absolutely not,’ he confirmed. Reilly felt a shiver run up her spine. ‘What was the passage?’ he asked. ‘The one that was highlighted, what was it about?’

She tried to fill him in quickly, eager to talk to the front desk and find out how this book had ended up here. ‘It was about some child, I think. Little Hans?’

There was a brief pause before he spoke again. ‘OK, leave it with me and I’ll call you later. And, Reilly … tread carefully on this one, won’t you?’

Assuring Daniel that she’d speak to him later, Reilly hung up the phone and immediately called the front desk.

‘Simpson here.’

‘Mr Simpson, it’s Reilly Steel.’

‘Oh hello again,
Ms Steel.’

‘That book you gave me just now – do you know who brought it in?’

‘Couldn’t say for sure; it was some courier – he had a motorbike helmet on with one of those blasted visors.’ He sighed. ‘There’s a sign up saying they’re supposed to take them off when they come in, but they’re in such a hurry that most of them just ignore it. I remember when—’

‘Can you give me any description at all?’ she interrupted.
‘Any company name? Logo? Anything distinctive?’

‘Sorry, I really didn’t take any notice,’ he admitted, sheepishly.

Reilly sighed. ‘Thanks anyway.’ She was just about to hang up when she heard his voice again.

‘Wait a minute, thinking about it now – there was one thing that was a little unusual.’

‘Yes?’ Reilly’s voice was sharp, hopeful.

‘Well if you don’t mind me saying …’ he sounded apologetic, almost unsure of himself, ‘… well, I’d have to say that it was the probably the most shapely courier I’ve ever seen.’

Reilly tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘You mean it was a woman? The courier who delivered the package was female?’

‘Yes, miss,’ Simpson replied.
‘Most unusual really, even in this day and age.’

Reilly hurried down to the lab. Julius was already in and working alone, mixing and
analyzing samples. He looked up when she entered.

‘Good morning, Reilly.’

She got straight to the point. ‘I need you to run this for fingerprints – right now.’ She held the book and the envelope out to him. ‘You’ll need to use mine for a match, they’ll be all over it.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, and also Simpson, the security guard from the front desk.’ She set the book and envelope down on the counter. ‘If you find any other prints let me know straightaway.’

When Chris stopped by the lab just after ten, Reilly welcomed the interruption. She was tired of turning things over in her head; she didn’t want to interrupt Daniel’s sleep again and anyway she knew he’d call her later. The chance to talk to the only other person who was sympathetic to her theories was exactly what she needed.

As soon as he walked in she noticed how tired Chris looked. He moved wearily, had dark circles under his eyes, and his face looked drawn and haggard, but she said nothing.

Granted, they’d had a few beers last night, but nothing that should make him look like that. If he looked that bad, she figured that he probably felt lousy too and she hoped more than ever that she could help him shed some light on this – and soon.

Reilly led him to the privacy of her office where she had a syringe and a couple of blood vials ready and waiting on her desk.

She directed him to sit down.

Chris looked anxiously at the syringe.
‘The moment of truth. You will be gentle with me, won’t you?’ he joked as he rolled up his sleeve and she could only imagine what was running through his mind.

Reilly picked up the syringe, and pointed it at him. ‘Sit still and don’t be a baby,’ she admonished. She rubbed his arm to bring out the vein, before skilfully inserting the needle. As his blood filled the vial, she updated him on the morning’s developments to distract him.

‘I got some interesting mail today,’ she began.

He looked at her.
‘Cheap double glazing? That’s all I seem to get in the post these days.’

‘This was from a courier actually. A book about Freud – sent anonymously.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Anonymously?’

‘Exactly.’

‘You think the killer sent you the book?’

She switched out the vials. ‘Who knows? I thought it was Daniel at first but he said it wasn’t him; I can’t think who else it could have been. Julius is running it for fingerprints right now.’

Chris watched her face as she spoke. ‘You don’t really expect to find anything, do you?’

Reilly removed the second vial and slid the syringe out. ‘No, I don’t. So far we’ve only been permitted to find what he wants us to find. If this is him, I don’t have any reason to expect this to change with something so blatant.’ Reilly placed a small gauze pad on his arm, secured it with tape.

‘Still, it’s quite a risk sending you something directly like that,’ Chris said, as he rolled his sleeve down and buttoned the cuff. ‘And very personal, too, I would have thought.’

Reilly nodded. She’d thought the very same thing. Did the killer know that she was overseeing the evidence in this case and was one of the leading investigators? If so, then it was likely he was outwardly challenging her, daring her to catch him.

‘While some of the scumbags we’ve put away get their lackeys on the outside to mess with our heads now and again, it’s rare enough for the ones who haven’t been caught to try anything,’ Chris pointed out. ‘They’re too busy making money to bother with anything like that.’

‘You mean the drug dealers and gang bosses?’

‘Yeah. There’s always a bit of posturing going on – usually harmless, but nothing like this. This is a bit too close for comfort for my liking. Do you think this guy
wants
to get caught?’

Reilly sat down behind her desk and leaned forward, her chin resting in her hand. ‘Not particularly,’ she explained. ‘If we’re talking serial – and I think there’s little doubt about that – the one thing we do know is that murder excites our guy. The reason he – or, if there’s an accomplice,
they
– keeps killing is because it’s the only way he can feel the same excitement. The problem is, each time he kills, the excitement wears off sooner, so one way to recreate the same kind of thrill is to start taking greater risks—’

‘Like taunting the people who are trying to catch him?’

Reilly nodded. ‘Yes. By increasing the risk, they also increase the chance of getting caught, thus the higher level of excitement.’

Chris slipped his jacket back on. ‘You said the book was about Freud?’

‘Yes,’ she said, explaining about the highlighted passage. ‘Whatever else this guy does, subtle isn’t part of it.’

‘What’s the significance, then?’

‘I’m not entirely sure yet,’ admitted Reilly, wondering what Daniel would make of it. ‘But at least we now have someone on side who can help us make sense of it.’