Taboo (31 page)

Just then Mike stirred, grunting and twitching at the hypodermic still jammed into his neck. Reilly covered the gap between them in three strides and quickly snatched the needle out, her heart beating almost out of her chest. ‘Dad, are you OK?
Dad
.’

Mike spluttered and briefly opened his eyes. He seemed to have trouble focusing but from what Reilly could tell the drug hadn’t actually entered his system. Then, just as quickly, his eyelids closed shut and he passed out, most likely from the alcohol, she guessed.

Relief and pain washed over her in equal measures. Eventually, she dropped the gun and fell to her knees alongside him – and face to face with Jess.

Her little sister stared unseeingly at her, her bright blue eyes wide open, a single hole in the front of her head and blood oozing into her soft blond hair.

Instinctively, Reilly stroked her cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, Jess,’ she whispered. ‘So sorry it had to end this way.’

She gently closed her sister’s eyes and sat back on her heels, still dizzy and nauseous. She leaned on the sofa for support and turned again to face Kennedy. But he was nowhere to be seen.

She got up and rushed out toward the back of the house where, to her horror, she saw him tending to Chris who was lying on the ground just outside the door. He was bleeding heavily from his midsection. Jess hadn’t been playing mind games; she had indeed shot him, twice by the looks of it.

‘Oh my God,’ she gasped, her hand moving to her mouth. ‘Is he …?’

‘It’s not good,’ Kennedy said, his face pale with worry. ‘Not good at all. The ambulance is on its way, but he’s bleeding out, fast.’

‘Chris …’ Reilly moved to him and shook his body gently. His head rolled back, a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. She shook him again, her voice small and desperate. ‘Please, Chris, don’t give up on us now,’ she pleaded. ‘Not now, when everything’s finally over.’

The bay was wide, a sweeping curve of sand backed by low rolling sand dunes. The golden sand was almost deserted, just a couple of families with kids playing in the surf.

Waves rolled in to break in steady patterns just offshore.

Her board under her arm, Reilly jogged easily across the soft sand toward the waves, her blue eyes trained on the water, reading the surf with an expert’s eye.

She turned to her companion, pointing out at the waves with one arm. ‘The offshore wind is northerly and the waves are spilling down, right to left.’ She grinned. ‘The perfect spot for a novice.’

Chris shaded his eyes from the bright sunshine and tried to see what she was seeing. He looked uncomfortable carrying the large board and despite his sallow skin, a large purple scar splotched his upper midsection. ‘Those waves look pretty big,’ he observed, nervously.

‘Big?’ Reilly teased, glancing sideways at him. ‘These are tiny!’ She took a tentative step out into the edge of the surf. ‘Water’s cold though – you might regret that decision not to wear a wet suit.’

‘I’m an Irishman, born and bred,’ he called after her, ‘and I’m not afraid of a bit of cold water.’

He picked up his board and strode out through the surf to join her. Reilly stood in waist-deep water, her own board in the sea beside her. ‘So, are you ready for your first lesson, Detective?’ she asked.

He gulped. ‘I think so.’

‘Chris Delaney – you’re not getting all scared on me, are you?’

He grinned. ‘I have Kennedy for a partner, remember? Nothing scares me. Anyway, don’t they always say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you
stronger.’

And for some reason, Reilly remembered, the massive blood loss he’d suffered in the aftermath of Jess’s attack didn’t kill him either. The doctors at the ER had been at a loss to understand why the bleeding hadn’t weakened him more and since then the pain he’d been suffering had stopped and he’d been right as rain. As far as Chris was concerned that was the end of it but Reilly wasn’t so sure. There had definitely been something off about those initial blood tests, and it might only be a matter of time before whatever it was flared up again.

Still, on Chris’s request, she was resigned to letting him deal with it as and when he saw fit, and as things stood the mystery remained unsolved. Once it wasn’t affecting his job, Reilly had little choice but to let the issue remain unspoken.

Ditto for Mike Steel’s recollection of that night in
Greystones. While Reilly’s father had been too inebriated to remember what transpired at the house, she’d also deliberately kept him in the dark about Jess’s ultimate challenge and her willingness to use him as bait. There was little point in him knowing the whole truth.

Thankfully, the authorities had been happy about Reilly’s role in finding their killer and, following a long and painfully in-depth internal police investigation, after which it emerged she’d done nothing wrong, she’d only recently been reinstated in her role at the GFU.
Albeit with reluctance from Jack Gorman.

Now, Chris laid his board flat on the rolling water, threw himself on it and began paddling frantically out toward the breakers just like she’d told him. ‘Come on then, California girl,’ he challenged, ‘show me what you’ve got.’

Reilly watched him for a moment, a smile on her face before following suit, and they both powered out toward deeper waters.

THE END

Enjoyed this book? Read on for a sample of INFERNO, the second novel in the Reilly Steel series by Casey Hill,
available now
on Kindle.

INFERNO (CSI Reilly Steel #2)

Chapter 1

Sandra Coffey was desperately struggling to breathe.

The smell, an over-ripe suffocating stench, completely overwhelmed her, making her nauseous and dizzy. She shook her head in panic, suppressing an urge to gag, thinking she wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer.

Suddenly she heard the crunch of tires on the gravel outside, and through the window she saw drawing to a halt a white van with familiar blue writing on its side.

At last, help had arrived.

Thank God, thank God …

Sandra stood up, smoothed down her trousers, and, trying to regain her poise, headed quickly for the front door.

              ‘Morning, Mrs Coffey,’ Paddy Murphy, the local plumber, greeted her amiably. He had a round, red face, long, white muttonchop sideburns, and his bulky frame filled every inch of his extra-large, navy-blue boiler suit. He looked up at her, a frown of concern on his face. ‘Toilet backing up, you said?’

‘Not just one, Paddy.
All of them. The smell … it’s unbearable.’

His frown deepened. 
‘Probably your septic tank then.’ The plumber removed his cap to reveal his shiny bald head and scratched at it thoughtfully.  ‘Sounds unusual. Maybe a rat or something found its way in there.  Only way we’ll know for sure is to go and have a look.’

Paddy set his toolbox down, loosened the cap of the inspection pipe, then stood back and averted his face.  He didn’t want to be hammered by the acrid funk he knew would rush his nostrils when the system was opened.

He rummaged in his toolbox and came up with a large industrial torch. Tapping it on the heel of his hand, he flicked it on, aimed it down the tank and peered into the murky depths.

The inspection pipe was narrow – maybe sixty centimeters across – and didn’t show much of the tank itself.  He moved the torch around and peered in as far as he could to see if he could identify a blockage, but all he saw was the layer of scum that floated on top of the mottled and putrid grays and browns. Instinctively he held his breath. Helluva of a way to make a living …

‘Can you see anything?’

Paddy jumped, startled.

Unheard,
Mrs Coffey had come up behind him, her feet in a pair of patterned Wellington boots, a Barbour jacket draped across her shoulders.

He grunted as he stood up, trying to regain his composure. The woman was standing very close and her proximity was unaccountably disconcerting.

‘You can never really see much down these. Reckon I’ll just have to open up the manhole cover.’ He sighed as he recapped the pipe.

What a pain in the
arse – digging around in a heap of shite was not what Paddy had in mind just before lunchtime on a Friday morning, especially with yer woman over his shoulder watching his every move.

He grabbed his toolbox and trudged across the sloping lawn and around a line of low-growing shrubs,
Mrs Coffey hard on his heels. Then he stopped so suddenly that she almost stumbled into the back of him.

‘What is it?’

He turned and looked at her, puzzled. ‘Have you had someone else in to check the system lately?’

‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘Someone seems to have been digging for the manhole cover, but from the looks of that mess, they didn’t know exactly where to find it.’

They both observed the turned-over soil, dark and rich from the recent rain.

‘Maybe Tony noticed it was backing up before he left and tried to fix it, though he didn’t mention anything ...’

The plumber approached the metal manhole cover. ‘Someone’s been at this for sure.’

He kneeled down, slipped a small crowbar from his toolbox, and placed it under one edge of the cover.  He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs Coffey. ‘You might want to stand back a bit – these things reek to high heaven when opened.’

She duly took a couple of steps back and pulled her jacket tightly around her.  Paddy flipped the cover off, and once again averted his nose to evade the malodorous stink racing up to greet him.

Waiting for the air to clear a little, he was reaching for his torch when a horrified cry from behind stopped him short. He shook his head. Serves her right for standing over hi
m
this was no place for a—

But Paddy quickly realized that it wasn’t merely the stench that had affected
Mrs Coffey.

Once, twice, three times her high-pitched screams split the cold, damp air, before she finally clamped her hand across her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

What the …? Paddy stared at her, puzzled, before slowly turning back to the tank to see what had so affected her.

Floating up to greet him was the bloated, distorted face of a man, his eyes protruding, skin purple with putrefaction, sewage spilling from his open mouth as he bobbed in the effluent pool.

Frozen with shock, the plumber just stared, unable to take his eyes away. The dead man’s deeply veined, bloodshot eyes seemed be staring back at him in mute accusation.

Behind him,
Mrs Coffey was whimpering little sobs of pure animal fear and horror.

Finally Paddy Murphy gagged and fell backwards onto the damp grass.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty ...’

Download
INFERNO
to read on.

Thank you for reading TABOO.
If you enjoyed the book, the author would be most grateful for a
brief review
of the
story on amazon.

Connect with Casey Hill or keep up to date with new releases, news and competitions at
www.facebook.com/caseyhillbooks
or
www.twitter.com/caseyhillbooks