Read Online Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3) by CASEY HILL - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: CASEY HILL
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appreciate her, I knew, didn’t know what he had, an angel sent down in human form. And as I watched her I knew, knew what I must do, knew that with me the flame of youth that burned so brightly within her would last for ever, and all fear and suffering would be banished.
When I freed her she seemed almost to be expecting it. There was no fear, no reluctance … she had been waiting for me, as though she knew the earthly paradise we would create together.
She was the beginning, the foundation, the bedrock on which our world was built, and now she is gone. We must continue, but how?
‘Pig’s blood?’ Reilly repeated in some disbelief as the following morning, she read through the lab report Lucy had just given her.
‘Don’t forget soot,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘Pig’s blood, soot and some form of pure alcohol.’
From her rudimentary knowledge of tattoos Reilly knew that most professional tattoo artists used inks that were pre-made – pre-dispersed they called it. Whereas this one seemed like a homemade concoction. With luck, an artist that took a more organic approach might stand out and be remembered within the tattooist community.
‘And seeing as different types of pure alcohol are difficult to individuate,’ Lucy went on, ‘we’re going to test that further in order to narrow it down.’
In any case, what was it that had forced a pregnant young girl out onto a solitary country road so late at night?
Later that morning, Reilly received a call from Chris.
‘Looks like we might have struck lucky on the van for the hit and run,’ he said. ‘Body shop in Ballymount, a company van brought in for work after a supposed “animal strike”. Our media release set off some alarm bells and the owner called it in. We’re on our way now, but could do with one of your crew to give it the once-over.’
‘No problem, I’ll send Gary,’ she said, and he noticed the same coolness in her tone that had been there for the last few weeks. He was tempted to just come right out and ask if she was going to squeal on him, but it wasn’t the time or the place. And to be truthful, Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
‘Thanks,’ he said, his tone equally clipped. ‘Will let you know how it goes.’
The auto-repair shop was tucked away on an anonymous industrial estate on the outskirts of the city along with a couple of lockups, a delivery company, furniture shop, the usual fare.
The premises was easy to spot; the tarmac out front had taken on a pale color from the fine mist of dust and spray paint, and several cars with various windows and lights covered with newspaper and tape awaited a new paint job.
Chris and Kennedy sought out the owner in the main building. Kennedy got straight to the point. ‘You called in with the van tip-off, Mr Danson?’
Danson nodded. ‘Yeah, a guy brought it in this morning, wanted a quote to fix up the front end and put a new windshield in. I remembered the news report about that hit and run, so I thought, better be safe than sorry.’ He filled them in on the details of the van’s owner, a courier. ‘I’ve got a mobile number somewhere.’
Back in the car, Chris punched in the number and held the receiver to his ear.
‘Hello, Connolly and Sons; Shane speaking,’ a man answered in a business-like tone.
‘Mr Connolly, my name is Detective Chris Delaney. I wonder if you could confirm that are you the registered owner of a white Ford Transit van, registration number 08-MH-3457?’ He used a direct yes or no question, to not give Connolly any time to think.
‘Yes, yes, that’s my van,’ was the nervous reply.
‘Mr Connolly,’ Chris said, his tone ominous, ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat.’
Chapter 9
Rory sat hunched over his computer screen. There was a vast amount of information in the Central Database. New cases existed in both physical and digital form, which made searching for information or cross referencing
When I freed her she seemed almost to be expecting it. There was no fear, no reluctance … she had been waiting for me, as though she knew the earthly paradise we would create together.
She was the beginning, the foundation, the bedrock on which our world was built, and now she is gone. We must continue, but how?
‘Pig’s blood?’ Reilly repeated in some disbelief as the following morning, she read through the lab report Lucy had just given her.
‘Don’t forget soot,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘Pig’s blood, soot and some form of pure alcohol.’
From her rudimentary knowledge of tattoos Reilly knew that most professional tattoo artists used inks that were pre-made – pre-dispersed they called it. Whereas this one seemed like a homemade concoction. With luck, an artist that took a more organic approach might stand out and be remembered within the tattooist community.
‘And seeing as different types of pure alcohol are difficult to individuate,’ Lucy went on, ‘we’re going to test that further in order to narrow it down.’
In any case, what was it that had forced a pregnant young girl out onto a solitary country road so late at night?
Later that morning, Reilly received a call from Chris.
‘Looks like we might have struck lucky on the van for the hit and run,’ he said. ‘Body shop in Ballymount, a company van brought in for work after a supposed “animal strike”. Our media release set off some alarm bells and the owner called it in. We’re on our way now, but could do with one of your crew to give it the once-over.’
‘No problem, I’ll send Gary,’ she said, and he noticed the same coolness in her tone that had been there for the last few weeks. He was tempted to just come right out and ask if she was going to squeal on him, but it wasn’t the time or the place. And to be truthful, Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
‘Thanks,’ he said, his tone equally clipped. ‘Will let you know how it goes.’
The auto-repair shop was tucked away on an anonymous industrial estate on the outskirts of the city along with a couple of lockups, a delivery company, furniture shop, the usual fare.
The premises was easy to spot; the tarmac out front had taken on a pale color from the fine mist of dust and spray paint, and several cars with various windows and lights covered with newspaper and tape awaited a new paint job.
Chris and Kennedy sought out the owner in the main building. Kennedy got straight to the point. ‘You called in with the van tip-off, Mr Danson?’
Danson nodded. ‘Yeah, a guy brought it in this morning, wanted a quote to fix up the front end and put a new windshield in. I remembered the news report about that hit and run, so I thought, better be safe than sorry.’ He filled them in on the details of the van’s owner, a courier. ‘I’ve got a mobile number somewhere.’
Back in the car, Chris punched in the number and held the receiver to his ear.
‘Hello, Connolly and Sons; Shane speaking,’ a man answered in a business-like tone.
‘Mr Connolly, my name is Detective Chris Delaney. I wonder if you could confirm that are you the registered owner of a white Ford Transit van, registration number 08-MH-3457?’ He used a direct yes or no question, to not give Connolly any time to think.
‘Yes, yes, that’s my van,’ was the nervous reply.
‘Mr Connolly,’ Chris said, his tone ominous, ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat.’
Chapter 9
Rory sat hunched over his computer screen. There was a vast amount of information in the Central Database. New cases existed in both physical and digital form, which made searching for information or cross referencing
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