TORN (26 page)

‘Good idea.’ Chris nodded approvingly. The suicide incident would surely have been reported to the Health Services Executive, Jennings’ employer.

An hour later, the detectives had their answer. Kennedy’s HSE contact duly faxed over a copy of the incident report – although the name of Jennings’ patient – the suicide victim – was blacked out.

‘Man, they really do take this patient confidentiality thing to heart don’t they?’ Kennedy complained. ‘Although I s’pose we should all be glad of that. Would hate for anyone to see the ins and outs of my last medical,’ he joked, reminding Chris that he himself had a force medical coming up soon. Given that he was rarely without pain these days, he felt his palms clam up at the thought of what they might find.

‘So what’s the lowdown?’

‘Aha!’ Kennedy tossed the three-page fax across to him. ‘Mystery solved. The wife had it only half right. Yes, Jennings was charged, but there was no conviction because the judge ordered a suspended sentence.’

‘And Jennings walked away a free man?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Let’s look at the judge then – see if he’s the missing link between Jennings and the other three,’ Chris suggested, somewhat heartened by the discovery but  frustrated by it too.

While the finding pushed the investigation closer to the right track, insomuch as it gave them some form of motive for the doctor’s murder, without knowing who the suicide victim was, they couldn’t turn their attentions to any potential grudge-bearers.  Like the cooking sauce, the equine soil and the pencil, it was another piece of the overall puzzle. Unfortunately, it still didn’t move them forward towards completing the jigsaw.

Later that evening, Reilly looked at Chris, who sat slumped in a chair in front of her. His skin was ashen, his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and despite  having just outlined an apparent breakthrough regarding motive concerning Jennings, his defeated demeanor remained.

Not for the first time, Reilly wondered if the arthritic-like problems from last year had returned. Certainly, something was going on that was causing the normally upbeat detective to look and sound so worn down.

She glanced at her watch. It was after eight p.m. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked, seizing an opportunity to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

Chris shrugged. ‘Eat? What’s that?’

She gave him a dubious look.

‘I don’t know … breakfast maybe?’ he finally admitted.

She stood up. ‘That’s it.  We’re out of here.’

‘Reilly, I honestly—’

She cut him off. ‘You can’t think straight if you don’t get some food inside you. I’m one with the medical background, so don’t argue.’

‘You’re right, but—’

‘I said, no arguments.’ She reached round the back of the chair upon which Chris was sitting. Pulling a dark wool coat from it, she threw it at him and grinned.  ‘Get your coa
t
dinner’s on me.’

Outside, she sniffed at the damp air.  ‘Hell, it feels like weeks since I was out in the fresh air.’

‘I hear you.’

She glanced at him. Under the wash of the sodium streetlights his skin looked wan. Something was seriously taking its toll on him. Reilly now felt faintly guilty that they’d spent so little time together lately. Especially after everything they’d been through before.

.Chris looked up and down the quiet manicured grounds outside the GFU building. ‘Not exactly culinary central around here, is it?’ he pointed out.  ‘Did you have anywhere in mind?’

‘Of course.’ She led him out of the grounds, and eventually pointed down a quiet side street. He followed along, and a little way down Reilly pointed out a sign for an Italian bistro called The Opera House. ‘Here.’

He shook his head. ‘I never even knew this place was here. How on earth do their customers find them?’

Reilly gave an enigmatic smile. ‘Julius tipped me off about it. They’re pretty new but very, very good. Not to mention convenient, especially for a quick bite to eat after late nights at the lab.’

Chris followed her into The Opera House. The small restaurant was tastefully decorated with just enough Italian paraphernalia to give it charm. Only two other tables were occupied.

The waitress sashayed over, having some difficulty walking in her black satin  pencil skirt. She took their coats, and directed them to a booth by the window.
They settled onto red velours benches that faced each other across a deep expanse of red-and-white-checkered cotton tablecloth. Reilly noticed Chris’s gaze idly following the waitress as she tiptoed back to the bar.

‘See something you like?’ she teased.

Caught unawares, he blushed. ‘Not my type.’ He opened the menu. ‘I was actually just wondering how she actually manages to walk in that.’

Reilly shook her head. ‘Hmm …’ She buried her nose in the menu, suddenly aware of just how hungry she actually was. 

The waitress returned and they ordered their food, water, and a single glass of wine respectively as they were both driving. The drinks arrived quickly and for a moment neither of them said anything, both enjoying the cool liquid, and the feeling of temporary relaxation that washed over them as they sipped their drinks.

Reilly was the first one to break the silence. ‘So if the slinky Italian waitress isn’t your type, what is?’ she asked suddenly.

Chris looked up at her, evidently surprised. ‘That’s a very un-Reilly-like question,’ he observed.

She shrugged. ‘Hey, I can talk about shallow stuff just as well as the next woman.’

Chris sipped his wine. ‘So my personal life is shallow then?’ he teased.

‘You tell me.’

They both waited for a moment, but Chris didn’t elaborate.

‘I notice you dodged that question nicely; both of them, in fact,’ Reilly grinned, looking up as the waitress arrived with their food. ‘Did I hit a nerve?’

He couldn’t reply immediately as the waitress was fussing around with their food, and as soon as she had gone Reilly set to her dish like a hyena, shoveling cacciatore chicken and pasta into her mouth, and pausing barely long enough to wash it down with a sip of wine.

Eventually satifised,  she pushed her plate back and dabbed at her mouth with a crisp white cloth napkin.

‘As always, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it.’ Chris nodded at the scattered remains on the table. ‘I’ve seen swarms of locusts do less damage than you do.’

She smiled. ‘I guess you’re just not used to being around a woman with a healthy appetite.’

‘I’ve certainly never been around a woman who looked like she could eat my arm for dessert,’ he countered.

Reilly sipped at her water, and looked at him. ‘So,’ she began, deciding to dive right in, ‘are you going to tell me what’s been going on with you lately?’

He looked up quickly, visibly tense. ‘What do you mean?’

“Hell, Chris … I know this case is a bitch and it’s getting us all down, but you … I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘On what?’

‘On why you’re so … edgy these days,’ she said finally, and Chris looked away.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Look, I know Reuben can be …challenging, but he’s harmless really. You nearly took his head off the other day.’

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. ‘I’m just frustrated that’s all. All these dead ends. We’re getting nowhere.’

‘Hey, come on – it’s me you’re talking to,’ she said, not believing a word of it. ‘Something’s bugging you at the moment and I don’t think it’s just the case.’ She glanced at his hands, clasped together on the table. ‘Is it that again? The thing from last year, the tremors and stuff … has it come back?’

She had her suspicions; especially as more than once recently she’d noticed him put both hands in his pockets, as if trying to hide them.

‘What? No, everything’s fine.’

‘Yeah, and I’m Miss America,’ she said drolly.

‘You are according to Kennedy,’ he joked, but his heart wasn’t in it and she knew it.

She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. ‘Chris, let me help you. I can run some more tests, maybe get Julius to take a look at—’

‘It’s fine, Reilly,’ he interjected, his face shuttering. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing. I’m just a bit stressed out with this case, that’s all.’

‘If you say so,’ she replied automatically, stung by his obvious stonewalling.   

It felt like a slap in the face. She’d trusted him, confided in him, and he knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets.

Was that part of it? she wondered, trying to figure out how the closeness they’d developed in the early days had all but disappeared lately. Did he blame her for last year - hold her responsible for what had happened?  After all, he was the one who’d ended up in hospital, bleeding from his injuries. Who could blame him if—

‘It’s nothing, honestly,’ he continued, his voice softening a little. ‘I’m just stressed out, we all are.’

‘I don’t know, Chris,’ she said, her eyes downcast. ‘Sometimes, you can be a bit like Area 51, a big no-fly zone, full of mysteries.’

Chris looked up and met her gaze for the first time. He seemed to be thinking hard, as if weighing something up.

At last, he exhaled, and cleared his throat.  ‘Remember last year, when you were doing your analysis of me in the restaurant, using your Jedi mindspell, or whatever weird thing you do,’ he said, referring to a dinner they’d shared in the early days of working together.

She nodded. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘You said something about my not being married because I’d been—’

‘Burned in the past. Bigtime burned,’ she finished, recalling the conversation almost word for word. She raised an eyebrow, seriously wondering where he was going with this.

‘Well, you were right.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I was … was engaged once.’

Reilly looked up, surprised, her eyes boring into his. ‘You were?’

He looked down at the table. ‘Yes, it ended a few years ago – almost three years now. I’d just graduated from training college when I proposed to Mel.  Melanie, her name was Melanie Adams.’

‘Melanie, that’s a sweet name,’ Reilly mumbled, unsure what to say, her voice echoing Chris’s somber tones.
Was?
Had his fiancée died? she wondered, horrified, her mind racing. If so, why hadn’t Kennedy ever said anything?

‘I’m sorry to pry,’ she mumbled quickly. ‘It’s just I never knew you were actually engaged to someone.  You never mentioned … So what …? Did something happen?’

He paused again. ‘It’s difficult to explain really,’ he said, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. OK, if the girl had died it would be easy enough; he wouldn’t have to explain anything.

He looked up and saw her regarding him carefully. ‘It’s complicated,’ he continued finally. ‘I’ve never really talked to anyone about it before.’

She nodded. ‘Hey, that’s OK. Honestly, it’s really none of my business and—’

‘When we got engaged,’ he said, ‘it was a good time.  We were happy, had everything going for us, and I really thought we’d be spending the rest of our lives together.’

Reilly waited patiently to hear the rest.

‘But then … not long after, something happened,’ he added, his face pained, and  his expression closed once again.

‘I see.’ Reilly figured her early analysis of him that time had been correct. Evidently this Melanie had hurt Chris deeply.

‘Was there somebody else?’ she asked gently, when he didn’t elaborate.

His hand tightened around his glass. ‘You could say that.’

‘Look, Chris, this is really none of my business,’ Reilly insisted, feeling unaccountably discomfited now. ‘I’m sorry for pressing the issue. It’s just … I noticed you’ve been kind of testy this last while and … is that it?’ she asked, a flash of inspiration hitting her.  ‘Has she – Melanie – been in touch recently, or something?’

It was a shot in the dark but if the ex-fiancée was preying on Chris’s mind, then maybe she’d come back into his life recently. And maybe he still held a candle for her, which was why he was so highly strung.

He gave a short laugh. ‘Not exactly. But I do know she’s getting married at the weekend.’

‘Oh.’

So that was it, Reilly realized. Chris had been prepared to commit his life to this Melanie, but for some reason she’d rejected him, tossed him aside, and now she was marrying someone else, perhaps the guy she’d left him for. That had gotta hurt.

She looked at him. ‘Sounds like you two might have some unfinished business,’ she said, trying to choose her words carefully.

‘Nah’. Chris sat back in his chair. ‘I know the fella she’s marrying, he’s a good guy. Pete
r
we used to be mates. Good luck to them.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m glad, actually – glad she’s getting on with her life,’ he added, and Reilly guessed he was trying his utmost to sound like he meant it.

She looked closely at him, but his expression remained unpenetrable.

Clearly a lot more had gone down between Chris and the ex-fiancée than he was prepared to admit.