Taboo (28 page)

They drove south through the early afternoon traffic, Chris at the wheel. The N11 was lightly trafficked at that time of day and Reilly almost relaxed, looking around at the green countryside rushing past the window. She had been so busy since her arrival that she had never left the city, barely finding the time to squeeze in a little sightseeing around the centre.

She thought about where they were going and what they might find. Yesterday she had joked with Daniel about how naked she felt going into situations without a gun, and for him it would have been almost unimaginable – after thirty years in the FBI, old habits
died hard.

Use your instincts, he had told her – one of his mantras to all trainee investigators. Still, Reilly thought wryly, she would be much happier using her instincts and a .38.

‘Penny for them.’

She jumped a little at Chris’s voice. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten that he was there. ‘I was just thinking about what Daniel said before he left,’ she told him.

‘I bet you wish he was along for the ride instead of me,’ he said.

‘Actually, no.’

Surprise showed in his face.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Reilly continued. ‘He’s an incredible investigator – the best – and it has been great having him around. But ultimately,’ she paused. ‘Ultimately, I guess, this is our show, Chris. We’ve come this far, and now we need to finish it – one way or the other.’ She bit her lip at the thought of what they might find. Despite her fears about her father, she didn’t think she was ready to come face to face with Jess.

His face grew serious, as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘If we find something, we can call for backup.’

‘Right.’ Reilly gave a short bark of laughter. ‘And the Greystones SWAT Unit will be on the scene in seconds, I suppose?’

He chuckled.
‘Not quite, but there’s actually a decent-sized station based not far from there – in Bray. Either way, Kennedy knows where we’re going and I promised to keep him updated. So if we find her, and things get out of hand—’

‘Somehow I don’t think that it’s going to pan out like that,’ she told him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Think about it, Chris,’ she began. ‘Without trying to sound negative, Jess has been in control of this from the very start. Everything we’ve got that has moved us forward has come from her – and she’s still in control.’

He sighed. ‘So she’s expecting us, and whenever we do find her—’

‘Everything will be played out according to her rules.’

Chris accelerated to pass a large articulated lorry. ‘So what does that mean – in reality, on the ground?’

‘Exactly what Daniel said to me before he left,’ Reilly said grimly, ‘
We need to have our wits about us.’

A little while later, Chris turned off the motorway and onto the secondary road leading to Greystones village.

‘You must know this place pretty well to recognize it from those old photos,’ Reilly said

‘I used to love coming down here with my dad,’ he admitted. ‘He grew up in Enniskerry, down the road and inland a bit – and he used to bring me out here most weekends when the weather was good.’

‘So you’re into fishing. All
that talk of me surfing and you never once mentioned that you were into fishing.’

‘Actually, I’m not,’ he replied. ‘But my old man loved it and I loved being with him.’

‘Sounds like you guys haven’t been here for a while,’ she ventured.

‘It’s been a few years,’ he said, quietly. ‘The last time I came here with father he was already seriously ill - he had heart disease - so we just came and sat on a bench down there at the
harbor, enjoying the views. He died a few weeks later.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He glanced sideways at her. ‘No, it’s OK – it’s a good memory actually.’

‘So what’s
Greystones like?’

‘It’s changed a lot. Lots of new houses built for commuters.’

‘Same story the world over, I suppose.’

‘Right.
Big draw for tourists too as it still has that traditional Irish seaside town thing going on – a pretty harbor, fishing boats, the sea. There’s a new marina under development at the moment too’

‘It sounds pretty idyllic.’

‘It is,’ Chris confirmed. ‘Quite a few city dwellers have moved down this direction for the “good life”.’

‘So amidst all the blow-ins, one more out-of-towner like Jess really wouldn’t stand out much,’ Reilly pointed out.

Chris shrugged. ‘You’d be surprised. You’ve got the genealogical info on your family that I asked you to get?’

Reilly patted her bag.
‘Right here.’

He nodded. ‘Good. There are still a few old haunts where the locals hang out and some families here go back hundreds of years, know everyone and everything that’s happened since the Vikings arrived. I’ll just turn on my local charm and they’ll tell me everything we want to know.’

Reilly looked dubious. ‘It could very well be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’

‘Maybe yes, maybe no,’ admitted Chris. ‘But keep in mind that at the back of it all this, Jess
wants
us to find her.’

As they rolled into the village, despite her nervousness, Reilly was impressed by her first glimpse of the pretty Victorian houses on the way toward the seafront. Gray clouds swirled overhead, tugged along by the wind. The harbor was full, small blue, red and white pleasure cruisers jostled on the moving water alongside rusty orange fishing boats. They all rocked gently back and forth to the rhythm of the waves and wind.

‘You weren’t joking,’ she said. ‘It is beautiful. Look at those
houses, they must be at least a hundred years old.’

He watched her face. ‘Of course, I was forgetting,’ he teased, lightly. ‘You come from a country where anything that pre-dates Ronald Reagan is considered historic.’

Pulling into the harbor, they found a small car park and pulled into an empty space.

As soon as they stopped, Reilly climbed out of the car, glad to stretch her legs. The fresh air hit her, a strong spring breeze coming in off the sea. She ran her fingers through her hair and breathed deeply.

‘Nothing like it,’ Chris said, watching her carefully. He led her along the edge of the harbor. The boats were bobbing gently on the waves, the lines slapping frantically against the masts in the breeze, setting up an insistent, repetitive beat. Seagulls wheeled overhead looking for scraps.

‘I can see why you liked coming here with your dad,’ she commented.

And now she could also see why Mike had been pining for a return to the place. Was there a possibility that she’d got this all wrong, and that her sister had brought him here, not out of malice but of love? No, that wasn’t Jess’s style; she had never been sentimental, never had any time for Mike’s old tales of yore. If she had taken him here it was for her sake, her own reasons, not his.

Reilly closed her eyes and let the wind blow directly into her face. She longed for this to be over, longed for the time and the peace of mind to come somewhere like this and truly relax – not for thirty seconds, but for a day, a week …

Then a sudden shiver ran through her. It was beautiful, but also bitterly cold, and who knew what awaited them here? She looked over at Chris – he had his jacket wrapped tight around him.

‘So, where do we start?’ she asked.

‘There.’ He nodded to a building up ahead of them, a large pub with pale yellow walls and a slate roof.

‘What’s that?’

‘The Beach House – it used to be the centre of things around here but it’s changed a bit since I was last here. It looks to be pretty upmarket these days.’

‘So what do we do?’ she wondered.

He glanced sideways at her. ‘We?
We
do nothing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is that you are not the person to be talking to the folks around here.’

Reilly looked affronted.
‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re too damned American.’
He gave her a small wink as he pushed open the door. ‘You’ll scare the life out of the locals.’ Inside, he took off his windbreaker and carefully placed it across the back of a chair, then loosened his tie and undid his top button. ‘Whereas plain old Chris Delaney, who used to come fishing here with his dad, will blend in so easily that he’ll open them up like a fresh clam.’

Reilly raised an eyebrow. She supposed she couldn’t argue with that. ‘OK, plain old Chris Delaney,’ she said, taking a seat at a nearby table, ‘go and work your magic …’

He gave a wry grin. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, turning slowly. ‘Wish me luck …’

Chris strolled into the bar and looked around. It was virtually a maritime museum, the walls of the pub were decorated with a huge range of maritime artefacts, many of them recovered from local wrecks by the pub owner and his diving mates.

Ignoring the displayed items, Chris focused on the patrons. There were several noisy Dubliners at the bar, drinking cocktails and telling jokes in loud voices, a quiet couple sitting solemnly at a small table with cappuccinos, and over in the farthest corner, three old guys hunkered down over pint glasses.

Chris moved to the bar, ordered himself a pint, and quietly watched them from a distance. They were deep in conversation, talking and laughing with the easy familiarity of old friends. All looked to be in their late sixties or early seventies and might have known the Steel family, and maybe even Mike himself as a kid.

He sipped at his pint for a couple of minutes, waiting for just the right moment – preferably when their glasses were almost empty. When the time had come, he made his way over to their end of the bar.

‘How’s it going, lads?’

The three looked up, eyes showing different degrees of suspicion. There was a grunt and a couple of idle nods in response.

Chris kicked straight into his story. ‘When I was a boy my dad used to bring me down here fishing a lot. We had some family here we used to visit and I was trying to track down their house, for old times’ sake – I was wondering if you gentlemen might be able to help me out?’

The men looked from one to another, trying to decide how to respond. Chris acted quickly. ‘It looks like you’re all running low there – can I get you another one?’

‘Why not?’ The oldest of the three – at least he looked that way, with his wispy white hair and missing teeth – thrust his glass out toward Chris. ‘Same again, if you don’t mind.’

‘Well if you’re buying …’

Chris waved to get the barman’s attention. So far so good. ‘Same again, all round,’ he told him.

Reilly fidgeted as she waited at the table. She wasn’t good at waiting at the best of times, but now was even worse. She tried to get into the mind of her sister, tried to figure out where Jess was going with this. Attempting to guess her next move was virtually impossible – they hadn’t managed it once yet in the investigation.

Clearly, she’d taken Mike to get Reilly’s attention, and brought him somewhere (here?) that was significant – namely their dad’s ancestral roots.
Home Sweet Home
.

But then a second thought, even more disquieting, crossed Reilly’s mind. What if they were wrong and they didn’t find her here? What would Jess do then? Would she harm Mike and then seek Reilly out to finish it? Or would she just vanish, leaving no trace, nothing but a trail of bodies?

No, that wasn’t an option. There were here for a reason and Jess wanted them to find Mike – to find her.

But where would she be keeping him? Was it somewhere she herself had been hiding out? This place was a very short drive from the city, so if Jess had found somewhere around here to hole up, it would have been all too easy for her to stay out of sight, just close enough so she could keep an eye on her handiwork and Reilly’s reaction to it. But even if their hunch was right and she had taken Mike or based herself here, how on earth were they supposed to find her?

‘Can I get you anything?’ A member of staff appeared by Reilly’s table as she was daydreaming.

‘Oh, a coffee please,’ she replied, automatically.

‘No problem.’

He hurried off with her order and she gazed around the pub once more. Well, if nothing else, it would be interesting to see if Chris could come up with any local info on her family history.

Come on, Chris,
she thought, glancing toward the four men at the bar,
use that Irish charm.

The barman returned and distributed fresh pints to the men. All three took a slow, solemn first sip, as if sealing the deal, and then turned back to Chris.

‘So how can we help you?’ the oldest guy asked. He had wrinkled skin, deeply tanned, and more hair on his nose and ears than on his head.

‘Chris Delaney, good to meet you.’ He held out his hand and all three men solemnly exchanged handshakes.

‘Patrick Riordan,’

‘James Murphy.’

‘Peter
O’Callahan.’

‘What family are you looking for?’ wondered Riordan, his blue eyes sparkling in his wrinkled face.

‘Steel is the name,’ Chris told him, recollecting what little family history he’d gleaned from Reilly. ‘Michael Patrick Steel, father and son – the father was a carpenter and so was his father before him, Connor Michael Steel.’

The three looked at each other. ‘There was a Steel family,’ Murphy said. He was younger than the others, still had his own teeth, and was dressed in a dark blue cabled sweater.

‘Bunch of them around here,’ O’Callahan confirmed. Chris stared at his hands. They were huge, gnarled – he’d been some kind of mechanic, Chris would bet good money on it.

Riordan stayed silent and sipped at his beer, deep in thought.

‘Any idea where they lived? They moved to America when I was quite young as I recall.’’

A light went on in
O’Callahan’s eyes. He leaned forward, revealing worn holes in the elbows of his faded wool jacket. ‘You’re right – there was a local family that moved out to America – Steel the carpenter, that was him, I’m sure.’

Chris felt faintly excited, sure he was getting somewhere. ‘Do you know where they lived?’

O’Callahan scratched at his stubbled chin. ‘Can’t say as I do …’ He thought a moment more. ‘I think he had a workshop out on the old Bray Road,’ he added.

Sullivan nodded. ‘I remember him now, hell of a footballer, wasn’t he?’

‘Goalkeeper, wasn’t it?’

‘He could stop the ball like no other I’ve ever seen.’

‘It was a sad day for that team when he left,’ O’Callahan concluded.

‘A sad day.’

All this time Riordan had sat silent. Then he suddenly sat forward. ‘Lived out near those new builds on the Cliff Road, I think.’

‘New builds?’
Chris frowned. There were lots of new estates in Greystones, mostly occupied by commuting Dubliners.

The man smiled. ‘Well, they were new back then compared to the rest of the stuff here – a few bungalows, built in the Fifties, I think.’

Chris’s heart began to race. This was something. ‘And you think the Steels lived in one of those?’

‘Now, I couldn’t tell you that. All I know is they were from out that direction somewhere.’

‘And what direction is that?’

‘
Windgates, up the hill there, about a quarter of a mile out the Bray Road,’ he said, pointing vaguely to the location.

Having got what he came for, Chris finished his pint and held his hand out. ‘Gentlemen, you’ve been very helpful, thank you.’

One by one they shook his hand. As he turned to leave, Riordan called out to him. ‘Mr Delaney?’

Chris turned back around, wondering what other crucial titbit one of them might have remembered.

The older man had a sparkle in his eye. ‘Which branch of the guards do you work for then?’