Inferno (CSI Reilly Steel #2) Read Online Free
Author: Casey Hill
Tags: Police Procedural, CSI, forensics, reilly steel, female forensic investigator, Crime Scene Investigation
was so strong that, for once, Reilly didn’t get a whiff of Karen Thompson’s favored perfume, Red Door by Elizabeth Arden.
Smells were Reilly’s thing. She’d discovered a long time ago that her sensitive nose had some sort of weird talent for cataloging scents, particularly perfume. And while it often came in handy for the job, today she was cursing that particular ability.
‘How soon before you get the body out?’ she asked.
Despite the circumstances, Karen Thompson looked typically calm and unruffled, and Reilly marveled at the woman’s strong stomach.
‘Shouldn’t be too much longer – I’ve got a team on their way now,’ the doctor replied, fixing her big, almost oversized eyes on Reilly. ‘I pretty much have to sit on my hands till then so if you want to get in there before they arrive, be my guest.’
Reilly nodded, grateful for the opportunity to inspect the area around the manhole before it got trampled even further. Between the uniforms, the wife and the plumber, there was already a lot of disturbance, to say nothing of what it would be like after they’d hauled the corpse out. But such contamination was nothing new and Reilly did love a challenge ...
She bent down and peered closely at the ground. As expected, the area around the manhole opening showed signs of heavy traffic. Blades of grass were bent and crushed into the damp earth by several sets of footsteps going back and forth across from the gate to the tank. There had been some heavy rain recently, and the various footprints had left deep indentations in the soft ground. Reilly would have her GFU colleagues collect everyone’s shoeprints later for elimination, but for now she wanted to see if there was anything of immediate interest.
She cast her gaze around, trying to understand what had been done, get a feel for it. It seemed to her that there were several ways into the garden: from the house or the gate behind her; over the hedge from the road to her left; through the woods to her right; or across the orchard straight ahead.
She tried to put herself in the perpetrator’s shoes, tried to imagine what the murderer had been thinking. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap the journalist, never mind the effort of dropping him into a septic tank. If the guy had been alive at the time, like Karen suggested, choosing to murder him in this way was making a point, a very visible one. The killer would have planned it all out, have known where the septic tank was, have had every detail figured. Reilly was prepared to put money on his coming in the normal way, through the gate.
She scooted round to the side of the lawn, took a new path out towards the septic tank, walking lightly, and checking the grass in front of her as she moved. As she had expected, there were no signs of footprints from the direction she was travelling. She stopped about two meters from the limestone opening.
Trying to muster courage and steel herself for the inevitable, she paused for a moment and gazed up at the gray sky. She needed to be calm and composed when she looked at the body, her mind neutral, assessing everything ... unaffected.
She stepped closer to the opening and peered inside it.
Tony Coffey’s face floated gently on the scummy surface, framed by a thick, viscous soup of gray foam. His eyes were open, staring upwards, the moment of his death captured forever in his ghastly grimace.
What had the poor guy been thinking, Reilly wondered. What goes through your mind as you slowly drown in sewage or choke on lethal fumes, all alone in the dark confines of a tiny space surrounded by human filth? Did he know his murderer? Did he have any idea why he was being subjected to such punishment?
She bent down to take a better look at the area below. The tank itself looked old ancient, actually and she figured it must have been there for decades, perhaps part of the original friary. The original waste system was just as old, as was
Smells were Reilly’s thing. She’d discovered a long time ago that her sensitive nose had some sort of weird talent for cataloging scents, particularly perfume. And while it often came in handy for the job, today she was cursing that particular ability.
‘How soon before you get the body out?’ she asked.
Despite the circumstances, Karen Thompson looked typically calm and unruffled, and Reilly marveled at the woman’s strong stomach.
‘Shouldn’t be too much longer – I’ve got a team on their way now,’ the doctor replied, fixing her big, almost oversized eyes on Reilly. ‘I pretty much have to sit on my hands till then so if you want to get in there before they arrive, be my guest.’
Reilly nodded, grateful for the opportunity to inspect the area around the manhole before it got trampled even further. Between the uniforms, the wife and the plumber, there was already a lot of disturbance, to say nothing of what it would be like after they’d hauled the corpse out. But such contamination was nothing new and Reilly did love a challenge ...
She bent down and peered closely at the ground. As expected, the area around the manhole opening showed signs of heavy traffic. Blades of grass were bent and crushed into the damp earth by several sets of footsteps going back and forth across from the gate to the tank. There had been some heavy rain recently, and the various footprints had left deep indentations in the soft ground. Reilly would have her GFU colleagues collect everyone’s shoeprints later for elimination, but for now she wanted to see if there was anything of immediate interest.
She cast her gaze around, trying to understand what had been done, get a feel for it. It seemed to her that there were several ways into the garden: from the house or the gate behind her; over the hedge from the road to her left; through the woods to her right; or across the orchard straight ahead.
She tried to put herself in the perpetrator’s shoes, tried to imagine what the murderer had been thinking. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap the journalist, never mind the effort of dropping him into a septic tank. If the guy had been alive at the time, like Karen suggested, choosing to murder him in this way was making a point, a very visible one. The killer would have planned it all out, have known where the septic tank was, have had every detail figured. Reilly was prepared to put money on his coming in the normal way, through the gate.
She scooted round to the side of the lawn, took a new path out towards the septic tank, walking lightly, and checking the grass in front of her as she moved. As she had expected, there were no signs of footprints from the direction she was travelling. She stopped about two meters from the limestone opening.
Trying to muster courage and steel herself for the inevitable, she paused for a moment and gazed up at the gray sky. She needed to be calm and composed when she looked at the body, her mind neutral, assessing everything ... unaffected.
She stepped closer to the opening and peered inside it.
Tony Coffey’s face floated gently on the scummy surface, framed by a thick, viscous soup of gray foam. His eyes were open, staring upwards, the moment of his death captured forever in his ghastly grimace.
What had the poor guy been thinking, Reilly wondered. What goes through your mind as you slowly drown in sewage or choke on lethal fumes, all alone in the dark confines of a tiny space surrounded by human filth? Did he know his murderer? Did he have any idea why he was being subjected to such punishment?
She bent down to take a better look at the area below. The tank itself looked old ancient, actually and she figured it must have been there for decades, perhaps part of the original friary. The original waste system was just as old, as was
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