Aftermath by Casey Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

for goodness sake.”
    "And suddenly you’re Sir Lancelot? You are a detective, Chris. Or has star power suddenly blinded you of that.”
    “Now hold on just a goddamn second…” he said standing up. "What's this about? Are you jealous or just hormonal?"
    “Hormonal?” Now Reilly was standing.
    "Settle down," said Kennedy. "Look, we need to focus here. We didn't get a blood sample.”
    Reilly took a deep breath, irritated that Chris’s behavior had gotten under her skin like that, and worse that she’d shown it.
    She began packing up her kit bag. "I'll take care of it," she said with a sigh and left to catch up with Annabel. “You two go and check out the pub.”
    “Gee thanks, boss,” Chris retorted, “what would we do without you telling us how to run an investigation?”
    Conceding that the comment had in fact come across patronizing and bossy, Reilly smiled and gave him a truce-making pat on the shoulder.
    “Sorry, it’s been a long day. If the food is good like Kennedy says, maybe you two should try pick up dinner while you’re there.”
    But Chris’s body language remained terse and cold. “Whatever you say.”

10
     
     
    A nnabel Morrison was where Reilly expected. Standing outside the ICU, gnawing at her fingers and watching through the window in desperation as her husband lay in a coma.
    Reilly felt a little pang of guilt watching the woman. Morrison was motionless, clearly lost in a vortex of trauma and worry.
    She approached quietly and stood next to her. “The doctors said they are trying to get his liver failure under control."
    Morrison didn't respond.
    "It's a good sign, I think," she added gently. "If they can catch it in time, then they can work the toxins out."
    “You’re out for my blood, aren’t you?” Morrison said, not changing her gaze or expression. “I know how these things work. Just be sure to pin it on the spouse and then wrap it all up in a nice big bow. Not happening.”
    “Don’t you want to help us find the person who attacked your husband, Mrs Morrison?”
    “Of course, but not if it means I’m automatically implicated,” she retorted, casting a dismissive gaze at Reilly’s kitbag.
    “I just need to ascertain your blood type to eliminate you from the scene…”
    “Well, you could have just asked me then. It’s B plus. I hold a donor card,” she added, when Reilly looked surprised.
    "Your daughter,” she asked, deciding to press while the woman seemed a little calmer. “She wasn't home last night?”
    Annabel shook her head. "Lottie usually stays over with her friend Gemma on Friday nights."
    "Because you’re usually out late," Reilly guessed, wondering why the woman wouldn't be more eager to go home and spend time with her family after a hard working week, instead of partying with her colleagues.
    But what did she know?
    Morrison nodded. "She's with my mother now in the waiting room. Please don't bother her."
    “I won’t," Reilly told her. “What about your husband? He usually home on Friday nights?” It would be useful to know the habitual family comings and goings, as if this was a robbery, chances were the burglar might have had that information too.
    “Sometimes. It depends on how busy things are. With the company.”
    “Were you in touch with Josh at all before you arrived home? Sent a text letting him know you were on the way maybe?”
    “Josh and I are a little old school that way. Still remember what it was like in the days before mobile phones. No, I just took a taxi home, came inside and …”
    Reilly didn't run the risk of her clamming up again, by asking the name of the taxi company. Instead, she made a mental note to get Rory to check with the taxi firm the TV station normally used, as she guessed a famous face like Morrison wouldn't just take random city cabs home.
    “Thanks for your co-operation, Mrs. Morrison."
    “Call me Annabel,” she insisted again, but Reilly felt the response was by rote, the result of so many years playing