Hindsight (9781921997211) (12 page)

‘But why would he knock her out and leave her there to collect later? That's not the sort of thing those guys do,' Ed said.

‘We think he must have been told to find out what she knew before he killed her,' Byrnes said.

‘What, you think he planned to take her somewhere and torture her for information?' Ed asked, shooting Phil a look of disbelief.

Rawlinson looked at him coolly before answering. ‘Yes, something like that.'

‘Jesus, this is Australia we're talking about, not downtown Chicago,' Phil said.

‘We wouldn't expect you to come across this sort of thing too often but with the cases we work it's not unheard of, especially when drug families are involved,' Byrnes said.

‘If you say so.' Phil shrugged.

‘We do, and given this development, we spoke to Detective Chief Inspector Sorenson when we arrived. The link to organised crime makes it a Tier 3 case and she's agreed to our taking full responsibility for the remainder of the investigation.'

‘Now, hang on a minute —' Phil stood up, scraping her chair back.

‘You're off the case. Speak to your boss if you have an issue with it,' Rawlinson said, looking pleased with himself.

‘You —'

‘Leave it, Phil,' Ed interrupted before Phil said or did something she might have to apologise for later. He stood up and started to move out of the room. He paused with his hand on the door knob.

‘I don't suppose you know where your boy was last night do you?' he asked, looking at Rawlinson.

‘As a matter of fact we do,' he said, ruffling through some papers. He shot Byrnes a quick look and received an almost imperceptible nod to go ahead.

‘Surveillance had him at the casino last night and then in a city hotel with a couple of hookers afterwards. Must've been a lucky night on the tables.'

‘So there's no way he could have been involved in Old Mick's death then?' Ed asked.

‘Surely you don't think his death is related? He was a drunk. He probably just staggered out in front of the truck and never knew what hit him.'

‘Yes, more than likely, but we need to be thorough.' Ed gritted his teeth and smiled at them, mustering all his willpower to stay civil.

‘There's no way it's related to the Hodgson case. If it was Liberetti who killed her he was a very busy boy last night,' Rawlinson said.

‘Good luck with the case boys.' Ed propelled Phil out the door, feeling the hostility emanating from her.

They walked back to their desks. Phil barely made it before she exploded.

‘I can't believe those fucking wankers have just waltzed in here and taken the case off us without even having the courtesy to let us know first. Jesus they're a couple of arrogant pricks.' She thumped the desk for emphasis.

Everyone else in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Samuels had a grin on his face, clearly enjoying the show. Ed grabbed Phil's arm again.

‘Come on, let's go get a coffee.'

By the time they got to Enzo's, her colour was back to normal and she'd stopped huffing. Ed ordered them both double shot flat whites and they sat down at their usual table, tucked into a corner away from the handful of other patrons sitting near the windows. The barista knew them well and they had their coffees within a couple of minutes.

‘There you go; I was beginning to think I wasn't going to see you today. Hard day?'

‘Yeah, not a good one, Steve,' Phil answered. ‘Thanks.'

They sipped in silence. It was Ed who finally spoke.

‘You were right. It's too much of a coincidence for Mick to turn up dead just after he witnessed a murder.'

‘Do you think whoever had Janet killed sent someone else to kill Mick?'

‘Why spend the time and effort getting rid of a witness that one of their high-class lawyers could discredit in five minutes?'

‘So what, then? You think someone else killed both of them?'

‘Maybe. I'll reserve judgement until we hear from Sonya.'

‘I doubt she'll have anything for us today.'

‘Yeah, but there's something else I want to ask her.'

‘What's that?'

‘What colour eyes Janet Hodgson had.'

CHAPTER

12

I drove out of Fairfield and away from Ed Dyson's house in a daze. To say that I felt like a failure would be an understatement. Phil's scorn didn't really bother me. I didn't really expect anything else from her. She'd taken a dislike to me from the moment we met. I'd been hoping for more from Ed though.

Instead of being grateful for my help he thought I was some kind of freaky stalker. He thought I'd come to the police station and offered to help on the Janet Hodgson case with the express purpose of getting up close and personal with him. The uncomfortable thing was that he was sort of right. I had asked Sorenson if I could work with him.

Then there was the whiteboard. It hadn't even occurred to me that one of them was his wife. How stupid am I? Why else would he have set up a whiteboard with all the women that had gone missing in the last ten years? He was looking for links and hoping there might be something that would help him to find her. He'd probably been staring at it night after night for the last two years and there I went, waltzing in and telling him that four of the women had the same eyes. No wonder he'd snapped.

I was so busy beating myself about the head that I wasn't focusing on where I was going. I was almost at the turn-off for our house. I needed to decide whether to go home or head into town and hide out for a while. If I went home I would have to 'fess up. Mum and Gran would know that something was wrong; they wouldn't expect me until dinnertime and it was barely midday.

I decided to seek the refuge of the library. I parked the car on Main Street, making a complete dog's breakfast of reverse parking. I got out of the car, bracing myself for the inevitable encounter with Mrs Jones. Sure enough, she was at her usual post, ever vigilant, glasses perched on the tip of her nose so she could peer over the top of them with just the right note of disapproval.

‘Cassandra, twice in one week after such a long absence, what a surprise.'

‘Hello, Mrs Jones. Yes, I enjoyed doing my research here the other day. I thought I would repeat the experience.' I forced a smile, battling to be polite and not tell her to mind her own bloody business.

‘Will your mother be stopping in again too?'

The question seemed innocent enough, but as was always the way with her there was a criticism as well. What she really meant was would my mother be coming in and would we be loud and thoughtless again. My smile started to feel like it might crack at any second.

‘No, I'm here by myself today, Mum stayed at home.'

‘Ah, well, you enjoy your quiet time then.'

I headed for the computers and local history files. I wanted to sit and think for a while. My plans from earlier in the week to map out safe routes in Fairfield and other neighbouring towns seemed pointless if there was nothing meaningful I could do with my talent.

What I really wanted was to replay that morning's dreadful conversation. I thought about Ed's reaction to my offer to help with his wife's disappearance and death. I got the impression he was pretty angry with himself as well. It must have been hell to be a detective used to solving crimes yet be unable to solve the one that was most important to him. I'd borne the brunt of two years' frustration.

I tapped into one of the computer terminals and typed in
Fairfield police officer, wife missing
. I got a whole bunch of hits straight away. One of the first ones I clicked on was an article from the Adelaide
Advertiser
. It had a large picture of Susan next to the article.

She was attractive: long blonde hair and a peaches and cream complexion. It was her eyes that really did it. They sparkled with a deep enjoyment of life.

The article outlined the facts about when she went missing. It explained that Ed had been ruled out as a suspect early on. He'd been working a case and hadn't been alone for more than five minutes. Neighbours had seen him leave for work and wave goodbye from the front door. She was alive when he left and gone when he got home.

I clicked on a few other links. Mostly they were appeals for information. Without any new developments or salacious details to keep the readers interested, the media interest died down pretty quickly.

I looked at my watch. It was coming up for 1.30 PM and I hadn't had anything to eat all day. My stomach was protesting so loudly that I half expected Mrs Jones to tell it to be quiet. My head was starting to pound too — probably caffeine withdrawal.

I headed for the doorway hoping to sneak past Mrs Jones, who had her back to me sorting through a pile of returned books and putting them in order. I got within ten steps of freedom before her voice stopped me in my tracks.

‘Leaving so soon, Cass?'

She really was a nosy old cow. ‘Yes, I can't seem to get into it today.'

‘Hmm, perhaps the peace and quiet isn't for you.'

I decided to let that one go. With a quick nod and half wave I bolted for the door. Stepping out into the light and air, I breathed deeply, relieved to be away from her overbearing ways. I strode briskly down the street to Mrs McCredie's.

It was reasonably busy, as always, and I nodded to the few people who recognised me. Not too many; a testament to my reclusiveness. As I waited to order I heard a couple of older women over by the window clucking over the terrible way someone had died. Over near the drinks fridges, a young bloke was asking his girlfriend not to walk home but to catch a cab to be safe. The conversations weren't the usual run-of-the-mill things people talked about in country towns. Still, people were bound to be twitchy.

Mrs McCredie brought my food over. She paused after she'd deposited the plate, licking her lips, a sure sign that there was something she wanted to tell me. I waited patiently. She was a kind person and over the years she'd visited our home regularly for readings from Mum and herbs from Gran.

‘So you've heard the news then?'

‘About Janet Hodgson?'

‘No, about Old Mick.'

‘What about him? Has he given the police a description of the person who attacked her?'

‘Oh no, nothing like that. He was hit by a truck last night on South Road and killed.'

‘Killed?' The word came out as a squeak.

‘Police are saying that he must've been drunk and walked in front of a semitrailer. If you ask me it's too much of a coincidence: one day he sees a murder and the next day he turns up dead? I don't think so!' She tutted a few more times and then left me to my meal.

I sat there staring after her. My mouth was probably hanging open. People didn't just go around pushing old men in front of trucks, did they?

I mechanically forked the food into my mouth. My appetite had disappeared again. I could've been eating chaff for all it mattered. After a while I gave up and put my knife and fork down. I looked around me. All the worried faces and concerned conversations made sense. Everyone in here knew what'd happened and most of them would be thinking that it was no accident.

I took a few half-hearted slurps of my milkshake to wash down the lump of food that seemed to have lodged itself in my throat, picked up my bag and keys and headed for the door. There was only one place that I wanted to be.

When I got home I couldn't get inside fast enough. I stood in the warm dimness of the hallway and let the familiar smells and sounds envelop me like an embrace.

‘Is that you, Cass?' Mum called.

‘Yep, it's me.' I threw her keys into the bowl on the hall stand and headed for the kitchen. I pushed my way in, smelling blueberry muffins baking. My stomach growled, announcing the return of my wayward appetite. I walked over and put the kettle on and then slid into my chair with a sigh.

‘Don't tell me you've been baking, Mum?' Blueberry muffins were one of the few things that Mum could cook. The fact that she was baking was a sure-fire sign that something was bothering her. She was standing at the sink washing dishes and had her back to me.

‘Yes, I was worried about you, Cass.'

‘You didn't have to worry, Mum, I'm fine.'

She turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at me for a few seconds then sat down. ‘No, you're not,' she said quietly. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened when you went to see Detective Dyson?'

I gave her a twisted sort of smile. ‘You knew then.'

‘I didn't know for sure; let's just say I was pretty certain. You really are a terrible liar, Cass; you go all blotchy and wring your hands. It's a dead giveaway. You've done it ever since you were a little girl.'

‘I really need a cup of coffee and one of those muffins and then I'll tell you what happened.'

‘OK, the muffins are nearly ready. Can you call Gran?'

‘Do you know where she is?'

‘I think she's upstairs in her sewing room.'

I stuck my head out of the door. ‘Tea's ready!'

Mum sighed. ‘I could have done that. I meant for you to go and get her, not to yell like a fishwife.'

It was a familiar remonstrance from Mum and, after the morning I'd had, even being told off by her felt soothing.

‘I knew that had to be you, Cass. There was no way your mother would be yelling for me like a banshee.'

‘Sorry, Gran.'

‘That's all right, sweetheart. You look wrecked. Things didn't go very well, then? Was he still angry?'

I barked out a short laugh. ‘You too, hey? And there I was thinking I had been so clever and devious.'

The timer on the oven went off and Mum got up and took the muffins out. I made a pot of tea for them and a bucketful of coffee for myself. When we were all sitting again I suddenly felt at a loss where to start.

‘So you went to see Detective Dyson?' Gran prompted. ‘How was he?'

‘He certainly wasn't thrilled to see me. He had this whiteboard set up with all these photos on it.'

‘Photos of what?' Mum asked.

‘Photos of all the women who've gone missing in the last ten years. I couldn't help myself, while he was on the phone I went up to look at them. I noticed that four of them had these incredible green eyes so I pulled them off and rearranged them together so I could have a better look. He was really pissed off. One of the pictures was of his wife and I came out with this lame statement about them all having the same eyes as if he wouldn't have thought of it himself. It just went from bad to worse then. I offered to help him find his wife and he accused me of being a stalker.' I felt myself getting all teary at the memory.

Mum reached out and took my hand.

‘Never mind, Cass, you meant well,' Gran murmured. ‘He might realise that once he calms down a bit.'

‘I don't think so, Gran. I think he's made up his mind about me. He made it pretty clear that if he never saw me again that would be too soon.' I couldn't hold it any more. The embarrassment and horribleness of it swept over me and I covered my face and cried like a big baby.

Mum and Gran wisely waited for me to calm down before either of them said anything. Mum just pushed the box of tissues in my direction. Eventually the tears stopped and I pulled myself together with a good nose blow and a few shaky breaths.

‘Sorry,' I mumbled.

‘That's all right. Better to let it all out. So, why does he think you're a stalker?' Gran asked.

‘He thinks that the only reason I offered to help the police was so I could work with him. I guess going to his house today was a stupid idea.'

‘I'll have a word to Natalia,' Mum said.

‘No, please don't,' I said quickly. ‘I feel embarrassed enough without having to drag her into this. Let's just leave it for now, please, Mum? Anyway, the scene with Ed was only the beginning of my bad day. I didn't want to come straight home afterwards, so I went into town —'

‘You didn't have a vision did you?' Mum asked anxiously.

‘No, nothing like that, I went to Mrs McCredie's to get something to eat and she told me about Old Mick.'

‘Old Mick?' Gran asked.

‘Yes, everyone thinks he was the one who witnessed Janet Hodgson being killed. Mrs McCredie told me he was killed last night. She said that he got hit by a truck on South Road.'

‘That's terrible! The poor man,' Mum cried.

‘Oh, how awful.' Gran's hands flew to cover her mouth.

‘That's only half of it, Mrs McCredie seems convinced that it was no accident. She thinks he was killed because he saw the killer.'

‘What have the police said?' Gran asked.

‘I don't know.'

The ticking of the clock marked out the seconds as we sat there, lost in thought.

‘So what do you want to do, Cass?' Mum asked quietly. Her words sliced through the silence.

‘Do? What do you mean?'

‘Well, I assume you think you can help the police work out who killed him?'

I let the implications of that sink in. Call me stupid, but I'd been so busy focusing on the dog's breakfast I'd made of my visit to Ed's that it hadn't even occurred to me that I might be able to help the police with Mick's murder. The thought of it made me feel physically ill. The only way I could possibly help the police would be to go to the scene where Mick had died and experience his death for myself. If he was murdered I might see who did it but I would also experience the full horror of being flattened by a semitrailer. I sat there staring at the table, not sure what to say.

‘No one could expect her to do that, Anita,' Gran said eventually.

‘No and I wouldn't want you to, Cass. You don't know what experiencing a death like that might do to you.'

‘It would stay with me for the rest of my life. Besides, Detective Dyson would rather eat crushed glass than set eyes on me again.'

‘I could always read for you,' Mum said.

It was said as a statement but it was more of a question. For years I'd resisted any attempt by Mum to nose around in my future.