Hindsight (9781921997211) (13 page)

Normally I would've just said no without hesitation. This time though, things were different. I felt lost and in need of direction. Despite my almost overwhelming loathing at the thought of reliving Old Mick's last moments, there was also a voice in my head whispering that I was being selfish; telling me that if I could help in any way then I should, no matter what the personal sacrifice.

‘OK.'

Mum looked startled. Gran stood up and rested her hand on my shoulder.

‘There's no shame in not helping, Cass, and just remember, you might not like what your mother sees.'

‘I know.'

‘Well, I'll leave you to it.'

She left the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. Mum and I sat there looking at each other. This was uncharted territory for us. Mum took my hand and stroked it.

‘Close your eyes, Cass. Try to relax. You're going to need to totally let go if you want me to be able to read you.'

I shut my eyes and focused on the ticking of the clock. I felt a strange pressure behind my eyes. My first instinct was to block it but I took a few deep breaths and imagined opening a door to my inner self. Mum said nothing for a while. I could hear the magpies warbling outside. We had a resident family that Gran had been feeding for years. The adults were calling to each other and every so often last season's youngster would try it on, squawking like a newly hatched baby in hope of a free feed from one of his parents. Eventually Mum let go of my hand and I opened my eyes. She was sitting there staring at me, tears in her eyes.

‘What is it?' I asked, panicked.

‘I won't lie to you, Cass. It's not going to be an easy or pleasant road. I can't get a totally clear reading, even when you want to let me in, I can't quite get everything. I saw you working with Detective Dyson. Apart from that all I got was fear and visions of fire. For some reason fire kept coming up.'

‘Great! Well, that makes it easy then doesn't it? If helping Detective Dyson leads to fear and suffering then I won't help him. You've said yourself that the future isn't set in stone. Look at what you did for Natalia.'

‘Yes, that's true, but it's not always that simple. Sometimes fate will have its way no matter what we do.'

‘Well it's not going to have its way with me,' I said.

CHAPTER

13

‘You're kidding right?' Phil looked at Ed like he'd suddenly sprouted an extra head. ‘You don't seriously think that kooky Miss Raising-the-Dead might actually have hit on something?'

‘Look, right now I'm willing to give anything a shot. If Janet Hodgson had green eyes …'

Phil looked at him, her jaw clenched. It wasn't the first time they'd been down this path. Over the last two years they'd followed so many false leads they'd lost count. Phil had put up with it in good grace, being a friend and lending a hand because it genuinely seemed to help Ed. But this latest development was testing the boundaries of her tolerance.

‘I know you don't want me to do it. I'm not asking you to help. All I'm asking is that you turn a blind eye,' Ed said.

‘You know you've got to stop doing this eventually don't you? If there was something there — if there really was a link between any of those missing women — don't you think we would have found it by now?'

‘Yeah, true. And I guess that CS would have found anything there was to find, especially with their high tech databases and systems. I'm sure if there were links and patterns they would've picked them up,' Ed said.

‘CS? You reckon? If Byrnes and Rawlinson are anything to go by I wouldn't be putting too much faith in that mob of clowns.' Phil snorted her disgust. ‘C'mon then, let's go back and find Sonya. While you're talking to her, I'll give Reg and his rookie a call and let them know that CS have taken over the world again.'

They stepped out of the café into the cold. Even though it was barely 4 PM the dampness was already creeping into the air. They hurried the short distance back to the station, their breath creating puffs of steam.

When they walked back into the squad room Phil slipped behind her desk and picked up the phone.

Ed headed for the lift and took it to the basement, where Sonya and her team had their autopsy suite and facilities. The lift doors opened and Ed's nostrils were assaulted by the smell of chemicals and disinfectant. It was like a hospital but not quite; the silence was all wrong. It was unmistakably a place of death, not life. Ed walked down the corridor and peered through the glass into the autopsy suite. Sonya was bent over Old Mick's body.

Ed rang the buzzer. Sonya glanced up and, seeing who it was, stepped over and pushed the button to unlatch the door with her elbow, gloved hands held aloft. Hearing the faint buzz and click, Ed pulled the handle and stepped inside.

‘Gowns and masks are over there if you want to come and watch.'

‘No thanks, I'm happy to keep my distance. I've already seen what the truck did to him. I don't really want to see it again.' Ed walked over to the bench that ran along the wall furthest from the autopsy table, pulled out a stool and sat down.

Sonya turned back to the body on the table. ‘So what can I do for you?'

‘I want to know what colour eyes Janet Hodgson had, and your preliminary thoughts on Old Mick here.'

Sonya stopped what she was doing and looked at Ed.

‘How is her eye colour relevant? Word is that CS took over the case because it was an organised hit.'

‘It's just a long shot and if you could do me a big favour and not let Sorenson know I asked, that'd be great.'

‘I won't lie for you, but unless she asks me whether you're still investigating the Hodgson case I won't go out of my way to mention it, deal?'

‘Deal.'

‘Just let me finish what I'm doing and I'll hop onto the computer and have a look for you.'

‘So what's your feeling about Mick?'

‘You know I don't deal in feelings, Ed, only in facts, but the facts are quite interesting. His liver has advanced cirrhosis. He also had emphysema. He was a fairly heavy smoker, or had only recently given up. He'd eaten not long before he was killed. None of that is remarkable. What is interesting is the trauma he suffered.'

‘I thought he looked pretty much like he was hit by a semitrailer.'

‘Well, yes and no. If a person walked out in front of a semitrailer generally most of the trauma would be from about knee high upwards due to the height of the vehicle off the ground. This body shows severe impact trauma from about shoulder level.'

‘So what does that mean?'

‘Two possibilities, either the vehicle was exceptionally high off the ground or the victim wasn't standing at the time he was hit.'

‘I can't think of any vehicles that would be that high. So if Mick wasn't standing what was he doing — lying on the road?'

‘No, that doesn't fit either. He was in some position that made his shoulders level with the grille of the truck, kneeling maybe.'

‘I can't imagine why he would have been kneeling on the road.'

‘No, and it doesn't look like he was facing the oncoming vehicle either. Most of the impact was on the right side.'

‘So what do you think?'

‘It's possible he was pushed in front of the truck.'

‘Pushed? Someone hurled him in front of an oncoming truck?' Ed felt sick.

‘Yes, like a sack of potatoes, but don't go off half-cocked. You need to wait for the official report. I'll have it for you tomorrow. I need to finish examining him and get the blood work back.'

‘Thanks, Son,' Ed muttered.

‘You wanted to know about Janet Hodgson?'

He nodded.

Sonya took her gloves off and walked over to the computer in the corner. She clacked on the keyboard for a few seconds, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the file to load.

‘Let's see, Janet Hodgson: hair colour — dark blonde, natural; eye colour — green. She had green eyes,' Sonya said.

Ed felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. His heart started to beat faster and he felt faintly nauseous.
Don't get ahead of yourself. It doesn't mean anything yet. It could still just be a coincidence.
He realised Sonya was looking at him curiously. He decided it was better to say nothing, just in case Sorenson started asking questions.

‘Hmm, I thought they were blue. Thanks, Son.' He tried to sound normal and almost succeeded. He could tell Sonya was disappointed he wasn't willing to say more. He felt a pang of guilt; she was probably justified in feeling hard done by when he hadn't reciprocated the sharing.

He walked back to the lift thinking about the two cases: Janet and Old Mick. If Cass Lehman had somehow managed to find a link between missing women, if there was a serial killer out there killing women with green eyes … His thoughts went to Susan. He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and fed through a shredder.

Today he'd started with Anita Lehman annihilating the faint hope that Susan was still alive and ended it with the possibility she'd fallen prey to some fucked-up psycho with a thing for green eyes. And then there was Old Mick, the poor bastard. Was it the same killer tidying up loose ends? The brutality of it sent fingers of ice down Ed's spine. Phil wasn't going to like it one bit.

She was waiting for him in the squad room. She took one look at the expression on Ed's face and sighed heavily. ‘Oh no, don't tell me …?'

‘Yes, she did, and there's some other stuff as well,' Ed said.

‘Fill me in on the way home. You know how Grace feels about having her dinners ruined.'

Ed had forgotten about dinner. The thought of a cosy get-together was about as appealing as root canal therapy, but he knew from past experience that he could only get away with excuses for so long. Grace would eat him on toast if he didn't show up and that would be nothing compared to the misery she would inflict on Phil.

What he really wanted was to go home and start comparing the cases of the five women: Susan, the three others that Cass had pulled off the whiteboard and Janet. If they really were victims of the same person then the killer had to be picking them out somehow. There had to be something they shared as well as their eye colour.

If he could find it, he would find their killer.

CHAPTER

14

Thursday morning dawned frosty and clear. He felt good. Ginny was happy again and he could get on with business as usual. He needed to finish preparing for five services. Two were open casket. They were nearly ready, he just needed to add some finishing touches. Doing the faces was his specialty. He was an artist — people said they always looked so alive, like they were just sleeping. He turned on one of his favourite symphonies by Mozart and let the waves of music assault him, revelling in the feelings of relief and elation now that Michael McKenzie wasn't going to bother them any more.

He smiled broadly. It will be a closed casket funeral, that one. He wondered briefly about the man. Where exactly did he come from? Was it Jewel Bay or Fairfield? He'd got the impression from the snatches of conversation he'd overheard that the man was itinerant. He must have come from somewhere though. Maybe he has family in these parts, maybe even in Clifton. That'd be ironic; he might end up cleaning up his own mess after all. He sniggered.
Well, I do prefer to clean up after myself. I did with all the others.

Not all of them, Ginny would remind him. Before Janet Hodgson there had been one other that the police had found. It happened the first year after he and Ginny were married. He remembered the night well. It was the closest he'd ever come to getting caught, up until now. He'd wanted to take the girl earlier, like he did now, but Ginny insisted that he wait until the eve of their anniversary and do it as part of their celebrations.

It was a bad move. There was no time to watch and wait for the best opportunity and he couldn't
not
do it. If he'd waited it wouldn't have been in time for their anniversary and that just wouldn't have been right.

He remembered every detail of that night. He'd been such an amateur then. Everything that could have gone wrong did. The girl heard him coming and turned around. She recognised him from the expo. Then he'd tried to use chloroform to subdue her and she'd fought back. It was a disaster. She'd nearly got away. He'd ended up having to kill her within metres of the security guards patrolling the university campus. He closed his eyes, replaying it. It had taught him a lot.

He'd driven straight home and told Ginny. She was angry he'd taken such a risk. Still, when he gave her the gift she forgave him. It was perfect. For the first time in ages she looked at him and told him how much she loved him. Those few days each year after their anniversary were the best days. They were better than the best Christmas, better than any birthday.

He put his tools down and peeled off his gloves. The corpses looked as good as he could get them, probably better than they'd looked in real life, and he couldn't afford to spend any more time on them. He still had to work out what he was going to do this year. The girl he'd chosen was dead; the police had found her and he didn't have Ginny's present. There was only a two-hour window before the first service. He'd better get cracking.

He selected a key from his keychain and unlocked the door leading to the basement. Turning on the light, he headed down the narrow staircase into the dim room below. It was his special room, the place where he kept all his records and plans. It was also the place where he emptied out the furnaces after a cremation. Along one wall were four shelves holding a selection of urns. The bottom three shelves held empty urns, spares for clients. The top shelf held his private collection; three identical urns in top-of-the-range black marble.

He ran his hand gently over each. There should have been four by now with another to come next week. It irked him that they were missing. By rights they were his and they should be here with the others.

He walked over to the side of the room furthest from the furnaces. Up against the wall there was a desk, a filing cabinet and bookshelves full of medical reference books.

He selected another key and unlocked the top drawer to his desk. Taking out a small box he opened it and took out yet another key to open the filing cabinet. He pulled out a ledger, flicked on the desk lamp and sat down to start reading. Each page contained meticulous records of the people he'd seen at expos over the last twelve months. Every year there were four main events he attended. Three were held in late spring or summer, one in June. It meant he had to write off four weekends a year but it was worth it.

He ran his finger down the page, pausing as he got to each entry highlighted in green. There were not many. Depending on which part of Australia you were in only about fifteen per cent of the population had what he was looking for. As he got to each entry he reviewed what he'd written. Over the last year there had only really been three possible candidates. Janet Hodgson was one. He still remembered the thrill he'd felt when she'd sat down and removed her sunglasses.

He looked at the other two. One was a mother of two. She'd had her youngest child with her when she came to see him. The baby had grizzled through most of their session, distracting her and making the session hard for him. By asking a series of careful questions disguised as friendly chit chat he found out that she was a stay-at-home mum and had another child who was three and a half.

He didn't like mothers of young children. Chances were that she would have them with her nearly all the time. He didn't want to have to deal with a child as well. Plus the frenzy would be much worse if a child and its mother went missing.

He looked at the last entry. He remembered her well. She was older, close to fifty and had recently divorced. Her children were grown up and had left home years before. He'd chosen Janet above her because Janet lived in Fairfield whereas this other woman, Rita Hoffman, lived in Adelaide. It was much further and more risky too.

Since the fiasco at the university he'd avoided targeting people who lived in the city. There were too many people out and about, even in one as sleepy as Adelaide.

He looked at her address. She lived in one of the new multi-storey apartment blocks. A lot had security cameras. Still it might be worth a drive to check it out. Time was ticking and he couldn't afford to be too choosy. He looked across the page. He had a phone number. He picked up the phone and dialled.

‘Hello?'

‘Hello. Can I speak to Rita please?'

‘Sorry she's not here. Who's calling?'

‘Brian, I'm an old school friend. When will she be back?'

‘Not for another three months yet. She's in Europe. Would you like me to take down a message to give her next time she checks in?'

‘No, don't bother, thanks. I'll make a note in my diary and give her a call when she's back.'

He rang off and sat there thinking. He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out an almanac. Flicking through the pages he found the entry for the coming weekend. There wasn't that much on. It was the middle of winter, after all. There was one event that might be a possibility. The Medieval Society was holding a winter festival in McLaren Vale. There was still time to ring the organisers to arrange a stall. He didn't have any services booked for Saturday or Sunday. No need to piss off any more families. If he found someone he could take them before his and Ginny's anniversary on Monday. It was tight.

He felt a buzz of energy start to build in the pit of his stomach. Hunting was always exciting. He jotted down the number of the Medieval Society and put the almanac and his ledger away, carefully locking the filing cabinet and the desk. He turned off the desk lamp and stood up, surveying the room. In the middle of the room, gleaming under the light, was a stainless steel surgical table, identical to the one upstairs. He'd made a few modifications to this one, though. Strong leather straps were bolted to it at the top and bottom and in the middle. No need for straps upstairs. He hadn't had a customer try to get up and walk out on him yet. He smiled. He walked past the table, running his hand over it as he did so. Still smiling, he headed upstairs to tell Ginny the good news.

Ginny was anxious to know what was happening. He loved the fact that she worried about him so much.