Hindsight (9781921997211) (17 page)

CHAPTER

19

I blinked my eyes against the sunlight and vaguely wondered what had woken me. I looked at the clock and then had to look again. Unbelievably it was nearly 2 PM. I climbed out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom.

Sitting on the loo, I heard the doorbell ring and realised it was what had woken me. It wasn't a polite ring either; it was someone who had been trying to get attention for quite some time. It was followed by a sharp rapping on the glass around the door. I finished, flushed and washed my hands then threw on a robe and headed downstairs.

‘Gran? Mum?'

There was no answer, just more knocking on the glass.

‘All right, all right, I'm coming,' I bellowed, heading for the door.

I hastily fastened the robe over my pink flannelette pyjamas that sported pictures of frolicking cartoon cats and threw open the door. There, looking more than a little annoyed, was Detective Dyson.

‘Yes?' I said. It wasn't very polite but I'm not a morning person. Of course it wasn't morning but I had just woken up so as far as I was concerned it was the same thing.

‘Hello Miss Lehman. I didn't wake you up, did I?' His sweeping gaze took in my bleary eyes, out-of-control hair and less than flattering attire.

‘Yes, you did as a matter of fact.'

‘It's nearly two o'clock.'

‘Not all of us work regular hours, you know,' I said, still snarly.

‘You work?'

‘Of course I work.'

I could tell he was trying to figure out what kept me up all night. I was tempted to tell him we ran a brothel but I was afraid he might believe me. In the end his curiosity got the better of him.

‘So what do you do?'

‘I'm an editor. I do a lot of work at night. It's nice and quiet.'

‘Ah.'

We stood looking at each other. It was a miserable day and the winter chill was starting to seep into my bones, particularly my bare feet, but I wasn't about to break the silence. He'd come to see me, he could bloody well tell me what it was he wanted, I wasn't going to ask.

‘Can I come inside?' he asked, looking uncomfortable.

The petty side of me wanted to say no and leave him standing on the doorstep but I thought better of it. ‘Do you need to use our bathroom?'

He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, then cracked a smile, remembering my predicament the day before. I liked his smile. I don't think I'd actually seen it until that moment. It was crooked and very sexy. I dragged my mind away from that line of thought; there was nothing but quicksand and crocodiles down that path.

‘No, but I could murder a cup of coffee.'

I capitulated. ‘Yeah, me too, come in and I'll put the kettle on.'

I turned around and he followed me down the hallway into the kitchen. He eased his large frame into one of the bentwood chairs while I put the kettle on and reached for the plunger and my special stash of single origin beans from Brazil. It was a relief to have a minute or two with my back to him to collect my thoughts and tame the butterflies running riot in my stomach. The downside was that I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the kitchen window. I was a fright. My hair looked like a bird had nested on my head and I had bags the size of suitcases under my eyes. I made a half-hearted attempt to smooth some hair behind my ears, knowing it was futile, and turned to look at him. I was surprised and embarrassed to find he was staring at me. He'd been watching my every move.

Once the coffee was steeping, I grabbed milk, sugar and mugs and dumped them on the table with the pot. I also grabbed the cake tin. A muffin for breakfast would do the trick nicely. I sat down, poured the coffee, pushed a mug towards him and offered the muffins. He shook his head. We sat there sipping in silence for a minute or two.

‘Thanks, that's great coffee. Look, I just want to apologise for the way I behaved yesterday. I said some things that weren't very fair and I feel bad about it.'

‘What, you mean the bit where you called me a freak or the bit where you accused me of being a stalker?' I mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.

To his credit, he looked sheepish. ‘All of the above. I realised as soon as you left that I was too hard on you and that you were only trying to help.'

‘I was, I felt bad about what happened with Mum.'

‘Your mum isn't very subtle, is she?'

‘No, when she sees something she tends to just come out with it. It's a compulsion.'

‘She knocked me for six.'

I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't want to upset him by saying the wrong thing about his wife so I decided to just say nothing. He changed the topic.

‘What you said about the women and their eyes, did you get some special vision about that or something?' he asked.

I had to laugh. He really wasn't comfortable talking about anything supernatural. His tone told me he still couldn't quite take it seriously.

‘No, nothing like that, my talent is quite narrow. I only see something if I'm standing where someone has died and only if they suffered a violent or sudden death.'

‘So how does it work? You don't talk to the dead person?'

‘No, I see through their eyes. It's as though the events that led to their death have left an echo that only I can hear.'

‘What's it called?'

‘Retrocognition.'

‘I've heard of precognition.'

‘Yeah, precognition, or ESP, is the sexy one, the ability to predict the future and save the world. What I do isn't that cool.'

‘How long have you had it?' He made it sound like a disease.

‘Since I was eight.'

‘So what happens if you accidentally come across a place where someone has died?'

‘You saw what happened the other day. While I'm having the vision I can't see or hear anything else. Mum and Gran have both seen me do it and they tell me that I freeze and kind of switch off until the vision has passed. If it's a really bad one it leaves me feeling terrible afterwards.'

‘So you see and hear what the person who died saw and heard?'

‘Yes, but it's not just sight and sound. I feel what they felt.'

I looked down at my hands, which were clenched in my lap. It was hard to even talk about it without remembering some of the horrible ones. I could feel Ed's eyes on me. He was processing this last bit of information and trying to decide what to make of it.

‘You mean if they were shot you would feel what it's like to be shot?'

‘Yes. I've never felt that, though.'

‘So how do you go if you're out and about and you get one of these visions?'

‘I don't really leave the house much. Yesterday was the first time I'd driven in years.'

I looked at his face. Suddenly I got it. He wasn't just here to say sorry. He wanted something. All the questions had a point. I should have realised he wasn't just making casual conversation, he was a detective after all. A hot flush crept up my neck and over my cheeks. Yesterday he and his bitchy partner had sent me packing after making me feel about two inches tall and now he was here because he wanted my help.

‘Forget it,' I said.

‘Forget what?'

‘I'm not going to help you.'

‘Why not? Isn't that what you wanted to do yesterday?'

‘I've changed my mind.' I folded my arms across my chest.

‘I don't understand. Yesterday you were falling all over yourself to work with me and now you don't want to?' He pushed his chair back and rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration.

‘I was hardly falling all over myself, Detective Dyson. Trust me, it's not that much fun,' I said with all the dignified frostiness I could manage.

‘Just call me Ed, OK? Look, I've said I'm sorry and I mean it. I really do want your help. I don't know if you've heard but our only witness turned up dead yesterday. Just between you and me, we think he was killed by the same person who killed Janet Hodgson.'

‘Half the town knows that.'

‘They do?'

‘Yes, I was in Mrs McCredie's yesterday and she was convinced he was murdered.'

‘Mrs McCredie again? That woman has a mouth the size of a front-end loader.'

I had to smile. It was a pretty accurate description.

‘The problem is that we have no leads. We were hoping you would give us a hand and see if Old Mick saw the killer before he died.'

‘You're kidding, right? Yesterday you couldn't get rid of me quickly enough and now you're asking me to throw myself in front of a semitrailer for you?'

‘Um, yes, I suppose I am, in a manner of speaking.'

I just sat there and looked at him. The guy had balls. ‘I don't really see why I should. Surely you have something else?'

‘Nothing concrete. Look, I'm going to be up front with you and this bit really does have to stay between you and me. We think that Janet Hodgson might have been the latest in a series of murders. When you picked out those missing women from the board the other day you actually gave us a connection. We think there are six victims, seven if you include Old Mick. All of them except for Mick were women with green eyes.'

I gaped at him. Surely he was taking the piss? How could someone like me have found a link when they couldn't? It didn't inspire much faith in their detecting abilities.

‘We think the killer has been taking one victim a year in a two-week period from late June to early July,' he added.

‘So if he's killed this year doesn't that give you a whole year to work out who he is before the next victim?' I asked.

‘Yeah, it's possible but unfortunately we think he's taking these women because he wants their eyes. He didn't mean to kill Janet Hodgson straight away. He was coming back for her. She died of a heart attack brought on by stress. That means he didn't get a chance to take her or her eyes. We think there's a good chance he's going to try again.'

I started to feel ill. Some sick, perverted person was out there snatching women so he could collect their eyes? It wasn't something I wanted to spend any time imagining. It was the sort of thing you saw on American TV shows, not something that happened in sleepy little towns like this one.

Ed reached for the coffee pot and poured us both another coffee. I sipped and tried to sort out how I felt. Did I want to know what it felt like to be run down by a semitrailer? Nope — not now, not ever. Did I feel like I should help to stop a serial killer if I could? Yes, unfortunately.

I glared at him. He wisely decided to say nothing.

‘You know I can't refuse, don't you?' I said, sounding crabby even to my own ears.

‘I realise how hard it must be for you.'

‘Do you? Do you know what it feels like to die? No, I don't think you do, so keep your platitudes to yourself and while we're at it, let's get something straight. I'm going to help you because I don't want another person to get hurt, not because I have some weird desire to get close to you.' I spat the words out.

‘OK.'

‘Is there anything else I need to know?' I said.

‘Yeah, as a matter of fact there is. He killed and left behind one of the other victims. He took her eyes. That's the main reason we think we've got a serial killer who's collecting eyes.'

I stared at him in shock. ‘So you're telling me you want me to look at not one but two murder scenes?'

‘I am.'

‘Did he take her eyes before or after she died?' It came out as a whisper. For some inexplicable reason the thought of experiencing having my eyes cut out was even more horrifying than the thought of being hit by a truck. I didn't think I could do it.

‘The pathologist said it was done afterwards.'

‘Thank God.'

I wrapped my arms around myself. I felt terribly cold despite the warmth of the kitchen. For as long as I could remember my main aim in life had been to avoid having visions. The result had been almost ten years of self-imposed exile. Now I was actually contemplating having two visions in a row by choice. It was insane.

‘I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it.' Fear made my voice waver.

He studied me carefully. He would've had to be blind and stupid not to see how scared I was. ‘I'll be there with you.' He reached out and took my hand in his.

His words slid over me. They didn't do anything to calm the pit of anxiety in my stomach. I snatched my hand back. If he had meant to soothe me with his touch he had achieved the exact opposite. It was at that moment that Gran came barrelling into the kitchen through the back door. She stopped dead when she saw the two of us sitting there. A smile flitted across her face then disappeared as she took in the scene before her.

‘Hello, Detective Dyson, Cass. Is everything all right?'

‘No, not really, Gran,' I said.

She looked at me waiting for some kind of explanation but when she didn't get one she turned her attention to Ed.

‘Detective Dyson?'

‘I've just been asking Cass to help. It involves her experiencing the deaths of two murder victims.'

‘Cass? You don't have to do it you know.'

‘I think I do, Gran.'

She walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head.

‘You do what you think you need to, dear. Detective Dyson, you will need to look after her if she does this for you.'

‘I will,' he said.

‘No, I don't mean in the conventional sense. I mean you really have to look after her. When she has a vision she's unaware of anything else around her. You need to make sure nothing happens to her. After it's over she's weak and disoriented and very distressed. She'll need a quiet place where she can recuperate before you start asking her any questions.'

Gran sounded so unlike her normal, easy-going self as she barked out instructions that I almost smiled in spite of myself. Ed sat there like a small boy being told off by a school marm, nodding as she fired off instructions.