Hindsight (9781921997211) (23 page)

CHAPTER

25

I woke up on Sunday morning feeling disoriented. Something wasn't quite right. There was hardly any light filtering in around the curtains, which told me it was still early. I looked over at the clock. It was just before seven, much earlier than I normally struggled out of bed.

Every so often when Gran decides to have a sleep in, Shadow will pester me until I get up and feed him. His stomach alarm usually goes off at around 6 AM. His waking-up-the-help routine involves standing on my chest and purring loudly into my face until I open my eyes. I stagger downstairs to feed him and then head back to bed. He joins me ten minutes or so later for his post-breakfast nap.

But this morning I couldn't blame Shadow for my awake state. He was missing in action, which was strange in itself. I laid there for a while trying to work out what had woken me. Then I heard it again, voices on the veranda followed by a knock on the door. I wondered who the hell would be visiting us at such an ungodly hour. I heard the front door opening followed by voices. The first was Gran's, then there was what sounded like a barrage of other voices, all talking fast and loud.

I jumped out of bed and went over to the window. As I lifted the curtain I heard the front door slam. Intrigued, I peered down. At the front of the house were six or seven cars. In the front yard the drivers were milling around. One of them looked up and saw me looking out of the window. There was a flurry of excitement and before I knew what was happening flashes started going off and they were snapping my photo. I dropped the curtain like it was on fire and stepped back from the window. I sat down on the bed and tried to think. Why on earth would a gaggle of media be camped out on our front lawn?

While I was trying to kick my brain into gear there was a knock on the door and Gran came in.

‘I thought the noise would probably have woken you up.'

‘What's going on, Gran?'

Gran sighed and sat down next to me. She took my hand in hers and stroked it. ‘They want you, dear.'

‘Me? What have I done?'

Gran pulled a folded paper out from under her arm and handed it to me. I looked at the front page. FLEURIEU SERIAL KILLER? the headline screamed. It was followed by the strapline, PSYCHIC PROVIDES VITAL CLUE, and there, for all the world to see, was my picture.

I scanned the article. It described police suspicions about a serial killer abducting women in the region, then came the bit about me. There was a potted history of my life, the fact that I lived in Jewel Bay with my mother and grandmother and, for the grand finale, a paragraph about assisting police with my psychic abilities. I looked at Gran.

‘Who would have done this?' I asked.

‘There must be a leak at the police station.'

‘I can't believe someone would talk to the press! It's completely irresponsible. Not only is it a complete violation of my privacy, it's plain stupid. The killer will know the police are investigating now. They might never find him.'

‘It says here that police brought someone in for questioning yesterday.'

‘The guy that Ed took me to see yesterday isn't the killer. They've got the wrong person.'

When Ed had dropped me home I'd walked into the house fuming about his pigheadedness. I stomped into the kitchen and banged around making myself a cup of coffee and cutting a huge piece of the chocolate cake that Gran had left on the table. Mum came in a few minutes later to find me drowning my sorrows in a sea of chocolate ganache. She'd laid a hand on my shoulder.

‘Do you want to talk about it?'

‘I can't, Mum. I'm so mad at him that it makes me want to scream.'

‘Gran and I are going for a walk before dinner. Do you want to come?'

My first instinct was to say no. I wanted to retreat to my room and stew. I was feeling sorry for myself. I'd expected to be treated like some kind of hero; the person who'd provided the vital clue, who could identify the killer and help them tie the case up in a nice neat bow. The killer should have been caught and Ed should have been eternally grateful to me for solving the mystery of his wife's disappearance. Instead everything had gone pear-shaped the minute I saw the man in custody.

It was Mum's worried frown that made me change my mind. I decided it would do me good to get out and not think about killers and missing women for a while. I parted company with the chocolate cake and spent a much healthier afternoon striding along the paths that snaked along the coastline. Every twist and turn was familiar — I've been walking them for as long as I can remember.

The freezing wind whipped off the sea, clawing at our faces and making our noses and cheeks glow red. We walked fast to keep warm and soon I was puffing and sweating under all my layers. Gran and Mum were both very fit and we set a cracking pace, pausing only when we got to the top of a particularly steep climb. The waves were lashing the rocks below and white foam soared into the sky every time a big one hit.

We stood at the top, trying to catch our breath. The vigorous exercise had lightened my mood. I felt better than I had in days.

‘Do you want to talk about what happened now?' Mum asked.

‘You know, I actually don't, but it's not because I'm angry any more. It's the opposite. I feel so good that I don't want to spoil it by thinking about all of that stuff again. What I really want is to spend the rest of the day just doing normal things, as if none of it had happened.'

‘An excellent idea,' Gran said, putting her arm around me and giving me a squeeze. ‘What do you fancy for dinner? How about something special?'

‘You know I love everything you cook, Gran. I don't care what it is.' I smiled. It was true. The only time I could ever remember Gran cooking something I didn't like was when she decided that we all needed to detox about five years ago. What followed was a week-long parade of raw vegetables and vegetable juices that had Mum and me sneaking off to our bedrooms to devour secret stashes of chocolate.

‘How about roast chicken and vegies followed by baked rice custard with stewed rhubarb?'

I could feel myself salivating. Gran's roast chicken was a culinary masterpiece and rice custard was one of my childhood favourites.

Mum laughed. ‘We'll have to do this walk again tomorrow just to make up for all of that!'

‘I expect we will. C'mon then, let's get back. If we're going to eat at a reasonable hour I'd better get started.'

After that, every time my treacherous mind wandered to thoughts of Ed or the case I forced myself to think of something else.

By nine o'clock I was full up to the eyeballs and starting to fall asleep. We'd retreated to the lounge room and Mum was watching some forgettable movie on TV. I dragged myself upstairs and crawled under the covers, falling into a sound sleep almost immediately. Killers and ghosts stayed away and I was just me, well fed and in my own bed.

Now that feeling of wellbeing was in tatters. My private world had been invaded. What was I going to do? I was hostage in my own home.

And the killer knew who I was.

A wave of panic swept over me. All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. I struggled to draw breath, my chest heaving. I could hear a weird noise; Gran was talking but I couldn't understand what she was saying. I realised the noise was me trying to breathe. The room started to recede and go black. Next thing I knew I was lying on the bed with Gran and Mum standing over me having a debate about whether or not to call an ambulance. I looked at them through half-closed eyes. I couldn't muster the effort to open them properly.

‘She's breathing normally now,' said Gran, who was holding my hand.

‘I don't know. She's never done that before,' Mum said. She was hovering and every few seconds she tugged on her ear, a sure sign that she was anxious.

‘It's OK, Anita. I've managed to calm her down. Her pulse is normal. She just had a panic attack. Nothing unusual about that when you wake up to find a bunch of paparazzi camped on your doorstep.'

I tried to speak. My voice came out as a rusty whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘I'm OK.'

‘I think you need to be checked over, Cass, you fainted,' Mum said.

‘I just panicked, like Gran said,' I whispered.

‘I don't know,' Mum said.

‘Could I have a cup of tea please, Mum?' I sounded a bit more normal.

‘Anita, why don't you make a pot?'

Mum flapped out of the room and Gran pulled a chair over next to my bed. I propped a couple of pillows behind me. She stroked my hand for a while, saying nothing. I knew what she was up to. She was channelling all her energy into easing my stress. I could feel it seeping away, a warm fuzzy blanket of contentment replacing it. I gently took my hand away. As good as it felt, I knew how much it took out of Gran to do this and with each year that passed it took her longer and longer to recover. I was young and fit and, as crappy as I might be feeling, I was well able to recover without her help.

‘You don't need to do that, Gran, I'm feeling better.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.' I looked towards the window. I could still hear voices from the front yard.

‘You don't have to speak to them. They'll get sick of waiting and go away eventually,' she said.

‘I hate feeling like I'm being dissected by everyone who's sitting down to breakfast with their morning paper.'

Gran nodded. There wasn't really anything she could say to make it any better. We sat there saying nothing. Shadow poked his head around the corner of the door and dashed across the room and onto the bed. His tail was up like a bottlebrush and he made a bee-line for the comfort of my lap.

‘I think he feels a bit put out by the invasion as well.' Gran chuckled.

I stroked the large black head that was nudging my hand and demanding attention. Mum came back at that point, juggling a tray laden with tea and associated paraphernalia. She smiled as she took in the scene before her.

‘You look much better,' she said.

She pushed a few books to one side and plonked the tray on my desk. She was busy pouring when the phone on my night table jangled into life, making us all jump. I reached for it but Gran gently pushed my hand aside.

‘It could be the press. I'll get it.'

She answered and listened.

‘Hold on.' She put her hand over the phone. ‘It's Ed. Do you want to speak to him?'

I thought back to how pissed off I'd been the day before; how bloody-minded he'd been. The man was an emotional Neanderthal. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. ‘Not really, but I will.' I grabbed the phone from her. ‘Hello?'

‘Cass, I'm sorry.'

The apology took me by surprise.

‘Sorry for acting like a moron yesterday, or sorry for the fact that I'm splashed all over the morning news?' I snapped.

He sucked in a sharp breath at my surliness. ‘Sorry you're in the papers. We don't know how it happened. Sorenson is out for blood. She's announced an internal inquiry to find out who's responsible.'

‘None of that helps my situation. I can't even get out of the front door at the moment.'

‘Media?'

‘What do you think?' I knew I was sounding petulant and childish but I just couldn't help myself.

‘Do you want me to send someone to move them on?'

Send someone? He couldn't even be bothered coming himself. That pissed me off even more. ‘Don't bother. You and your lot have done enough damage already. I have to go now, goodbye.' I threw the phone down. Mum passed me a cup of tea and we sat there lost in our own thoughts. To me everything felt the same but subtly different. Our small, protected world had been knocked off its axis, spinning out of control in a universe full of unknown threats.

CHAPTER

26

It was nearly dark by the time he got back, which suited him perfectly. The funeral home was in one of the commercial parts of Clifton. There weren't any other houses so there was little chance of anyone seeing him pull up, but you never could tell who would be out and about.

He pulled into the driveway and hit the button for the roller door. The secure garage he'd added to the side of the building was one of the best things he'd done. It meant he could drive a car inside and unload without anyone seeing what he was doing. He turned to Lucy.

‘Here we are then, home at last. I hope you like it. Ginny and I have been very happy here.'

A tear trickled out of the corner of Lucy's eye and started to run down the side of her nose.

‘Now, don't be silly, Lucy. Tears won't help. You really are very lucky, you know. You're one of the special ones. It's not just anyone who gets to meet Ginny and help us celebrate our anniversary.'

He smiled. He was feeling better than he had in days — full of energy and enthusiasm. Ginny would be delighted with Lucy. She was perfect. He stepped out of the van and did a little dance of pure happiness then went around to the passenger side to unload Lucy. He lifted her out, puffing with the exertion.

‘You really are a dead weight aren't you, Lucy?' He giggled.

He carried her inside and took her straight down to the basement. He didn't want to introduce her to Ginny until he had her prepped and ready. He hefted her onto the steel table then fussed around, straightening out her limbs and adjusting her clothes so she was decent. Once he was satisfied, he carefully fastened her wrists and ankles with thick leather straps. Last of all he gagged her and fastened a final strap across her forehead.

He looked into her eyes. They were darting left and right, frantically searching the room. A familiar smell assaulted his nostrils. He glanced away from her face. A dark patch was spreading over her jeans and rivulets of urine were running into the shallow channel that bordered one side of the table. They always peed themselves.

‘Just as well this table is built to handle bodily fluids, isn't it?'

He stepped away from her again and came back with a bucket. He unplugged a hole at the end of the table and let the thin stream of bright yellow fluid trickle into it.

‘Peeing is fine but if you can try not to poo I'd appreciate it. The smell makes me nauseous and I am sure you don't want to lie there in a pool of your own faeces. You can stop looking too. There's no way out of here other than the stairs we came down. At the top there's a heavy wooden door with a lock on the outside. You aren't going to be leaving anytime soon.'

He took an IV bag out of a fridge, hooked it onto a stand and wheeled it over. Then he took a needle and tubing out of a set of stainless steel drawers under the table. With infinite care he felt the inside of Lucy's arm for a vein and inserted the needle. He attached the drip and then taped the needle in place. He stepped up to her head and looked into her eyes again.

‘I hope that didn't hurt too much. The drip is very important. It's a special mix of fluids and glucose to keep you healthy.'

Tears started to flow out of Lucy's eyes again. A strangled sound came from her mouth as she struggled to breathe.

‘Shhhh. It's all right. I think you'd better get some sleep. We don't want your eyes all bloodshot now do we? I was going to introduce you to Ginny tonight but I think it can wait until tomorrow. I could use a good night's sleep myself before we get started.'

He walked over to the fridge again and got out a small vial and a syringe. He drew up some of the drug and then injected it into the IV line.

‘This will let you sleep for a good ten hours. Night-night, sleep tight.' He smiled as her eyes fluttered shut.

When he woke up on Sunday morning he was surprised at how late he'd slept — it was nearly noon. He headed downstairs to check on Lucy. The drugs would have worn off ages ago and her drip bag would need changing.

‘Morning — no, afternoon, Lucy. Sorry, I overslept. I meant to come and see you much earlier than this. How are you today?'

She tried to scream, the noise stifled by the gag he'd secured across her mouth.

‘Now, don't be silly. No one can hear you so there is no point getting all worked up. I'm going to change your drip bag.'

He walked across to the fridge and took out a fresh bag, Lucy's eyes following him as far as the head restraint would allow. She was in a bad way. He'd given her the sedative at about 7 PM. It had worn off in the early hours of the morning, well before first light. She'd been lying there struggling to get free for hours and was bathed in sweat and exhausted. Her wrists were raw and bleeding where she'd struggled against the leather restraints.

He changed the bag and leant over her, staring into her eyes. ‘Ginny and I will be down to see you later. I can see you're a bit worked up so I'm going to give you something to relax you.' He took a syringe and vial out of the drawers under the table, drew up the dose and injected it into the drip line. Lucy struggled, trying to resist. He watched her face as her eyes went from wide with fear to unfocused and half closed.

‘Good girl, I'll see you again soon.'

He walked back upstairs, feeling energised and ready for a busy day. He opened the front door and grabbed the newspaper sitting on the porch. His stomach rumbled loudly and he smiled to himself. Hunting days always left him feeling famished. While he was hunting he couldn't face the idea of food. He hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday.

He opened the freezer and shuffled through the stack of frozen meals looking for something that took his fancy. Chicken tikka? Sounded good. He plopped it into the microwave and sat down to wait. He unrolled the paper and shook it open.

The headlines screamed out of the page at him. His eyes devoured the story. He sat back, oblivious to the whirring of the microwave and its chirruping to announce his meal was ready. Was it him they were talking about? It had to be. It couldn't be anyone else. But how could they know? Those stupid plodding police would never have worked it out, he'd been too careful. It must have been that woman, the psychic.

He looked back at the paper that he'd dropped in his lap. Cass Lehman. He'd always been wary of psychics — there were plenty of them at the expos. He'd thought they were just ordinary people who were good at reading cues from gullible people but he'd stayed away from them just in case.

So what had this woman seen? What if she saw more? She might see what he looked like, where he worked. The pungent smell of curry was heavy in the air. He shoved his chair back and rushed to the sink, vomiting bile into it. He waited for the wave to pass, then sat down shakily.

He couldn't let one stupid woman ruin everything. He looked at her picture. She didn't look anything special; attractive, if you liked that sort of thing.

He staggered the half-a-dozen steps to the kitchen dresser in the corner and yanked the phone book out of one of the cupboards. Thumping it onto the table he flicked through, searching for her name. There were no listings for Lehman in Jewel Bay. He sat there thinking. What was he going to do?

Something niggled in the back of his mind. He looked back at the paper. There it was! A mention of her living with her mother Anita Lehman and grandmother Gwen Carmichael. He looked through the phone book again and found the listing straight away.

He grabbed the phone off the wall and dialled the number. A woman answered.

‘Hello?'

‘Hello, can I speak to Cass please?'

‘If you're media, she's not taking any calls.'

‘Media? No, I'm not media. I'm from the Crime Service in Adelaide. My name is Detective Richardson. Who am I speaking to please?'

‘Her mother, Anita Lehman. I'm not sure that she'll want to talk to you either. What do you want?'

Her tone was faintly hostile. That was interesting. Perhaps Cass's relationship with the police wasn't that rosy after all. ‘I need to ask her a couple of questions. We're really very grateful for her assistance.' There was a long pause. He started to wonder if she was still there.

‘Hello?'

‘Yes, I'm here,' she answered. ‘I'll see if she wants to talk to you. I'm not making any promises. She wasn't too happy after she spoke to Detective Dyson this morning.'

‘Thank you, I appreciate it.' So she'd spoken to the police already. Maybe about the newspaper article. He waited as the silence stretched on, starting to feel nervous. A lot depended on how the next few minutes played out. The hand holding the phone was slippery with sweat.

‘Hello?'

‘Hello, Cass?' He dropped the tone of his voice a few notches; deep and masculine always seemed to reassure.

‘Mum said you're with the Crime Service.'

Straight to the point. ‘Yes, I'm Detective Richardson.'

‘Were you at the station yesterday? I don't remember you.'

‘Yes, but we weren't introduced.'

‘Were you the detective in the interview room with Detective Steiner?'

‘Yes, that was me.' Why not?

‘I thought your voice sounded familiar. You have the wrong man, you know.'

He paused, filing away this piece of information, and smiled to himself. ‘Yes, I know.'

‘You do?'

‘That's why I'm calling.'

‘What do you need from me?'

‘It's a big imposition, especially on a Sunday, but I was wondering if you might be able to come in and look at some photos of possible suspects?'

‘Now?'

‘No, this evening. We have a few things to do this afternoon but I can swing by and get you at about six.' He wanted to wait until it was dark, just in case she knew what he looked like. She didn't answer him straight away. ‘I'm sorry, you probably have plans …'

‘No, no plans. Are you sure it can't wait until tomorrow?'

‘We're working around the clock on this one. Your help would be really valuable.'

More silence. He didn't interrupt her. He felt sure she would agree, but something about her tone told him not to push too hard.

‘I suppose I could spare an hour. Did you want me to drive in?'

‘No, I'll swing by and pick you up.'

‘I'll see you at six.'

‘Would you like me to come to the door or are you happy if I just honk?' He knew how she would answer.

‘Honking is fine.'

He ended the call and sat back in his chair. His neck and shoulders were full of tension. He didn't normally like to wing it like that, but it had gone perfectly. Now he just had to hope that no one else from Fairfield Police contacted her today. He didn't think it was very likely. It was Sunday after all and thanks to her mum he knew she'd already spoken to Detective Dyson.

He went over to the microwave. He took out the curry and dumped it in the bin. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and headed upstairs to the bedroom. He wanted to spend some time with Ginny. She wanted to meet Lucy and he knew she would want to change her clothes and fix her hair and make-up before he took her downstairs. She was very particular about the way she looked. He needed time to get himself ready too. He wanted to wear a wig and make-up when he picked up Cass. He still wasn't convinced he believed in psychics but he couldn't take any chances. She'd said she knew that the police had the wrong person in custody. If she was legit that might mean she knew what he looked like. No harm in being careful.

It was just after 1 PM. With a bit of luck he would pick her up and be back by seven. He'd take the Commodore; it looked more like a police car than the van.

He wouldn't kill her straight away. It might be nice to have an audience other than Ginny for a change, plus he didn't want to run the furnaces twice when he could just as easily do both her and Lucy at the same time. Might as well roast two birds in the one oven. He laughed, delighted with his own wit.