Hindsight (9781921997211) (5 page)

What I hadn't wanted to share with Mum and Gran was that I was making plans to venture further than Jewel Bay. I figured a good first step to finding my freedom might be to explore the bigger town and maybe eventually find a home of my own there. Before I could set foot in the place though, I needed to know where the psychic hotspots were.

For me, that meant doing painstaking research into every murder or tragic death since the town was established and plotting them onto a street map. Hopefully I could work out some safe paths and navigate my way around the town without having any unexpected episodes. The only danger was unknown or unrecorded deaths that I could inadvertently stumble over.

I was willing to take the risk. I'd come to realise that I desperately needed to get out and make my own life. I couldn't keep going the way I was — I would go crazy and end up as a mad old lady with a dozen cats. I'd die without anyone realising for weeks and end up as kitty chow.

I was soon immersed in my research and before I knew it, I had only an hour left before I was due to meet Mum. Gathering up my notes I decided to move to the newspaper archives and start some work there. Two hours of trawling through dusty tomes of local history written in quaint language describing the ebb and flow of rural life in a small town was enough for the moment. For a change of pace I decided to start in the present and work backwards. I sat down at one of the computers and pulled up the
Local Tribune
from the previous month and started browsing.

Forty-five minutes of mostly uneventful skimming passed until an article popped up that caught my attention: Local Girl Found Murdered.

I remembered the case well. Back in 2001, Louise Anderson, a pretty young girl who was born in Fairfield but was studying in Adelaide, went missing mid term. A campaign to find her followed and ended with the tragic discovery of her body somewhere in the city. I scanned the article. It was written before she was found and the police were appealing for information. There was some uncertainty about where she went missing from. The Fairfield police were working with the Major Crime Investigation Branch in Adelaide. The article included a picture of one of the local detectives investigating the case, Detective Ed Dyson.

The photograph showed a man weighed down by his job. He looked like he hadn't slept or eaten anything for weeks. The article quoted him calling for anyone who might have seen Louise on the day of her disappearance to come forward and assist police with their investigations. The request smacked of desperation.

I scanned further down the microfiche looking for related articles. I soon found what I was looking for. The front page article described how her mutilated body was found in the Adelaide Parklands. The autopsy results confirmed that she'd been tortured and dumped while she was still alive. No useful evidence was found on the body. From what I remembered they never caught the killer.

Without really knowing why, I printed out the articles. The case wasn't relevant to my research but for some reason it bothered me intensely. I picked up the pages from the printer and sat there looking at the picture of Ed Dyson. There was something about him that appealed to me. I wondered if he was still a cop. I sat back and stared into space. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should be confronting my demons instead of running away from them.

A glimmer of an idea started to burn in the recesses of my brain. If Ed was still a detective maybe he could use some help. A nervous knot formed in the pit of my stomach. What if I offered to help him solve the case? I could visit the place where they found her. If I could pick up on her last moments I might be able to see her killer through her eyes. The thought made me shudder. The word ‘tortured' leapt out of the page at me. If she died from the torture that meant I would feel what she felt.

I was still sitting there staring at the page when a hand descended on my shoulder.

‘Jesus, Mum,' I gasped. ‘You just scared ten years off my life.'

‘Sorry, darling, I thought you must have heard me coming — I made quite a racket walking across the floorboards in my heels. What's that you're reading so intently?'

‘Just an article I came across about the Louise Anderson murder while I was doing some research. It bothers me for some reason.'

‘I remember that one. Turned out it was one of the security guards on her campus, which was why it took so long to figure it out. The guy gave the police false information about a possible suspect that turned out to be a complete fabrication.'

‘Oh, I didn't realise they caught the guy.' I felt a weird mix of relief and disappointment as I said it.

‘Yes, it took them a long time, if I remember. Anyway, are you ready for lunch? I've been waiting for you at Mrs McCredie's for the last twenty minutes.'

I glanced up at the clock and groaned. ‘Shit! I'm sorry. I completely lost track of time. Yes, let's go. I need to settle up with Mrs Jones for my printing and photocopying and then we can eat. Looks like I'd better shout you lunch, not just cake, to make up for keeping you waiting.'

‘Well, if you insist, Cass. It's not often I get taken out to lunch these days. By the way, you might as well hear it from me because the town's all abuzz with it — someone was killed last night. Her name was Janet something or other. I didn't know her. She'd only been in town for about eighteen months. Have you heard of her?'

‘Me? Not likely. How did she die?'

‘Well, it hasn't been confirmed officially, but Mrs O'Grady says she was murdered.'

‘Oh no! Do you think she's right? You know she likes a good bit of gossip. She could be stretching the truth.' I could feel a sense of panic starting to rise in my stomach. ‘Shit! Do you know where it happened?' Mrs Jones was shooting me daggers. My voice had risen well above the acceptable murmur that she expected from those entering her hallowed domain.

‘It's OK, Cass, the police have had Stuart Lane taped off all morning. It happened there.'

I sighed with relief. That was a place I didn't need to visit any time soon.

‘Tell me the rest over lunch, Mum, I'm starving and if we don't stop talking soon, Mrs Jones is going to burst a blood vessel.'

CHAPTER

5

By 10 AM the police knew who the victim was: Janet Hodgson, twenty-seven years old, a bookkeeper employed by a local farm machinery business that had a showroom and offices on Jewel Bay's Main Street.

They'd been hard at it, talking to her co-workers, the owners of the business and neighbouring businesses; pretty much anyone who could help them piece together a life that so far seemed unremarkable. They knew that she was last seen in her office at 9 PM the previous night when the cleaner left. They knew she had no family: her parents were both dead, and there were no siblings. There was no partner that anyone knew of. She was well liked but didn't seem to have any really close friends.

She was in the habit of working late at least once or twice a week to take advantage of the peace and quiet. She usually parked her car on the street running parallel to Main Street because it didn't have the same two-hour parking restrictions. The quickest way for her to get to her car was to cut down Stuart Lane. It probably hadn't even occurred to her that the shortcut might be dangerous.

Ed joined Phil, who'd just finished talking to a group of wide-eyed sales and office staff. ‘Hey, how about we grab a bite? I could eat a damned horse.'

‘Yep, sounds like an idea. We can compare notes at the same time.'

They headed for the only café that was open, ordered bacon and egg sandwiches to go, and retreated to the warmth of their car.

‘So basically we don't know shit,' mumbled Phil through a mouthful. ‘We don't know her habits, we don't know of anyone who was close to her who can tell us where she went, who she spent time with outside work — nothing.'

Ed sighed. He felt like he was standing at the bottom of a steep slope wondering if he had the energy to get to the top. All he wanted to do was find a comfortable spot, stretch out and let oblivion take over. He yawned.

‘Come on, buck up, we'd better go check out her car and apartment before you nod off. Maybe by the time we get back to the station the lab work will be in — let's hope he's a sloppy prick.'

Janet's car was still parked on the street from the day before. It was a late-model red Ford hatchback. They peered through the windows. It was reasonably clean, no rubbish piled up in the footwells.

‘Let's have a look shall we?' Phil said, snapping on some gloves. She jimmied open the door.

‘Man, I hope you never decide to turn to a life of crime,' Ed said.

They rummaged through the glove box and carefully checked for any papers. There was a handful of receipts, a card for a local hairdresser and the service history for the car but nothing else. The only other paraphernalia was a hairbrush, a couple of pens, registration papers, some food wrappers and a street directory.

Phil looked at Ed and shrugged. ‘Hopefully we find a diary or something useful in her apartment that will tell us more about this woman than her favourite hairdresser.'

‘Hey, don't knock hairdressers, Phil. People have been known to bare their souls in the course of a good haircut.'

‘Well, yours wouldn't know much about your soul. When was the last time you paid him a visit?'

‘Yeah all right, I know.' Ed ran a hand over his head, making tufts of sandy hair stick out in all directions. ‘I reckon it's worth getting the guys from the lab to check over the car. She might have known her killer. He could have sat in this very car.'

‘Ah, the return of the optimist, that's what I like to see.' Phil shot him a half smile. ‘Next stop, Janet Hodgson's apartment.'

They climbed back into Phil's bright yellow Mustang, her pride and joy. The only thing closer to her heart was her partner, Grace. Grace'd tell you that it was a pretty close thing sometimes; if it came to a toss-up between her and the car she wouldn't like to put money on herself.

‘There's something not right about this girl,' Phil said. ‘Nobody knows her — not one person we spoke to today told us anything about who she really was and what she was like. Shit, Ed, how many women do you know who don't have any close friends that they talk all kinds of crap with?'

‘Maybe we just haven't found them yet. Might be that she likes to keep her work life and personal life separate. Her apartment might give us some more to go on.'

They didn't have long to wait. Within a couple of minutes they pulled up outside the apartment. It was in a two-storey block; one of the newer high-density developments that had caused an uproar when it was built back in the nineties. A glass door gave way to a small entry foyer housing a wall of letterboxes and an intercom system so visitors could be buzzed in. There was a phone next to the intercom with an emergency number. After trying the phone and discovering it was out of order, Ed punched the number into his mobile and got the apartment manager. She only lived a couple of blocks away and she reluctantly agreed to come over to let them in.

She arrived bad tempered and flushed, greying hair hanging limply to her shoulders, a floral dress stretched tight over her ample waistline and breasts.

‘So what's all this about?' she snapped. ‘I can't have police coming in and out of here. I hope Miss Hodgson hasn't been causing trouble. I like to keep a certain tone of tenants. These apartments are in great demand, you know.'

Ed looked slowly around the cheap décor of the foyer, taking in the lifting vinyl and flaking paint, then switched on his iciest smile.

‘Janet Hodgson was found murdered this morning, ma'am. We need to have a look through her apartment as part of the investigation.'

He watched as her mouth opened in an O of surprise. She said, ‘Well I suppose you'd better come with me then.'

They trudged after her, watching the veins in her legs bulge and strain as she tackled each stair, finally arriving at apartment 17.

‘This is it. Don't be making no mess or disturbing the other tenants,' she spat out as she turned to go.

‘The key please, ma'am. We may need to come back with forensic teams and we would hate to have to disturb you,' Phil said in saccharine sweet tones.

The manager thrust the key at her and stomped off down the corridor.

‘Thanks for your help,' Phil called out, before turning to Ed, who was surveying the inside of the apartment from the door.

There wasn't a lot to see: a couple of newish cream couches with scatter cushions in a range of yellows and blues, a patterned rug on the floor and a coffee table with a couple of magazines on it. A small television sat in one corner. A couple of pot plants here and there added a bit of greenery. A set of bookshelves lined one wall, full of novels and historical texts. They gloved up and slowly and methodically worked over the room.

Next they walked through to the kitchen and surveyed the immaculately clean benchtops and neatly arranged contents of the cupboards and drawers. The bathroom told the same story. A limited selection of cosmetics and toiletries were carefully stacked in the drawers and vanity cupboard. Lastly they turned to the bedroom.

A décor of pale blue and white greeted them. The bed was made, the dressing table neat and tidy. A novel and a radio alarm clock sat on the bedside table next to a reading lamp. They did a quick check of the drawers in the dressing and bedside tables. A few bills, an address book and a diary were the only items of interest.

‘Shit, I've never met a woman with so little crap,' Phil said, snapping off her gloves.

‘Yep, we haven't found a single photo or photo album either. It's like she's just been camping out here.'

Ed's phone interrupted their conversation. He took the call and then turned back to Phil.

‘That was the Chief. She wants us back right now. Preliminary forensics are back and if I'm any judge something else has come up too — she sounded like someone put salt in her sugar bowl.'

Phil groaned. ‘Oh great, that's just what we need, a round with the fire-breathing dragon.'

They were back at the station within half an hour. They'd taken less than ten steps down the corridor before Senior Constable Samuels popped his head out of an office and called out to them.

‘Sorenson's waiting for you in her office. She's got a couple of trained monkeys with her too.'

Samuels was the office busybody. He made everyone else's business his own; handy when you needed to know something but a pain in the arse when it was your life he was sticking his nose into.

‘Thanks for the warning, buddy,' Ed called out as they made their way to the Chief's office. He glanced at Phil. He could tell she was thinking the same thing as him: ‘trained monkeys' was slang for the Crime Service Detectives from Adelaide and that meant that they were about to lose control of the case.

They knocked on the door and received a curt ‘Enter'. Walking in they saw DCI Sorenson and two detectives. They both knew the older of the two; they'd worked with him before. The younger man was unfamiliar.

DCI Sorenson was a red-head in her late forties. She was tall and lean and quite attractive when she stopped frowning, which wasn't very often. Today she looked weary, tiredness carved into the flesh around her eyes and mouth.

‘Detectives Dyson and Steiner, thank you for joining us. Take a seat. I believe you know Detective Byrnes. This is Detective Rawlinson. They will be helping us with our investigation into the Hodgson murder.'

‘Excuse me, Chief, but is Crime Service involvement necessary at this stage? Nothing we've come across has indicated that this is anything but a routine murder investigation.' Phil stared at the two detectives as she said it, the contempt in her voice coming across loud and clear.

About five years ago they were working on a double homicide with the Noarlunga police and Phil fell into the trap of taking it very personally. One of the victims was an eight-year-old girl, the other a ten-year-old boy. Their murder was brutal. The children were abducted, raped and tortured before they were left to die in an abandoned warehouse.

Phil and Ed worked day and night to try to break the case. The Crime Service detectives working with them believed the murders were part of a series of killings that had taken place throughout the country. They arrested and charged a man from Darwin while a suspect Ed and Phil had identified walked free. Two years later he was convicted of killing a five-year-old girl. Phil had never got over it.

‘Detective Steiner, you know as well as I do that with no obvious suspect this becomes a Tier 2 murder, but there's some additional information that's relevant to the investigation so if you don't mind, I was just going to ask Detective Byrnes to explain.' Sorenson gave Phil the full blast of a Medusa-like glare.

‘Thank you, DCI Sorenson.' Byrnes took his cue. ‘As you said, on the surface this case appears to be a Tier 2 murder which automatically warrants our involvement —'

Phil snorted.

‘— however, the victim, Janet Hodgson, was also in the witness protection program so we need to investigate her death to see if her murder was related to her previous life.'

There was silence as Ed and Phil processed the bombshell.

Ed recovered first. ‘Well, that would explain why her apartment felt like she was only camping there and why she didn't have any close friends or family.'

Byrnes turned to him. ‘She'd been in the program for about eighteen months. She moved here from Sydney. She was married to a schmuck who was into everything from cocaine to money laundering. She met him when she was only nineteen, he turned on the charm and they got married a year later. She didn't realise what the family business was until it was too late. She threatened to leave him. He threatened to kill her and her mother. A real class act, this guy.

‘Her mother passed on about two years ago. Up until then she put up with his crap. He was a violent, abusive thug and she finally decided she'd had enough when he just about beat her to death. She was in hospital for two months. That was when she agreed to give evidence against him on the condition that we put her in the program.'

‘So where is he now?' Phil asked.

‘Serving life. He got done for killing another scumbag. The real issue is whether one of his cronies managed to somehow track Janet down. Her ex's not a very forgiving guy and I'm sure he won't be heartbroken when he hears she's dead.'

‘Mmm, I don't normally believe in coincidences,' Ed commented, ‘but this just doesn't feel like an organised hit. It's too personal. A hit is normally cold and clean.'

‘Yep, but if that's true then this chick must have been one of the unluckiest women on earth,' Rawlinson drawled.

A knock on the door interrupted them.

‘That'll be the preliminary results from the pathologist,' Sorenson said. ‘Come in. Yes, Sonya, we're ready for you now.'

Sonya wore the professional mask she always wore. Ed and Phil had known her for years and respected her talent and dedication. They'd shared too many cases with her to remember them all and had drunk just as many beers to help them forget the rest.

‘The lab results have come back negative for just about everything. No foreign blood, no semen, no skin cells and no clean fingerprints. The preliminary autopsy report indicates that the victim died from a heart attack induced by severe stress. She had a congenital heart defect that she probably wasn't even aware of, but the attack caused enough stress to trigger a massive heart attack. He literally scared her to death.

‘What's interesting is the small puncture wound on her neck. She was injected with a combination of a sedative and a fast-acting muscle relaxant. It's a curious one. If she hadn't had a heart attack the small dose of muscle relaxant would have hit quickly, rendering her immobile and then the sedative would have knocked her out after about ten minutes and would have kept her out of it for about ten to twelve hours. The attacker didn't want her dead. My guess is he wanted her unconscious until he could come and collect her.'