Hindsight (9781921997211) (9 page)

As was so often the case, tea helped all of us to calm down. When Natalia got up to leave she looked at me questioningly. Mum and Gran left it to me to answer her.

‘I'll see you in the morning,' I'd said.

And so I found myself getting ready to do something that I really didn't want to, with a bunch of people who mostly thought I was a waste of space. I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. I'd lost track of time and the bathroom was filled with clouds of steam. I stuck my head out and checked the clock.

Shit! Seven forty-five. I quickly brushed my teeth and fossicked through my drawers looking for some make-up that was less than ten years old. I gave up and settled for tinted moisturiser and a pale pink lip gloss. Just as I was starting to dry my mane of unruly hair I heard a sharp rat-tat-tat at the door.

Bugger! Ed was early. My hair was wet and I wasn't even dressed. I'd hoped to meet him at the door and avoid having to introduce him to Gran and Mum. I quickly donned my robe and stuck my head out of the bathroom but I could hear Gran already talking to him.

‘I'll be down in a few minutes,' I yelled.

‘Take your time dear, Mr Dyson is going to join us for some breakfast.'

Great, just the way I wanted to start the day, breakfast with the enemy.

After a minor crisis over what to wear I made my way into the kitchen. In the end I'd settled on black pants and a coffee-coloured turtleneck jumper that Mum said did good things for my complexion. I was still focused on my appearance and whether or not I should have put on the lip gloss when I walked through the doorway.

It was unusually quiet. Instead of the chit chat I was expecting, Ed, Mum and Gran were all seated at the table in silence. Mum's hand was resting on Ed's arm and he was staring at the table. In a flash I knew what had happened. Mum had read him. Judging by the look on his face, what she'd told him had really hit a nerve.

‘Cass, you and I might just step outside for a few minutes and let your mother talk to Mr Dyson alone,' Gran said quietly.

Without a word I followed her out the back door into the small glass patio-cum-greenhouse attached to the back of the house. Gran waved me onto one of the benches bathed in morning sunlight.

‘It seems Mr Dyson's pregnant wife went missing a couple of years ago. She hasn't been seen since. When your mother shook his hand she got one of her flashes and she told him she was sorry about the passing of his wife and unborn child.'

‘Oh no.' I felt sick.

‘She didn't realise that he didn't know.'

‘He didn't know?'

‘He didn't know they were dead. Not for sure.'

‘Oh my God, is he OK?'

‘I don't know, dear. Your mother realised as soon as the words were out of her mouth when she saw his face. It's best we let her deal with him.'

We sat silently. I looked out across the field behind our house. There were still patches of frost on the grass. The scattered trees were mostly bare of leaves except for the copse of evergreen conifers that acted as a windbreak against the sea breeze. Years of wind had made them lean at a strange angle, off kilter. Eventually the murmur of voices inside stopped and all we could hear was the sound of magpies calling to each other from the gum tree on the side of the house. Mum came out a minute later. She looked terrible.

‘He's gone … I'm so sorry, Cass. I thought he knew. He had the aura of someone carrying great sorrow and I just assumed it was over their death.'

I was prepared to be angry with her for being so careless but the look on her face froze my tongue. I sighed. ‘It's OK, Mum. I didn't even know that his wife was missing. How come we didn't read something in the papers?'

‘I remember it,' said Gran. ‘It was in the papers but I think she went by her maiden name.'

‘Didn't Natalia tell you anything about it, Mum?'

‘Natalia doesn't ever talk about work with me.'

‘Her disappearance must have been investigated?' I asked.

‘It was but there was no evidence of any foul play or any suspect arrested from what I remember,' Gran said.

‘That must have been terrible for him to live with for two years.' I tried to imagine not only losing someone I loved but having to live with the uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to them.

‘Yes, it's taken its toll. I could feel that very strongly the minute I met him,' Mum said.

‘So how did he cope with your reading? Did he believe you?' I asked.

‘I'm not sure. He was shocked and angry. I think part of him didn't want to believe me and the other part was relieved to finally be told something definite. I think in his heart he's known for a long time.'

CHAPTER

9

Ed walked out of Cass's front door into the cool winter sunshine. He stood there for a few seconds, staring into space, not seeing the riot of plants in the front garden, not seeing the sparkling blue of the sea stretching off into the horizon.

He didn't know what to do. The knot of pain in his chest was threatening to overwhelm him and sink him to his knees. He drifted over to his car and opened the door. He slid in behind the wheel and started the engine, letting it idle while he tried to work out where to go. He needed somewhere he could just think. He didn't want to go home. He couldn't even contemplate going into the office.

The stupid thing was that if anyone had suggested that he seek the help of a psychic when Susan went missing he would have ridiculed them. He believed in the world he could experience through his own five senses and he found the idea that some people were born with a sixth sense ludicrous. The problem was that up until now his experience of people with those kinds of abilities was limited to tarot card readers at country fairs and the shows on TV. He'd never met anyone like Cass or her family before. Years of interviewing suspects and witnesses had given him a knack for picking up on lies and deceit and nothing about Cass, or her mother, told him they were frauds.

Then there was Sorenson's insistence that Cass could help them. He was more than a bit surprised at the Chief's conviction. Until yesterday he would've sworn that she had the same attitude to these things as he did. Of course Phil wasn't about to be convinced any time soon. She'd continued to voice her thoughts on the subject after he got home last night. The phone rang ten minutes after Ed walked through the door and he knew instantly who it was.

‘It's a crock of shit. She might be a first-class actress but I don't buy it for a second. She just wants her fifteen minutes of fame like every other crazy out there. What better way to do it than to suggest there is a nutcase out there who's attacking women?'

Ed listened to this and more, offering the occasional grunt. Eventually Phil ran out of steam.

‘Don't tell me you actually believe her?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘Yeah but you aren't saying much to the contrary either. All I'm hearing from you is the sound of silence.'

‘I'm just not sure.'

‘You're kidding, right?'

‘No, I think she actually believes in what she does.'

‘Great, so she's delusional.'

‘I'll reserve judgement until I see a bit more. Plus, she knew stuff, like the needle in the neck.'

‘Sorenson must have told her,' Phil said and ended the call.

He'd decided that he was going to be more civil with Cass and give her the benefit of the doubt.

He was surprised when he'd pulled into Cass's driveway that morning. Despite all his years in the region he'd never come across the place before. It was well outside of town and sat on top of a slight hill. The house was surrounded on three sides by fields. At the front of the house was a cottage garden, barely contained by a white picket fence that desperately needed a paint. Beyond the garden was the road, beyond that a sheer cliff and then nothing but ocean. The views were breathtaking. The nearest neighbours were a couple of miles down the road. It was stark, isolated beauty.

The house was a two-storey Cape Cod style with the addition of a large veranda on the front. It had three dormer windows in the roof and bay windows on the ground level. The front veranda was obviously well used, cluttered with chairs, cushions, and a couple of rockers and clear blinds to block out the wind.

When he knocked on the door he'd expected Cass to answer. He was momentarily disappointed when an older woman answered; her grandmother, he realised.

She was a striking woman. At first glance she looked nothing like her granddaughter. Her hair was silvery white of course, but it was her complexion. Unlike Cass's, it was a warm olive and her eyes were so dark they were almost black. They were beautiful eyes, deep sparkling pools. Given Cass's age, he guessed she would have to be somewhere between seventy-five and eighty-five. She looked closer to seventy but he suspected that she was one of those women who carried her age very well. First impressions over, his eyes took in more of her face and he realised that she did in fact share a lot of features with her granddaughter. They had the same mouth and nose, the same delicately arching brows.

She gave him a few moments of contemplation, obviously used to people regarding her in this fashion, before she reached out her hand.

‘I'm Gwen Carmichael, Cass's grandmother. You must be Detective Dyson. Please come in. Cass isn't quite ready yet. You look like you could use some breakfast. I've just made some pancakes and a fresh pot of tea if you'd care to join us?'

Ed shook her hand, registering surprise at the strength and warmth of her grip. Her manner put him instantly at ease and he found himself accepting her breakfast invitation.

He followed her across a small entrance foyer, past the staircase and an ancient hall table that was threatening to subside under the weight of all the hats, coats and scarves that were heaped on top of it. A multitude of paintings and old photos adorned the walls. This was a home, not a house. Walking into it he realised how little his own place felt like a home. In the weeks after Susan's disappearance he'd systematically removed nearly all the pictures and photos. The reminders were too painful.

He followed Gwen into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. It was an old farm-style kitchen with work benches along two walls, an enormous stove that looked like it predated the industrial era and a big solid oak dresser on the third wall. In the centre of the room was a large wooden table surrounded by an odd assortment of chairs that didn't match but didn't look out of place either. Jars, pots and crockery were clustered on every available surface. On the far side of the room was the back door and next to it, with its face firmly planted in its bowl, was the biggest black cat Ed had ever seen.

Sitting at the table was the third woman of the household, Anita Lehman. Ed didn't know what he'd been expecting but the woman in front of him wasn't it. She had a mass of curly red hair that rioted around her face defying all attempts to tame it. Her eyes were pale blue and her skin the translucent white that only true redheads seem to possess. He looked from one woman to the other, trying to work out how the two of them could possibly be mother and daughter.

Anita rose to greet him, smiling at his confusion. ‘I'm Anita Lehman, Cass's mother. I look like my grandfather, a throwback,' she said, answering his unasked question.

He stepped forward and offered his hand. She hesitated ever so slightly and then grasped it firmly, as her mother had done. A heartbeat passed where she looked intently into his eyes and then the smile slid from her face and she spoke those words.

‘Mr Dyson, I'm so sorry for your loss. It's a terrible thing for a young woman to die, especially when she is expecting a child.'

He stood there, the words bouncing around in his head for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what she'd said.

‘I'm sorry, you have it wrong. My wife is missing.'

The look on Anita's face changed from sorrow to horror as she realised what she'd done. ‘Oh, God, I'm sorry. I thought you knew … I wouldn't have said anything if I'd realised.'

‘Realised what?' he said.

‘That you didn't know. Please, sit down, let me explain.'

He stood there, trying to decide what to do. One voice inside his head was screaming at him to walk away, that this woman didn't know what she was talking about. Another was telling him to sit down and hear what she had to say.

He sat down. Anita and Gwen did the same. Gwen poured them cups of tea. It was at that point that Cass walked in, only to be gently shepherded out the back door by Gwen. And so he sat at the table with Anita and listened to the words that he'd dreaded hearing for so long. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that someone like Anita would be the one to tell him.

She told him that his wife had been dead for a long time. She told him that he needed to let her go, to get on with his life and to stop blaming himself.

He asked how she'd died but Anita just shook her head.

‘I'm sorry, I can't see that. There's something stopping me. I just know she's no longer with us.'

‘Did she suffer?' The words were ripped out of him. It was a question that had tormented him in the darkest hours of every night since she'd disappeared.

‘I don't know, I'm sorry. She's at peace now,' Anita said quietly.

And with that he'd stood up and walked out of the kitchen. He was afraid that if he sat there for another second he would break down.

So he ended up sitting in his car, staring at nothing, trying to work out what to do and where to go. He needed space and time to think. He couldn't decide where to go so he just drove, barely aware of the passing scenery.

His phone started ringing a few minutes later and he looked at the number on the dial. It was Sorenson. Anita Lehman had probably called her. He ignored it. A couple of minutes later the phone went off again, Phil's number this time. Again he let it ring out. He couldn't find the words to talk to anyone, not even Phil. He turned the phone off and drove along the coast until he reached a dead end, then pulled onto a gravel verge that had become an unofficial lookout. He got out of the car and stood on the edge, looking out at the sea.

He'd been steadily climbing as he drove and the ocean was close to one hundred metres below him now. Waves crashed on rocks eroded into weird formations after centuries of pounding. Every time a wave hit, white foam spewed into the air then oozed over them like custard over a Christmas pudding.

The wind had picked up and it was slowly turning the flesh on his face numb. He wished it could turn the rest of him numb as well.

He looked down. It would be easy to step over the edge and end the pain. Losing Susan, when she first went missing and now, made him understand how people could kill themselves. He'd grieved when he'd lost his parents to a car accident, but at least once the grieving was over he could move on. With Susan there had been no moving on.

He'd always thought that suicide was a total cop-out, for the mentally unstable. Now he understood that sometimes it seemed like it was the only way to end the pain of loss. Maybe that made him a nutcase, but there it was.

He sat down on the gravel and let his legs dangle over the edge. Time slid away. Oblivious to the cold he lost himself in memories of Susan.

It was the chattering of his teeth that brought him back. Clamping his jaw shut he got up and went back to the car. He knew what he needed to do. He had to find out how she'd died and mete out his own brand of punishment to whoever was responsible, but for now what he needed was a hot shower and a stiff drink.