Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) (29 page)

Nobody moved. Dave looked from one to the other. Their eyes stayed glued to the table. Dave picked up the photos and held them out to the man sitting next to him.

‘Take a look.’

The man glanced up, then looked away again. He was younger than the others. His face was clean shaven. His clothes hung off him, making him look like he’d withered and shrunk. He took the photos silently and studied them before passing them to the man next to him. The photos went around the table then came back to Dave.

‘Well?’ Dave asked.

Six heads shook in the negative. Dave sighed. He stood up and moved to the next group. The only sound in the room was the low babble of the TVs.

Half an hour later he was done. Every person in the room had looked at the photos. Not one had given him anything. Only a few of them had even spoken, the rest had reviewed the pictures in mausoleum-style silence. Only one had asked a question.

‘Are there only two victims?’

‘No, we’ve found another seven sets of remains.’

Dave stepped out of the room and back into the hallway. The cold air was welcome after the oppressive atmosphere in the common room. He stood listening to the chatter that erupted in
the room behind him the minute the door swung shut. Being a cop was like having leprosy sometimes. He was about to move off towards the kitchen when the door swung open again. One of the men stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Dave stepped to one side to let him pass. The bloke didn’t move.

Dave said nothing, worried he might spook him if he seemed too eager.

‘I seen one of those men a few weeks back.’ The voice was low and husky. Its owner kept his head down, eyes trained on the floorboards.

‘Which one?’ Dave fished the photos out of his pocket again and held them up.

‘Him.’ The man pointed at the photo of Len Crowley with a finger that shook slightly.

‘Can you remember where you saw him?’

The man looked at Dave, meeting his eyes. Despite the tremor in his hands, his stare was level and composed.

‘I missed out on a bed that night. There’s never enough for everyone. It was raining. There’s always people under the Morphett Street Bridge, you know? I went down there to try and stay dry. He came there too.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

The man shook his head.

‘He didn’t stay. Got spooked.

He didn’t look like one of us. Too well dressed, no coat.’

‘What spooked him?’

‘We had some meat cooking. The bloke in charge got angry when he wouldn’t trade for food.’

‘Who was the bloke in charge?’

‘I don’t know his name.’ The man’s gaze drifted off Dave’s face and came to rest somewhere in the middle of his chest. His hands fluttered with agitation.

‘Was it this man?’

Dave pulled out the photo of Mark Saunders and held it up. The man looked at it quickly then looked away, shaking his head.

‘I can’t say.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

Dave waited. The man didn’t volunteer anything further. Dave could see beads of sweat on his forehead. He lowered his voice and leant closer.

‘Does he normally hang out down there?’

‘I might have seen him down there a few times. That’s all I got. I gotta go before someone else comes out. I don’t want them knowing I spoke to the cops.’

‘All right, thanks. What’s your name?’

The man hesitated. ‘Bill, Bill Morris.’

‘Thanks, Bill. One last thing? Do you think Mark Saunders could be dangerous?’

Bill looked up and met his eyes. ‘Just because a body is homeless don’t mean they’re dangerous. None of us is any more dangerous than half the folks you see walking down the streets in suits every day. But Mark, well … I try to stay away from him.’

The man walked off down the hall and disappeared through another doorway. Dave watched him go, wondering if Bill was his real name, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He flicked through his contacts, hesitating before selecting one and dialling. The number rang out, then went through to voicemail.

‘Hey, Janice, it’s Dave. I’m just finishing up at Mrs Jacobs’. I’m going to head from here down to the Morphett Street Bridge. One of Mrs Jacobs’ guests mentioned a group of homeless men there who might have seen one of our vics a few weeks back. I want to show his picture around and get a feel for their reactions. There’s a chance that Mark Saunders might be there. It’s a long shot, especially if he knows uniform are looking for him, but you never know, I might get lucky. No need to call me back. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.’

He ended the call and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Mrs Jacobs was sitting at the table reading a newspaper. She looked up as he walked in.

‘All done?’

‘Yes, for now.’

‘Anything useful?’

‘Not much. Maybe a link to a group that hangs out under the Morphett Street Bridge. Do you know any of them?’

‘A few. A couple come here, but most of them prefer to take their chances on the street.’

‘That’s what one of the men said. I’m going to head down there after I’ve left here. Hopefully you’re right,’ Dave said.

‘I hope so too. It’s terrible to think that someone might be hurting my men. They’re so vulnerable. I abhor violence against the vulnerable.’

‘Me too. Where’s Jonathan tonight? I didn’t see him in with the men.’

‘No, I don’t encourage that. He usually goes upstairs after we’ve finished serving dinner. He’ll be down again soon for his supper.’

‘You must go through a lot of food feeding all those men every night.’

‘We do, but I like to cook. I make lots of stews and soups. Have you eaten, Detective? I made steak and kidney pie tonight. There’s plenty left over if you’d like some.’

‘I never can say no to a home-cooked meal, Mrs Jacobs. I’d love to try your steak and kidney.’

She placed her cup carefully on its saucer before pushing herself up with a wince.

‘I like a man with a healthy appetite,’ she said, turning to her crockpot with a smile.

CHAPTER
32

I woke with a jump, my heart pounding, convinced I was being buried alive. I’d experienced what it was like to suffocate once before, and it certainly wasn’t something I wanted to relive, but there was something different about this sensation. A heavy weight was pressing on my chest. As my mind slowly emerged from the last vestiges of sleep an alarming realisation hit me. The weight was still there. My eyes flew open. There, perched side by side on top of me were Shadow and Jasmine, both staring at me intently. Shadow treated me to a low rumbling purr in acknowledgement of my awakening.

I did a quick mental calculation, Shadow’s nine-and-a-half kilos plus Jasmine’s five meant I had nearly fifteen kilos of cat pressing on my lungs. No wonder I was having trouble breathing.

‘Jesus, guys, give me a break. If you smother me, I’m hardly going to be able to get up and feed you, am I?’

I shoved them both to one side and sat up, kneading my compressed breasts and rib cage. I looked towards the other side of the bed, where Ed was supposed to be sleeping. The indent of his head in the pillow was the only evidence of his recent occupation.

The clock by my bedside told me it was still early. The house was silent, which meant Mum was still asleep and Ed was probably out jogging. I didn’t really need confirmation that no one was downstairs. If Jack the Ripper was in our kitchen, the cats would be down there with him, asking for their breakfast.

My heart did a little skip as I contemplated the day ahead. Gran was coming home. We’d got the call the day before. Her doctor had agreed to put her on the hospital at home program. Mum and I had practically danced around the kitchen table, we were so relieved.

Gran’s doctor had heard about how much she’d perked up after my visit, and with no clinical indicators explaining her condition he’d decided that being at home with her family was better than any drugs he could prescribe.

We agreed.

Mum and I were going in to pick her up around 9.30am. The thought of visiting the hospital again would normally have had me in a lather. This time I was anxious, but for different reasons. Instead of dreading a barrage of visions, I was worried that I hadn’t experienced any in my last couple of visits to see Mum
and Gran. Why? Surely I couldn’t have walked right through a hospital into a bunch of rooms including the high dependency ward and not have passed over a place where someone had died?

There was a dark shadow of thought that was growing in the recesses of my mind.
I’d killed someone. I had blood on my hands. Did that mean my talent wouldn’t work anymore?

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I was worried that I might have lost a talent that I’d wished I didn’t have at least a dozen times a day in my entire adult life. I pushed the worry to one side. If my talent had suddenly disappeared, it could only be a good thing. I refused to let it ruin my high.

After we’d picked Gran up and settled her in, Ed and I were going back to Adelaide for the afternoon. He’d been summoned to a meeting with DCI Arnott and I wanted to pack some of my things to bring back with me. I’d only brought enough clothes for a few days and I was getting sick of the same pair of jeans and my favourite green jumper. We’d have to pack up the whole house in the next few weeks but I had enough on my mind without worrying about the move back to Fairfield just yet.

The cats were getting restless. Shadow was clearly unimpressed with my failure to spring out of bed, jog down the stairs and fill his bowl within seconds of opening my eyes. His purring had increased to a crescendo and he added a demanding meow for dramatic effect.

‘All right, all right, I’m moving. Don’t listen to him, Jasmine. He’s got terrible manners.’ I reached out and tickled both cats under the chin. ‘You could have asked Ed for breakfast, you know.’

Shadow narrowed his eyes at me.

‘Let me guess. You asked and he ignored you? I hope you’ll punish him for it later.’

I threw on my slippers and robe and dragged myself downstairs into the kitchen. It was normally my favourite place in the house. Every morning I’d walked through those doors to find Gran already up, making tea and preparing breakfast. Well, maybe not every morning. I worked odd hours and didn’t always make it downstairs before lunchtime, but when I did she was always there. The cold emptiness of the room since she’d been in hospital was like a slap every time I opened the door.

I fulfilled my duties as a pet owner and then flicked on the coffee machine. The creaking of the floorboards overhead told me that Mum was up and about. I was glad. I didn’t want to sit at the table by myself and replay the scene with Jenson. I needed the familiar rhythms to return to the room and banish any residual echo of his presence.

Mum came in ten minutes later. I turned to greet her but the words dried up in my mouth. She looked dreadful. There were bags under her eyes and her hair was dishevelled. Her nose was red and her face was pallid.

‘Mum! You look dreadful. What’s the matter?’

‘I think I’ve caught the flu.’ She shivered as she said it. ‘I hate hospitals. They’re germ factories.’

‘Oh no! Poor you. Straight back to bed. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea and some toast.’

‘What am I going to do, Cass? I can’t risk giving this to Gran.’

‘Don’t worry, Ed can take me to pick her up.’

‘But I was going to ride back with her in the ambulance.’

Part of the hospital at home deal was that Gran had to come home in an ambulance. She was still technically admitted. There was just one small problem with that. Gran was terrified of ambulances. There were only two possibilities for getting her into one. She either had to be knocked out or one of us had to ride with her.

‘I’ll ride with her.’

Mum sniffed and blew her nose. ‘No, you can’t. Ed will have to do it.’

‘No, I will. Gran will be anxious and as much as she likes Ed I don’t think he’ll be what she needs.’

‘What won’t I be?’ Ed chose that moment to walk through the conservatory at the back of the house and into the kitchen. He was drenched in sweat. He took one look at Mum and took a step backwards.

‘I don’t know what you’ve got but I don’t want it.’

‘Mum can’t come to the hospital. She thinks she’s got the flu. I was just saying that I’ll ride with Gran in the back of the ambulance instead of her, but Mum thinks it’s a bad idea.’

‘I’d be happy to ride with Gwen. Your mum’s right. Ambulances aren’t a great place for someone with your talent.’

He was right. It was complete madness, but I needed to be there with Gran. My heart was telling me so. Plus, a little voice in the back of my mind was telling me it’d be a good opportunity to see if my talent was really missing or not.

‘I want to try. I have a feeling it will be OK,’ I said.

Mum and Ed exchanged a look. I chose to ignore it.

‘Mum, go back to bed. I promise you we’ll look after her,’ I said.

Mum’s lack of argument told me just how bad she was feeling. I sent her packing with a glass of water, a handful of real drugs and the promise of a cup of tea.

Gran grasped my hand and pressed it against her cheek. The bones in her hand felt birdlike in mine. How could she have become so frail so quickly? Or had it been happening for a while, and I’d just been so wrapped up in my own little world that I hadn’t noticed?