Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) (31 page)

The deafening silence that followed was so full of tension I felt like it was smothering me. I wanted to reassure Ed that everything was fine but the words wouldn’t mean a thing.

‘I can’t believe he went to talk to a bunch of homeless people under a bridge, at night, by himself. That’s just stupid, especially if he thought Saunders might be there,’ Ed said, breaking the silence. ‘And to top it all off he might be interviewing another suspect as we speak.’

‘He must have thought he’d be safe enough. Most homeless people are just down on their luck, they’re not dangerous …’

‘True, but he was the one who came up with the theory about homeless people preying on other homeless and, if I remember rightly, it was also Dave that said Dr Crowley might have chopped up her old man to save on funeral expenses.’

‘He’s definitely got a good imagination but do you really think he might have stumbled across the killer?’

‘I hope not. I hope he’s drunk and shacked up with some girl.’

‘Has he ever done this before?’

Ed’s face twisted. ‘Never. He’s more reliable than Australia Post.’

CHAPTER
33

We arrived at Beth Crowley’s house to find it locked up tighter than a miser’s money box. Ed spent five minutes hammering on the door and trying to peer through windows but there were no signs of life. It was a phrase that almost tumbled out of my mouth when he got back into the car. I bit it back just in time. Those kind of dark thoughts were probably already at the back of Ed’s mind without me voicing them. We drove to Dave’s place in tense silence.

Dave lived in a townhouse in Burnside, one of Adelaide’s highly desirable, leafy eastern suburbs. In real estate terms, it was the polar opposite of the blue-collar suburbs around Port Adelaide, where Ed had told me Dave had grown up. I’d begun to realise that most aspects of Dave’s life were designed to prove how far he’d come.

I waited in the car while Ed jogged up the front path and gave the brass knocker a work out. I could tell from the way he was hopping from foot to foot that he wasn’t expecting Dave to answer.

They’d been partners for nearly a year, and from what Ed had told me the guy never overslept, ever. No matter what he got up to in his private life he was always on time for work, looking schmick and well rested. It wasn’t a skill that had rubbed off on Ed.

I wound down my window and listened to the sounds of distant lawnmowers and whipper snippers. Ed suddenly stooped down and tugged something out from under the door. It was a piece of pink paper. I watched as he held it up to his nose, then opened it and read it. He shook his head, then shoved the note back under the door.

He gave one more half-hearted knock before walking over to the garage and trying the door. It was locked. Lastly, he pulled out his mobile and dialled. I could hear the phone ringing faintly inside.

His face was set in grim lines of anxiety as he hustled back down the path and jumped in the car.

‘Anything?’ I asked.

‘Proof that he didn’t come home last night. One of his girlfriends left a
call me when you get in
note under his door, complete with a heavy dousing of perfume and a lipstick kiss.’

‘Any chance he might just have missed it?’

‘Not likely. I could smell it before I got anywhere near it.’

‘What now?’

‘I want to check Morphett Street Bridge. I’m not expecting anyone to be there at this time of day, but I want to make sure. I’ll drop you at our place on the way through.’

‘Like hell you will. I’m coming with you.’

Ed heaved a sigh that threatened to shake the car windows. ‘Cass, you know that’s a really bad idea. I don’t know what I’m going to find.’

‘Hopefully the only thing you’ll find is Dave, alive and well. I could be useful. If the spot under the bridge is where people have been getting themselves killed, I might get something to help you.’

‘Weren’t you just telling me you don’t think your talent is working?’

‘I was, but like you said, I might be wrong. We don’t have time to put it to the test.’

‘No, we don’t. And I’m worried. There’s no good reason for Dave to be missing.’

‘Then let me help you find him.’

He nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

The drive from Burnside to the heart of the city only took about twenty-five minutes. It was close to midday, so the school run and early morning commute were well and truly over. Parking wasn’t easy, but Ed finally managed to negotiate the road works and
clearways and left the car in a loading zone close to the bridge with his police sign on display.

‘I gotta get me one of those,’ I muttered.

We covered the distance to the Morphett Street Bridge in tense silence. Ed strode along the footpath, leaving me to huff and puff in his wake, a pattern we seemed to repeat in moments of extreme stress. Ed would forget any vestige of consideration or chivalry and leave me running along behind in a cloud of dust and testosterone.

We finally made it up the hill and found the stairs that led down the riverbank and under the bridge. I followed Ed into the darkness beneath. The drumming of the traffic overhead echoed around us. The water in the river was still and smelled of rotting organic material.

It took a while for my eyes to adjust after the brightness of the sun. In addition to the stagnant water, the space reeked of stale smoke, urine and rubbish. I covered my mouth and fought the urge to throw up.

There was no one in sight. A forty-gallon drum sat by one of the cement pillars, a crude grill spanning the top. The faint smell of cooked meat lingered.

‘That smells rancid,’ I said, my hand still over my mouth.

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t like to eat anything cooked on it, but I guess if you’re starving you’re not going to be choosy,’ Ed said.

We exchanged a look in the gloom.

‘I need to get a team down here to bag that up and sweep the scene,’ Ed said. He yanked his mobile out of his pocket and
barked a series of instructions at the unfortunate person on the other end.

The call over, he pulled a torch out of his pocket and shone it over the ground around the drum and back along the path we’d followed. Rubbish was scattered along the sides: newspapers, crushed cans, broken glass, but nothing that told us anything about who had been here.

‘I was hoping for a clue, something to tell us Dave had been here and where he went,’ I said.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not Sherlock and you’re not Watson. Real life isn’t full of clues to piece together if only you’re clever enough.’

There was an edge to his voice. I could hear the anxiety.

‘Let me see if I get anything.’

I could see his jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth but he stepped back to let me pass.

The path was wide enough for two people to walk abreast quite easily, so I walked along the left side until I emerged into daylight at the other side of the bridge and then turned and came back along the right-hand side. I walked slowly, half-expecting to be snapped into someone’s painful final moments at any second. My nausea was back too. I was terrified that if I did get a vision it would be of Dave’s last moments. When I took the final few steps and reached Ed’s side without getting anything I was weak with relief. If my talent wasn’t working it might not mean much but it was something positive for Ed to cling to.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘Thank God.’ He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

‘Come on. Let’s go and see Mrs Jacobs. Maybe she can help us.’

‘I hope she’ll talk to me. I’m not her favourite member of the police force,’ Ed said.

‘Great. What did you do?’

‘I might have implied she was abusing her son.’

‘Terrific. I think it’s just as well I’m here, don’t you?’

We climbed back up the stairs and headed for the car. Thankfully, the walk back was downhill and I almost managed to keep up with Ed’s adrenaline-fuelled pace, though I was still puffing and bathed in sweat by the time I buckled up.

‘Mrs Jacobs’ is only a few minutes from here. It’s on Wellington Square,’ Ed said.

That meant nothing to me. I tugged my handbag onto my lap and fished around for my mobile. I was still feeling guilty about leaving Mum and Gran for the day, despite the urgency of the search for Dave.

‘What’s up?’ Ed asked.

‘I just want to check in and see how Gran and Mum are going.’

‘I’m sure they’re fine. Nurse Ratched will have them whipped into line.’

‘That’s not very nice. She seemed very efficient.’

The nurse had arrived promptly. Her uniform was so starched it would probably stand up by itself when she took it off, and her expression was just as stiff. Smiling clearly didn’t come naturally to her.

‘Efficient or officious?’ Ed said.

‘Competent,’ I replied. My probing fingers finally found my phone and pulled it out. I poked at the screen. It stayed stubbornly black.

‘Bugger. It’s flat.’

‘You’re a terrible phone user, you know that?’

It was true. I’d had one for less than a year and still forgot to check it or charge it regularly.

‘Use mine.’ Ed tossed me his phone.

I plugged in the number and listened as the phone rang at the other end.

‘No one’s answering.’ I let the call ring out, then tried again with the same result. ‘That’s weird.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe they’re both asleep and Nurse Competent unplugged the phone.’

‘Really? People do that?’

‘I got the impression she’d personally chastise anyone who interfered with the wellbeing of her patient. I imagine she’d enjoy the process,’ Ed said.

‘Remind me never to get on your bad side — you can be such a bitch!’ I laughed, in spite of the niggling worry. ‘I’ll try again later.’

‘Good, because we’re here.’

Ed pulled up out the front of an impressive Edwardian residence. ‘It doesn’t look like a hostel,’ I said.

‘What are they supposed to look like?’ Ed asked.

‘I don’t know. I was imagining a cream brick structure with no style; a cross between a hospital and a public school building.’

‘This is an old family property Mrs Jacobs inherited. She’s lived there with her son for years.’

‘No husband?’

‘She’s technically a widow. Her husband just up and left one day. Janice did some research and apparently he was an alcoholic. Used to disappear for weeks at a time when he was on a bender. One time he just didn’t come back. No one’s heard from him since, and he was declared dead years ago.’

‘That’s terrible. Explains why she’s so interested in helping the homeless though.’

‘Yep. Although she claims he was violent with the son so maybe it was a blessing,’ Ed said.

He opened his door. ‘You don’t have to come in. You can wait in the car.’

‘No way. I want to help you find Dave. Besides, it sounds like she might rather talk to me than you.’

‘I can’t argue with that. Let’s do it. Hopefully she can tell us something that’ll help.’

The woman who opened the door didn’t look like being helpful was at the top of her list. Her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense style and the scowl lines on her forehead looked like they’d settled in for the day. There was flour on her hands and a smear on her cheek.

‘This is beginning to feel an awful lot like harassment, Detective. I’m in the middle of preparing tonight’s meal,’ she said.

‘I apologise for the intrusion, Mrs Jacobs. This is Cass Lehman. She’s a consultant who works with our department.
We’re not here about the case. I’m trying to find my partner. I understand he was here last night?’

‘He was. He left here about nine-thirty. You haven’t heard from him?’

‘No.’

She sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, then pushed the screen door open and stood to one side so we could pass.

‘You’d better come in. I’ve got food cooking that I need to tend to. I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much.’

CHAPTER
34

I followed Ed and Mrs Jacobs down the dim hallway. As I walked, I peered around curiously. It was a grand old place. The original features were still there: twelve-foot ceilings with ornate cornices, picture rails and a magnificent wooden staircase that stretched up to the second floor. What was missing was personality. There were no pictures, no knick-knacks. It was very utilitarian, like a beautiful face devoid of expression.

Mrs Jacobs led us into the kitchen. Again, there was nothing pretty or homely about the space, but at least it had the typical clutter of a kitchen. Pots were bubbling on the stove, cutting boards and knives clustered on the timber benchtops that ran around two sides of the room and a large bowl of dough was proving in a sunny spot under the window. A round wooden table
with four bentwood chairs sat in the middle of the room. The oven shared the wall with the hallway door and the fourth wall was dominated by a large kitchen dresser.

I inhaled deeply. I could smell something savoury. It reminded me of Gran’s shepherd’s pie.

‘Smells good,’ I said.

‘Thank you. I’m making meat pies for dinner tonight. Just let me stir this and I’ll be right with you. Sit down.’

Ed sat. I didn’t. I wanted to slowly wander around the kitchen and see if I got anything. I hovered against one of the walls, leaning on the benchtop.