Hindsight (9781921997211) (11 page)

Suddenly, I felt silly. He was this experienced detective who had, no doubt, considered every possible link between these women and I was about to tell him four had similar eyes. He was going to think I was being ridiculous.

‘Well?'

‘Um … it's their eyes. They all have the most incredible green eyes.'

He stepped up to the whiteboard and leaned in, studying the pictures closely. Eventually he turned and walked over to the window, looking out over the back garden. I stood fidgeting, wondering what to do next.

Finally he turned back and looked at me. His expression was blank. He'd pulled down the shutters on whatever he was feeling.

‘Why did you come here today?'

It was a question I'd been expecting but it still took me a couple of seconds to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. ‘I felt terrible about what happened this morning and I wanted to offer to help; with this new case or any old cases, or with your wife's death — whatever you need.'

‘I don't see how you could possibly help.' He forced the words out between clenched teeth. ‘What I need is for you and your family to leave me the hell alone. Don't you think you've done enough damage for one day?'

It was clearly my cue to leave but I'd come this far and I wasn't going to give up. ‘I just can't do that. What Mum told you this morning is terrible, and I can't begin to imagine —'

‘No, you can't.'

‘… No, I can't, but I do know that I might be able to help you find out how she died. All we need to do is work out where it happened.'

‘That's it, is it? Simple! You do realise she's been missing for nearly two years? If I knew where she went missing from don't you think I might have found her by now?' he shouted.

‘I don't know.'

‘And I suppose you just randomly pulled her picture down off the whiteboard along with the other three?'

‘What?'

‘The second one! It's my wife. But you knew that didn't you? This is all just part of some grand plan you have to fuck with my head! Did you come to the station yesterday and offer to help just so you could get to me? Are you some weird, crazy, bunny-boiling, fucking stalker?' he roared, his eyes bulging, opening and closing his fists by his sides as though he wanted to wrap his hands around my neck and strangle me.

I backed away, shocked by the violence of his reaction and feeling more than a little frightened. I was about to turn around and head for the safety of the hallway when I heard the front door open and close. Ed and I both turned toward the noise.

‘Ed, are you here?'

It was Phil. Great. Just what I needed, Detective Dyson in an apoplectic rage and his best buddy Phil, who already thought I was a pain in the arse, about to join us. I didn't think she would take too kindly to my causing Ed further upset on what had already been one of the worst days of his life.

Phil took in the scene with one swift glance. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Can't you just leave him the fuck alone? Hasn't your whack-job of a mother done enough damage? Did you think you'd better come here and finish the job?'

I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. It was one thing for someone to have a crack at me but I was very sensitive about people criticising my mother or grandmother. Mustering as much dignity as I could, I looked her straight in the eye and answered coolly, emphasising every word.

‘My mother is not a whack-job. She's a psychic, and a very talented one. It is not my fault that you choose not to believe in what she does. I am sorry that she upset Detective Dyson but she meant no harm. I came to offer any help that I could give. Clearly you don't want my help. I'm leaving now.'

I walked up to her and stared her straight in the eye. We were about the same height but I didn't like my chances if she decided to take me on. I waited for her to move out of the doorway so I could pass. She glared at me, clearly wanting to say more.

‘Let her go, Phil,' Ed said, sounding weary.

She stepped aside and let me pass. I hurried down the hallway and out the front door into the pale sunshine and cold air. Shutting the door behind me, I took gasping breaths. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. I walked quickly across the road and got into the car. I sat there for a few minutes, collecting myself.

I drove home slowly. My grand plans to forge a life for myself, to find a niche and some independence, had gone up in a puff of smoke. There was no place for my talent in the real world. I'd been foolish to think Ed Dyson would want my help. Our worlds were poles apart and it would be better for both of us if they stayed that way.

PART TWO

To have the gift of seeing but never to be believed.

Apollo's Curse

CHAPTER

11

When Cass left, Ed felt relieved but guilty as well. He hadn't meant to lose his temper with her and accuse her of being a — what was the term he'd used? A bunny-boiler. He didn't really think she was a stalker. She was definitely a bit strange, but when it came down to it he believed that she really did want to help. Phil, on the other hand, was convinced she was a danger to the public and should be locked up.

‘What the hell was that crazy bitch doing here?'

‘She came to see if she could help me.'

‘You're kidding right?'

‘No.' He sighed heavily. ‘She was feeling bad after what happened at her place this morning.'

‘And what was that? Sorenson was a bit bloody tight-lipped about it. All she said was that Cass's mother told you that Susan was dead. When I asked how the hell she'd know when the rest of us have been working our arses off to try and figure it out for the past two years she didn't want to tell me.'

‘Apparently Anita Lehman's a psychic. When she shook my hand she told me how sorry she was that Susan was dead. At first I thought she was just someone who had the wrong end of the stick but when she saw the shocked look on my face she apologised and said she thought that I knew.'

‘Knew what?'

‘That Susan was dead and had been for a long time.' It hurt just to have to say it.

‘Shit, Ed, just because some old witch who reckons she can read tea leaves thinks she knows something doesn't make it true.'

‘I know, but I believe her. I think I've known for a long time. There's nothing that would've made Susan run away with my child inside her.'

Phil looked at him, trying to decide what to say. In her gut she'd felt the same thing for a long time. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Yeah, I really didn't need a psychic to tell me what's been obvious.'

‘I don't know what to say.'

‘There's nothing to say,' Ed turned back to the whiteboard and reached for Susan's photo where Cass had stuck it at the bottom.

‘So what's the deal with the three others?'

Phil was as familiar with the whiteboard as Ed. They'd spent many long evenings together trawling through the case files trying to find even the slimmest connection.

It had been a tedious and fruitless task; a complete long shot. Sorenson would never have allowed them to do it on work time. Nothing suggested a serial killer. Missing persons who turned up dead were usually killed by someone they knew.

‘I didn't find anything. It was Cass. She came in here while I was on the phone. She reckons these four all have the same green eyes.'

‘Green eyes? What's so special about green eyes?'

‘All four have very intense green eyes. I should know, it was one of the things I loved the most.' The words stuck in his throat as a vivid image of Susan, eyes shining, flashed through his mind.

Phil came up next to him. She took the photo of Susan from him and studied the four women.

‘The eyes are the same, but the type of woman is totally different. Serial psychos normally have a particular type.'

‘Yeah, normally.'

‘So she's suggesting that not only do we have a serial killer but we have one that doesn't go for a particular type of woman, just women with green eyes?'

‘She didn't suggest anything. She just put them together and told me they all had the same eyes. I bit her head off before she had a chance to say anything much.'

‘Yeah, I guess we both gave her a hard time, but honestly, if I never saw her again that would be too soon. I just want to get on with the job without some weird freakin' psychic medium tagging along.'

‘She's not a medium,' Ed corrected her.

‘Whatever, anyway, now that I've found you and you haven't chucked yourself under the nearest bus, Grace is insisting that you come for dinner tonight.'

‘The boss has spoken, hey?'

‘You know it and I know it.'

Ed laughed in spite of himself. He really didn't feel like company but if he declined the offer Phil would get her head chewed off and Ed would never hear the end of it. Besides he knew what he'd end up doing if he didn't go. The bottle of single malt in the cupboard was calling him. If he stayed home he would end up at the bottom of it.

‘So … do you feel up to heading back to work or not?'

‘Yeah, I guess. If I stay here I'll just spend the day feeling sorry for myself. I suppose everyone knows?'

‘Nah, Sorenson and I kept a tight lid on it. The others think you're out investigating a lead. You won't have to face the Spanish Inquisition when you get back.'

‘Thank God.'

‘The CS clowns have requested a meeting this afternoon. Not sure what they have.'

‘Something implicating Janet's former in-laws?'

‘Stranger things have happened.'

‘I'll grab my coat and keys.'

As Ed headed for the kitchen, Phil's mobile chimed with a text message. Ed's followed a few seconds later.

‘It's Sorenson,' Phil called out. ‘Something's up. Will you ring in or will I?'

‘I will.' He hit the speed dial and waited for a connection. ‘It's Ed.'

‘Hi, how're you doing?'

‘I'm fine.'

‘Are you sure? If you need to take some time then I can bring someone in from Noarlunga to cover for you.'

‘No, really, I'm fine. So what's the story?'

‘A body's been found on the side of South Road in a ditch. A cyclist found it. It looks like it's Old Mick.'

‘What makes you think it's him?'

‘Sergeant Johnston from Jewel Bay got the call and he was the first on the scene. He reckons the body's in a bad way but he's pretty sure it's him.'

‘Any idea what killed him?'

‘Yep, looks like he was hit by a truck.'

Flashing lights indicated the traffic diversion, blocking off the southbound lanes. Cars were filing past at a slow crawl, the faces of the drivers and passengers automatically turning to see what was happening.

Ed and Phil pulled up then climbed out and walked over to Sergeant Johnston and Constable Forsyth.

‘Reg, Alex.' Phil nodded at them. ‘Not often that we have the pleasure twice in one week.'

‘Trust me, this is no pleasure. He's over there.' Reg pointed to the tent that was set up to shield the scene from the eyes of passing motorists.

Ed and Phil walked over and stepped inside to look at the remains. They both looked a bit grey when they returned to talk to the two uniformed officers.

‘What makes you think it's Mick? There's nothing left of the face,' Ed asked.

Forsyth jumped in, eager to contribute. ‘The age, build and type of dress all fit. The coat and hat are similar to the ones that Mick is always seen in.'

‘What do you think happened?' Phil asked.

The young man looked confused. ‘He was hit by a truck, ma'am.'

‘Yes, I can see that. What I mean is, how do you think it happened?'

‘Oh, um …'

‘Reg?' she asked, not in the mood to be patient.

‘It looks like he might have stepped out in front of the vehicle. He was a hopeless alcoholic so there's a good chance he was drunk at the time.'

‘Where's Sonya?' Ed asked.

‘She's on her way.'

‘Guess we'll know more once she's had a look.'

‘I can't see how it could be anything except an accidental death,' Phil said. ‘We never identified him as the witness in the news broadcasts.'

‘Unless someone let the cat out of the bag.' Ed said it casually but there was a question under the surface.

Reg bristled. ‘Not me, I didn't say a word to anyone. I looked for him around his usual haunts and asked a couple of people if they'd seen him but I didn't mention that it was in relation to the murder. I wouldn't be so daft.'

They all turned and looked at Alex, who'd gone white and was shuffling his feet.

‘Did you tell anyone, son?' Reg asked. ‘Come on, speak up.'

‘Um, I'm sorry, sir. I did tell Mrs McCredie I thought it was Old Mick that'd phoned it in and asked her to let me know if he showed up. She always gives him a free feed if he's in town.'

‘Christ,' Phil muttered.

‘Mrs McCredie? Who's she?' Ed asked.

‘She owns the café on Main Street,' Reg said. ‘She's got a mouth the size of the
Titanic
.'

‘Ah, yes, she's the woman who was asking us questions over lunch yesterday, Phil. She's probably told every second person who's been into her place about Old Mick.' Ed glared at the young officer.

‘I'm really sorry, I didn't think. I just thought she might be able to help us find him,' he stammered.

‘No, you didn't think did you?' Phil snarled.

‘There's nothing to be done about it now,' Ed said. ‘What's done is done. The important thing is to try to work out exactly what happened here.'

‘I never did like coincidences,' Phil said. ‘We'll just have to wait until Sonya has a look at him. We'll know more then. Either way, we've just lost our only witness.'

‘Yes, whoever killed Janet Hodgson is either very clever or very lucky,' Ed said.

‘Let's head back. We need to get our shit together before the CS boys lob on our doorstep,' Phil said.

Back at the station, Senior Constable Samuels was chafing at the bit. ‘CS guys are in Interview Room 2. They didn't look too pleased about having to wait.'

‘Well, next time we'll just ask the victim to hold off being killed until it's more convenient, shall we?' Phil asked, giving Samuels a look that wiped the smirk off his face.

‘Hey, don't shoot the messenger.'

‘If only we could,' Ed muttered as they walked down the corridor and into the interview room.

Rawlinson was seated at the table reading through some papers. Byrnes was pacing backwards and forwards. He looked up as they walked in.

‘Have a seat.' He waved at the chairs on the other side of the table. Ed and Phil walked around and sat down. ‘You're late. Our meeting was scheduled for 2 PM.'

Ed saw the blood suffusing Phil's neck and face, making her look like a beetroot with ginger fluff on top. He jumped in before she could say anything.

‘We had to see about a road fatality —'

‘Surely someone else could have handled that?' Byrnes interrupted.

Ed took a breath. ‘If you'd just let me finish? It looks like the victim was Old Mick.' Seeing their blank looks, he went on: ‘You know, the probable witness to Janet Hodgson's death.'

‘The homeless, unreliable witness who might have seen the killer through his drunken haze?'

‘It was the best lead we had,' Phil muttered.

‘Well it's just as well we have something more promising then isn't it?' Byrnes beamed. ‘Fill them in, John.'

Rawlinson stood up and handed them each a sheet of paper with a mug shot of a man, probably in his late fifties. He had a sallow, olive complexion and his face was sullen and pock-marked. His long, greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail.

‘That is Joseph Liberetti, hired gun. Lives in South Australia, supposedly retired here to be close to his grandkids. We believe he's responsible for at least eight hits, all eastern seaboard, but we haven't been able to pin any of them on him to date. Our sources tell us that he was hired to track down and kill Janet-slash-Alicia. He has no alibi for the time that she was killed and best of all —' he produced another piece of paper with a flourish, ‘— we have him filling up his white van with petrol in Reynella on the day she was killed. That's pretty close.'

‘That's not enough for a conviction,' Ed said.

‘No, of course not, but it's enough to pull him in for questioning and with a bit of luck we might be able to convince a magistrate to give us a search warrant for his van and his house. We've had him under surveillance since our intelligence came in. We're just waiting for the nod from up above to move in and arrest him,' Byrnes said.