Hindsight (9781921997211) (24 page)

CHAPTER

27

I put the phone back in its cradle and stood there thinking. I should have felt vindicated; pleased that they were acknowledging they had the wrong person, but I still felt pissed off. Maybe because Ed hadn't called me to tell me himself.

What did I expect? One minute I was telling him to get lost and the next minute I was upset that he wasn't calling me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was a nut-job or bunny-boiler or whatever it was he'd called me.

I gave myself a mental slap. Detective Richardson would be on my doorstep in a few hours. I needed to grab a shower and get changed.

I tried to remember Detective Richardson. When I'd looked in the interview room I was so focused on the man they were interviewing I hardly took any notice of the officers in the room. I couldn't put a face to him. There was something tugging at the back of my mind about our conversation but it was like quicksilver: every time I got close to grabbing the thought it just slid away.

I reluctantly let it go and went into the lounge room to tell Mum and Gran what I was up to. When I opened the door the scene before me was like an elixir. There were the two people who were my whole world, sitting doing the things they always did. Mum was watching one of her favourite shows, a box of chocolates on the side table next to her. Shadow was firmly ensconced on her lap, his extra-large proportions oozing off the edges in pools of inky black fur. Gran was sitting in one of the armchairs reading a book. The familiarity soothed away my angst.

‘I have to go out for a while a bit later,' I said. They both looked up.

‘Out?' Mum asked.

‘Yes, Detective Richardson is going to pick me up and take me back to Fairfield Station to look at some photos of possible suspects.'

‘So they've changed their mind about the man in custody then?' Gran asked.

‘Yep, seems that way.'

‘And it can't wait until tomorrow? You still look so tired.' A worried frown furrowed Mum's brow.

‘Apparently they're working around the clock, so no, it can't wait. He's picking me up at about six. It shouldn't take long but just in case it does, don't wait up for me.'

‘We'll probably be home after you. We've got bridge tonight,' Mum said.

I smiled, bridge night was just an excuse to get together with a group of old friends to drink wine and exchange gossip.

‘Make sure you dress warm, it'll be bitter out there.' Gran was always the one who appeared to worry less, although experience had taught me she was just better at keeping it to herself.

‘Don't worry, I'll rug up.'

I threw on jeans and a black polo neck with a heavy green woollen coat and grabbed a black angora scarf and fur-lined leather gloves for good measure. It was overkill, but it made me feel better. The car and the station would be warm but the thought of even a minute in the brutal night air was enough to have me dressing for Arctic conditions.

I loped back downstairs for a quick cup of tea and a snack before I left. If TV cop shows were to be believed then the tea and coffee on offer at the police station would rate somewhere between shoe polish and battery acid. I was sitting at the table about halfway through a sensationally good cuppa and a toasted tomato and cheese sandwich when I heard a horn honking out the front. Why was it that the cup you don't get to finish is always a really good one? Sighing, I chucked the rest down the sink and headed for the front door, yelling goodbyes as I went.

The front door closing made a resounding thud that carried across the thin air. I hurried over to the waiting car and jumped in. The interior light didn't work so I couldn't really see Detective Richardson. He planted his foot and we lurched off while I was still struggling to get my seatbelt on.

‘Cold enough for you?'

‘Yes, it's freezing out there,' I said. Feeling nervous, I babbled on. ‘So when did you decide you had the wrong man in custody?'

He smiled. ‘I had my doubts right from the beginning. The man we had just wasn't smart enough to have pulled it off. The guy we're looking for is clever; the police haven't caught him in six years.'

‘But it wasn't obvious. You only found two of them. The rest were just missing persons. Do you think the two you found were mistakes?' I asked.

‘Mistakes? No, not mistakes. This killer doesn't make mistakes.'

‘You sound like you almost admire him.' I forced a laugh.

‘I do — this man isn't your typical killer, he's an artist.'

‘Uh huh.' I decided to drop the conversation. It hadn't quite gone the way I'd expected. I stared out the window at the black landscape, dark fields and charcoal sky. It was a moonless, starless night, the sky a blank canvas. My mind wandered to thoughts of the work I still had to do. It took me a few minutes to realise that we'd missed the turn to Fairfield and were travelling along the Adelaide road. I sat up and looked across at Detective Richardson.

‘You missed the turn.'

‘Yes.'

‘Didn't you say we were going to Fairfield Station?'

‘I did, but I really need to take you somewhere else first.'

The fine hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle.

‘Where?'

‘To my place.'

‘Why would we go to your place?'

‘You ask too many questions.'

My heart started to pound. ‘Can I see your ID?'

He glanced across at me. It looked like he was smiling.

‘Sure, there's a blue box in the glove box. Could you pass it to me? My ID's in there.'

I opened the glove box and spotted the small blue container. It didn't look like something you'd keep ID in. It rattled as I handed it to him. My nervousness grew to fever pitch. I watched him open the blue box with one hand and fumble around inside. He pulled something out.

At that moment we flashed under a brighter street light at an intersection and I caught a glimpse of what he was holding. It was a syringe. Realisation struck me and I sucked in a breath to scream.

He lunged, trying to empty the needle into my leg. I lashed out at his arm, connecting so violently my hand went numb. The syringe flew out of his hand onto the floor. Both of us dived for it.

The car did a wild zig-zag across the road as we struggled, grunting and puffing. A horn blared as a lone oncoming car skidded off the road to avoid our mad projectory. I ground my fingers against the rough carpet on the floor, breaking nails and banging my head on the dashboard. My seatbelt arrested my efforts with violent jerks. My lungs were brutally crushed in the effort to bend over and I could hardly breathe.

He forced the car onto the verge and stamped on the brakes. My head pounded against the dashboard so hard that my eyesight blurred and I could barely regain focus. I took a breath and lunged down again. I felt a rush of pure animal pleasure as my fingers found the syringe. I pricked my fingers but managed to grab it. I sat up, pushing in the plunger to expel whatever was inside.

Panting, my heart pounding and tears running down my face I threw the syringe away and grabbed the door handle. It wouldn't budge. I shook it then looked for the door lock. There wasn't one. Whipping around, I looked at the man next to me, who had gone very still. His face was in shadows still but I knew who he was now. I knew that voice. He'd tried to change it but part of my brain had recognised it on the phone, I'd just been too stupid to realise it.

‘What do you want?' I cried.

He shook his head slowly then he lashed out. I felt a blazing pain in my left temple and then there was nothing.

I woke up sick and dizzy. I vomited down the front of myself. My head was throbbing with a relentless pain that started at my temple and stabbed at my eyeballs. I lifted my head and tried to work out where I was.

I was sitting on a chair. I tried to move my hands and legs and couldn't. My arms were tied behind my back and my ankles were tied together and anchored to the chair. The room I was in was very dark, I could only make out shadows. I strained my ears, trying to hear something but all I could hear was the rasping of my own breath and the rushing of blood in my ears. I struggled against the bonds on my wrists but the effort was too much and everything went black.

When I came to again I wasn't alone. I blinked and realised that he was standing in front of me.

‘Hello, Cassandra, glad you could join us.'

‘You bastard, let me go!' I screamed.

‘That's enough!' He slapped me hard. My head felt like it was going to explode. ‘In my house you will show me and my wife some respect!'

His wife? I was so focused on him I hadn't realised there was anyone else in the room. I looked at him; the man from my visions who I'd felt kill three different people. He was about my age, his hair was short and brown and his features were regular. He was Mr Average.

I looked into his eyes. That's where the difference was. There was something wrong about them; too much white showing, not enough blinking. It was hard to pinpoint, but it was enough to make me sick with fear.

‘This is my wife, Virginia.'

He stepped to one side. I jerked back so hard my head smacked against the back of the chair and I groaned, a low guttural sound that was part disgust and part animal reaction.

‘Say hello!' he yelled.

I tried to swallow. My mouth was bone dry.

‘Hello,' I whispered.

‘That's better. Ginny darling, this is Cassandra, the one I was telling you about.'

He walked over to the thing that was propped up in the chair. I forced my eyes back to it — the corpse of a woman. The skin was stretched and dry, pulled tight over the bones. The lips were drawn back over the teeth in a bizarre imitation of a smile. Her long blonde hair looked so brittle and dry it would snap if you touched it. Where the eyes should have been there were empty, black holes.

‘Isn't she lovely? I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, you know. I knew we were meant to be together.'

‘Lovely,' I croaked.

‘The only problem is, she can't see. Every year we have a special celebration for our anniversary and I get her a new set of eyes so that we can have a few days where we can look at each other. Don't you think that's romantic?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm glad you think so because that will make it easier for you to understand why I can't let you ruin it for us.'

‘I understand, really. I promise I won't tell anyone. I don't even know your name or where we are. You could just blindfold me and drive me somewhere.' The words tumbled out of my mouth and tears started to run down my face. ‘Please, let me go.'

He smiled. ‘My name is Brian. You are in Jenson's Funeral Home and I am afraid that you won't be going anywhere. You can stay and participate in our anniversary celebrations tomorrow. We don't normally have guests and Ginny tells me that she would enjoy your company for a little while.'

‘But I don't have green eyes,' I said desperately.

He looked at me in surprise. ‘You know?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do the police know?'

‘Yes,' I whispered.

He paused. ‘Don't worry about your eyes. You're right, they're not the right colour. You can watch me take the eyes from our other guest.' He pointed behind me.

I struggled to look around but I was tied so tightly to the chair I couldn't turn my head far enough to see what he was talking about.

Brian walked over and shoved my chair around. There, strapped to a stainless steel table, was the motionless body of a woman.

‘Oh God, is she dead?' I whispered.

‘Dead? Of course not. The eyes have to be fresh. She's sedated, that's all, just like you would've been if you hadn't knocked the needle out of my hand. That wasn't very nice, you know.'

I stared at him. He was worried that I wasn't being nice? Any vestige of hope I had was snuffed out and I dropped my head, feeling weary and defeated.

‘That's right, you rest. I want you to be ready for tomorrow. It's going to be a big day.' He forced a gag into my mouth, tying it roughly behind my head. Turning his back on me he went over to the corpse in the chair and carefully picked it up before heading up the stairs. He turned out the light when he got to the top and shut the door hard behind him.