Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) (18 page)

He was killing her. I had to do something. If she kept going she’d die right in front of me. Mum’s shirt was a sea of crimson. The two people I loved the most were about to die and I was the only person who could stop it. Making a sudden lunge had failed. I had to sneak up on him and get the gun. My chair was set back from the table enough that I could carefully ease myself up without moving it.

I gently placed my hands on the table. With infinite care I stood up. My head swam and pounded. I waited a moment for the dizziness to pass then I took a careful step sideways, easing my foot onto the floor a centimetre at a time. Step by careful step, I manoeuvred around the table until I was standing right behind his chair. I prayed he wouldn’t feel my presence. This was the moment. One step to the side and I’d be able to grab the gun off his lap.

Gran was still holding his hands but hers were shaking. I held my breath and stepped around the chair. I was in luck. The butt
of the gun was facing me. I reached out and snatched the gun off his lap before taking a giant step backwards. His eyes flew open and he yanked his hands back from Gran.

I raised the gun and pointed it at him. ‘Don’t move.’

‘Cassandra, you don’t need to do that.’ He raised his hands in the air. ‘I feel … amazing.’ He laughed.

Gran opened her eyes. The sparkle that was normally there was completely gone.

‘Anita …?’ She whispered the word and tried to move over to Mum, but the effort was too much and she fell to the floor. Jenson moved towards her.

‘Don’t touch her!’ I screamed. Red, blinding rage swept over me. I tightened my grip on the gun, aimed, and fired.

CHAPTER
18

‘Take a seat, Mrs Jacobs,’ Ed said.

They were in an interview room. Janice and another member of the team had taken Jonathan into a different room. He’d been crying and apologising to his mother from the moment they’d climbed into the backseat of Ed and Dave’s car. His mother had refused to say anything to him, making him cry even harder.

‘I don’t understand why this is necessary. You said you have questions about a missing man. I could have answered your questions at home. Now I won’t be able to prepare meals in time for tonight. Forty homeless men will go without a hot meal.’

Ed gritted his teeth. How she could affect a holier-than-thou attitude after they’d found her son locked under the stairs was beyond him. She clearly didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.

‘We do need to talk to you about a missing person, but we also need you to explain why Jonathan was locked under the stairs,’ Dave said.

‘I told you. He was there for his own good. I can’t leave him alone unsupervised.’

‘And you couldn’t take him with you?’ Ed asked.

‘I already told you! You don’t understand …’

‘No, we don’t.’

She glared at him. ‘Jonathan isn’t right in the head. His father was a very violent man. He used to hit Jonathan. When Jonathan was about ten he suffered a brain injury. Now he doesn’t respond well to crowds. He suffers from sensory overload and then he loses his temper and lashes out.’

‘Did you report your husband to the police?’ Dave asked.

‘If I’d gone to the police he would have killed me. Then what would have happened to the boy?’

‘What did happen to him?’ Ed asked.

‘I told you, Richard hit him. He fell down and fractured his skull. The swelling caused brain damage. He’s mentally impaired and emotionally volatile.’

‘And where is your husband now?’ Dave asked.

‘He left us. Didn’t even say he was going, just took off one night. He was declared legally dead years ago.’

‘They never found him?’

‘No.’

‘And Jonathan’s not capable of looking after himself for a few hours while you go out?’

‘No, he’s like a small child. He has no judgement and can’t regulate his emotions. I can’t trust him to make sensible decisions. I left him alone once and he nearly burnt down the house. He left a saucepan of baked beans on the stove, then got distracted and went outside.’

‘I see,’ Ed said.

‘Do you? Do you really understand what it’s like to look after a forty-eight-year-old man with the mentality of a four-year-old?’

Dave cleared his throat.

‘You’re right Mrs Jacobs, we don’t know what it’s like, but locking him under the stairs is deprivation of liberty, a crime.’

‘I didn’t force him in there. He went in willingly. He understands that it’s necessary.’

Ed’s hands clenched into fists under the table. ‘You can’t ask him to stay in his room instead of locking him in that tiny, black space?’

‘He won’t stay in his room. Have you ever had children, Detective?’

‘A man has gone missing, he was last seen at your hostel, your son has anger management issues and we’ve recently found remains which may belong to our missing person,’ Ed said.

‘May belong? You don’t know?’

‘DNA results aren’t back yet.’

‘So you have nothing concrete that ties me or my son to your case?’

Ed and the woman stared at each other. It disturbed him that she was showing no concern for a murder victim. Wasn’t she supposed to care for homeless men? Where was her famous compassion?

Dave broke the tension. ‘Mrs Jacobs, we need your help.’

‘Help? You drag me and my son in here, then you want my help?’

‘You’re here because we found your son locked under the stairs,’ Ed said, not willing to concede the moral high ground.

‘As I told you …’

‘Yes, he was there
voluntarily
.’

‘It’s for his own good!’ Mrs Jacobs’ voice was icy.

Dave pinned Ed with a laser-like stare and interrupted before Ed could go any further. ‘Mrs Jacobs, please, you’re a caring woman. You feed and house the homeless. We’re worried that one of those men might have met a terrible end and we’d be grateful for any help you can give us to retrace his last steps.’

Mrs Jacobs dragged her eyes from Ed to Dave, who was smiling at her. Her face softened. His praise had struck the right note.

‘Can we get you a cup of tea? We’d like to show you some photos and talk about Ken. Then we’ll see what the officers interviewing Jonathan have to say and hopefully we’ll be able to clear up any misunderstandings and send you on your way,’ Dave continued.

She cocked her head to one side while she considered his suggestion. ‘A cup of tea would be very nice. I’m parched. I haven’t had a cup since this morning.’

‘Ed?’ Dave said.

Ed rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back. Getting a cup of tea for the old bat was the last thing he wanted to do, but Dave was right on two counts. Offering her tea and talking to her nicely would work a lot better, and leaving Ed alone with her was probably a bad idea. He strode out of the room, closing the door
behind him with a loud thunk. He was on his way to the kitchen when he ran smack into Crackers barrelling across the floor.

‘Dyson! Tell me you haven’t really dragged some nice little old lady in for questioning? A nice little old lady who runs a hostel for homeless men and her handicapped son?’

‘We have, but she’s not so nice. She —’

‘Is she or is she not the same woman who’s been running a hostel for homeless men in North Adelaide for the last twenty-five years? The woman who has been featured not once, but twice in the newspapers as one of Adelaide’s unsung heroes, and who only two years ago received an Australia Day award?’

‘Um, I’m not sure, but she had her son locked under the stairs.’

‘What?’

‘She locked him under the stairs when she went out. Said it was for his protection. We brought her in because of that.’

‘What does the son say?’

‘Says he went in voluntarily.’

‘Jesus, the media’s gonna have a fucking field day when they hear about this.’ He glared at Ed. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Dave offered her a cup of tea. We still need to ask about a missing person who’s a likely candidate for our McLaren Vale body. That’s why we went to see her in the first place. When we got there we heard the son yelling so we entered the premises, thinking someone was hurt.’

‘Christ! Give her the bloody tea, ask your questions and then drive her home and apologise for any inconvenience. I don’t know how they do things where you come from Dyson, but in MCIB
we do not harass and interrogate little old ladies, especially ones who have received Australia Day medals.’

‘What about the abuse of her son?’

‘He’s a grown man. She’s a little old lady. You do the maths. You’ve got nothing concrete linking them to your case have you?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Well until you do I want you to leave them the hell alone. Clear?’

Crackers stomped off, leaving the stench of stale sweat and hair cream in his wake. Ed longed for something to punch. How the hell had Crackers found out so quickly? The man was like a bloodhound trained to sniff out fuck-ups.

Ed made the tea and took it back to the meeting room. He found Dave and Mrs Jacobs smiling and chatting to one another. The guy could work miracles when it came to women.

‘Ed, Mrs Jacobs here was just telling me how to make lemon delicious. It’s one of my favourites and my mum never makes it.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Ed bit back several smart-arsed comments in response to this bit of trivia.

‘So, Mrs Jacobs, if it’s all right with you we’d like to show you a picture of Ken and see what you can remember?’ Dave said.

‘I had a man’s sister contact me a few months ago. Is it the same person?’

‘It is.’

‘Then I’ll tell you what I told her. I don’t really remember her brother very well. I think he came in one night. I fed him and gave him a bed but I don’t recall anything special or unusual about him, and I haven’t seen him since.’

Ed slid the picture across the table. She picked it up and looked at it.

‘Is this the man you remember?’ he asked.

‘He looks familiar. Yes, I think that’s him.’

‘Was he a regular visitor to your hostel?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I only recall seeing him the once. I have some regulars, but he’s definitely not one of them. There are a lot of men that choose to sleep rough. Maybe you should check some of the regular places they go.’

‘Can you give us some suggestions on where to look?’ Dave asked.

‘I’d be happy to, Detective Reynolds.’

‘Would any of your regulars have been at your hostel the night Ken was there?’ Ed asked.

She took a sip of her tea. ‘I’m not sure. It was quite a while ago and I see so many men every week. Old Jack might have been there. He’s one of my frequent flyers. I usually see him a couple of nights a week.’

‘Do you think we’d be able to speak to him?’

‘You can try. A lot of the men who stay with me aren’t too fond of authority figures.’ She gave Ed a look that clearly told him she sympathised with that point of view.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Last night. If he’s still in the area he’ll be back tonight. Pity, I won’t be able to open if I don’t have any food to give them.’

‘We’ll get you home as soon as we can. I think we’re done
here. We’ll just check in with Jonathan and see what’s what. We’ll be back in a few minutes,’ Dave said.

They filed out of the room. Ed said nothing.

‘I’ll drive her home,’ Dave said.

Ed felt like he could have gladly crawled into a hole and pretended the day hadn’t happened. He watched Dave walk away with Mrs Jacobs and headed back to his desk. He’d have to write up the whole sorry incident with the Jacobs family.

He’d booted up his computer and was tapping away with two fingers when Janice materialised at his elbow.

‘Have you come to tell me I’m an idiot for hassling old ladies as well?’ Ed said.

‘I thought Crackers already had that covered?’

‘Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to win detective of the week. So what’s up?’

‘It might be nothing but I just had a call from uniform down on Hindley Street. They’ve got a bloke in their holding cells who’s ranting and raving about killing homeless men.’

Ed sat up straighter. ‘He’s saying he’s killed homeless men?’

‘I think so. I thought you’d want to know given your case seems to be revolving around homeless people at the moment. The officer who rang was Sergeant Roger Mawson. He said this guy’s been in before and he might just be trying it on to get a warm cell for the night.’

‘He’s homeless as well?’

‘Apparently.’

‘I’ll pop down there while Dave’s dropping Mrs Jacobs home.’

CHAPTER
19

Ed decided to walk the fifteen-minute stretch from MCIB to the Hindley Street Station. Hindley Street was one of Adelaide’s night spots and offered clubs, bars and other establishments on the seedier end of the entertainment spectrum. The station was right in the heart of the action and usually did a roaring trade between the hours of 10pm and 5am. It wasn’t a large station and didn’t have a CIB presence.

He pushed through the glass doors and went up to the information desk. The officer on duty looked like he needed a few more coffees before he was ready to face the public. He had pale skin with a smattering of angry red acne on his cheeks. He wouldn’t have looked out of place if he’d traded his police uniform for a school one.

‘I’m Detective Ed Dyson from MCIB,’ Ed said, showing his ID. ‘You’ve got a bloke in your cells who’s claiming he’s been killing people?’

‘Yeah, that’d be Mark. I’ll just call Roger. He’s the one who called you.’ The young officer’s tone and look told Ed plenty.

‘You don’t think it’s true?’

‘I think Mark’s after a feed and a place to sleep. He’s crazy but that doesn’t make him a killer.’

He picked up the phone and spoke briefly into it before turning back to Ed.

‘He’s coming.’

A minute later the security door opened and an older officer stuck his head through. He was tall and lean to the point of looking emaciated. Wispy hair clung to the sides of his head, holding out against the advancing tide of baldness that was spreading across his crown.

‘Come through. I’m the Sergeant on duty, name’s Roger.’ He held out a bony hand.

Ed shook it and introduced himself before following Roger down a short corridor and into an interview room.