Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) (6 page)

‘Nice of you to join us.’ Phil said as Ed and Dave walked into the Fairfield station. It was a modern building, purpose-built to hold the regular police, CIB, a crime-scene unit, the regional pathology suite and the morgue. It had been Ed’s home away from home
since it had first opened, until he moved to Adelaide to take a secondment with MCIB.

The familiarity was comforting and unsettling at the same time. His progress across the open-plan office elicited a series of friendly greetings and nods from his former colleagues. He smiled his way through the maze of desks, faking it more than he was feeling it. Phil’s desk was in the far corner.

When they finally reached it, Phil sat down, leant back in her chair and began twirling a pencil. Steve sat opposite her at what used to be Ed’s desk, plugging away at his keyboard. It was natural for him to be sitting there, opposite Phil, but Ed hadn’t been prepared for the invasion of what still felt like his personal space. He wanted to tell the guy not to make himself too comfortable, but there was no way to do that without sounding like a first-class dick, so he pushed the thought from his mind.

‘Let’s move into the meeting room and we can compare notes,’ Phil said. ‘Steve’s been hard at it preparing a summary of what we’ve got.’

‘Great,’ Ed said. He forced a smile, but he wanted to rip the guy’s head off. His feelings of hostility weren’t helped by the fact that Steve was polite, well-dressed and looked like a paragon of virtue.

They filed into the small, windowless space and crowded around the beech laminate table. Steve handed them each a sheet of paper still warm from the printer.

‘Take it away, Steve,’ Phil gave him a wide smile, then turned her attention to Ed.

‘I’ve summarised what we know so far,’ Steve said, ‘which isn’t much. I’ve also made a list of all the employees at the dump we need to interview. The preliminary results from pathology combined with the placement of the remains indicate the victim was probably killed sometime in the last week, and the rubbish dumped in the last seventy-two hours.’

‘Assuming the vic was killed,’ Ed said.

‘Well, yes, I suppose —’

‘I mean, he could have died of natural causes and someone just chopped him up to dispose of him,’ Ed said.

‘We all know that’s not very bloody likely,’ Phil said. ‘Why would someone bother their arse to chop up someone who’d died of natural causes?’

‘It’s possible,’ Ed said. He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

‘Are you going to argue about everything or can we just get on with this?’ Phil said.

Ed shrugged.

‘Go on, Steve,’ Phil said.

‘The crime-scene team is going over the rubbish found with the remains to see if there’s anything they can tell us about where they came from. The dump was closed on Sunday but open Friday and Saturday — mostly for council garbage trucks, but it was open to the public between 10am and 4pm Saturday. I’ve got all the CCTV footage from those forty-eight hours.’

‘Do they keep records of who dumped what each day?’ Dave asked.

‘Nope. People just pay their fee and off they go. The CCTV is the only real evidence of who visited.’

‘How good is it? Can you see licence plates?’ Ed asked.

‘I’ve only had a quick look, but it seems OK for the most part.’

‘So what have you guys got?’ Phil asked.

Ed nodded at Dave to take the lead. He didn’t trust himself to keep from saying something snarky.

‘We’ve been over the missing persons files this morning. We also spoke to the Adelaide pathologist who’s running tests on the remains now. He managed to give us a narrower age range and description, so we’ve been able to prune the list down to three possible missing persons in the state database. We haven’t extended it interstate yet.’

‘No point until we rule out the locals,’ Phil said.

‘That’s what we thought. Based on the initial findings the victim is probably aged sixty plus, Caucasian with advanced arthritis in his fingers. Hasn’t had any recent dental work.’

Dave finished speaking and gave Phil a mega-watt smile. She gave him a completely blank look in return. The exchange was almost enough to reignite Ed’s sense of humour.

‘The three missing persons are all men in their fifties or sixties. We’ve got details of next of kin, but haven’t made contact yet,’ Ed said.

‘So we’ve got CCTV to review, dump personnel to interview and families of missing persons to visit? Sounds like our dance card’s pretty full,’ Dave said, flashing another perky smile.

Phil cocked one eyebrow. ‘I don’t dance,’ she said, with no hint of mirth.

Ed bit his lip. He was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Dave.

‘Phil, how about Dave and Steve stay here and go over the CCTV footage? They can jot down the details of any vehicles that disposed of waste in the vicinity and run the plates through the database. You and I can tackle interviews at the dump. The families of the missing persons can wait until tomorrow when we’re back in Adelaide. All of them are in the metro area.’

She regarded him for a few moments before finally cracking a smile. ‘Sure, why not. I’ve almost missed your grumpy arse around here. It’ll remind me just how lucky I am to have Steve.’

CHAPTER
5

I’d stopped pretending to be asleep after Ed had snuck out at some ridiculously early hour, and rolled out of bed to make a cup of tea. Jasmine took the opportunity to demand an early breakfast, which she devoured in the time it took the kettle to boil, then both of us headed back to bed. She curled up and went to sleep. I sat there in a tangle of sheets, staring at the dent Ed’s head had left in his pillow, and wallowed in self-pity.

Why did relationships have to be so difficult? In the two years I’d known Ed it seemed like we were constantly knocking heads about something or other. Were all couples like that or just us? Maybe it was me? I came with more baggage than average, but then again, so did Ed. The loss of his wife had left more than a few scars.

In my fantasy life I imagined Ed coming home, tired after a difficult day, and sitting down while I made him a coffee. He told me he’d had some doubts about whether or not he wanted to stay with MCIB. Fantasy me sympathised, and he acknowledged it was a decision we needed to make together. Then we went to bed closer than we’d ever been and had fabulous sex.

I threw the bedclothes back in disgust. Fantasy Ed and Cass could have the bed to themselves. Jasmine roused herself from the foot of the bed and I headed for the kitchen to make my breakfast and her post-breakfast snack. One of the things I did best when I was upset was eat. Those people who can’t bear the thought of food when they’re stressed clearly didn’t swim in the same gene pool that I did.

I soothed my soul with an enormous bowl of porridge drizzled with honey and sprinkled with toasted walnuts. If I’d quartered the serving size it could have passed as a healthy breakfast. The bowlful I ate would have been enough for Oliver Twist to have seconds and thirds.

Feeling slightly better with a full belly, I showered and plunged into two hours of solid work. I even rang the author of the migratory bird saga and talked him through the changes I wanted to make to his life’s work. That conversation was a piece of cake compared to talking to Detective Ed Dyson about his feelings.

I was back in the kitchen with the kettle on and my head in the pantry when the phone rang. My treacherous heart leapt as I answered, hoping it was Ed.

‘Is that Cassandra Lehman?’

The voice wasn’t familiar. Our number was unlisted, so it couldn’t be someone who had looked me up.

‘It is.’

‘This is DCI Arnott, Ed’s boss.’

Fear grabbed my chest and I tried to swallow but couldn’t.

‘Yes?’ I croaked.

He must have heard the fear in my voice.

‘Ed’s fine, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.’

I sank into a chair and tried to calm the maelstrom in my heart. My voice refused to work.

‘Are you still there?’

I cleared my throat. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘I was just wondering if you have any free time today? I have a proposal I’d like to discuss with you.’

‘A proposal? About Ed?’

‘No, nothing to do with Ed, actually. Are you free for lunch? Maybe I could pick you up and we could talk over a meal. There’s a good Japanese restaurant I’ve been meaning to try. Do you like Japanese food?’

‘I haven’t eaten it very often but I like sushi,’ I said. The whole conversation was feeling surreal.

‘Excellent. Can I pick you up at noon?’

‘Sure, why not.’ I wanted to ask him if Ed knew about this, but I couldn’t think of a way to do so without sounding either mistrustful or totally subservient.

He rang off and I stood there, holding the phone and not moving while I tried to process what just happened. Ed’s boss
had a proposal for me. Was it something to do with keeping Ed in MCIB? I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to talk to me about that. And besides, he’d said it wasn’t about Ed. It
had
to be about my talent. But from what Ed had told me, Crackers wasn’t a fan of psychics.

I made my tea and absent-mindedly scoffed a couple of Tim Tams while I contemplated what to do. The sugar fix helped fire up the grey cells. I needed to call Ed and let him know. If he got home and found out I’d been lunching with his boss he’d be like a bear with a sore head. I couldn’t face the thought of a fresh round of non-communication.

With more than a few nervous butterflies I dialled Ed’s mobile. It went straight through to voicemail. It was eleven-thirty. I hung up. He never turned his phone off so that meant he was out of range. No point leaving him a message he wouldn’t get in time and I didn’t want him ringing back when I was with Crackers. I reached for another Tim Tam.

At 12.05pm I was standing in the shade on the tiny piece of red concrete that passed as our front porch. A silver sedan pulled up out the front a minute later and the passenger window slowly descended.

‘Miss Lehman?’

‘DCI Arnott?’

‘That’s me, jump in.’

I crossed the short distance and climbed into the passenger seat.

‘Thanks for agreeing to come out at such short notice.’

‘No problem.’

I glanced at him then resorted to peripheral vision to complete my inspection. The guy was no oil painting. He had sparse hair artfully combed over the pate of his head in an attempt to disguise a large bald patch. The skin on his face was florid, and his gut only just fit behind the steering wheel. I got the impression he would have pushed the seat back further if only his arms had been that bit longer. Images of TV-show cops stopping for burgers and donuts flashed through my head. He looked like a poster boy for heart disease and hypertension. But wasn’t Japanese food really healthy? I couldn’t imagine this guy chowing down on raw fish and seaweed.

‘So what did you want to see me about?’ I said.

‘Let’s eat first. I always think better on a full stomach.’

‘OK.’

We drove in silence for a minute or two. I didn’t know him well enough for the silence to feel comfortable, so I felt compelled to fill it.

‘What are Ed and Dave up to today?’

‘They’re down at Fairfield this afternoon. Did Ed tell you about the dump?’

‘He didn’t need to, I could smell it on him when he got home.’

Arnott snorted. ‘Occupational hazard.’

‘One of many.’

We lapsed into silence again. This time I refused to make small talk. Ten minutes later he pulled up a short distance from a Japanese restaurant down the far end of Gouger Street, one of Adelaide’s restaurant strips. It wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been with either Ed or Claire. This place was well off the main drag and way too far from the MCIB offices for it to be somewhere they frequented. From the front it looked quite unprepossessing, a narrow street frontage and what looked like a two-storey interior.

‘This is it.’

We climbed out of the car. DCI Arnott led the way. He entered the restaurant and held the door open for me to follow him. I got about three steps inside the door when my heart began to race and my thoughts scrambled. Something was terribly wrong. Images of a phone box and a man wearing a hoodie jerked through my head. A knife glinted under a streetlight. I looked down, grabbing at my chest and stomach. My hands were covered in blood. I staggered forwards.

‘Help me!’ The words came out thin and reedy.

‘Oh, God. Please, someone!’ Blood was pooling under my feet and I slipped and fell forwards. I couldn’t hold the wound together. A soft mass fell into my hands, and I tried to push it back in. Blood dripped down my arms and I sank into a world of excruciating pain. Then, blackness.

As the vision receded I realised I was gripping Arnott’s arm. I blinked a few times and shivered, trying to banish the panic and bring my heart rate back to something close to normal. I looked
up into Arnott’s face. He was watching me intently. He didn’t look surprised, or alarmed. He was looking at me like a scientist might look at a lab rat.

‘You bastard!’ I hissed. I snatched my hand from his arm and walked back out into the street.

‘Cassandra, wait!’ He hurried after me. I kept walking. I was so angry and so full of adrenaline, I needed to walk it off. He finally caught up to me as I stood waiting to cross Morphett Street.