‘Something must have happened that turned her into a believer,’ Ed said, skating as close to the truth as he dared.
‘Yeah, I’d love to know what. It must have been something important. So, what are we supposed to do? It doesn’t sound like Cass wants to work with us any more than we want to work with her after yesterday’s little scene.’
‘Sorenson thought maybe I should go and talk to her and see if I could change her mind,’ Ed said.
‘Let me guess, she told you to leave me behind.’ Phil sounded annoyed but she had a wry smile on her face.
‘Yeah.’
‘I guess she knows me pretty well. So when are you going, and more importantly, when are you going to tell Sorenson about the others?’
‘The sooner, the better with Cass. If I have to go and apologise I would rather just get it out of the way. I don’t know about telling Sorenson though. What do you reckon? Should I tell her now or after?’
‘Now. If Cass agrees to help then she can do her voodoo with both Old Mick and the girl from 2009,’ Phil said.
‘I hadn’t thought of that, of course, she could visit both places. We know where both of them died so it doubles the chance of our getting an ID on the killer. You’re a fucking genius, Phil!’
‘I try. Besides, you can’t ask Cass to work on a murder that Sorenson doesn’t even know we’re looking at, not with the mother having a hotline straight to her — she’d be bound to find out. Then there’s the added bonus that if Sorenson thinks Cass’ll only work with you then there’s a better chance she’ll leave you on the case.’
‘Yep, true, OK, I’d better go see Sorenson. This’ll be interesting.’
‘I’ll come too, we still need to fill her in on our plan for the case, although it’s about to change anyway. Something tells me she’ll be pissed off that you didn’t go to her yesterday when you first started to suspect a serial,’ Phil said.
‘Yeah, not to mention how she’ll react when she finds out I’ve been quietly researching missing persons for the last eighteen months.’
‘Yep, you’re gonna get you’re arse kicked.’
‘Big time.’
They walked out into the southerly whipping off the sea, bringing fingers of ice from Antarctica. They hunched their shoulders against its bite and quickened their pace. Ed had a feeling the reception waiting for him inside wasn’t going to be much warmer.
CHAPTER
18
Sorenson was on the phone when they got to her office. Ed took a seat and Phil paced around looking at the books and anything else in the room that caught her attention while they waited for the call to end. When it did, Phil took the seat next to Ed.
‘So, you have a plan for the McKenzie and Hodgson cases?’ Sorenson asked, giving them her full attention.
‘Yes we do, but there’s something we need to talk to you about first,’ Ed said. He drummed his fingers on his knee.
‘Is it about the case?’ she asked.
‘Yes it is.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We think there is a good chance that Janet Hodgson and Old Mick were the latest victims of a serial killer who has been operating in the region for the last six years.’
She sat there in silence for a few seconds. Her face was impassive; she didn’t look shocked or even startled.
‘You have some basis for thinking that?’
‘Yes.’ He took another deep breath; this was the bit he’d been dreading. ‘I’ve been reviewing missing persons’ cases for the last eighteen months for any possible patterns. When Cass came to see me yesterday she identified a link between four women who’ve gone missing in the last six years.’
‘Cass did?’ This clearly surprised her.
‘Yes, she noticed that four of them had the same eye colour.’
‘Eye colour? So let me get this straight, you have sensitive case information about missing persons at home without authorisation and you showed it to Cass Lehman?’
‘Um, sort of, it was just pictures, but I didn’t show her, she found them.’
‘So they were lying around?’ She sounded both annoyed and incredulous.
‘I have a whiteboard with pictures of all the women who have gone missing and not been found in the last ten years. I’ve been reviewing the cases looking for links.’ He sat back, feeling some kind of relief now that he’d come out with it.
Sorenson sat staring at him.
‘Did you know about this?’ She looked at Phil, her eyes boring into the younger woman’s.
‘Yes I did, I’ve been helping him. None of it has been done on work time.’
‘It’s not the time I care about, although I am glad to hear it. It’s the fact that the two of you have been looking into cases that we have no jurisdiction over for the last two years, and that sensitive information about those cases has just been casually lying around Detective Dyson’s house where anyone can stumble across it. What the hell were you thinking?’ she yelled.
‘I was just trying to make sense of Susan’s disappearance,’ Ed said quietly.
Sorenson sighed heavily. ‘You’re lack of judgement is understandable, but Phil, I expected more from you.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I worked on it because I genuinely thought it was helping,’ Phil said.
‘All right, forget all that for the moment and go back to the idea of a serial killer. You’ve got to be kidding, right? Don’t you think the CS would have noticed a serial killer operating for the last six years?’
‘We think they missed it because the killer isn’t after a particular type, he’s after women with the same eye colour.’
‘You said four victims in six years? What makes you think that’s a pattern? It could just be coincidence.’
‘I thought so at first too, but we think there’s actually six,’ Ed said in a rush, keen to convince her. ‘The pattern’s definitely there. It started in 2008. Four of the vics are missing persons but two have turned up as DBs, one in 2009 and Janet Hodgson. This is the 2009 case.’ He slid the case printout across her desk.
‘And the only thing connecting them is that they had the same eye colour? Lots of people have the same eye colour.’
‘Yes, that’s true; this is a very unusual shade of green though. Not that many people have eyes that colour but that’s not the only similarity. There’s the fact that they all led pretty solitary lives and the timing of each disappearance,’ Ed said.
‘Timing?’
‘Yes, each of them disappeared within a two-week window in either late June or early July. So we have one victim a year starting in 2008, all with the same unusual eye colour, all missing or dead at the same time of year.’
Sorenson processed this information for a few moments. ‘And this is the file for the 2009 case?’
‘Yep, and look at the autopsy report. The eyes were removed.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘And when did you work all this out?’
It was another question Ed had been dreading. He’d hoped that in the excitement of it all she might not ask. No such luck.
‘I started to wonder yesterday, but I hadn’t found the 2009 case then. I only just found that.’
‘We weren’t sure there was a pattern and we needed to be more certain before we came to you. As soon as Ed found the 2009 vic we came straight to you,’ Phil said, trying to rescue Ed from the hole he was digging himself.
‘You should’ve come to me the minute you suspected you had a serial.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ed said. What else could he say?
‘And you think the Hodgson case is the latest?’
‘Yes, she had the right colour eyes and the time frame fits.’
‘But he didn’t take the eyes.’
‘No, but when he put her in the crate he probably thought she was still alive and would be there when he came back,’ Phil said.
�
��So why did he leave the 2009 vic behind?’
‘I don’t know, maybe he was interrupted?’
Sorenson sat there, thinking.
‘So if he’s collecting eyes, doesn’t that mean he doesn’t have this year’s to add to the set?’ she finally asked.
‘Yep, that’s what we’re worried about. He might be out there right now looking for another vic,’ Phil said.
‘The latest any of the vics has been taken or killed is the fifteenth of July. That was the 2009 case,’ Ed said.
‘It’s the tenth today,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Ed said.
They sat there looking at each other.
‘Is there anything else I need to know?’ Sorenson asked.
And there it was, the question he’d been dreading.
‘Susan was one of the vics,’ Ed said.
Sorenson pushed her chair back and stared at him, then she stood up and walked over to the window that looked out over the street. It was a grey day and specks of sleet had started to hit the glass, leaving long exclamation marks of water in their wake. The weather was as grim as Sorenson’s expression, reflected back at her in the glass.
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Ed.’ She turned and looked at him.
He couldn’t think of anything to say to her. For some reason her sympathy was the last thing he wanted. It made it more painful.
‘You realise that I have to tell CS? It’ll be their case?’
‘Yeah, we know,’ Phil said.
‘And Ed, you know I can’t let you work the case if Susan was one of the vics? If we managed to catch the guy and you were one of the lead detectives a good defence lawyer would make mincemeat out of our case in five seconds flat.’
‘Yeah, I was hoping I could still participate in an unofficial way,’ Ed said.
‘You really can’t be anywhere near it. What did you have in mind?’
‘It’s about the conversation we had earlier, about Cass.’
‘What about it?’ Sorenson asked.
‘I still want to go and see her and ask her for her help. There are two vics she might be able to help with now, Mick and the victim from 2009. If she gets anything on the killer we might get the jump on the CS guys.’
Sorenson thought about this for a while before she answered. ‘I can’t sanction it as part of the official investigation but I won’t stop you from trying to talk Cass into helping. If she agrees and she gives you something we’ll decide what to do then. I’ll tell CS about the possible serial but not about Cass’s involvement. The sooner you go and see her the better.’
‘I’ll go now.’
When Ed and Phil walked out of Sorenson’s office, he felt like he’d been in there for hours. Looking at his watch he was surprised to see that only half an hour had slipped by. It was lunchtime and the squad room was relatively empty. Phil looked at him, trying to read his expression.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, a bit wrung out.’
‘So, what now? Do you want to grab a bite?’
‘I just want to get on with it. I’ll head straight over to the Lehman house and see if I can convince Cass to help us.’
‘Good luck,’ Phil said then barked out a short laugh. ‘Shit! What am I saying? I can’t believe I’m wishing you luck to go and talk that crazy woman into working a case with us.’
‘Yeah, who’d have thought it?’
CHAPTER
19
I blinked my eyes against the sunlight and vaguely wondered what had woken me. I looked at the clock and then had to look again. Unbelievably it was nearly 2 PM. I climbed out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom.
Sitting on the loo, I heard the doorbell ring and realised it was what had woken me. It wasn’t a polite ring either; it was someone who had been trying to get attention for quite some time. It was followed by a sharp rapping on the glass around the door. I finished, flushed and washed my hands then threw on a robe and headed downstairs.
‘Gran? Mum?’
There was no answer, just more knocking on the glass.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ I bellowed, heading for the door.
I hastily fastened the robe over my pink flannelette pyjamas that sported pictures of frolicking cartoon cats and threw open the door. There, looking more than a little annoyed, was Detective Dyson.
‘Yes?’ I said. It wasn’t very polite but I’m not a morning person. Of course it wasn’t morning but I had just woken up so as far as I was concerned it was the same thing.
‘Hello Miss Lehman. I didn’t wake you up, did I?’ His sweeping gaze took in my bleary eyes, out-of-control hair and less than flattering attire.
‘Yes, you did as a matter of fact.’
‘It’s nearly two o’clock.’
‘Not all of us work regular hours, you know,’ I said, still snarly.
‘You work?’
‘Of course I work.’
I could tell he was trying to figure out what kept me up all night. I was tempted to tell him we ran a brothel but I was afraid he might believe me. In the end his curiosity got the better of him.
‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m an editor. I do a lot of work at night. It’s nice and quiet.’
‘Ah.’
We stood looking at each other. It was a miserable day and the winter chill was starting to seep into my bones, particularly my bare feet, but I wasn’t about to break the silence. He’d come to see me, he could bloody well tell me what it was he wanted, I wasn’t going to ask.
‘Can I come inside?’ he asked, looking uncomfortable.
The petty side of me wanted to say no and leave him standing on the doorstep but I thought better of it. ‘Do you need to use our bathroom?’
He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, then cracked a smile, remembering my predicament the day before. I liked his smile. I don’t think I’d actually seen it until that moment. It was crooked and very sexy. I dragged my mind away from that line of thought; there was nothing but quicksand and crocodiles down that path.
‘No, but I could murder a cup of coffee.’
I capitulated. ‘Yeah, me too, come in and I’ll put the kettle on.’
I turned around and he followed me down the hallway into the kitchen. He eased his large frame into one of the bentwood chairs while I put the kettle on and reached for the plunger and my special stash of single origin beans from Brazil. It was a relief to have a minute or two with my back to him to collect my thoughts and tame the butterflies running riot in my stomach. The downside was that I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the kitchen window. I was a fright. My hair looked like a bird had nested on my head and I had bags the size of suitcases under my eyes. I made a half-hearted attempt to smooth some hair behind my ears, knowing it was futile, and turned to look at him. I was surprised and embarrassed to find he was staring at me. He’d been watching my every move.
Once the coffee was steeping, I grabbed milk, sugar and mugs and dumped them on the table with the pot. I also grabbed the cake tin. A muffin for breakfast would do the trick nicely. I sat down, poured the coffee, pushed a mug towards him and offered the muffins. He shook his head. We sat there sipping in silence for a minute or two.
‘Thanks, that’s great coffee. Look, I just want to apologise for the way I behaved yesterday. I said some things that weren’t very fair and I feel bad about it.’
‘What, you mean the bit where you called me a freak or the bit where you accused me of being a stalker?’ I mumbled through a mouthful of muffin.
To his credit, he looked sheepish. ‘All of the above. I realised as soon as you left that I was too hard on you and that you were only trying to help.’
‘I was, I felt bad about what happened with Mum.’
‘Your mum isn’t very subtle, is she?’
/> ‘No, when she sees something she tends to just come out with it. It’s a compulsion.’
‘She knocked me for six.’
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to upset him by saying the wrong thing about his wife so I decided to just say nothing. He changed the topic.
‘What you said about the women and their eyes, did you get some special vision about that or something?’ he asked.
I had to laugh. He really wasn’t comfortable talking about anything supernatural. His tone told me he still couldn’t quite take it seriously.
‘No, nothing like that, my talent is quite narrow. I only see something if I’m standing where someone has died and only if they suffered a violent or sudden death.’
‘So how does it work? You don’t talk to the dead person?’
‘No, I see through their eyes. It’s as though the events that led to their death have left an echo that only I can hear.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘Retrocognition.’
‘I’ve heard of precognition.’
‘Yeah, precognition, or ESP, is the sexy one, the ability to predict the future and save the world. What I do isn’t that cool.’
‘How long have you had it?’ He made it sound like a disease.
‘Since I was eight.’
‘So what happens if you accidentally come across a place where someone has died?’
‘You saw what happened the other day. While I’m having the vision I can’t see or hear anything else. Mum and Gran have both seen me do it and they tell me that I freeze and kind of switch off until the vision has passed. If it’s a really bad one it leaves me feeling terrible afterwards.’
‘So you see and hear what the person who died saw and heard?’
‘Yes, but it’s not just sight and sound. I feel what they felt.’
I looked down at my hands, which were clenched in my lap. It was hard to even talk about it without remembering some of the horrible ones. I could feel Ed’s eyes on me. He was processing this last bit of information and trying to decide what to make of it.
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