Hindsight (9781921997211)

by Casey, Melanie

  CHAPTER

  26

  It was nearly dark by the time he got back, which suited him perfectly. The funeral home was in one of the commercial parts of Clifton. There weren’t any other houses so there was little chance of anyone seeing him pull up, but you never could tell who would be out and about.

  He pulled into the driveway and hit the button for the roller door. The secure garage he’d added to the side of the building was one of the best things he’d done. It meant he could drive a car inside and unload without anyone seeing what he was doing. He turned to Lucy.

  ‘Here we are then, home at last. I hope you like it. Ginny and I have been very happy here.’

  A tear trickled out of the corner of Lucy’s eye and started to run down the side of her nose.

  ‘Now, don’t be silly, Lucy. Tears won’t help. You really are very lucky, you know. You’re one of the special ones. It’s not just anyone who gets to meet Ginny and help us celebrate our anniversary.’

  He smiled. He was feeling better than he had in days — full of energy and enthusiasm. Ginny would be delighted with Lucy. She was perfect. He stepped out of the van and did a little dance of pure happiness then went around to the passenger side to unload Lucy. He lifted her out, puffing with the exertion.

  ‘You really are a dead weight aren’t you, Lucy?’ He giggled.

  He carried her inside and took her straight down to the basement. He didn’t want to introduce her to Ginny until he had her prepped and ready. He hefted her onto the steel table then fussed around, straightening out her limbs and adjusting her clothes so she was decent. Once he was satisfied, he carefully fastened her wrists and ankles with thick leather straps. Last of all he gagged her and fastened a final strap across her forehead.

  He looked into her eyes. They were darting left and right, frantically searching the room. A familiar smell assaulted his nostrils. He glanced away from her face. A dark patch was spreading over her jeans and rivulets of urine were running into the shallow channel that bordered one side of the table. They always peed themselves.

  ‘Just as well this table is built to handle bodily fluids, isn’t it?’

  He stepped away from her again and came back with a bucket. He unplugged a hole at the end of the table and let the thin stream of bright yellow fluid trickle into it.

  ‘Peeing is fine but if you can try not to poo I’d appreciate it. The smell makes me nauseous and I am sure you don’t want to lie there in a pool of your own faeces. You can stop looking too. There’s no way out of here other than the stairs we came down. At the top there’s a heavy wooden door with a lock on the outside. You aren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.’

  He took an IV bag out of a fridge, hooked it onto a stand and wheeled it over. Then he took a needle and tubing out of a set of stainless steel drawers under the table. With infinite care he felt the inside of Lucy’s arm for a vein and inserted the needle. He attached the drip and then taped the needle in place. He stepped up to her head and looked into her eyes again.

  ‘I hope that didn’t hurt too much. The drip is very important. It’s a special mix of fluids and glucose to keep you healthy.’

  Tears started to flow out of Lucy’s eyes again. A strangled sound came from her mouth as she struggled to breathe.

  ‘Shhhh. It’s all right. I think you’d better get some sleep. We don’t want your eyes all bloodshot now do we? I was going to introduce you to Ginny tonight but I think it can wait until tomorrow. I could use a good night’s sleep myself before we get started.’

  He walked over to the fridge again and got out a small vial and a syringe. He drew up some of the drug and then injected it into the IV line.

  ‘This will let you sleep for a good ten hours. Night-night, sleep tight.’ He smiled as her eyes fluttered shut.

  When he woke up on Sunday morning he was surprised at how late he’d slept — it was nearly noon. He headed downstairs to check on Lucy. The drugs would have worn off ages ago and her drip bag would need changing.

  ‘Morning — no, afternoon, Lucy. Sorry, I overslept. I meant to come and see you much earlier than this. How are you today?’

  She tried to scream, the noise stifled by the gag he’d secured across her mouth.

  ‘Now, don’t be silly. No one can hear you so there is no point getting all worked up. I’m going to change your drip bag.’

  He walked across to the fridge and took out a fresh bag, Lucy’s eyes following him as far as the head restraint would allow. She was in a bad way. He’d given her the sedative at about 7 PM. It had worn off in the early hours of the morning, well before first light. She’d been lying there struggling to get free for hours and was bathed in sweat and exhausted. Her wrists were raw and bleeding where she’d struggled against the leather restraints.

  He changed the bag and leant over her, staring into her eyes. ‘Ginny and I will be down to see you later. I can see you’re a bit worked up so I’m going to give you something to relax you.’ He took a syringe and vial out of the drawers under the table, drew up the dose and injected it into the drip line. Lucy struggled, trying to resist. He watched her face as her eyes went from wide with fear to unfocused and half closed.

  ‘Good girl, I’ll see you again soon.’

  He walked back upstairs, feeling energised and ready for a busy day. He opened the front door and grabbed the newspaper sitting on the porch. His stomach rumbled loudly and he smiled to himself. Hunting days always left him feeling famished. While he was hunting he couldn’t face the idea of food. He hadn’t eaten anything all day yesterday.

  He opened the freezer and shuffled through the stack of frozen meals looking for something that took his fancy. Chicken tikka? Sounded good. He plopped it into the microwave and sat down to wait. He unrolled the paper and shook it open.

  The headlines screamed out of the page at him. His eyes devoured the story. He sat back, oblivious to the whirring of the microwave and its chirruping to announce his meal was ready. Was it him they were talking about? It had to be. It couldn’t be anyone else. But how could they know? Those stupid plodding police would never have worked it out, he’d been too careful. It must have been that woman, the psychic.

  He looked back at the paper that he’d dropped in his lap. Cass Lehman. He’d always been wary of psychics — there were plenty of them at the expos. He’d thought they were just ordinary people who were good at reading cues from gullible people but he’d stayed away from them just in case.

  So what had this woman seen? What if she saw more? She might see what he looked like, where he worked. The pungent smell of curry was heavy in the air. He shoved his chair back and rushed to the sink, vomiting bile into it. He waited for the wave to pass, then sat down shakily.

  He couldn’t let one stupid woman ruin everything. He looked at her picture. She didn’t look anything special; attractive, if you liked that sort of thing.

  He staggered the half-a-dozen steps to the kitchen dresser in the corner and yanked the phone book out of one of the cupboards. Thumping it onto the table he flicked through, searching for her name. There were no listings for Lehman in Jewel Bay. He sat there thinking. What was he going to do?

  Something niggled in the back of his mind. He looked back at the paper. There it was! A mention of her living with her mother Anita Lehman and grandmother Gwen Carmichael. He looked through the phone book again and found the listing straight away.

  He grabbed the phone off the wall and dialled the number. A woman answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, can I speak to Cass please?’

  ‘If you’re media, she’s not taking any calls.’

  ‘Media? No, I’m not media. I’m from the Crime Service in Adelaide. My name is Detective Richardson. Who am I speaking to please?’

  ‘Her mother, Anita Lehman. I’m not sure that she’ll want to talk to you either. What do you want?’


  Her tone was faintly hostile. That was interesting. Perhaps Cass’s relationship with the police wasn’t that rosy after all. ‘I need to ask her a couple of questions. We’re really very grateful for her assistance.’ There was a long pause. He started to wonder if she was still there.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ she answered. ‘I’ll see if she wants to talk to you. I’m not making any promises. She wasn’t too happy after she spoke to Detective Dyson this morning.’

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’ So she’d spoken to the police already. Maybe about the newspaper article. He waited as the silence stretched on, starting to feel nervous. A lot depended on how the next few minutes played out. The hand holding the phone was slippery with sweat.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Cass?’ He dropped the tone of his voice a few notches; deep and masculine always seemed to reassure.

  ‘Mum said you’re with the Crime Service.’

  Straight to the point. ‘Yes, I’m Detective Richardson.’

  ‘Were you at the station yesterday? I don’t remember you.’

  ‘Yes, but we weren’t introduced.’

  ‘Were you the detective in the interview room with Detective Steiner?’

  ‘Yes, that was me.’ Why not?

  ‘I thought your voice sounded familiar. You have the wrong man, you know.’

  He paused, filing away this piece of information, and smiled to himself. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling.’

  ‘What do you need from me?’

  ‘It’s a big imposition, especially on a Sunday, but I was wondering if you might be able to come in and look at some photos of possible suspects?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘No, this evening. We have a few things to do this afternoon but I can swing by and get you at about six.’ He wanted to wait until it was dark, just in case she knew what he looked like. She didn’t answer him straight away. ‘I’m sorry, you probably have plans …’

  ‘No, no plans. Are you sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘We’re working around the clock on this one. Your help would be really valuable.’

  More silence. He didn’t interrupt her. He felt sure she would agree, but something about her tone told him not to push too hard.

  ‘I suppose I could spare an hour. Did you want me to drive in?’

  ‘No, I’ll swing by and pick you up.’

  ‘I’ll see you at six.’

  ‘Would you like me to come to the door or are you happy if I just honk?’ He knew how she would answer.

  ‘Honking is fine.’

  He ended the call and sat back in his chair. His neck and shoulders were full of tension. He didn’t normally like to wing it like that, but it had gone perfectly. Now he just had to hope that no one else from Fairfield Police contacted her today. He didn’t think it was very likely. It was Sunday after all and thanks to her mum he knew she’d already spoken to Detective Dyson.

  He went over to the microwave. He took out the curry and dumped it in the bin. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and headed upstairs to the bedroom. He wanted to spend some time with Ginny. She wanted to meet Lucy and he knew she would want to change her clothes and fix her hair and make-up before he took her downstairs. She was very particular about the way she looked. He needed time to get himself ready too. He wanted to wear a wig and make-up when he picked up Cass. He still wasn’t convinced he believed in psychics but he couldn’t take any chances. She’d said she knew that the police had the wrong person in custody. If she was legit that might mean she knew what he looked like. No harm in being careful.

  It was just after 1 PM. With a bit of luck he would pick her up and be back by seven. He’d take the Commodore; it looked more like a police car than the van.

  He wouldn’t kill her straight away. It might be nice to have an audience other than Ginny for a change, plus he didn’t want to run the furnaces twice when he could just as easily do both her and Lucy at the same time. Might as well roast two birds in the one oven. He laughed, delighted with his own wit.

  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 str
uggling 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?’