Craven (9781921997365)

by Casey, Melanie

  What I needed was for someone on the university staff to do something really scandalous to take people’s minds off me. With a bit of luck it would be Bennet; that’d kill two birds with one stone. I sang along to an annoyingly catchy top 40 hit. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or loathed it.

  The traffic between Flinders University and Cross Road was remarkably quiet. It seemed like a good omen. By the time I pulled down Victoria Avenue and drove through the archway of trees past the multi-million dollar mansions of one of Adelaide’s most prestigious addresses, I was feeling good. The weekend at home had done the trick.

  My batteries were recharged. I owed Claire a coffee too. I’d give her a call when I got home and see if she wanted to catch up in the morning. She could tell me all about her date. If I didn’t have a sex life of my own, the least I could do was live vicariously through her’s.

  Five minutes later I pulled into my driveway and eased the car into the small carport out the front of my flat. The carports were all in the centre of the complex with the flats clustering around them in a C shape. My unit was number one. I liked it. It meant I had only one shared wall. I rummaged for my phone and dialled home. Mum answered on the first ring; she must have been sitting on top of the phone waiting.

  ‘I’m home, all safe and sound. You can relax.’

  ‘Thank you, sweetheart. Sleep well and look after yourself. I still have a bad feeling …’

  ‘Stop!’ I cut her off, laughing. ‘You’re being paranoid. I’m going to be fine. I’ll ring you in a day or two, OK?’

  I heard a hefty sigh on the other end of the line, ‘All right, love you.’

  ‘Love you too Mum, g’night.’

  I got out of my car and walked up to the door humming the same silly song I’d been singing in the car. I noticed the curtain twitch in the flat next to mine. Miss Emily, aka Emily Richter, my elderly neighbour, was checking to see who had pulled in. When I’d first moved in her surveillance seemed intrusive but now I found it comforting. It was good to have someone looking out for me, plus she’d brought me in homemade biscuits and cakes a couple of times and was always happy to stop for a chat. I liked her. She was probably not long home from her Sunday bridge group.

  I raised my hand to insert the key in the security screen then stopped. It wasn’t shut properly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was sure I’d locked it on Friday when I’d left. I eased it open and reached for the handle of the main door. With shaking fingers I turned it and let it swing open.

  I reached around the doorframe for the light switch. I was so anxious it took me a few moments to find it. I flicked it on. Nothing happened. What should I do? Call the police, you idiot!

  I fished around in my handbag and pulled out my phone. With fingers as responsive as a fistful of sausages, I dialled emergency.

  ‘Fire, police or ambulance?’

  ‘Police.’

  The phone rang again as I was diverted to the right service. My call was logged and the dispatcher said they’d send the first available unit but she couldn’t tell me how long that would be.

  I stood just inside the door, undecided. It was a frosty night. I didn’t really want to spend the next however-long standing out in the cold waiting for them. After my initial panic, logic was starting to creep back in. I’d been gone all weekend. If someone had broken in they’d be long gone by now, surely? I went back to my car and got the torch Mum had insisted I keep in the boot.

  With a thundering heart I walked back inside. I shone the torch around the lounge room. I couldn’t see anything out of place. I walked through to the kitchen. Nothing out of place there either. Maybe I’d left the door open myself? I turned back and walked down the hallway.

  I stepped into my bedroom and panned with the torch. I stumbled backwards and my hand flew to my mouth as it fell open in a silent O. The hand holding the torch shook so violently I almost dropped it. Someone had been there and they’d been there for a long time. Every wall was smeared with obscenities in red paint. The bedspread was shredded and, worst of all, a mannequin was strung up from the light fitting with a noose around its neck. It was wearing my clothes.

  My throat had constricted and the scream that tried to force its way out of my mouth came out twisted and breathless as I turned and flew into the hallway. Something moved. I whipped my torch around. There was someone there. I screamed again, this time it was a full-blooded scream that came from deep in my belly. A man wearing a ski mask grabbed me and wrenched the torch out of my hand. I lashed out, kicking and punching. My foot connected and he grunted. The torchlight made a crazy arc as he raised it up in the air. I turned to run back into the bedroom but it was too late. I felt a crushing pain in my head. I sank to my knees and tried to crawl away. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards him. I scrabbled on the carpet, tearing my nails. Tears rushed down my face and I gasped for breath.

  ‘No! No! No!’ I said the word over and over. I wasn’t going to die like this.

  I rolled over to try to kick him again. He raised the torch and brought it down hard. There was a blinding light, then nothing.

  PART II

  VIDI

  CHAPTER

  15

  ‘You’re cops right?’ The bloke looked them up and down with a frown. His voice was full of gravel. It matched its owner. He was a large man: tall and wide. His bare arms were covered in full sleeve tattoos. He had no hair on his head but a thick bushranger beard made up for what was lacking on his cranium.

  After they’d left Metzger on Friday, Ed had tried repeatedly to make contact with the Narcotics Anonymous branch. His calls and messages had gone unanswered. Finally he and Dave had decided the only way was to attend a meeting. The next session was Sunday night. They’d turned up fifteen minutes before the start and encountered the group leader, Billy Smythe, in the empty hall setting up chairs.

  ‘Cops always look like cops.’

  ‘We’re here –’ Dave said.

  ‘You’re bad for business. You scare people away. You can’t be here when people start to arrive.’

  ‘I understand but –’

  ‘You can’t stay and you certainly can’t attend the meeting. Closed meetings aren’t for spectators.’

  ‘Look, Mr Smythe –’

  ‘Call me Billy. We only use first names around here.’

  ‘Look, Billy, we did try to contact you during the week.’ Dave finally managed to finish a sentence.

  ‘I been away, fishing. I only got back this afternoon.’

  ‘Billy, can we wait somewhere and talk to you afterwards? It’s important. We’re investigating a possible murder,’ Ed said.

  Billy looked him up and down. Ed knew he wanted to say no. He rubbed his bald head and sighed. ‘I’ll show you through to the office and you can wait there. It’ll be a while, though.’

  The office was more of a tearoom come smoking room. It stank of stale cigarettes. The walls were covered in pictures from girlie magazines. There was a small and ancient TV set with a digital box perched on top. Billy threw Ed the remote. ‘Knock yourselves out. Coffee’s over there. UHT milk’s in the cupboard. I’ll be back in about an hour.’

  They tried to make themselves comfortable. Ed lowered himself onto a sagging armchair that looked like it might originally have been yellow. Dave chose a couch upholstered in red vinyl. It made loud farts of protest as he sank into it.

  ‘Well this is a fun way to spend a Sunday night.’

  ‘I suppose you had plans?’ Ed said.

  ‘Nah, I gave Ruby the flick. She started to go all gooey-eyed. She left a wedding magazine lying on my coffee table. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Gee,’ Ed said, trying to think of the right answer. Luckily Dave didn’t seem to need one and he saved Ed the trouble by changing the subject.

  ‘So you still think there’s a chance Jenkins jumped?’

  ‘I dunno, I hate it when the autopsy results don’t come back definitive.’

  ‘The pathologist
seemed to think it was an unlikely suicide,’ Dave said, flicking through the TV channels in search of something worth watching.

  ‘Unlikely but not impossible. She didn’t like that he’d landed on his back. Most jumpers go face first.’

  ‘Assuming it wasn’t suicide then this seems like the best way forward, especially now we know Roslyn MacDonald wasn’t the angel her mother wanted us to think she was.’

  ‘Yeah, that one still surprises me.’

  ‘Why? Wealthy family?’ There was an edge in Dave’s voice.

  ‘No, because her mother must have known that we’d read Roslyn’s file after we spoke to her. She would have known what was in the autopsy report and that we’d find out about the meth in her bloodstream.’

  ‘No parent wants to think their child takes drugs. Remember what she told us? Any drugs in her system must have been put there by the person who supposedly killed her,’ Dave said.

  ‘Yeah, people will twist the facts to make themselves feel better if they can.’

  They lapsed into silence, watching the Sunday night football game. It was Fremantle versus Sydney; two teams Ed couldn’t have cared less about. His eyelids started to droop after about fifteen minutes. He was wrecked. Thoughts of Cass had been depriving him of sleep every night since he’d helped her with her car. He’d been lying awake for hours before passing out from sheer exhaustion just before he had to get up.

  ‘Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?’

  Ed’s eyes snapped open. He’d fallen asleep.

  ‘Hope I’m not disturbing you.’ Billy crossed the small room and flicked the kettle on. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Ed said.

  Dave shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rough on youse before but I’ve been working hard to get people to keep coming to these meetings. I didn’t want any of them to stop coming because they thought the cops were going to be here waiting to ask them questions.’

  ‘We understand,’ Ed said.

  ‘So? What’s it all about?’

  ‘We’re investigating the possible murder of a man called Paul Jenkins,’ Ed said. ‘We think he might have come to meetings here.’

  ‘Paul? There’s a couple of Pauls that come to these meetings. Got a picture?’

  Ed fished one out of his pocket. Smythe studied it briefly.

  ‘Yeah, maybe. He might have come a long time ago.’

  ‘We think he was dealing,’ Dave said.

  ‘Shit. Well, he’s not the sort of person we want hanging around our lot, is he?’

  ‘He had a list of names in his pocket when he died. One of the names on the list was Ben Taylor,’ Ed said.

  Billy looked at him blankly. ‘Am I supposed to know who that is?’

  ‘He disappeared about twelve months ago. His mother says he was coming here,’ Ed said.

  ‘Picture?’

  Ed handed over another photo.

  ‘I remember him. He wasn’t one of mine. He came to the Tuesday group. I recognise him from missing person posters someone put up around here.’

  ‘He was also seeing the psychiatrist connected to this centre,’ Ed said.

  ‘Metzger?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re trying to work out if there was a link between Paul and Ben,’ Dave said.

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Could they have been coming here at the same time?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Maybe. Look, we don’t keep records of who attends and who doesn’t. The people who come here don’t even give their real names half the time. It’s not like AA. The people who come here are admitting to taking illegal stuff, you know?’

  ‘What about a woman called Roslyn MacDonald?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Roslyn?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit on the toffy side,’ Dave said, passing a photo.

  Billy shrugged. ‘She doesn’t ring any bells with me.’

  ‘Sarah Jones?’

  ‘Nope, not that I know of.’

  ‘Can we talk to the person who runs the Tuesday group?’

  ‘You can, but it won’t do you much good.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘The bloke that does it now’s new. He’s only been doing it for about two months.’

  ‘Can we talk to the old leader?’

  ‘Rod Strauss? You can try.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He OD’d. He’s in Hampstead Rehab.’

  Ed walked out into the night air and sucked in a deep breath. He let it out slowly, watching it turn to steam as it hit the air. The car park was badly lit. Whatever cars had been parked there were gone, leaving only theirs and a battered ute huddled together under a sickly light that barely managed to penetrate the gloom beyond a two-metre radius. Ed didn’t wait for the cold to seep in. He hustled across the distance to the car and threw himself inside. Wincing, he started to massage his shoulders, trying to ease the knots that had sprouted where muscles used to be. Dealing with drug addiction made him want to go ten rounds with a punching bag.

  ‘I could eat a horse,’ Dave said. ‘My stomach’s been grumbling for the last half-hour. You’d think he could have offered us a biscuit.’

  Ed looked at him. The guy was a prince. They’d just been talking about someone who was probably going to wear nappies for the rest of his life and Dave’d been sitting there thinking about his stomach.

  ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ he said.

  ‘That’s a shame, there’s a great burger bar near here.’

  Ed sighed. ‘OK, let’s go. I suppose I’ve gotta eat.’ Ed thought about the near-empty pantry and even emptier fridge back in his apartment.

  The bar was only five minutes away. The heater in the car hadn’t even started to blow warm air when Dave pulled up out the front. Ed looked at the faded facade and grimy windows with disbelief. He would never have imagined his slick partner would eat in such a place.

  They walked in through the strips of age-yellowed plastic that dangled in the doorway to deter flies. The smell of hot oil and frying onions assaulted his nose.

  He took a few steps inside. His eyebrows rocketed up his forehead. The interior was packed with a crowd patiently queuing to order or waiting for their food. But that wasn’t the most surprising part. What amazed him was how impeccably clean it was. Every surface was gleaming. The cooking area behind the counter was pure white tiles and stainless steel. The cooks wore hairnets and aprons.

  ‘What do you want? My shout.’

  ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having. You’re the expert.’

  ‘I hope you’ve found your appetite.’

  Dave ordered and they managed to squeeze around one of the handful of tables against the wall.

  Ed sat back and watched as packet after packet wrapped in pristine butcher’s paper was passed over the counter.

  ‘This place is a goldmine.’

  ‘The guy who started it still works here sometimes. He’s almost seventy now. I know the family.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I grew up round here, went to the local school with his youngest son.’

  ‘Oh.’ The designer suits and flashy women suddenly made more sense. Dave had grown up as a poor kid. That was him showing everyone how well he’d done.

  Their number was called and Ed went up to grab the food.

  ‘We might as well eat here,’ Dave said.

  ‘Suits me.’ Ed smothered a smile as he watched Dave tuck a serviette down the front of his immaculate sweatshirt. Maybe his partner wasn’t as slick as he pretended to be.

  Ed unwrapped his burger and took a bite. The flavours hit him like a tidal wave: fried egg, bacon, onions, beetroot, pineapple, salad, mayo, sauce and a juicy homemade meat patty that was full of flavour and well seasoned. It was divine. ‘Good,’ he mumbled, juice running down his chin.

  Dave waved a serviette at him. ‘You’re gonna need this.’

  Ed capitulated and tucked it into the front of his top. For the next few minutes he lost track of everyth
ing and everyone around him. A parade of Australia’s most wanted could have filed in and out and he wouldn’t have noticed. Finally he sat back and took a deep breath.

  ‘Chip?’

  He eyed the golden mound in the middle of the table.

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Just try them.’

  ‘OK.’ He bit into one. It was good. It was ridiculously good. He ate until he was so full the food was sticking in his throat and then he leant back with a groan.

  Dave did the same.

  ‘I hope we don’t have to head down this way too often. I’d get seriously fat.’ Ed smiled. The food had helped his mood. He felt full and contented. Maybe all the fat and carbs would send him into a food-induced coma and he’d actually get some sleep.

  His phone started to ring. He wiped his greasy fingers before answering it.

  ‘Dyson.’

  ‘Detective Dyson, this is Constable Justine Williams from the Unley Station.’ The voice was young and a bit uncertain.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We had a call-out earlier this evening and I was starting to do my report when I noticed you’ve got a flag on the name of the victim.’

  Ed sat upright. The food in his stomach threatened to surge back up his throat, making him swallow hard before he could speak. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We got a call to a break-and-enter at Goodwood. Resident is a Miss Cassandra Lehman.’

  ‘Is Miss Lehman all right?’

  ‘Um, well, no, not exactly …’

  Ed gripped the phone so hard his knuckles popped. ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘She’s alive but the intruder was still there when she went inside. He attacked her. She’s been taken to the Royal Adelaide Hospital.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘She had a head injury, sir, but I don’t think it’s life threatening.’

  ‘The Royal Adelaide, you said?’