Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3)

by Melanie Casey

  ‘Wait! Maybe there’s something I can do. Have you eaten dinner?’

  He stopped again. ‘I had a bag of chips.’

  ‘Chips? That won’t keep you warm tonight. You look like you’re used to eating three good meals a day. Come on, I’ve got a bit left over.’

  A half-smile tweaked the corners of his mouth before he remembered the state of his finances. His hand went back to the small collection of coins in his pocket.

  ‘I don’t have much money.’

  ‘No charge. My son’s just reorganising our supplies. Would you mind giving him a hand while I fix you a plate?’

  ‘You’re very kind. I’d be happy to work for my dinner. The bloke who gave me your card said you’re a terrific cook.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I make do. I’m Mrs Jacobs. I run this place. Follow me.’

  CHAPTER

  1

  ‘Don’t you look disgustingly happy?’

  Claire collapsed into the chair opposite me, wafting a cloud of light, summery perfume in my direction.

  ‘I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.’ I looked at my watch and pulled a mock-serious face.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. Student dramas. One of my second-years bailed me up as I was making a dash for the lift. A new lecturer in the Classics department’s got them all in a tizzy. Apparently he’s set them assignments that actually require research. But seriously, look at you! You look really well!’

  ‘Is that a euphemism for fat?’

  ‘Cass, don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve put on half a stone since I’ve been living with Ed.’

  ‘Well, it suits you.’ She flipped her long brown hair over her shoulders and reached for a menu. ‘So, what looks good? I haven’t eaten here in ages.’

  We were seated at a table in one of Adelaide’s best-loved Italian restaurants, Amalfi. It was Friday dinnertime and every table was full. Waiters were cranking into top gear and the pizza chefs were hard at work in the open kitchen. Conversation was building to a roar, accompanied by the percussion of cutlery on plates, as wine flowed and everyone eased into weekend mode.

  ‘I thought this was one of your favourites?’ I said.

  ‘It is, but I have lots of favourites so I haven’t been here in months.’

  We ordered a pizza to share and a bottle of McLaren Vale Shiraz then settled back into our chairs.

  ‘I’ve missed you. I don’t know if I approve of all this domestic harmony. Ed’s been keeping you all to himself.’ She tried to pout at me but failed miserably.

  I laughed. ‘Ed hasn’t got anything to do with it! I’ve been busy working.’

  ‘The freelancing’s going OK then?’

  ‘A few of my regulars have sent me manuscripts but I’ve also had a bunch of new clients since I got that write-up in the paper.’

  ‘Clients who want you to edit for them or solve murders?’

  ‘Editing! You know I don’t do the other for money.’

  ‘You should. You’d make a killing.’

  I rolled my eyes at the bad pun.

  Our wine arrived and we grabbed our glasses like parched survivors who’d just crawled out of the desert.

  ‘Cheers!’ Claire raised her glass and took a huge slurp. ‘God, I needed that. Tell me you didn’t drive tonight.’

  ‘Nope, Ed’s working late. He’ll pick me up when I call him.’

  ‘Ah, ain’t love grand? So things are going well with you two?’

  ‘This is my first real relationship, so I guess I don’t have a lot to compare to. It’s hard work, but it’s mostly good. We fight a lot but he makes me happy. I’d like an interpreter who speaks male though.’

  Claire snorted. ‘Wouldn’t we all. Sounds like the honeymoon’s wearing off a bit?’

  ‘Maybe. His job doesn’t make things easy.’

  ‘Is he working a big case?’

  ‘He’s just finishing one off. Paperwork.’

  ‘You weren’t involved?’

  ‘Nah, I haven’t been asked to help since what happened …’ My mouth went dry and I gulped at my wine.

  Claire was giving me that intense look that made me feel like a butterfly pinned to a specimen board. ‘You OK with that now?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not really. There are some things that stay with you. Occupational hazard.’

  ‘I’m just glad you and your mum are OK.’

  ‘Mum’s doing well. She’s back doing readings again.’

  ‘And your gran?’

  ‘She’s retired.’

  ‘I didn’t know psychics retired. How does that work?’

  ‘Gran’s a healer not a psychic. Mum’s the psychic.’

  ‘Uh-huh … you guys have freaky DNA, you know that, right? Seriously though, are you any better?’

  ‘I’m OK.’ It was a lie. My eyes fell away from her face. I’d been having nightmares for months — ever since I’d got tangled up in a case Ed was investigating. The end result was not only a dead killer, but a close call for both me and my mum. Too close.

  ‘And what about that other psycho you helped put away? Is he still safely behind bars?’

  ‘Yeah, Brian Jenson. He’s in James Nash House, the maximum security prison for the criminally insane. Ed checks every now and then. Last I heard he was still catatonic. Ed reckons they’ll never let him out.’

  ‘Well that’s a relief. But the memories still bother you?’

  ‘Not much.’ I decided not to tell her that Ed’s habit of checking was more about my obsession with Jenson than his.

  ‘Liar.’

  Claire called me on my bluff but didn’t push. She changed the subject and we spent the time until our pizza arrived laughing over her recent failed romances.

  ‘I don’t understand why you can’t find a partner,’ I said, wiping away the tears running down my cheeks. ‘Maybe you’re just too fussy.’

  ‘Seriously? I’m willing to give anyone a go provided they can string two words together and they don’t look like something out of The Hills Have Eyes.’

  We dived on the pizza, our conversation grinding to a halt as we inhaled cheesy slices of heaven. There was nothing bird-like about either of our appetites. It was one of the things I loved about Claire. She shared my passion for good food. What she didn’t share was my curves. Somehow she’d been blessed with a metabolism that could cope with anything she threw at it. Women had been killed for less.

  ‘I’m just going to duck into the bathroom,’ Claire said, pushing back her chair. ‘I don’t think I can eat any more pizza if I’m going to leave room for dessert.’

  I sat back and was wondering if I could surreptitiously undo the button on my jeans to make room for another slice when a voice interrupted my musings.

  ‘Miss Lehman? Cass Lehman?’

  I looked up, startled by the young woman standing by our table. I’d been so deep in thought that I hadn’t even felt her presence.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You don’t know me, but …’ She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into knots. ‘Can I sit down for a minute?’

  ‘Um, I’m actually here with a friend. She’s just popped to the loo.’

  ‘I know, I’ve been watching you. It won’t take long, I promise.’

  She sat in Claire’s chair. Her eyes climbed up to my face and she chewed at her lip. She was young, in her early twenties. Her skin was pale to the point of ghostly, made more so by jet-black hair and a slash of bright red lipstick.

  I had a strong suspicion where this conversation was going so her next words came as no surprise.

  ‘I need your help with something.’

  ‘I don’t really do that.’

  ‘But you help the police.’

  ‘I’ve helped the police twice, that’s it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her face crumpled and she started to cry.

  I swallowed hard and reached out to pat her arm. ‘Shhh, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I’m
sorry. I’ll go.’ She stood up.

  ‘No! Wait. Don’t leave.’

  I took a breath, trying to ease the knot sitting somewhere in the middle of my chest — tension or indigestion? Both, probably. I had a feeling I was going to regret it but I couldn’t let her go without finding out what she wanted. I had enough keeping me awake at night without adding guilt to the list.

  She hesitated, her gaze fixed somewhere over my left shoulder and announcing Claire’s return.

  ‘Hello,’ Claire said, looking from me to my visitor and back again.

  ‘Um, this is …’

  ‘Melissa Kirkpatrick,’ the girl said. ‘And I think my father was murdered.’

  ‘I think we need more wine … and another chair,’ Claire said.

  I felt my way along the passageway and into the bedroom. The glow of the digital clock by the bed was the only light. It was nearly 2am. Soft snores told me Ed was home. I’d texted him hours earlier to say I’d find my own way home.

  I tiptoed across the room to my side of the bed. Unzipping my boots sounded like a chainsaw. I tugged them off and winced as they thumped onto the floor. The rest of my clothes followed, forming an untidy heap that I’d deal with in the morning. All I cared about was crawling under the covers and finding some warmth. My bones were aching and my feet felt like frozen chunks of meat.

  I slid under the covers and groaned with pleasure. Ed had put my electric blanket on. That was true love. I resisted the urge to reach out and hug him. He’d never owned one until he met me. He’d bought it when he realised just how cold my hands and feet could feel against bare flesh.

  ‘Hello, frosty.’ The words were a sleepy murmur. ‘Turn over.’

  I complied and he spooned me, enveloping me in his own warmth.

  ‘Jesus, you’re even colder than normal, what’ve you been doing?’

  ‘Walking along a country road.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We can talk about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I’m awake now. Hugging you was like taking an ice bath.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I thought you were having dinner at Amalfi with Claire?’

  ‘I was. Someone asked me for help.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. She thought her father was murdered.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘Nope. He was drunk … wandered in front of a car. But the driver was his second wife. She was out trying to find him.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘His daughter thinks she ran him down on purpose.’

  ‘Wait, I remember that case. The coroner ruled it an accident. The guy was tanked up to the eyeballs. He was walking home from the pub when she hit him.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  I shivered. My mind went back to the long stretch of dark road where he’d been struck. Melissa had talked me into going there with her. Claire came, too.

  We’d pulled onto a slight verge. There was a sloping embankment that fell away from the road.

  ‘It happened over there,’ Melissa said, pointing to a spot about twenty metres away, where a small cross was festooned with flowers.

  ‘The police think he’d been down there for some reason,’ she said, pointing down the slope into the trees.

  I started walking towards the cross.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Claire asked.

  ‘No, stay here and watch out for cars. You might need to push me out of the way. If I’m having a vision, I won’t realise I’m in danger.’

  I slowed as I got closer to the spot, waiting for the vision to take me. I didn’t have to wait long.

  A soft moan of pleasure left my lips as a steady stream hissed against the bark of a tree in front of me. With a grunt I shook, tucked and zipped. Light danced across the branches above me. It took a moment for me to process what that meant. A car. Someone was coming and I could hitch a ride. Bloody bartender. He had no right to take my keys.

  I stumbled up the slope, scrambling through the low shrubbery, feeling the branches scratch my bare arms. Shit. I had to hurry or the car’d be gone and I’d have to walk all the way home. I surged up the last bit of the incline and lurched onto the road. Blinding light and the screech of brakes made me squeeze my eyes shut and I flung my arms in front of my face. A heartbeat later the impact against my legs threw me into the air and I struck the windscreen with a crunch of glass and bone. The air whooshed out of me and I launched into the air again. After long moments of weightlessness, the ground rushed towards me and I landed with a thud that should have hurt but didn’t. I lay there, staring up into the night sky. Somewhere I could hear a woman screaming, ‘Oh God, I couldn’t stop’ over and over again. I wished she’d be quiet. I closed my eyes and then there was nothing.

  I turned over and wrapped myself around Ed, burying my head against the warmth and security of his chest.

  ‘Was it a bad one?’

  ‘Not as bad as some. No pain.’

  ‘So why does the daughter think it was murder?’

  ‘The second wife isn’t much older than she is. She thinks she was after her father’s money.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘She didn’t like what I had to tell her.’

  ‘Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth, they just want to be told they’re right.’

  ‘I know. I probably should have said no.’

  ‘Yep, she could have been a maniac.’

  ‘Claire was there.’

  ‘Both of you could have been hurt.’

  ‘But we weren’t.’

  ‘This time.’

  I couldn’t be bothered arguing. I trailed my hand down his chest towards the elastic on his boxers.

  ‘My hands are warmer now.’

  ‘They’d better be,’ he growled.

  In the dark, his lips found mine.

  CHAPTER

  2

  The jangling of the phone dragged Ed out of one of the best sleeps he’d had in ages. He was so far under it took him a few moments to recognise the source of the cacophony. His next problem was extracting a free hand to grab the phone without waking Cass. She was lying on his arm, cutting off the circulation. His fingers felt like a bunch of limp sausages. He rolled and fumbled for the phone with his other hand, eliciting a groan of protest from Cass. By the time he had the receiver pressed against his ear the answering machine had kicked in. He fumbled with the buttons, halting the recording.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,’ Dave said.

  Ed registered the implication but chose to ignore it. He peered at the clock. It was just before 6am. This was no social call. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘I suppose pleasantries are too much to expect from you at this hour. We’ve got a call-out to the Southern Regional Waste Management Facility.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. The dump? At this hour?’

  ‘Yeah. They start work early. A crew was compacting rubbish. Bag exploded, human remains inside.’

  ‘I think I’ll skip breakfast. That place … it’s down McLaren Vale way, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Your old station got the primary call-out. The detectives from Fairfield CIB are already on the scene.’

  ‘Huh. And we got the case because …?’

  ‘Arnott thought you’d have a better relationship with the local detectives.’

  ‘I’m not sure they’ll love me quite as much now I’m working for the Major Crime Branch.’

  ‘I’ll swing by to get you in ten minutes.’

  Ed ended the call and reached over Cass again to put the phone back in its cradle. He looked down and saw that she was watching him. ‘Morning, gorgeous.’ He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  ‘This is not morning, it’s the middle of the night,’ she said.

  ‘Nope, definitely morning. Sun’s up.’

  ‘Tell it to go away.’ She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him
down for another kiss.

  He complied, then pulled away with a groan.

  ‘I can’t. Got a case and I need to shower or Dave won’t let me in the car. Besides, he’s got a nose like a bloodhound. I don’t want him smelling what we’ve been up to.’

  ‘That’s gross.’

  ‘I love your smell.’

  ‘It’s you who smells.’

  He pushed her gently off his arm and flexed his hand, gasping as pins and needles spread through his useless digits.

  Ten minutes later he was on the front porch with a travel mug full of coffee, sensation returned to all his limbs. A breeze teased his damp hair. The sky was the palest blue, without a cloud in sight. Once the morning chill passed it would be a warm day. Just perfect for traipsing around a public dump.

  Dave pulled up a couple of minutes later and Ed climbed in.

  ‘Where’s mine?’ Dave said, eyeing the travel mug.

  ‘You don’t drink instant.’

  Dave pulled a face. ‘Swill. I know a place on the way that does a perfect espresso.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Ed studied his partner. His dark hair was nailed into place with product — gel or wax, whatever — and he was wearing an impeccable dove-grey suit and white shirt. Silver cufflinks peeked out from under his jacket sleeves and his tie was a candy-stripe affair of lavender and blue. A picture of Dave knee-deep in rubbish popped into Ed’s head and he suppressed a smile.

  Settling back against the car’s upholstery, he took a gulp of coffee and screwed up his face. He shoved his mug into a cup holder in the console. Dave had a point. He’d wait for an espresso.

  It would take them at least forty-five minutes to get to the dump even though traffic was still light and they were heading against the flow.

  ‘Ever been to this dump?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Yeah, when I was a kid. My dad used to load up the trailer every now and then and we’d do a run. I thought it was exciting. You?’

  Dave shook his head. ‘My old man used to hoard everything. He’s probably still got the first TV he ever owned stashed in one of his sheds.’