Ed was surprised. It was unusual for Dave to talk about his family. They’d been partners for nearly eight months and Ed still felt like he was only just scratching at the shiny veneer that Dave showed the world. Dave’s background was blue collar and Ed knew he’d grown up around Adelaide’s north-western suburbs. A state-school education and humble beginnings. It wasn’t something Dave liked people to know. His flashy suits, fast cars and trophy girlfriends were all about showing the world how far he’d come. Ed decided to stick his foot in the chink in Dave’s armour.
‘Your dad’s still fit and healthy?’
‘Yeah, him and Mum. They’re only in their early sixties.’
‘Had you young, eh?’
‘Mum was twenty-two.’
‘Seen them lately?’
‘Nope. You see your parents much?’
‘Mine died in a car accident years ago. You’re lucky to have both of yours.’
‘Yeah, lucky me.’ His tone told Ed the subject was closed.
Ed stared out the window at the passing scenery. It wasn’t very appealing; clusters of businesses, used-car lots, fast-food outlets and shops. Trees were few and far between. McLaren Vale would be nicer with rolling hills of vines and farmland. He closed his eyes.
‘Wakey, wakey. We’re nearly there.’
Ed sat up and blinked against the bright sunlight streaming through the windscreen. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep. Cass got in late last night.’
‘And here I was thinking it was because she’d kept you up all night.’
‘You have a filthy mind.’
‘I just say what everyone else is thinking.’ Dave grinned.
‘If everyone thought like you, no one would ever get any work done.’
‘I get the job done.’
‘Yes, you do, amazing but true. Weren’t we stopping for coffee on the way?’
‘We did. I didn’t have the heart to wake you so I got you a takeaway. It’s probably stone cold by now.’ He nodded at the cup in the console.
‘Thanks.’ Ed grabbed it and sipped at the tepid contents. Even at this temperature, it was better than instant.
Five minutes later they pulled up to the boom gate at the entry to the dump, but there was no one in the booth. Dave rolled down his window and pressed the button on a small intercom box. Fetid air wafted through his window, making them screw up their faces. Ed switched to breathing through his mouth.
A tinny voice answered and Dave gave their details. The boom lifted and they followed the road around to the large tin shed where they’d been directed. A cluster of vehicles, marked and unmarked, announced the crime scene. A single figure bathed in bright sunlight stood next to the cars, waiting for them. Her short cropped hair glowed like a red halo. She was wearing jeans, army boots and a plain white t-shirt.
‘Check her out. Looks like they sent out a welcoming party,’ Dave said.
A smile tugged at the corners of Ed’s mouth. Things were about to get interesting. ‘That’s Phil.’
‘Phil … as in your old partner Phil?’
‘The same.’
‘You didn’t tell me she was hot in a GI Jane kind of way.’
‘Don’t even think about going there.’
‘What, I’m not good enough for her?’ Dave said it with a smile but Ed could hear the edge that had crept into his voice.
‘No, you have the wrong tackle.’
‘She’s a dyke? Really? You never told me.’
‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’
Dave parked the car next to the rest of the vehicles and they climbed out.
‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ Phil said. ‘Do we have to find a body for you to show your ugly mug around these parts?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘You’d be Dave. Hope you brought a change of clothes. This isn’t really the place for Armani’s summer collection.’
‘Nice to finally meet you.’ Dave held out his hand but Phil ignored it.
‘You’ll want these, and some gloves.’ She threw some paper masks at them.
Dave fumbled but managed to catch his before it hit the dust.
‘This way.’ She strode off, leaving them to scurry behind.
‘Wow, I think she hates me,’ Dave said.
‘Phil hates anyone from MCIB.’
‘She doesn’t hate you.’
‘No, she loves me, but sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.’
They followed Phil inside the compacting shed, a huge structure made of corrugated iron. Open windows just below the roofline let the heat and stink out, or at least tried to. To one side was a towering mound of rubbish. A large tractor with impressive spiked rollers sat on top of it, like a sleeping dragon. Crime scene techs were also on top, clustered just in front of the tractor’s front roller. A group of uniformed officers and men in Hi-Vis gear stood at the base, talking in low voices. Two front-end loaders stood off to one side. More sleeping monsters.
‘The remains are up there,’ Phil pointed to the group on top of the mound. ‘My new partner Steve’s up there too. I’ll introduce you. He’s like a younger, less fucked-up version of you, Ed.’
‘So you’re not missing me?’ Ed said.
‘Not a chance.’ Phil snorted and began to climb up a ramp that had been flattened into one end of the mound to give the tractors access.
‘Watch your footing. It’s pretty solid but sometimes a bit sticks up and snags your legs.’
They walked up the incline, picking their way over compacted rubbish that seemed to consist of everything from bagged junk to broken furniture and old clothing.
‘This is where the household rubbish trucks come to unload during the week. Private dumpers come here on the weekend. The front-end loaders over there push it all into a mound and then the big boy up there compacts it. This shed sits over huge underground passages. There are trapdoors under this mound. Every so often they open them up and drop the compacted stuff into trucks below. When the trucks are full, they take the load to other parts of the dump for landfill.’
‘Wow, sounds like you know a lot about waste disposal.’ Dave gave her his Prince Charming smile, flashing a set of teeth straight out of a toothpaste commercial.
Phil tossed him a look. ‘No, I just spent ten minutes talking to the manager.’
By the time they had reached the top and navigated their way around the large tractor Ed could feel damp patches under his arms and a sheen of sweat beading his brow. ‘It’s hot in here,’ he said.
‘Foreman says it gets over fifty degrees Celsius in the middle of summer. Combination of sun on the tin roof and heat given off by the composting organic matter.’
‘And it’d stink to high heaven,’ Ed added.
‘Yep, think yourself lucky that all you have to deal with is putrefying remains.’
‘So they’re pretty bad?’
‘Can’t you smell it?’
‘I’ve been trying to breathe through my mouth since we got here,’ Ed said. ‘But yeah, I can.’ Despite the mask, the cloying smell of decomposing flesh was unmistakeable, even over the rotting organic matter.
They came around the front of the tractor. Sonya, the pathologist who serviced the Fleurieu area, was working off to one side, together with the crime-scene team. She gave Ed a friendly wave. Phil took them over and made the introductions.
‘Ed, Dave, this is Detective Steve Williams.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Steve said, shaking Ed’s hand, then Dave’s.
‘All good, I’m sure,’ Ed said. Phil was right. Steve was at least ten years younger than him and still had the air of enthusiasm that the job had beaten out of Ed a long time ago. Ed felt a pang in his midsection. He remembered being like Steve. Maybe Phil really didn’t miss him.
‘If you make your way over to Sonya, she’ll let you check out the remains,’ Steve said.
‘Oh goody,’ Dave said.
Sonya was stooped over, focused on what was in f
ront of her. As they approached, she stood up and rubbed her back. ‘Hey Ed, good to see you. I was beginning to forget what you look like.’ She gave him a toothy grin.
He instantly thought of horses, then felt bad. Her smile always had the same effect on him, and he always felt guilty about it. ‘Sonya, this is my partner, Dave. What’ve we got?’
Sonya gave Dave an appraising look before turning back to Ed. ‘It’s a bitch of a scene. The techs are going to be busy for a long time. It’s hard to tell exactly how far the bag was dragged before the tractor stopped.’
She stood to one side and Ed could see a dark-green garbage bag spewing forth its grisly contents. He could identify a partially denuded skull and what looked like fingers, also showing patches of bare bone. He swallowed a few times, forcing back the rising bile, and was glad he’d skipped breakfast. He wasn’t good with the messy ones.
‘So,’ Dave said, ‘how did the driver even notice there were remains? He wouldn’t have been able to see from up there.’ He squinted up at the small cabin on top of the tractor.
‘He’d stopped for smoko. When he got down, he spotted the exploded bag and its contents in front of the roller,’ Phil said.
‘So if he’d kept going he might never have noticed,’ Ed said.
‘Probably not. The techs are going to have to search a large area to see if there’s any more. We’ll probably end up calling in the State Emergency Service to help with a grid search. Help from the SES will cut down the search time and keep all the bureaucrats happy. What we’ve got here isn’t much. A head, one hand and two feet, all badly decomposed,’ Sonya said.
‘Intact enough to fingerprint?’ Ed asked.
‘’fraid not. With the recent warm days and the sauna effect of being wrapped in plastic, most of the flesh has liquefied.’
‘Lovely. So what can you tell us?’ Ed asked.
‘My best guess is that the vic was male, based on the size of the hands and feet. He had bad arthritis in his fingers. The finger joints show signs of multiple breakages and trauma. I haven’t examined the skull yet. I’ll have a proper look when I get it back to the lab. I’m hoping the teeth will help us identify him.’
‘Age and race?’ Dave asked.
‘I can’t be sure until I’ve examined the skull.’
‘Come on, best guess?’ he wheedled.
‘It’s only a guess. Don’t go holding me to it!’
‘Scout’s honour.’ Dave gave her a mock salute and an open, soulful stare.
Ed cringed, but this time Dave’s charm seemed to be working. Ed could have sworn a blush was creeping its way across Sonya’s cheeks.
‘I’d say Caucasian, and probably older, based on the degree of arthritis and what’s left of the hair — the strands I can see are all grey. Maybe fifties or sixties, but it’s hard to say.’
‘Thanks, that’s great. We can narrow down the missing person reports,’ Dave said, smiling again.
‘You’re welcome.’ She beamed back at him.
Ed tried not to think of horses.
CHAPTER
3
‘Jasmine! How do you expect me to work if you keep doing that?’ I grabbed the bundle of white fur sitting on the desk next to my computer and plonked her unceremoniously on the floor.
My cat regarded me with a steady yellow gaze before meowing loudly and turning her back. The message was clear. If I was going to treat her like a second-class citizen, I could get knotted.
‘I’m sorry, puss, but batting at the keyboard isn’t helpful. I’m trying to get rid of typos, not create them.’
Jasmine’s ears twitched but she refused to turn around. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the manuscript I was editing. Truth be told, I was glad of the distraction. It was hard going. Even though my job was to improve the writing, not enjoy the content, an in-depth exploration of the migratory patterns of some obscure species of bird wasn’t exactly my thing.
I forced my attention back to the screen. I wanted to get another hour done before taking a break. The house was quiet. Ed was at work and there were no distractions, apart from the furball. I worked my way through another few pages before looking at Jasmine again. She’d curled up and gone to sleep on one of my slippers. The sight brought a lump to my throat. I was ridiculously soppy when it came to animals, and seeing Jasmine looking so comfortable and happy after the rough start she’d had was enough to make me a bit weepy.
I’d found her, dirty and pathetic, huddled under a hibiscus bush in our postage-stamp sized backyard. I’d spent the best part of an hour on my hands and knees waving titbits of chicken and trying to coax her out. When she’d finally crept close enough for me to get a hand on her, I’d been shocked to find I could feel every one of her ribs under all her fur.
I’d brought her inside and fed her before bundling her into the car and taking her to the vet. The rest was history. Ed had arrived home that night to find both of us soaking wet and the kitchen floor covered in soapsuds.
‘What the hell is that?’ he’d said, regarding what to him had looked like a cross between a large rat and a ferret. I had her clamped firmly in both hands, submerged in a plastic tub filled with about four inches of water.
‘A cat, of course. Isn’t she gorgeous?’ The cat took the opportunity to struggle, emitting a series of yowls from deep in her throat.
‘Gorgeous? Are we talking about the same thing here? And why are you washing a strange cat in the middle of the kitchen?’
‘She is gorgeous — at least, she will be once she’s dry. Can you believe her fur was actually white underneath all the dirt? The vet told me to give her a bath.’
‘The vet? Is that blood?’ He pointed to a series of scratches down my arm.
‘We had a bit of a disagreement about her getting in the bath.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He walked across to the fridge and got himself a beer. ‘And where did this gorgeous cat come from?’
‘I found her in the backyard. I think she’s a stray …’
That had been three weeks ago. Ed had launched a fervent campaign to talk me out of keeping her, but the poor man really had no idea what he was up against. He hadn’t stood a chance. I came from a long line of passionate cat lovers and he was doomed to fail before he’d even formulated his opening strategy. I’d been missing Shadow, the cat that lived with Mum and Gran back in Jewel Bay, a lot more than I cared to admit. As far as I was concerned, a house without a cat just wasn’t a home.
I stood up and stretched, working the kinks out of my neck and back. It was nearly 5pm. Maybe a break would do me good. I’d make myself a pot of tea then give Mum and Gran a call. It’d been a few days since I’d spoken to them and I was missing them. I still got terribly homesick now and then, usually when Ed and I had been fighting.
Bending down, I scooped up Jasmine and gave her a squeeze and a tickle under the chin. She gave me a look that clearly expressed exactly what she thought about my cred as a cat owner. First I’d stopped her game with the computer, now I was disturbing her sleep. Just what kind of amateur was I?
I took her into the kitchen with me, filled her bowl with biscuits and made myself a pot of tea. We were sitting in companionable silence, with me at the table and her at her bowl scoffing food, when the front door rattled and Ed came in.
‘You’re home early.’
‘Early start.’
He walked across the kitchen and bent down to kiss my cheek. It was then that I noticed the stink pervading the room. Jasmine noticed it too. The sounds of her crunching abruptly stopped.
‘My God, what’s that smell?’ I said, covering my nose and mouth with a hand.
‘That’d be me.’
‘Wow, that’s really rank. What have you been doing?’
‘Traipsing around a rubbish dump.’
‘The call-out this morning?’
‘Yep, body parts in a bag at a dump in McLaren Vale.’
‘Yuck.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
&nbs
p; ‘Go have a shower and put your clothes straight in the washing machine … add a capful of disinfectant, as well as powder.’
He wandered off towards the bathroom. I pinched the bridge of my nose and crossed the kitchen to tug open the window. The cat took my cue and headed for the back door.
‘Want to go outside? Don’t blame you.’ I opened the back door for her and left it open to accelerate the airing.
I cranked up the coffee machine and by the time Ed was back from his shower I had a steaming latte waiting for him. He fell into a chair at the table and sat staring into his mug. A full two minutes ticked by without him speaking, looking up or taking even a mouthful of coffee.
‘Bad day?’
‘What?’ He looked up at me.
‘Did you have a bad day?’ I repeated, trying to read his expression. His face was a blank slate. Whatever the problem was, he’d internalised it and put up the blinds.
‘It’s never a good day when we find a victim.’
‘No, I suppose not. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘There’s not much to talk about.’
We lapsed into silence again. I concentrated on finishing my tea, battling hard not to pry further. I always felt better when I’d talked about my problems and found it hard to accept when other people didn’t operate the same way. I wanted Ed to get it all off his chest. He wanted to keep it all to himself, work through it in his own time, in his own way. It was one of the main differences between us.
I decided a change of subject was in order. ‘What do you feel like for dinner? I thought maybe those steaks I picked up the other day, with some home-made chips?’
‘I’m really not very hungry.’
‘Oh, right, of course not.’ I felt like a bit of a twit. Of course you wouldn’t be hungry if you’d been immersed in the stench of a rubbish dump all day.
‘You make yourself something. I might wait until later.’
‘I’m not that hungry. Maybe we’ll both eat later.’
‘Sure.’ He went back to contemplating the contents of his coffee mug. I let him go for a bit longer, but after another five minutes of silence I parked my good intentions.
Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) Page 3