Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3)

by Melanie Casey

  ‘I’ll buy you lunch,’ Mum wheedled.

  She didn’t really need to twist my arm. Jenson aside, the situation with Ed had my insides in knots. I’d thought being home with Mum and Gran would take my mind off him but his absence just served to underline what a big part of my life he’d become. Mum and Gran’s place was still my home, it just wasn’t my home with Ed. That realisation made me even more annoyed. Why didn’t he feel the same way?

  ‘You need to stop worrying about things with Ed. Give him some space. You’ll work it out,’ Mum said.

  I hadn’t told Mum what was bothering me but she had an uncanny knack of reading me. I obviously had ‘relationship problems’ stamped on my forehead in big letters.

  ‘I could have a little look if you open up …’ she said.

  I shook my head. Mum would gladly have had a peek at my future if I’d let her. As a teenager her attempts to read my future had felt like a gross invasion of privacy and I’d built up a very effective psychic wall to block out her probing. These days I just preferred not to know what was ahead.

  ‘Nope, sorry Mum. Off limits.’

  She tugged at a lock of her hair that had escaped her ponytail, tucking it behind her ear. She was used to my rejection, but she didn’t like it. The hair tugging was a familiar gesture that told me she was annoyed. I smiled. I was pretty good at reading her too.

  ‘So are you going to colour your hair or have you decided to age gracefully?’ I said, changing the subject.

  ‘I’m thinking I might age gracefully. Red hair gets harder to wear as you get older. I like your gran’s silver hair. Besides, I don’t have that many greys.’

  She was right. For a woman in her early sixties she looked fantastic. Her peaches-and-cream skin would have made most fifty-year-olds jealous. Six months earlier, however, she had looked even younger. Now she sported worry lines and grey hairs at her temples, both testament to the stress of getting tangled up in one of Ed’s cases.

  ‘Is Gran coming along too?’

  ‘No, she’s feeling a bit tired today. She said she was going to take it easy and potter in the garden.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s just getting older.’

  Guilt niggled at me. Was it my fault that she was tired? Her gentle touch in the kitchen the day before had been more than just an offer of comfort. She’d been healing my inner turmoil, and, just like mine did, using her gift could sap her energy. I hadn’t imagined that such a fleeting encounter would leave her tired the next day.

  I pressed my hands into the smooth wood of the kitchen table that had borne witness to so many shared meals. Tendrils of fear stretched out and brushed my heart, making me shiver. I didn’t like the idea of my invincible grandmother getting older. She was a bastion of strength in our family.

  The phone rang, snapping me out of my morose thoughts. Mum stepped into the hallway and answered it. Our house must be one of the few remaining that still has old-fashioned phones with cords. I took the opportunity to wash up the cups and teapot. Shadow moseyed in at the sound of dishes rattling and looked at me expectantly. His black bulk looked slightly smaller than its usual nine-and-a-half kilos, courtesy of the diet prescribed by the vet.

  ‘You know I’m not allowed to,’ I said.

  He looked over at his bowl and then back at me before giving a long, pathetic meow. I wiped my hands then snuck over to the pantry and grabbed a handful of his dry food.

  ‘Don’t tell Mum or Gran,’ I whispered, depositing it in his bowl.

  Mum came back into the kitchen just as he finished and sat back to lick his chops. I looked up at her expectantly.

  She shook her head. ‘That was Natalia again. She’s calling off the watch on our house. They had another sighting of Jenson last night at a petrol station on the Dukes Highway. They’re confident he’s heading away from here. Victorian police are on full alert. She says there’s nothing to worry about now and that they’ll have him back in custody before too much longer.’

  CHAPTER

  14

  ‘Dyson!’

  Ed stopped mid-stride and swung into Crackers’ office. It would have been too much to expect an hour’s peace before he got his chops busted.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Is your phone broken?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Is the entire email network down?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They why the hell did I have to find out about a second body from Janice instead of you?’

  ‘We spent the day at the dump yesterday with the dog. I was planning on reporting back to you today.’

  ‘Why weren’t you here in Adelaide taking our pet psychic to the morgue like I asked you to?’

  ‘I was. I did. She didn’t get much. The vic’s eyesight was blurred and he was incredibly tired so she didn’t see anything. All she got was a sense that there was someone else there.’

  ‘Well, that was a waste of fucking time then, wasn’t it? Of course there was someone else there. It was the person who fucking killed him!’

  Ed gritted his teeth. He wanted to defend Cass, to explain what might have gone wrong, but the pugnacious expression on Crackers’ face told him the boss was spoiling for a fight. He let it go, and instead focused on the 1960s vintage chrome clock on the wall, counting the seconds as the hand progressed around its yellowed face.

  ‘Well? What else have you got?’

  ‘Toxicology confirmed the victim might have been drugged, traces of barbiturates. Dave and I are back to visit the families of the missing persons who match what we know about the body parts. We’ll try to get some DNA samples for comparison. The crime-scene techs and SES volunteers are on site with the dog and its handler to see if there are any more remains. The Fairfield team will keep an eye on things down there and we’ll meet with them again tomorrow morning to compare notes. The pathologists haven’t been able to give us much on the first victim yet, male, sixty plus, Caucasian, with advanced arthritis in his fingers, and teeth that hadn’t seen a dentist for a long time. The Fairfield pathologist will ship the second set of remains to Bill later today but early thinking is that the victim is also male and approximately the same age.’

  ‘Any idea where the remains came from?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So you’ve got bugger all in other words? Christ, why is it I always end up with cases where there’s no bloody evidence and no suspects? Whatever happened to stupid fucking criminals who leave evidence lying around everywhere?’

  ‘I guess they all got caught.’

  ‘Don’t be a fucking smart arse. Just make sure this one does too.’

  Ed walked out of the office experiencing the usual dose of high blood pressure that accompanied a run-in with Crackers. He needed a coffee. He also needed to see if there’d been any developments with Brian Jenson. His escape had been all over the news that morning but there was no new information, just a rehash of the same story they’d been running yesterday with repeated images of James Nash House, Jenson and the person he’d killed.

  He’d hoped Cass would ring him but the phone had stayed silent. That probably wasn’t all that surprising. It’d been less than twelve hours since he’d called her. He’d thought about calling her again to make sure she was OK, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react. She might think he was mollycoddling her and get annoyed all over again.

  Dave wasn’t at his desk yet — it was only 8.15am. Sleep had been in short supply the night before, and by around 6am Ed had got fed up with tossing and turning and gone for a run. He was used to having Cass in his bed. The house had felt unnaturally empty without her.

  He sat down at his desk with a grunt. Coffee could wait till Dave rolled in. He picked up the phone. Sorenson answered on the first ring. Her PA wasn’t in yet.

  ‘Fairfield CIB, Sorenson.’

  ‘It’s Dyson.’

  ‘Tell me you’ve rung to accept my job offer.’

  ‘Um, no, I’d like a bit mo
re time to think about it. I was ringing to see if you knew any more about the Jenson situation.’

  ‘Ah, you’re worried about Cass. I haven’t heard anything since last night but everything suggests he’s heading to Victoria so I don’t think you need to worry. Is everything OK with you and Cass?’

  ‘Fine.’

  The silence stretched, filled with unspoken questions that Sorenson was too polite to ask.

  ‘I’ve called off the watch on their house but I’ll send Phil to check up on them today, all right?’

  Ed felt weak with relief. ‘Thanks. Do you think you could skip the bit about me ringing you?’

  ‘Jesus, Ed. Why are relationships so complicated for you? All right. I want to make sure they’re OK as well, so it can be my idea. Happy?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And Ed?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Talk to Cass, will you? I need your answer by the end of next week at the latest.’

  Ed hung up and faced his computer. His head was all over the shop. He needed to focus on the case. He and Dave had the morning all planned out. Trawling through the missing persons files hadn’t been a total waste of time. There were three main candidates for the first set of remains, and if Sonya’s thinking on the second set was correct, they could have a match for their second vic too. The age estimate had ruled out some of the other contenders. Ed opened the case notes.

  Candidate one was Thomas Simpson, aged sixty-four. He’d been reported missing by his neighbours six months earlier, after they noticed mail spilling out of his mailbox.

  The police had kicked the door in, half-expecting a body, but all they’d found was a neat apartment with rotting food in the fridge. The word ‘dementia?’ was underlined in the file. One of the neighbours reported that old Tom had been getting ‘a bit confused’ prior to his disappearance. Maybe he’d gone out and forgotten where he lived.

  The investigating officers had bagged a toothbrush and a comb so they had some of his DNA. Ed needed to get them shipped over to the lab.

  The second possibility was Ken Forster, aged sixty-three. He’d been homeless for years but had maintained occasional contact with his older sister, Mavis. She’d reported him missing two months back after he’d fallen off the radar for longer than usual. There was no record of any DNA being collected.

  Candidate three was Len Crowley. He’d lived with his daughter, Beth and, according to her, he’d just up and left one day and never come back. He’d been missing for less than a month. Again, they hadn’t collected any DNA, but that was typical in situations where an adult left willingly.

  Len seemed a better candidate than the other two. The case notes listed two addresses for his daughter: a main residence in Wayville, only a five-minute drive from the city, and a holiday house at Willunga, one of the suburbs serviced by the dump where the body had been found. Ed made a note to ask Janice to run a background check on the daughter.

  The officer who’d interviewed her had written ‘daughter hostile and angry — difficult relationship?’ at the bottom of the file. In these days of Freedom of Information and political correctness he probably hadn’t written what he’d wanted to, which might have been something like ‘the daughter is a pain in the arse and it’s no wonder her old man did a runner’. Ed tucked the Len Crowley file underneath the Ken Forster one. The thought of beginning the day with a nice old lady to interview was much more appealing than a run-in with a hostile daughter.

  Ed was sitting back in his chair pondering the topic of difficult women when Dave strolled in. He was wearing a slim-fitting pinstriped suit with a glowing white shirt and a pink and grey candy-striped tie. Every hair was in place and he was sporting a five o’clock shadow. He looked like something out of GQ magazine.

  ‘Nice tie,’ Ed said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dave gave him a beaming smile. Ed couldn’t work out if Dave didn’t get sarcasm or if he simply chose to ignore it. Either way, it seemed to bounce off him like hailstones off a tin roof. No matter how much noise Ed made, nothing dented his partner’s cool demeanour.

  ‘Had a good night?’ Ed said.

  Dave winked. ‘I may have just met the love of my life.’

  ‘You have more lives than a cat.’

  ‘This woman, I’d happily spend all nine with.’

  Ed rolled his eyes. He’d heard it all before. Dave fell in and out of love more often than he changed his suits.

  ‘I’ve got the details for the three missing persons that are the best fit. Only one had DNA collected — I’ll ask Janice to ship the sample over to the lab for comparison. The other two had no samples, so I guess we’d better go see their relatives. I’d like to start with Ken Forster, he has an older sister. She’s his only listed relative.’

  ‘Older sister? How much older? Is she going to be up for a visit from us?’

  ‘I hope so, but I’m going to need a coffee first if you expect me to function. Hang about and I’ll just go see Janice. I’ll ask her to call the sister and let her know we’re coming.’ Ed opened up the file again. ‘Her name’s Mavis … Doolan. She lives in Mile End. With a bit of luck she’s got some of his things and a photo or two.’

  ‘Fine by me, I know a good café on Henley Beach Road. We can grab a coffee there. They do pretty good Greek desserts, too, maybe we could get some takeaway for later.’

  Ed had to smile. Dave was what he’d describe as a feeder. It was a wonder Ed hadn’t put on ten kilos since they’d been working together. Mind you, Phil wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue when it came to dietary habits either, and he’d survived over a decade as her partner without having a coronary.

  ‘Hello? Earth to Ed? Are you going to see Janice or are you going to sit there all day having a face-off with your computer?’

  Ed stood up and pushed his chair back. ‘Back in five.’

  The hinges on the gate to the Victoria-style villa announced their arrival. By the time they’d crunched their way up Mavis Doolan’s garden path she was waiting for them with the screen door propped open. She was a small woman, made even more so by the severe curve in her spine. She leant heavily on a silver walker, her head tipped up at an awkward angle to peer at them like an ancient, but very alert bird.

  ‘You’d be the police?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Detective Dyson and this is Detective Reynolds. Are you Mrs Doolan?’

  ‘I am. I was expecting you a bit sooner.’

  ‘I hope we didn’t hold you up too much,’ Dave said, treating her to his trademark display of gleaming white.

  ‘It’s not as if I get out much these days.’ She waved an arthritis-twisted hand at her walking frame.

  Ed reached out to grab the screen door as she manoeuvred the frame around to lead them inside. The hallway was free of any tables and rugs, probably to make room for the walker. The walls were decorated with dozens of photos: babies, children, weddings, graduations. Decades of happy memories. The air was fragrant with the smell of fresh baking. Ed’s mouth watered.

  ‘This way. I thought we’d sit in the kitchen. It faces north and it’s warmer than the rest of the house. Good for my arthritis. I’ve made some burnt-butter biscuits. We can have a cup of tea and talk about Kenneth.’

  Progress was slow but they eventually made it to the kitchen. A wave of nostalgia swept over Ed as he stepped inside. Long-forgotten memories of his grandparents’ house danced at the edges of his mind. It was an old kitchen, probably sixties vintage, but every surface was spotless. A green and cream Formica table and matching chairs sat in the middle of the room. Pale-green plastic canisters clustered on one of the benchtops, next to an ancient cooker. The only new additions were a shiny stainless-steel microwave, kettle and toaster. Ed would have put money on them being gifts from children or grandchildren.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll make the tea,’ she said.

  They sat. Cups and a plate of biscuits were already sitting on the table. Mavis boiled the kettle and filled a teapot then covered it with a cr
ocheted tea cosy.

  ‘Let me get that,’ Dave said, jumping up to bring it over. He placed it on the table then pulled a chair out for her.

  She thanked him and joined them, easing herself into the chair, her face twisting in pain as she did so. ‘Arthritis, it’s a curse, especially at this time of year.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble of making biscuits,’ Ed said.

  ‘I like to bake and I don’t get the chance very often. My children visit when they can and I see my grandchildren for birthdays and special occasions, but people don’t often stop in for a cup of tea like they used to. All my friends are either in nursing homes or have shuffled off already. This area’s full of young people who work during the day. I’m the last of the oldies. Try one.’ She pushed the plate towards them.

  They both obliged. Ed tried not to think about the serving of baklava Dave had foisted on him less than twenty minutes earlier.

  ‘These are wonderful!’ Dave enthused.

  ‘An old family recipe. Now, tell me, why the sudden focus on Kenneth? I thought you’d lost interest in his case. Has something happened?’

  ‘Unfortunately, we found some human remains earlier this week. We haven’t been able to identify the victim. Part of our process is to look at missing persons who match the general description,’ Ed said.

  ‘I see. Do you have pictures? I could tell you whether or not it’s him.’

  Ed and Dave exchanged a quick look. Mavis Doolan might have been old, but she wasn’t slow on the uptake. She saw the exchange and her face crumpled into a frown.

  ‘Oh dear, I understand. Has the person been dead for long?’

  ‘Not that long, but the remains aren’t in a good state.’ He decided not to tell her about the second set. Being economical with the truth could spare people pain.

  ‘I read about that in the papers. What makes you think it could be Kenneth?’

  ‘The pathologist has given us gender and approximate age. We don’t have anything more than that.’