‘Hopefully Rick’s here. He’s managed the place for nearly a decade. Nice bloke. There’s quite a bit of temporary accommodation for homeless men in North Adelaide. Rick gets a few coming in here. He’s a lot more tolerant than most of the publicans. The pubs around here are too trendy for the old blokes and the managers don’t encourage them — they put off the younger clientele. But Rick treats people like people, no matter what their situation.’
‘Sounds like you know him well.’
‘Went to school with him. His younger brother Tony suffered from schizophrenia. He’d go off his meds regularly and end up on the streets. It didn’t matter that he had a loving family who cared for him and tried to make sure he had a roof over his head. The illness drove him away from them. A lot of people who end up in shelters have similar stories.’
Ed stared at Dave. He was beginning to think the body snatchers had paid Dave a visit in the middle of the night. He’d never heard his partner speak so seriously about anything remotely related to social problems and policy. He’d assumed that Dave’s main mental activity went into planning his next date. For the second time in as many hours Ed felt bad for underestimating the guy. He’d been fooled by his macho exterior and completely missed the social conscience lurking underneath.
‘Grab a seat over there and I’ll see if I can hunt Rick down,’ Dave said.
Ed watched as Dave waltzed up to the bar and began working on one of the barmaids. Dave said something and the girl giggled and blushed. Ed grinned to himself. Nope, no body snatchers.
After a few minutes Dave came back with another guy in tow.
‘Ed, this is Rick Mitchell. Rick, this is my partner Ed Dyson.’
They shook hands.
‘Thanks for talking to us. We want to ask a few questions about the homeless men who come in here,’ Ed said.
Rick took a seat. ‘Dave said you think someone might have been killing them?’
Ed frowned. Discretion was never Dave’s strong point. ‘We’re trying to track down one particular bloke who’s been missing for a couple of months. He came up as a possible match for some remains we’ve found, but so did a few others, so there might be nothing in it.’
Rick scratched his head. ‘But there might be something. Homeless people are vulnerable. Half the ones on the street are victims of violent attacks at one time or another. So what do you want from me, then?’
Ed pulled out a copy of the photo of Ken they’d taken from his file.
‘Do you recognise this man? The shot’s out of date. He would have been about fifteen years older when he went missing.’
Rick took the photo from him and peered at it with beetled brows. Based on what Dave had told him, Ed knew Rick and Dave had to be around the same age, but Rick looked much older. He’d lost most of his hair and his face had a leathery, lined look that told a story of too many late nights, too much beer and too much sun. His index finger and thumb bore the yellow stains of a heavy smoker.
‘Can’t say I remember him. I get the odd homeless bloke in here, but most of them don’t have enough money to pay pub prices for their beer.’
‘His sister said he’d been staying at a hostel in North Adelaide. We thought you might know which one. It’s run by a Mrs Jacobs?’
‘Martha? She’s a bloody legend. If I do get any stragglers in here I send them her way. She’s a bit fierce, but she runs a tight ship and the blokes who stay with her tell me she’s a superb cook. Rumour has it she had a tough upbringing herself so she understands them better than most.’
‘Can you tell us where her hostel is?’
‘Yep. It’s around the other side of the square, number 156. Big, imposing two-storey bluestone. No signage out front. She doesn’t need to advertise. Word of mouth has them queuing up every night.’
‘Thanks, that’s really helpful,’ Ed said.
‘No problem. Now, did you blokes want to try a brew? I’ve got Vale Ale on tap now, it’s a very nice drop.’
‘We’ll take a raincheck, but thanks,’ Ed said.
‘Geez, I thought all you blokes drank on the job?’
‘You’ve been watching too many Pommy TV shows,’ Dave said. ‘How’s Tony?’
Rick grimaced. ‘Up and down. He’s been going OK with his meds lately, so fingers crossed.’
The hostel was hard to miss. North Adelaide was full of historic mansions with classic Victorian and Edwardian architecture, but number 156 was the only place on the square big enough to fit the bill. Big brass numbers on the wall told them they were in the right place.
‘Why do you think there’s no sign?’ Ed said.
‘Rick said she doesn’t need to advertise, she’s full every night.’
‘Or maybe her North Adelaide neighbours don’t want her to advertise a shelter in their midst?’ Ed said.
‘Maybe. It’s a pretty ritzy suburb, lots of old money.’
‘Well, let’s see if Mrs Jacobs is home,’ Ed said.
He opened the gate and they walked up to the front door, announcing their arrival with every step along the white gravel path.
‘No sneaking up to the front door of this place,’ Dave said.
Ed reached up and rang the bell. Its clamour sounded somewhere in the depths of the house.
They stood there, listening for sounds of approach from within. A couple of minutes ticked past. Ed rang again.
‘No one home. Let’s go for lunch and come back later,’ Dave said.
‘No, wait! Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘That. There’s someone inside calling out. Listen! It’s muffled but you can hear it,’ Ed said.
Dave put his head up against the door and listened.
‘I can’t hear anything.’
They both pressed their ears against the smooth, shiny black paint of the front door. Their eyes turned skyward as they strained to listen.
‘There! Did you hear that?’ Ed said.
‘I did. You’re right. It sounds like crying.’
Ed hammered on the door with his fist. ‘Hello? Can you hear me? It’s the police!’
The yelling got louder.
‘You go down one side of the house, I’ll go down the other. Sing out if you find a way in.’
They sprinted down the cement paths either side of the house. Ed passed through a side gate and tried the first window he found. Locked. He had just reached the next window when he heard Dave calling from the back of the house.
‘Ed! Round here!’
Ed broke into a run, quickly covering the distance to the end of the pathway and round the back into a small, paved rear courtyard. Dave was standing at the back door with the screen door open. He was bent over the lock, fiddling with it.
‘Is the back door open?’
‘No, but it’s not as solid or well secured as the front door. There’s only a normal lock. I’ll have it open in a jiffy.’
‘Is that a locksmith’s pick?’
‘I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.’
A minute later he stood up and turned the handle. The door swung open.
‘After you,’ Dave said.
They unholstered their guns and slowly stepped inside. They found themselves in a large, farm-style kitchen with a big table in the middle. On one side of the room, a timber dresser stood against the wall. On the other side there was a door into the rest of the house. Through it, they heard the sounds of yelling lapse back into loud sobbing. They crossed the kitchen, following the noise. It was coming from the hallway. They stood, listening.
‘Over there.’ Dave pointed at the cupboard under the stairs. There was a padlock securing the door.
‘It’s the police. Are you all right?’ Dave called.
‘No! No police. Mama will be mad!’ More loud sobs followed. Ed and Dave exchanged a look. The voice was that of a man, but the words belonged to a child.
‘It’s all right, we’re just here to help,’ Dave called. ‘We’re going to get you out.’ He pulled a sm
all leather pouch from his pocket and took out his silver pick again before bending down to fiddle with the lock.
‘No. Don’t take me away! Leave Jonathan alone!’ The words dissolved into sobs again.
‘Jonathan? Is that your name? Jonathan, no one’s going to take you away. We just want to let you out,’ Dave said. He was frowning and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
‘Do I need to go and get the bolt cutters from the car?’ Ed said.
‘Just give me a sec.’ Dave carefully twirled the small silver pick. The lock clicked open. Ed made a mental note to ask him for some lessons.
Dave dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘You’d better cover me when I open the door. He’s pretty freaked out. We don’t know how he’ll react.’
‘All right. Be careful. I’ll try to stay out of sight. We don’t want to scare him,’ Ed whispered back.
He moved to one side, keeping a clear line of sight to the doorway, and raised his gun. He eased the safety off. Dave moved to the other side and shot the bolt. He slowly swung the door open, stepping back as he did so.
‘Hello, Jonathan? My name’s Dave and I’m here with my partner Ed. Are you all right?’ He paused, listening for a response. There was nothing, so he tried again. ‘You can come out now. We’re not going to hurt you, we just want to make sure you’re OK.’
The space under the stairs was a black hole. The dim light from the hallway hardly penetrated the gloom. They could see the figure of a man, hunched over, his arm thrown up to shield his eyes.
‘Jonathan? Come on. Out you come,’ Dave wheedled.
The man dropped his arm and looked at Dave. Ed lowered his gun. An attack seemed unlikely. The bloke looked scared out of his wits.
‘Let’s go and sit in the kitchen, shall we? We can all have a nice cup of tea and talk for a bit,’ Dave said. ‘Ed here will put the kettle on. Where’s your mother, Jonathan? Did she lock you under the stairs?’
‘Mama will be mad! It’s for my own good.’ Jonathan was staring at them with eyes like saucers.
‘We’ll tell your mama it was our idea. It’ll be OK. Come on. I bet you’re thirsty?’
Slowly he crawled forwards and out into the hallway. He stood up. Ed’s eyebrows rose a couple of inches. The guy was massive, at least six-four and built like a brick shithouse. He rested a hand on his gun, which was back in its holster under his jacket. Dave noticed the move and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Ed, you know where the kitchen is, lead the way. Jonathan and I will follow you, won’t we, Jonathan?’
Ed met his partner’s eyes before turning and walking back towards the kitchen. It went against every instinct to turn his back on the behemoth called Jonathan, but Dave was right, it would have been worse to show fear or anxiety.
In the kitchen he went through the motions of filling the kettle and turning it on before searching for mugs. He found some on the dresser he’d noticed earlier. Dave and Jonathan sat at the table. Neither said anything. Jonathan watched Ed’s every move. He was looking a bit calmer now. The tears had stopped, but his hands were still restless with anxiety and he kept shifting his gaze towards the hallway. Ed put him at somewhere in his late forties. His hair was grey in parts and he had some lines around his eyes and mouth. Ed was no expert, but he would have guessed at brain injury rather than autism or some other learning disorder.
‘Where is your mama, Jonathan?’ Dave asked.
‘Dunno. At the shops?’ Jonathan said.
‘Has she been gone long?’
The man shrugged.
Ed put three mugs of tea on the table and sat down.
‘We came here today because we’re looking for someone and we thought you or your mother might recognise him,’ Ed said.
Jonathan’s eyes flickered over Ed’s face then dropped to the table again.
‘Can I show you a photo?’ Ed asked.
He shrugged.
Ed pulled out the photo of Ken Forster and passed it across the table.
‘This is the man we’re looking for. This photo was taken a long time ago, so he’d look a lot older now. Have you seen him? His sister said he stayed here just before he went missing.’
Jonathan took the photo and looked at it. Ed watched his face. Jonathan was no poker player. He blinked rapidly then shook his head vigorously.
‘No, haven’t seen him. Don’t know him. No.’
Ed and Dave exchanged a look. Ed took the photo back. ‘That’s all right. Thanks for looking.’
The rattle of the front door and footsteps in the hallway announced the arrival of Mrs Jacobs. Jonathan sprang to his feet. Ed and Dave stood up as well and they all turned towards the door to the hallway. The footsteps stopped at the open cupboard under the stairs before continuing into the kitchen.
Mrs Jacobs walked in with a fierce scowl on her face and stopped dead when she saw Ed and Dave with her son.
‘Who are you?’
Ed made the introductions.
‘Mrs Jacobs, depriving your son of his liberty by locking him under the stairs is an offence. We also have reason to believe you were the last person to see Kenneth Forster. We’re currently investigating his disappearance. You’ll need to accompany us to the station so we can ask you a few questions,’ Ed said.
‘Questions? Am I under arrest? Who’s Kenneth Forster?’
‘Not yet. But I can make it formal if you’d prefer?’ Ed said.
‘No, of course not. This is all completely unnecessary. I only put Jonathan under the stairs for his own safety.’ She walked up to Jonathan and put her arm around him. ‘Mama loves you, doesn’t she Jonathan?’
She looked up at him and smiled. Jonathan responded to the affection like an eager puppy. His face lit up and he nodded, desperate to please her.
‘Why didn’t you just take him with you?’ Dave asked.
‘You don’t understand. He doesn’t like the shops, there are too many people, and I can’t leave him alone here by himself without making sure he’s safe. I wasn’t gone for long.’ She plastered the smile back on her face, looking from one of them to the other.
‘We’ll still have to ask you some questions. You’ll need to come with us,’ Ed said. There was no way he was going to let this go.
‘I can’t! I have a hostel to run. I have to prepare meals and make beds if I’m going to open tonight. Plus, I can’t leave Jonathan alone.’
‘You left him alone this morning,’ Dave said, giving her a look of pure ice.
‘Locked away for his own safety, and it was only for a short time,’ she said.
‘Jonathan can come with us,’ Dave said, trying to make eye contact with Jonathan, whose face had gone from delighted to terrified at the mention of his mother being taken away.
‘He won’t go in a police car, he’s scared of police and when he gets scared he can be unpredictable,’ Mrs Jacobs said.
Jonathan looked at her, then at the two detectives. ‘You leave my mama alone! She’s a good mama.’
He stood up, making his chair scrape on the tiled floor. He took a step towards Ed, his face creased into a scowl.
Ed’s hand shifted to rest on his gun. He glared at Mrs Jacobs, furious at her for winding up her son.
‘It’s all right Jonathan, you’re not scared of us are you? Ours is just a normal car,’ Dave said in singsong tones. ‘And we’re not the normal police. We’re the MCIB. We just want you to come for a little drive with us. We’ll drop you home again later today. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.’
‘You’ll bring me and Mama home again?’
‘Yes, we will,’ Dave said.
Jonathan’s face relaxed. His attention turned from Ed to Dave and he nodded.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Ed said.
CHAPTER
17
Help me, please God, help me.
The words repeated themselves over and over in my head on the drive home. My hands were freezing and they were gripped around the steering wheel so tightly my fingers had
gone numb. I didn’t dare look at Mum. I’d looked at Jenson only once. His eyes were trained on the rear-view mirror and he’d responded with a furious shove of the gun against the back of my head and a terse, ‘Eyes on the road.’
I tried to pull myself together and think coherently. He wanted to go back to our house. The only reason he would want to do that was so he could kill all three of us. Mum and Gran would go first. He wanted to punish me, so that meant I’d be last and he’d make me watch whatever horrors he wanted to inflict on them.
Mad thoughts flew into my head. I could just drive all three of us off a cliff. If Mum and I are going to die anyway we could take him out as well. At least we’d save Gran. My stomach churned. If Mum wasn’t with me … no, who was I kidding, I didn’t have the balls to do it. Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to scream, to release the turmoil inside me. Mum reached out and touched my leg. The contact shocked me out of my pit of despair. I looked at her quickly. She gave a tiny nod of her head. Realisation dawned on me and I tried to mentally strip away the barrier I’d built against her ability to read me. I felt the pressure in my forehead that told me she was tapping into my psyche.
‘No touching!’ Jenson screamed from the back.
Mum let her fingers linger for a few seconds longer. Jenson pressed the gun against her temple.
‘Move your hand. Now!’
I risked another look across at Mum. Her eyes were so wide I could see a white circle around each iris. She returned my look and mouthed the word ‘OK’.
‘Stop it! No more.’ Jenson’s voice sliced through me. ‘Eyes forwards or we’ll stop now and I’ll shoot your mother. Understand?’
I nodded.
OK? Did she mean everything would be OK, or that I’d be OK?
‘Brian,’ I said, intentionally using his first name, ‘please don’t do this. I’m so sorry for what happened to you.’
Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) Page 12