‘You’re only sorry I’m going to kill you. You don’t give a damn about me. Do you know what you did to me? You nearly fried my brain, so don’t tell me you weren’t happy knowing I was in that institution.’
‘No, I wasn’t, really.’
He shoved the gun into the back of my head, his hands shaking again. ‘Shut up! No more lies. Just drive.’
I thought about driving somewhere else but there was no point. He’d be onto me. I slowed down as much as I dared and prayed that Gran had gone out for the day.
Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of our house.
‘Why aren’t you using the driveway?’ he demanded.
‘We don’t put the car away until night-time,’ I lied, hoping Gran would look out one of the front windows and see us. We got out of the car and he made us walk up the path in front of him. I went first and Mum followed. My legs shook with the need to run. I wanted to throw up. How could this have happened?
‘Hurry up!’ he hissed.
I walked up the path, the sun warming my back. Magpies were warbling in the large gum tree at the rear of the house and the smell of fallen leaves and damp soil was heavy in the air. I felt like I was walking through a dream, the beauty and calm of the garden was so completely at odds with the chorus screaming in my head.
The smooth brass of the front door handle would normally have felt comforting, but this time as I turned it I felt nothing but agony. I stepped into the dimness of the hallway and stopped. Mum was right behind me. I turned and looked at her. Her face was pasty and her mouth was set in a thin line. Jenson had the gun pressed firmly in the small of her back. He kicked the door shut behind him, the sound making me jump.
‘Call your grandmother, and no funny business. Warn her, and I’ll kill your mother.’
I looked at him and immediately wished I hadn’t. His eyes were black pools. There was no hint of anything human in them and a large smile was spread across his face, twisting it so that it looked like a mask.
‘Gran!’ I called, trying to control the tremor in my voice. The seconds crawled past as I prayed she wouldn’t answer. My stomach plummeted as I heard the floorboards above me creak, and her footfall on the stairs. Gran stopped halfway down and the smile fell from her face. She looked from me to Mum to Jenson and then back again.
‘Cass?’
My eyes filled with tears.
‘Brian Jenson?’ Gran said.
‘You know who I am,’ he snarled.
‘Why don’t we all go into the kitchen and we can talk.’
‘Talk?’ The pitch of his voice went up an octave. ‘I’m not here to talk.’
‘The kitchen’s through there. Let’s go and you can tell us what you want. You don’t need that gun. None of us will hurt you,’ Gran said.
She walked the rest of the way down the stairs, past me and into the kitchen. I couldn’t believe how calm she was. Feeling like my limbs were made of wood, I followed her, acutely aware of Mum and Jenson behind me. We stepped into the kitchen. Gran was at the sink filling the kettle. I eased into my chair at the table. Mum did the same.
‘Sit down, Brian. You must be hungry. When was the last time you ate?’ Gran said.
He stared at her, then blinked a few times. His face relaxed, the sadistic smile falling away as he looked around him. For the first time he seemed uncertain.
‘Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you some lunch.’
‘Lunch?’
‘Yes. Anita, would you mind making the tea while I fix Brian some sandwiches?’
Mum pushed her chair back and stood up. Her chair scraped on the floor and Jenson jumped to his feet, raising his gun and waving it at us, twitching on the spot.
‘Don’t move! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t change my mind. They took away my wife and locked me up because of you! Do you think I’m suddenly going to forget that? Do you?’ he screamed.
‘No, no, of course not. It must have been terrible for you,’ Gran said. No one moved for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Finally, he stopped hopping up and down. The jitters left him like he was shedding a coat. It was bizarre. One minute he was manic and the next the tension was gone. He was like two different people in the one skin.
‘I haven’t eaten much since yesterday. Food would be good.’ He sat in a chair at one end of the table and put the gun down, his hand resting on it.
I looked across at Mum. She was watching Gran. Gran spoke to Mum.
‘Make the tea, Anita. Brian, I just need to get some things out of the fridge and cupboard. Is that OK with you?’
His hand tightened on the gun. ‘No sudden moves.’
‘All right. Nice and slowly. I only move slowly these days. Do you like corned beef? How does corned beef and mustard pickle sound to you?’
He stared at her. ‘I don’t like pickle.’
‘Corned beef and cheese, then?’
He nodded.
Nobody said anything while Mum made the tea and Gran made sandwiches. I kept expecting to wake up and find it was all a horrible dream.
Things got even stranger when Mum brought over the tea and Gran laid a plate of food in front of Jenson. We sat there in silence mechanically sipping our tea while the killer wolfed down corned beef and cheese sandwiches. I was gripping my mug so tightly that heat was scalding my palms and fingers. Suddenly the cat flap snapped backwards and forwards, making us all jump. Jenson snatched up the gun, but put it down again when he saw Shadow squeeze through the flap and make a beeline for his food bowl.
‘I always hated cats. Mrs Benson next door had cats. Hers was one of the first bodies I cremated.’ He leant forwards and smiled. ‘She deserved it. I hate nosy neighbours don’t you?’ He ate a few more bites then put his sandwich down and took a sip of tea, studying the three of us in turn. ‘I’m still going to kill you all. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come here. You’re not going to stop me.’
‘I can help you, Brian,’ Gran said.
‘Help? I don’t want your help,’ he spat. ‘I want you to feel pain like I do.’
‘I can take your pain away,’ Gran said.
‘No one can do that.’
I cleared my throat. ‘She can, she’s a healer.’
‘Shut up. I don’t want you to talk. You’re the reason we’re all here.’ He glared at me. I bit my lip and looked down into my tea.
The sound of Shadow crunching his biscuits filled the kitchen.
Jenson turned his gun towards the cat. I opened my mouth to scream at him to stop, but the sound was drowned out as Jenson fired. Shadow’s bowl exploded and cat biscuits flew into the air. He bolted for the cat door.
‘I always hated cats.’ Jenson rested the gun on the table again and turned back to his sandwiches. Gran slowly sat in the seat next to him. No one said anything until he finished the last bite. He pushed the plate away and picked up his tea, slurping noisily before thumping the mug back down. He looked at me, then at Mum. Finally, his eyes came to rest on Gran. My stomach flip-flopped with anxiety.
‘What did she mean when she said you’re a healer?’ he said.
‘I can make people better if I touch them,’ Gran explained.
‘I’m not sick,’ Jenson said, an edge creeping into his voice.
I bit my lip harder. Gran shot me a look, willing me to keep my mouth shut.
‘I can heal emotional pain as well.’
‘Sounds like a load of rubbish to me. How does it work?’ His face was twisted with scorn, but there was desperation in his expression as well. There was a tortured soul in there somewhere. I wasn’t sure Gran was capable of healing something so corrupted.
‘I can do it by taking your hands.’
My eyes shifted to Mum. Her eyes were circles of fear. She reached for Gran’s hand. ‘Mum, please don’t. You don’t know what it’ll do to you.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Jenson said.
‘She means that healing takes a
lot of energy,’ Gran said.
He studied Mum, then started to laugh. The sound made me sick.
‘She’s worried that trying to heal me might kill you, isn’t she?’ He looked at Gran, then laughed some more.
Mum dropped her eyes and stared at the table.
‘You know what, the irony of it all appeals to me. I don’t believe you can really heal people, but if you can, and trying to heal me kills you, that’d be perfect. I love the idea that you might be killed by your own special gift. Let’s try, shall we?’
Gran straightened her shoulders. I wanted to yell at her to stop. She was an old lady. She’d been so tired lately she’d barely left the house. I didn’t want her to waste one ounce of her precious energy on that scum.
My eyes darted around the kitchen. There had to be something I could do. The dishes on the bench caught my attention. Gran had left a chopping board and a large carving knife out after making the sandwiches. The knife was only about two metres from where I was sitting. Jenson had his back to it. One good lunge and I’d have it in my hand. If I chose my moment carefully, I could have it to his neck before he even knew what I was doing.
He looked around at us. ‘Don’t try anything stupid or I’ll shoot her.’ He picked up the gun and put it in his lap, then turned towards Gran.
As Gran took his hands in hers, I leapt out of my chair, I lunged across the space and grabbed up the knife.
‘Bitch!’ he yelled, yanking his hands from Gran’s and fumbling for the gun as he jumped up. Mum dived under the table.
‘Get down!’ she yelled at Gran.
‘Drop the gun! Now!’ I yelled, thrusting the knife at Jenson’s neck. I’d only meant to press it against his skin, but adrenaline and fear made me clumsy and I sliced his neck. He howled in pain and rage, swung around with the gun and fired. The shot exploded into the ceiling. Mum screamed. As I looked to see if she was hurt, Jenson smacked the gun against my hand, sending the knife flying. He followed up with another blow that caught me on the side of the head, sending me crashing to the floor. Mum and Gran were shouting. The room spun and lurched. I couldn’t see properly. The next thing I knew he was leaning over me, the gun pointed at my forehead.
‘Get up, bitch!’ he hissed. ‘All of you, sit back at the table. Now!’
I reached up and grabbed the edge of the table, dragging myself to my feet. My head felt like it was going to explode. The pain made tears stream down my face.
‘Sit down!’
I sat.
‘This is what happens when you disobey me.’ He turned and fired. The bullet caught Mum in the shoulder, spinning her in her chair. She screamed. Bright red blood stained the white of her shirt. She grabbed at her shoulder and began to rock, whimpering with pain.
‘Mum!’ I went to stand.
‘Don’t move!’ he yelled. ‘All of you, sit still and be quiet.’
Gran and I exchanged looks. Mum’s head was bent over, her hair shrouding most of her face.
‘Now, where were we? Ah, that’s right. You were going to heal me weren’t you? Let’s get on with it.’
He placed the gun back in his lap and held out his hands. Gran looked over at Mum. What you could see of her face was like white marble.
I watched as Gran took his hands again. A shudder passed through her as she made the connection.
‘You need to relax and clear your mind. It helps if you close your eyes,’ Gran said.
He looked across at me. ‘You do anything stupid and I’ll kill them both,’ he spat.
Gran closed her eyes and Jenson did the same. I’d seen Gran heal people before, but nothing could have prepared me for this. It was as if her life force was being sucked out of her, bit by bit. Her skin took on a grey pallor and the lines on her face deepened. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to shrink into her chair. After a couple of minutes her breathing became shallow and laboured.
Jenson opened his eyes and looked at the woman in front of him. At first he seemed shocked by the change in her, but then a twisted smile crept over his face and he shut his eyes again.
He was killing her. I had to do something. If she kept going she’d die right in front of me. Mum’s shirt was a sea of crimson. The two people I loved the most were about to die and I was the only person who could stop it. Making a sudden lunge had failed. I had to sneak up on him and get the gun. My chair was set back from the table enough that I could carefully ease myself up without moving it.
I gently placed my hands on the table. With infinite care I stood up. My head swam and pounded. I waited a moment for the dizziness to pass then I took a careful step sideways, easing my foot onto the floor a centimetre at a time. Step by careful step, I manoeuvred around the table until I was standing right behind his chair. I prayed he wouldn’t feel my presence. This was the moment. One step to the side and I’d be able to grab the gun off his lap.
Gran was still holding his hands but hers were shaking. I held my breath and stepped around the chair. I was in luck. The butt of the gun was facing me. I reached out and snatched the gun off his lap before taking a giant step backwards. His eyes flew open and he yanked his hands back from Gran.
I raised the gun and pointed it at him. ‘Don’t move.’
‘Cassandra, you don’t need to do that.’ He raised his hands in the air. ‘I feel … amazing.’ He laughed.
Gran opened her eyes. The sparkle that was normally there was completely gone.
‘Anita …?’ She whispered the word and tried to move over to Mum, but the effort was too much and she fell to the floor. Jenson moved towards her.
‘Don’t touch her!’ I screamed. Red, blinding rage swept over me. I tightened my grip on the gun, aimed, and fired.
CHAPTER
18
‘Take a seat, Mrs Jacobs,’ Ed said.
They were in an interview room. Janice and another member of the team had taken Jonathan into a different room. He’d been crying and apologising to his mother from the moment they’d climbed into the backseat of Ed and Dave’s car. His mother had refused to say anything to him, making him cry even harder.
‘I don’t understand why this is necessary. You said you have questions about a missing man. I could have answered your questions at home. Now I won’t be able to prepare meals in time for tonight. Forty homeless men will go without a hot meal.’
Ed gritted his teeth. How she could affect a holier-than-thou attitude after they’d found her son locked under the stairs was beyond him. She clearly didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.
‘We do need to talk to you about a missing person, but we also need you to explain why Jonathan was locked under the stairs,’ Dave said.
‘I told you. He was there for his own good. I can’t leave him alone unsupervised.’
‘And you couldn’t take him with you?’ Ed asked.
‘I already told you! You don’t understand …’
‘No, we don’t.’
She glared at him. ‘Jonathan isn’t right in the head. His father was a very violent man. He used to hit Jonathan. When Jonathan was about ten he suffered a brain injury. Now he doesn’t respond well to crowds. He suffers from sensory overload and then he loses his temper and lashes out.’
‘Did you report your husband to the police?’ Dave asked.
‘If I’d gone to the police he would have killed me. Then what would have happened to the boy?’
‘What did happen to him?’ Ed asked.
‘I told you, Richard hit him. He fell down and fractured his skull. The swelling caused brain damage. He’s mentally impaired and emotionally volatile.’
‘And where is your husband now?’ Dave asked.
‘He left us. Didn’t even say he was going, just took off one night. He was declared legally dead years ago.’
‘They never found him?’
‘No.’
‘And Jonathan’s not capable of looking after himself for a few hours while you go out?’
‘No, he’s like a small child. H
e has no judgement and can’t regulate his emotions. I can’t trust him to make sensible decisions. I left him alone once and he nearly burnt down the house. He left a saucepan of baked beans on the stove, then got distracted and went outside.’
‘I see,’ Ed said.
‘Do you? Do you really understand what it’s like to look after a forty-eight-year-old man with the mentality of a four-year-old?’
Dave cleared his throat.
‘You’re right Mrs Jacobs, we don’t know what it’s like, but locking him under the stairs is deprivation of liberty, a crime.’
‘I didn’t force him in there. He went in willingly. He understands that it’s necessary.’
Ed’s hands clenched into fists under the table. ‘You can’t ask him to stay in his room instead of locking him in that tiny, black space?’
‘He won’t stay in his room. Have you ever had children, Detective?’
‘A man has gone missing, he was last seen at your hostel, your son has anger management issues and we’ve recently found remains which may belong to our missing person,’ Ed said.
‘May belong? You don’t know?’
‘DNA results aren’t back yet.’
‘So you have nothing concrete that ties me or my son to your case?’
Ed and the woman stared at each other. It disturbed him that she was showing no concern for a murder victim. Wasn’t she supposed to care for homeless men? Where was her famous compassion?
Dave broke the tension. ‘Mrs Jacobs, we need your help.’
‘Help? You drag me and my son in here, then you want my help?’
‘You’re here because we found your son locked under the stairs,’ Ed said, not willing to concede the moral high ground.
‘As I told you …’
‘Yes, he was there voluntarily.’
‘It’s for his own good!’ Mrs Jacobs’ voice was icy.
Dave pinned Ed with a laser-like stare and interrupted before Ed could go any further. ‘Mrs Jacobs, please, you’re a caring woman. You feed and house the homeless. We’re worried that one of those men might have met a terrible end and we’d be grateful for any help you can give us to retrace his last steps.’
Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) Page 13