He punched in the security code for the pathology suite, then fumed as the lights flashed red. It really wasn’t his day. With a grimace he picked up the courtesy phone and dialled.
‘Yes?’ a female voice he didn’t recognise answered.
‘Detective Dyson.’
‘Good morning, Detective. They’re waiting for you in the conference room, last door on the right.’
He opened his mouth to tell her he knew damn well where the conference room was, but checked himself. No point being churlish. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know him. He couldn’t help wondering how many more new faces he’d find if he came back. Even though he knew it was unreasonable, he’d expected everything to have stayed the same while he’d been off reinventing himself.
He’d been holding onto the thought that things were ticking along back in Fairfield just as they always had. He’d been kidding himself. Had he really thought he could come back any time and it’d be as if he’d never left? What a first-class idiot he’d been.
The door buzzed and clicked and he entered a corridor that smelled like a hospital but lacked the riot of activity. By the time Ed got to the autopsy suite his eyes were beginning to ache. The corridor was a study in white: white walls, white ceiling, white fluorescent lights, white tiles on the floor. The budget for the new building clearly hadn’t stretched to interior design. The conference room was another twenty metres along and he could hear Phil’s voice long before he got there. The door was open. He strode in.
‘Ed, you’re just in time. I was just telling Dave to cool his heels until you got here.’
Ed looked around the room. It was a full house — Phil, Dave and Sonya, along with Maria the dog handler and Sorenson. So much for avoiding the boss.
‘Sorry, am I late?’
‘You’re right on time. We’re just waiting on Steve to join us,’ Sorenson said. ‘How are Cass and her family?’
‘I dropped Cass at home. Anita has to stay in for another night. She’s not happy about it — by tomorrow they’ll probably be pushing her out the door. Gwen isn’t so great, but she did wake up for a couple of minutes when Cass was with her, which is a good sign.’
Sorenson gave an audible sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad. When I rang, they wouldn’t tell me much about Gwen’s condition.’
‘She’s got them a bit puzzled.’
Steve chose that moment to hustle into the room. He took a seat next to Phil and looked around the room with puppy-dog eagerness.
‘Developments?’ Phil asked.
‘You could say that. I just got a call back from one of Beth Crowley’s former employers. I was doing some background checks to see if she had any connections to the other missing persons on our list.’
‘And she did?’ Phil leant forwards.
‘Not to the individuals but it turns out she did some volunteer work when she was at uni.’
Ed rolled his eyes with impatience. ‘With?’
Phil shot daggers at him.
‘The Hutt Street Centre. They’re an organisation that supports homeless people in Adelaide,’ Steve said.
‘Well that suddenly makes her more interesting doesn’t it? Better bump her up the list of possibilities,’ Sorenson said.
‘We’ll look into it and see what else we can find out,’ Ed said.
‘All right, let’s kick this off shall we?’ said Sorenson. ‘Phil, will you summarise where we’re up to for everyone’s benefit?’
‘The McLaren Vale dumpsite has been extensively searched over the last week. With Maria and Bruno’s help, four days ago we found another set of remains at the compacting site. We’ve been searching that site for three days now, but haven’t found anything more. When we interviewed the operators, they explained that the remains were found in the location where they compact the rubbish before moving it to landfill. So the day before yesterday we expanded our search to include the landfill area. The crime-scene techs used a grid to search the site, but it covers well over a square kilometre, and it’s nearly fifty metres deep in some places.’
‘So there could be remains there but we’ll never find them?’ Dave asked.
‘For sure,’ Phil said.
‘So what did you find?’ Ed asked. He felt like a contestant on MasterChef waiting to see what was hidden under a silver cloche.
‘Maria and Bruno were systematically doing a sweep when Bruno got a hit,’ Phil said.
Ed looked across at Maria. For once she was smiling, the same look parents got when their kid did something clever. Ed wondered where Bruno was and how they’d convinced Maria to leave him behind.
‘At first, we thought he’d got a false positive,’ Steve said.
‘He doesn’t get false positives,’ Maria retorted.
Her smile was quickly replaced by a frown. Ed felt like he was back in more familiar territory.
‘Well, we weren’t sure. There was a lot of organic material and the remains were over a metre and a half down.’
‘That’s an impressive nose,’ Sorenson said.
Maria smiled again. ‘He’s the best.’
‘The remains were in a plastic bag, similar to the ones we found the others in, but that’s not significant — they’re a standard supermarket product. When we opened the bag, we found a collection of bones, including hands, feet and a skull.’
‘Same as the others?’ Ed said.
‘Yes and no,’ Phil said.
‘Are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on or do I have to drag it out of you?’ Ed demanded.
Phil glared at him. Ed just rolled his eyes. She was clearly enjoying her moment and she wasn’t going to let him rush her.
‘Sonya? Do you want to fill everyone in on the condition of these remains?’ Phil said.
Sonya smiled making Ed think horsey thoughts again. It was just as well she couldn’t read minds.
‘The third set of remains were similar to the first two in some ways. The hands, head and feet had been severed post-mortem with a bone saw,’ Sonya said.
‘A bone saw? Like a surgeon’s?’ Dave said.
‘Not as refined as the tools surgeons use. But the marks on the bones were almost identical for all three sets of remains, which makes me think the same person is responsible for all three. What’s different about the third set is what else was in the bag. Unlike the first two sets, this one also had bones from other parts of the body.’
‘A whole skeleton?’ Sorenson asked.
‘No, some rib bones, one femur cut into multiple pieces and an ulna and tibia, also cut into multiple pieces.’
‘From the same person?’ Ed asked.
‘We think so. But the difference is, those extra parts were almost completely clean.’
‘Clean? Why would they be clean when the other parts weren’t?’
‘This is where it gets weird. It looks like they’d been cooked,’ Sonya said.
For a few seconds, the whir of the air-conditioner was the only sound, and then the meeting room exploded with questions.
Sonya finally held up a hand. ‘One at a time. Natalia?’
‘Were they cooked in a lab? Are we dealing with illegal disposal of medical remains?’
‘No, these are different. As you know, we regularly cook bones to clean them so we can examine skeletons for trauma. But this wasn’t that kind of denuding process. Even though the bones are mostly clean, there are still signs of flesh adhering in some places. And then there are the marks on the bone. It’s best if I show you.’ She flipped up the lid of her laptop and fired up the projector in the room. Soon they could see a magnified section of bone on the pull-down screen. Ed swung his chair around to get a better look.
Sonya manoeuvred the mouse on the screen. ‘If you look here, and here, you can see shallow cuts on the bone.’
‘What caused them?’
‘A blade of some kind, but not very sharp.’
‘Is it possible the victims were tortured before they were killed?’
‘Maybe. Thi
s is part of the thighbone, which is usually well fleshed. The cuts would have been very deep to reach the bone. Blood loss would have been significant if the victim were still alive.’
‘So that means torture wouldn’t have lasted very long?’ Steve said.
‘Thankfully not — quite the opposite. Torture victims’ bones often display shallow cuts. The point is to keep them alive for as long as possible … make them experience maximum pain before they die.’
‘Could the cuts be from multiple stab wounds? Maybe this was a crime of passion and the killer lost control?’ Phil said.
‘Doubtful.’
Sonya loaded up a picture of one of the hands. ‘If it were a multiple stabbing, we would typically expect to see defensive wounds on the hands. There’s no trauma to the hands, head or feet. That’s not typical for a frenzied attack.’
‘So what are we looking at?’ Ed said.
Sonya pulled a face. ‘I hate to say it, but I think they might be cuts from a run-of-the-mill table or steak knife. I think we’re looking at the remains of someone’s dinner.’
CHAPTER
25
‘Penny for them,’ I said.
We were sitting at the kitchen table. I was trying really hard to stay upbeat and keep from descending into the pit of misery of which I teetered on the brink.
Ed shook his head and gave me a half-baked smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m terrible company tonight.’
‘The case?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘I don’t think you’d want to hear it.’
‘Trust me, anything to take my mind off Gran would be great.’ After her sudden improvement the day before she’d lapsed back into unconsciousness for the rest of the afternoon and had only woken for a short time towards evening.
He looked at me properly for the first time since we’d sat down. I’d pulled a stew out of the freezer and made some mash to go with it. We’d been eating in near silence for about twenty minutes before I’d pushed my plate away, barely touched. I didn’t feel like eating, and the sauce and potato had mixed and congealed, making my plate look like something our chooks had been scratching around in.
‘I’m not hungry either. No offence to the cook,’ he said, pushing his plate into the middle of the table.
‘It wasn’t my stew. Gran made it.’
An awkward silence descended again.
‘Cass, do you want to talk about the shooting?’
‘No,’ I stared at the table, refusing to meet his eyes.
‘It might help.’
‘It might not. I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ve got enough on my plate worrying about Gran and Mum without spending my energy thinking about whether I should or shouldn’t have pulled that trigger. I know one thing for certain. I don’t regret it for a second.’
‘All right. If you change your mind —’
‘You’ll be the first person I tell.’
‘Why don’t we grab a bottle of wine and go into the lounge room? I’ll stoke up a fire and then I’ll fill you in on the case. I need to talk to you about Phil and Grace too.’
‘I’ll clean up.’
‘Just leave the dishes. I’ll do them in the morning.’
I thought about it. Leaving dishes was unheard of in our house, but who was going to complain?
Five minutes later the fire was crackling in the grate and we each had a glass of McLaren Vale Shiraz in hand. I’d left the overhead lights off and switched on a couple of table lamps instead. With the curtains pulled against the cold night the room took on a rosy glow. I looked around at all the familiar knick-knacks, cushions and mismatched furniture and let the familiarity of it all soothe away some of my stress.
‘That’s more like it,’ Ed said, collapsing into Granddad’s old chair. It was normally a hallowed space but for some reason Gran had always been OK with Ed sitting there.
I curled up on the couch and pulled a crocheted rug over my legs. ‘So what did you want to tell me about Grace?’ I asked.
‘Grace was diagnosed with breast cancer a while back. She’s had surgery and has been having chemo for a while.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘How did you know? Phil didn’t even tell me until a few days ago.’
I told him about Mum’s vision and what she’d said to Phil.
Ed gave a half-smile. ‘That would have been awkward for Phil. She would have been torn between scepticism and wanting to believe what your mum said.’
‘So how is Grace going?’
‘Pretty well, actually. The oncologists are happy with her progress. They think she’ll make a good recovery.’
I relaxed a fraction. ‘Thank God. I guess you want to be around here to support Phil?’
‘Yeah, I do. Actually, Sorenson spoke to me last week about coming back.’
‘Because of Phil?’
‘No. Well, that might have been part of it, but she’s going to fill in as DCI over in Sturt for a while. She wants me to act in her role for three months.’
‘Wow! Why didn’t you tell me?’ I said.
He gave me a loaded look over the top of his wine glass.
‘All right, I suppose we haven’t exactly been communicating lately,’ I conceded.
‘No, we haven’t.’
‘So you’re coming back to Fairfield then?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On what you say.’
‘Really? What if I said I wanted to stay in Adelaide?’
‘Then we’d stay. I love you, Cass. I want to be with you and make a home together whether that’s back in Adelaide or around these parts.’
My eyes met his. I searched his expression, trying to judge the truth in his words. Everything I saw told me he meant it. I put my wine glass on the side table and stood up. Five quick steps closed the distance between us then I climbed onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.
‘I love you, too,’ I said.
He cupped my face in his hands, and our lips touched. His kiss was gentle at first, a whisper of flesh against flesh that sent a rush of heat to my core. I kissed him harder, hungry for more. He returned the kiss, burying his hands in my hair. Then, reaching under my shirt, his fingertips trailed down my spine, making me tremble as they brushed across my skin, exploring lower and lower.
I tugged off my sweatshirt and his kisses moved from my mouth to my chin, down my neck to my breasts, first one and then the other, his breath hot against my skin. His thumb grazed my nipple, and it hardened at his touch. He rolled it between his fingers and I threw my head back and moaned softly, arching my hips towards him, heat flooding my body.
In one swift move Ed grabbed me and stood up, carrying me over to the rug in front of the fire and depositing me in an untidy heap. He yanked off his shirt and threw it across the room. My Ugg boots and track pants followed. Undoing his belt, he dropped his pants to the floor, breathing heavily. Kneeling before me, he pushed my thighs open and looked at me, silently asking the question.
Tangling my fingers in his hair, I pushed him down and his mouth descended on me, teasing and torturing until my eyes rolled back in my head and I was moaning incoherently.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hips and thrust into me, making me gasp. He thrust again and again, our bodies slick with sweat. All the tension that had been building inside me over the last few days reached its peak, and I cried out as release swept over me in waves. A moment later Ed let out a groan, and his body shuddered to a halt.
He collapsed next to me and pulled me into the nook of his arm, kissing the top of my head. I closed my eyes and tried to banish all conscious thought.
I was almost asleep when he shifted, making me blink and groan in protest.
‘Sorry, but if I don’t move I’ll be roasted.’
I sat up, letting him move away from the fire. His back was bright red from the heat. He stood up and went to retrieve our wine glasses. I fetched m
y top from the other side of the room and threw it on. My skin had already shrivelled into gooseflesh from the loss of his body heat.
‘Speaking of roasted, did you still want to hear about my case?’ he asked.
‘Of course. What does roasting have to do with it?’
‘The pathologist thinks some of the remains were cooked.’
‘The ones I touched weren’t cooked.’ I shuddered at the memory of the horrible gooey flesh under my fingers.
‘No, they think the hands, head and feet were removed and then the rest of the remains were chopped up and cooked.’
‘Why would someone do that?’
‘Maybe to eat them.’
I stared at him. ‘That’s disgusting.’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t tell me earlier. That’s gotta be the ultimate passion killer. Aren’t the victims old men? Why would someone want to eat an old man?’
‘No idea,’ Ed said. ‘The pathologist thinks the vics were men in their sixties. I would’ve thought they’d be a bit tough.’
I blinked, then snorted. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
‘Sorry. Sometimes humour is the only way I can cope with this shit.’
‘But if it’s true, you’re right, why would the killer pick old men to eat?’
‘Our theory is that the victims were homeless men. Homeless people are easy targets. Dave thinks it’s homeless people eating each other because they’re hungry and our social security system’s gone to shit.’
‘That’s crazy. He’s kidding, right?’
‘I think he was, but it’s possible even if it seems far-fetched. Homelessness and mental illness often go hand in hand.’
‘And there’s proof that the victims are actually being eaten?’
‘The pathologist thinks that cut marks on the bones are consistent with cutting meat off with a kitchen knife. Someone’s been killing them, then cooking and eating their bodies.’
Missing (The Cass Lehman Series Book 3) Page 18