by Farah Ali
‘Yes?’
‘Inspector, there’s someone asking to see you.’
Jack’s spirits rose. ‘Who is it?’
‘George Gallahue.’
‘Oh.’ He’d hoped it was Lila. ‘What’s it about?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘All right. Send him down to my office.’
George Gallahue. The name was familiar. There was a dull knock on the door and Jack opened it. A stubble-cheeked man in jeans and a flannel shirt shook his hand.
‘Mr Gallahue, I’m Inspector Montague. How can I help you?’ Jack gestured to a chair and sat down behind the desk.
George remained standing. He scratched his head as he looked around the room. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘I’m here about Lila. Lila Cassandra. She’s my niece.’
Jack leaned forward. ‘Is she all right? Is something wrong?’
George met his eyes, unblinking. His gaze swept over the Inspector taking in the bare ring finger, the well-cut shirt and the long frame.
Jack sensed hostility and something else that he couldn’t quite read. George looked nothing like Lila, but Jack thought her uncle must have been a handsome man when he was younger. Age, grief, disappointment, drink and hard outdoor work had lined his face and bloated his features.
‘Yeah. Yeah, you could say that. I want to know why half the town thinks Lila found those dead girls.’ He spoke slowly like a man unaccustomed to speech, enunciating each word.
Jack winced. Rumours had spread, despite all his efforts. He debated lying but he suspected George already knew the truth. He took a deep breath.
‘Yes. Lila found the bodies.’
George’s lip curled. ‘How?’
Jack shifted on the chair. ‘She...she just did. I don’t know how, maybe you should ask her. She’s your niece isn’t she?’
George’s nostrils flared. ‘Don’t be smart with me. If I ask her she’ll tell me she had a vision. Or a dream or some other nonsense.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘What I came here to say is I don’t want you encouraging her fantasies. I’m sick of her embarrassing our family.’
‘I don’t see how she’s embarrassed you. It’s thanks to her that Bianca Hayle and Abigail McNally were found. If it wasn’t for Lila their parents would never have gotten closure. When we catch this killer it will be thanks to Lila.’
George smirked. ‘You sound like you believe her.’ He put his palms flat on the desk. ‘For God’s sake, she’s not psychic. She can’t talk to the dead. It’s all in her head. She’s got a serious medical condition and she’s a troubled girl. You haven’t been here long, but she lost her parents young and got kicked in the head by a horse, she’s not right.’ He tapped the side of his head.
‘I mean, when she first moved to Deerleap she would go over to her old house—it’s abandoned now, the bank has never been able to find a buyer even though they cleaned and repainted it—and stand outside staring for hours. Sometimes she has night terrors and goes to the graveyard and sleeps next to her family’s headstones. Does that sound like something a normal person would do?’
Jack’s head throbbed from lack of sleep and the stress of the last couple of weeks. But he kept a tight lid on his temper. He understood George’s point of view, after all hadn’t he thought Lila was mad when he first met her? And beneath the contempt he thought the man genuinely cared about his niece’s well-being.
George misinterpreted his silence. He swept a hand through his grey-streaked hair, weariness softening his tone.
‘Damn it. Look. Lila is my niece. I never wanted her to settle down here, I doubt it’ll make her happy and she’ll never be able to move on. But she ignored my advice. I don’t want her to get in trouble, or get hurt. Her head is already full of this psychic rubbish, and I don’t want you to push her over the edge. You’re a policeman, I don’t like her hanging around while you hunt a murderer. I want you to leave her be. Just leave her be.’
Jack stood. ‘Mr Gallahue, I appreciate you coming to see me and I understand your concern. I do. I know about her past. But Lila is an important witness. Whether you like it or not she found two murder victims. She’s involved, that’s just the way it is. But I promise I’ll keep her from harm.’
Lila’s uncle shook his head. ‘It’s not good enough. I want you to stay away from her.’
‘With respect, Mr Gallahue, Lila’s an adult. She can make her own decisions.’
George yanked open the door. He glanced over his shoulder.
‘Let it be on your head. If anything happens to her, let it be on your head, Inspector.’
‘What could hap—’
But George was gone. At the water cooler Jack drank, refilling the plastic cup twice before crumpling and throwing it away. George’s words had made him uneasy. Was he putting too much pressure on Lila? Would she crack?
The office was empty. Warnings had been sent to the entire town, so Deerleap was on high alert. Warren and Graham were patrolling, Alika and Rhea were researching past fires in the town and questioning as many people as they could...but nothing had turned up.
In the incident room Jack studied the overlapping photographs and the scrawls on the boards. He could go over everything again but the truth was he was exhausted and numbed to the details. Back in the city when he’d spent too long on one case, he would work on another. Somehow it refreshed his mind and kick-started his thought processes.
Resting his elbows on the reception desk Jack waited for Maggie to put the phone down. Like everyone she looked overwrought.
‘Everything all right, Maggie?’
‘Not really.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘People keep calling up, terrified for their daughter’s safety. It’s hard to reassure them, but I don’t blame them at all. I keep thinking about those girls, their lives cut short. It’s just not right. I can hardly sleep for the horror of it all.’
‘I know. It’s not.’
‘I tell them how hard you and others are working. I say if anyone’s going to catch this person it’ll be you.’
She blew her nose into a tissue then straightened. ‘Sorry about that. How can I help you, Inspector?’
‘I’m looking for a case file.’ Jack hesitated. ‘From quite a long time ago.’
Maggie stifled a yawn. ‘Sure. If you tell me the year, I can pop down to the basement and grab it for you.’
‘I’ll get it myself, it’s not a problem. Probably better if you stay by the phone, in case Alika or the others call.’
He didn’t want Maggie to know he was interested in the Cassandra murder-suicide but Jack knew he was thwarted when she stood.
‘I need to stretch my legs and the filing system is...a little unorganised. No point in you wasting lots of time down there when I can get it for you in two ticks.’
Left with no choice Jack followed Maggie down the stairs, her kitten heels clacking against the floor. The windowless basement was lit by a single bulb and Jack’s eyes widened in dismay as he adjusted to the gloom.
Stacks of dusty files leaned precariously against the walls. A single metal filing cabinet overflowed in the corner and could only be accessed by stepping over piles of papers on the floor.
Jack turned his head sideways.
‘I know. It looks bad, but I have a very efficient system.’ Maggie yanked her fringe avoiding his look.
‘That filing cabinet looks like a bomb hit it.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ she mumbled.
The room offended his sense of order. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘Maggie, when the killer is caught, I want the basement sorted out. All these files should be in cabinets, in chronological and alphabetical order. The evidence boxes need to be documented. It’ll take a long time, but I’ll help you. But it’s not a priority at the moment.’ He took a deep breath instantly regretting it. The room was musty. ‘I’m looking for a case from a long time ago.’
‘Which one?’ She shoved a pile out of the way with her foot.
‘T
he Cassandra case.’
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. ‘The Cassandra case?’
Jack nodded.
‘But why on earth...but that was solved. Why do you need it?’
Jack pressed his lips together and Maggie got the message. He watched amused as she rifled through the filing cabinet before attacking the stacks against the wall. When it became apparent she didn’t know where it was Jack joined in, working his way through the floor piles. Great system you have here, Maggie. Really helpful.
Finally emerging triumphant from a split cardboard box Maggie rose from her knees waving a thick file.
‘Here you go, I told you I knew where it was didn’t I?’ Maggie picked dust bunnies from her hair and gazed at the creased, coffee stained cover before handing it over. ‘You know, Lila Cassandra came here asking to see that.’
‘She did? When?’
‘Years ago, when she moved back to Deerleap. But Inspector Ash refused. He said the case was closed and he didn’t want to waste time searching for it. Lila didn’t give up though. She came to the station almost every week for a year. I was tempted to sneak it out for her but I knew if David found out he’d fire me.’
‘David Ash didn’t investigate the case did he?’ The man in the photograph on the station wall was about the same age as Jack.
‘No. He hadn’t joined the police then.’ Maggie glanced up at Jack. ‘You’re doing this for Lila aren’t you?’
Jack sighed. ‘Yeah. But please keep that to yourself.’
‘Oh, of course.’ She mimed zipping her lips. ‘But what do you hope to find? Noah Cassandra did it. Lila needs to come to terms with that.’
‘I have no idea, Maggie. But at the very least I want to give her some sort of closure. Even if it’s painful.’
He switched the light off and climbed upstairs with the file under his arm.
Chapter Twenty
Jack spread the contents of the Cassandra file across the desk. He studied each photograph in turn, his stomach clenching. He’d seen a lot of crime scenes in his lifetime, but this was one of the worst. Blood tainted everything, in pools on the rug, in splatters and spray across the walls. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Amelia and Maura heaped on the floor, and Noah slumped against the wall, brain matter clinging to the childish wallpaper.
There was also a family photograph tucked in the file, grubby and creased from too much handling. Here was Noah Cassandra, tall and proud, one arm around his wife’s shoulders, a little blonde girl grinning cross-legged at his feet on the grass and a younger brown-haired girl holding his hand, sucking her thumb and peering shyly at the camera.
‘Lila.’ Jack ran his thumb over their faces, a soft smile tugging the edges of his lips. Maura had inherited her mother’s colouring, while Lila looked like Noah. Amelia Cassandra, a head shorter than her husband, had a charming heart-shaped face and attractive dimples.
Sighing heavily, Jack switched the desk lamp on and turned the crime scene photos over, pushing the family one to the side. Kneading the back of his neck Jack scanned the autopsy reports, then the witness statements and police notes, trying to remain aloof as he absorbed as much detail as he could.
At the time of the tragedy Noah Cassandra was in serious debt and under pressure to sell his home and farm. He frequented bars and every so often ended up spending the night in jail after a drunken brawl. There was no life insurance and the house and land were seized by the bank afterwards so Lila hadn’t inherited anything. Jack tapped a pen against his teeth. He remembered the case of a desperate man who tried to make his suicide look like a burglary gone wrong so his wife would get his life insurance. The plan hadn’t worked as forensics showed the injuries were self-inflicted.
Noah Cassandra hadn’t written a will, nor was a suicide note found. Jack exhaled brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.
‘What happened, Noah? Were your children getting on your nerves? Did Amelia threaten to leave you and take the kids with her? Was she having an affair? Or did you suddenly realise how pointless and hard life is?’
Most of the witness statements were variations on the same theme: Noah Cassandra was a decent, upstanding man who loved his family. Amelia was a dedicated wife and mother. Nobody heard the gunshot which was understandable as each farmhouse was quite a distance away from the other.
The Andersons, an elderly couple on a neighbouring farm stated: ‘We are so shocked. So very shocked to think Noah Cassandra had such demons. He was a nice man who adored Amelia and his daughters. I mean, we saw the way he played with those girls. And you couldn’t find a man and wife as sweet and loving to each other like Noah and Amelia. We just can’t believe it. Poor Lila, poor little mite, if she ever wakes up from the coma how’s she going to cope with something like this?’
Mr Anderson went on to say, ‘I blame the bank. They’re vultures, it’s not right to harass a hard-working man like that.’
George Gallahue said: ‘I can’t believe that man could do something like this. But he was under pressure, there’s no denying it. I blame myself for not seeing the signs, for not listening. My sister told me she was worried about him, with the drinking, with the fighting. Worried about the amount of stress he was under. I should have paid more attention. Maybe if I had Amelia and Maura would still be alive.’
Jack’s heart sank. Noah Cassandra was drinking heavily, under immense pressure and there had been a noticeable change in his mood and behaviour. Nonetheless, he wasn’t on any medication and he didn’t have a history of mental illness. With a sigh Jack flipped the page squinting as he tried to decipher the chicken-scratch handwriting.
This was interesting. Jack sat up.
On that fatal evening Maura was performing in the school choir. At 7.30 p.m. Stephanie Ascher, a friend of Amelia’s, phoned the Cassandra house to confirm they were on the way as Mrs Ascher’s daughter Tina, also in the choir, was getting a lift to the school with the Cassandras.
According to the Ascher woman: ‘Amelia answered the phone. She sounded just as sweet and happy as usual and told me to make sure Tina was ready as they were about to leave the house. Of course, they never arrived. It makes me so sad to think I spoke to her just before she was killed.’
Jack leaned back lost in thought. ‘So Noah, at 7.30 p.m. your wife answers the phone and sounds completely normal. You’re about to leave the house for Maura’s concert. I know you’re planning to go because you’re wearing smart trousers and a collared shirt. According to the autopsy report Maura and Amelia died around 8.00 p.m. What could have happened in thirty minutes to make you bludgeon your wife and daughter with a hammer? Unless it was premeditated of course. But if you’d planned this you would have used something more efficient than a hammer. Why didn’t you shoot them like you did yourself? Much easier and less messy. The pathologist said it took three blows to kill Amelia. Why did you make them suffer? You don’t strike me as that kind of man.’
Jack examined Noah’s autopsy results again, his eyes widening. Noah’s blood alcohol level was zero.
‘Zero? You had absolutely no alcohol in your system when you attacked your family. You were stone cold sober.’
Something wasn’t right here, and the twinge of doubt about Noah Cassandra’s guilt became a rupture. Jack sat back, stunned.
If it was premeditated then wouldn’t a suicidal man, especially one with a fondness for drink, try to take the edge off what he was about to do? And if it was a crime of passion why choose the hammer when you had a gun?
Unless...unless the hammer was the only thing to hand at the time. Jack sifted through the paperwork for notes on the crime scene. He sucked in his breath. There was only one room in the house where any DIY was being done—Lila’s bedroom. The police had found a tool kit on the floor alongside recently painted wooden panels. Noah and Amelia Cassandra were planning to put shelves up in their youngest daughter’s room.
And they had all died in Lila’s bedroom. Why? Why were they upstairs in Lila’s bedroom when they n
eeded to leave the house for Maura’s concert?
Jack shut his eyes. ‘Okay. Let’s say Noah frightens Amelia and the girls. They can’t make it outside so they run upstairs to hide in Lila’s room.’ He checked the crime scene notes shaking his head in bafflement. ‘So they’re terrified, but they don’t flee into the bathroom which is closer and the only room with a lock? Instead they run along the upstairs hallway to Lila’s room where they’re sitting ducks?’
It didn’t make any sense. Jack’s stomach grumbled—he hadn’t eaten for hours, but food was the last thing on his mind.
‘Okay. So let’s say your wife and daughters run upstairs to hide, and for whatever reason choose Lila’s bedroom. You follow them.’
Jack saw Noah striding up the stairs, a deadly glint in his eye. He checks each room in turn. Amelia and the girls are huddled in the corner. Amelia tries to calm her husband, pleads with him, begs him, but terror makes it hard to think.
Noah glances at the floor and sees his tools. He picks up the hammer and strikes Amelia. The girls scream. Noah lunges at Maura and swings the hammer. Maura collapses next to her mother. Amelia wounded but not yet dead crawls onto her daughter to shield Maura with her body. Noah notices Amelia’s movement and hits her until she moves no more.
Five-year-old Lila is frozen to the spot. Noah turns with the hammer raised and Lila runs downstairs fleeing the monster who used to be her father. Noah, out of his mind, can’t leave her alive. He has to finish the job. They’re a family and they’re going to die together. He follows her to the stables. But the spooked horse has done the job for him. Lila is in a pool of blood, her head caved in. Thinking she’s dead he leaves her there.
Now it’s his turn. Noah trudges back to the house and gets his revolver. He returns to Lila’s room and lays the bloody hammer on the floor. He looks at Amelia and Maura, tears streaking his cheeks. He puts the barrel to his head and pulls the trigger.
Jack swallowed. It was neat and plausible and he could see why the police immediately came to that conclusion.
‘But why didn’t he carry Lila up to the bedroom before he shot himself? Wouldn’t he want them all together? Why did he take the hammer back upstairs with him?’