‘It’s possible he was pushed in front of the truck.’
‘Pushed? Someone hurled him in front of an oncoming truck?’ Ed felt sick.
‘Yes, like a sack of potatoes, but don’t go off half-cocked. You need to wait for the official report. I’ll have it for you tomorrow. I need to finish examining him and get the blood work back.’
‘Thanks, Son,’ Ed muttered.
‘You wanted to know about Janet Hodgson?’
He nodded.
Sonya took her gloves off and walked over to the computer in the corner. She clacked on the keyboard for a few seconds, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the file to load.
‘Let’s see, Janet Hodgson: hair colour — dark blonde, natural; eye colour — green. She had green eyes,’ Sonya said.
Ed felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. His heart started to beat faster and he felt faintly nauseous. Don’t get ahead of yourself. It doesn’t mean anything yet. It could still just be a coincidence. He realised Sonya was looking at him curiously. He decided it was better to say nothing, just in case Sorenson started asking questions.
‘Hmm, I thought they were blue. Thanks, Son.’ He tried to sound normal and almost succeeded. He could tell Sonya was disappointed he wasn’t willing to say more. He felt a pang of guilt; she was probably justified in feeling hard done by when he hadn’t reciprocated the sharing.
He walked back to the lift thinking about the two cases: Janet and Old Mick. If Cass Lehman had somehow managed to find a link between missing women, if there was a serial killer out there killing women with green eyes … His thoughts went to Susan. He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and fed through a shredder.
Today he’d started with Anita Lehman annihilating the faint hope that Susan was still alive and ended it with the possibility she’d fallen prey to some fucked-up psycho with a thing for green eyes. And then there was Old Mick, the poor bastard. Was it the same killer tidying up loose ends? The brutality of it sent fingers of ice down Ed’s spine. Phil wasn’t going to like it one bit.
She was waiting for him in the squad room. She took one look at the expression on Ed’s face and sighed heavily. ‘Oh no, don’t tell me …?’
‘Yes, she did, and there’s some other stuff as well,’ Ed said.
‘Fill me in on the way home. You know how Grace feels about having her dinners ruined.’
Ed had forgotten about dinner. The thought of a cosy get-together was about as appealing as root canal therapy, but he knew from past experience that he could only get away with excuses for so long. Grace would eat him on toast if he didn’t show up and that would be nothing compared to the misery she would inflict on Phil.
What he really wanted was to go home and start comparing the cases of the five women: Susan, the three others that Cass had pulled off the whiteboard and Janet. If they really were victims of the same person then the killer had to be picking them out somehow. There had to be something they shared as well as their eye colour.
If he could find it, he would find their killer.
CHAPTER
14
Thursday morning dawned frosty and clear. He felt good. Ginny was happy again and he could get on with business as usual. He needed to finish preparing for five services. Two were open casket. They were nearly ready, he just needed to add some finishing touches. Doing the faces was his specialty. He was an artist — people said they always looked so alive, like they were just sleeping. He turned on one of his favourite symphonies by Mozart and let the waves of music assault him, revelling in the feelings of relief and elation now that Michael McKenzie wasn’t going to bother them any more.
He smiled broadly. It will be a closed casket funeral, that one. He wondered briefly about the man. Where exactly did he come from? Was it Jewel Bay or Fairfield? He’d got the impression from the snatches of conversation he’d overheard that the man was itinerant. He must have come from somewhere though. Maybe he has family in these parts, maybe even in Clifton. That’d be ironic; he might end up cleaning up his own mess after all. He sniggered. Well, I do prefer to clean up after myself. I did with all the others.
Not all of them, Ginny would remind him. Before Janet Hodgson there had been one other that the police had found. It happened the first year after he and Ginny were married. He remembered the night well. It was the closest he’d ever come to getting caught, up until now. He’d wanted to take the girl earlier, like he did now, but Ginny insisted that he wait until the eve of their anniversary and do it as part of their celebrations.
It was a bad move. There was no time to watch and wait for the best opportunity and he couldn’t not do it. If he’d waited it wouldn’t have been in time for their anniversary and that just wouldn’t have been right.
He remembered every detail of that night. He’d been such an amateur then. Everything that could have gone wrong did. The girl heard him coming and turned around. She recognised him from the expo. Then he’d tried to use chloroform to subdue her and she’d fought back. It was a disaster. She’d nearly got away. He’d ended up having to kill her within metres of the security guards patrolling the university campus. He closed his eyes, replaying it. It had taught him a lot.
He’d driven straight home and told Ginny. She was angry he’d taken such a risk. Still, when he gave her the gift she forgave him. It was perfect. For the first time in ages she looked at him and told him how much she loved him. Those few days each year after their anniversary were the best days. They were better than the best Christmas, better than any birthday.
He put his tools down and peeled off his gloves. The corpses looked as good as he could get them, probably better than they’d looked in real life, and he couldn’t afford to spend any more time on them. He still had to work out what he was going to do this year. The girl he’d chosen was dead; the police had found her and he didn’t have Ginny’s present. There was only a two-hour window before the first service. He’d better get cracking.
He selected a key from his keychain and unlocked the door leading to the basement. Turning on the light, he headed down the narrow staircase into the dim room below. It was his special room, the place where he kept all his records and plans. It was also the place where he emptied out the furnaces after a cremation. Along one wall were four shelves holding a selection of urns. The bottom three shelves held empty urns, spares for clients. The top shelf held his private collection; three identical urns in top-of-the-range black marble.
He ran his hand gently over each. There should have been four by now with another to come next week. It irked him that they were missing. By rights they were his and they should be here with the others.
He walked over to the side of the room furthest from the furnaces. Up against the wall there was a desk, a filing cabinet and bookshelves full of medical reference books.
He selected another key and unlocked the top drawer to his desk. Taking out a small box he opened it and took out yet another key to open the filing cabinet. He pulled out a ledger, flicked on the desk lamp and sat down to start reading. Each page contained meticulous records of the people he’d seen at expos over the last twelve months. Every year there were four main events he attended. Three were held in late spring or summer, one in June. It meant he had to write off four weekends a year but it was worth it.
He ran his finger down the page, pausing as he got to each entry highlighted in green. There were not many. Depending on which part of Australia you were in only about fifteen per cent of the population had what he was looking for. As he got to each entry he reviewed what he’d written. Over the last year there had only really been three possible candidates. Janet Hodgson was one. He still remembered the thrill he’d felt when she’d sat down and removed her sunglasses.
He looked at the other two. One was a mother of two. She’d had her youngest child with her when she came to see him. The baby had grizzled throu
gh most of their session, distracting her and making the session hard for him. By asking a series of careful questions disguised as friendly chit chat he found out that she was a stay-at-home mum and had another child who was three and a half.
He didn’t like mothers of young children. Chances were that she would have them with her nearly all the time. He didn’t want to have to deal with a child as well. Plus the frenzy would be much worse if a child and its mother went missing.
He looked at the last entry. He remembered her well. She was older, close to fifty and had recently divorced. Her children were grown up and had left home years before. He’d chosen Janet above her because Janet lived in Fairfield whereas this other woman, Rita Hoffman, lived in Adelaide. It was much further and more risky too.
Since the fiasco at the university he’d avoided targeting people who lived in the city. There were too many people out and about, even in one as sleepy as Adelaide.
He looked at her address. She lived in one of the new multi-storey apartment blocks. A lot had security cameras. Still it might be worth a drive to check it out. Time was ticking and he couldn’t afford to be too choosy. He looked across the page. He had a phone number. He picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Can I speak to Rita please?’
‘Sorry she’s not here. Who’s calling?’
‘Brian, I’m an old school friend. When will she be back?’
‘Not for another three months yet. She’s in Europe. Would you like me to take down a message to give her next time she checks in?’
‘No, don’t bother, thanks. I’ll make a note in my diary and give her a call when she’s back.’
He rang off and sat there thinking. He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out an almanac. Flicking through the pages he found the entry for the coming weekend. There wasn’t that much on. It was the middle of winter, after all. There was one event that might be a possibility. The Medieval Society was holding a winter festival in McLaren Vale. There was still time to ring the organisers to arrange a stall. He didn’t have any services booked for Saturday or Sunday. No need to piss off any more families. If he found someone he could take them before his and Ginny’s anniversary on Monday. It was tight.
He felt a buzz of energy start to build in the pit of his stomach. Hunting was always exciting. He jotted down the number of the Medieval Society and put the almanac and his ledger away, carefully locking the filing cabinet and the desk. He turned off the desk lamp and stood up, surveying the room. In the middle of the room, gleaming under the light, was a stainless steel surgical table, identical to the one upstairs. He’d made a few modifications to this one, though. Strong leather straps were bolted to it at the top and bottom and in the middle. No need for straps upstairs. He hadn’t had a customer try to get up and walk out on him yet. He smiled. He walked past the table, running his hand over it as he did so. Still smiling, he headed upstairs to tell Ginny the good news.
Ginny was anxious to know what was happening. He loved the fact that she worried about him so much.
CHAPTER
15
After Mum read for me I needed the sanctuary of my room. Shadow’s considerable bulk was spread out across the bedspread. I gently pushed him to one side, receiving an indignant look from under half-closed lids.
‘Sorry, puss, but it is my bed,’ I said. I stroked under his chin and was rewarded by loud purring and copious dribbling.
I threw myself onto the bed and closed my eyes. I’d reached sensory overload; my head was pounding and I felt drained. I thought back to the morning. I’d been so excited. Embarrassment sent a rush of blood to my cheeks as I remembered the silly thoughts I’d had about trying to look good to impress Detective Dyson.
Who was I kidding? He didn’t see me as a woman, he saw me as a nuisance, and now he won’t be seeing me at all. Images flashed in front of my eyes; the faces of the four women, especially his wife’s. A wave of self-pity hit me. Would anyone ever love me like that? Based on my efforts over the last two days I was destined to live a life of solitary spinsterhood.
I cried into my pillow, sobs that shook my shoulders. I was crying about what had happened and the destruction of my plans, but more than that, I was crying about the injustice of being born with a talent that was more of a curse than a gift. Ten years of isolation suddenly got the better of me and for the first time in a long time I was bitter about it.
Shadow came over to see what all the fuss was about. He rubbed his head against me and then I felt the roughness of his tongue chafe my cheek. I sniffed and smiled through my tears.
‘What would I do without you, puss? Just promise you won’t eat me if I drop dead. I can handle being a crazy cat lady but I draw the line at being eaten, OK?’
A knock on the door interrupted my wallowing.
‘Come in,’ I sniffed.
Gran poked her head around the door to survey the scene and then stepped into the room. ‘It’s just me, I could hear you crying and I thought I’d better make sure you weren’t about to chuck yourself out the window.’
‘No, not today, Gran, your geraniums are safe.’
It was a standing joke between us. When I was a teenager I’d had a huge fight with Mum about whether or not I could go to a disco in Fairfield. Mum didn’t want me to go. She thought I was too young. For once her reasons had nothing to do with my talent and that enraged me even more. I thought she should be more lenient with me because I’d been dealt such a bum rap. She thought that my talent had nothing to do with anything and that I should be treated like a normal teenager as much as possible.
Gran had come into the kitchen when I was in full flight, yelling at the top of my voice. I told them both that they didn’t really care about me and that I might as well just chuck myself out my window and be done with it. It was a fine moment of teenage melodrama. Without missing a beat, Gran told me to go ahead but asked if I could wait until she’d moved her geraniums.
I’d stood there looking at her with my mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds and then suddenly I’d seen the funny side of it and we all erupted into laughter. I still didn’t get to go to the disco.
‘I’m glad to hear that I don’t have to move them today. It’s freezing out there.’ She smiled as she said it but she was busy scanning my tear-ravaged face. She walked over and sat on the bed next to me and started to stroke my hair. It was something she’d done ever since I was a little girl and her touch instantly made me feel like a burden had been lifted.
It’s part of her talent. By laying her hands on someone she can help to heal them mentally or physically or both. She’s not the second coming. She can’t make blind people see or help people in wheelchairs to walk again, but if someone can be healed she can speed up the process. Her talent is like any other though and comes with its downside. When she helps to heal someone it’s like she takes on some of their pain and hurt; somehow it transfers to her. When she used her talent more regularly she would often come home looking like she’d aged ten years in one afternoon.
‘It’s all right, Gran. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I feel ripped off. I thought I might finally have found a way to use my bloody talent. I was feeling scared but excited to be doing something useful and now it’s fallen in a big hole. I think I might be destined to be stuck in this house forever.’
‘Well, thanks a lot you for making living with your mother and me sound so appealing!’
‘You know what I mean. I love you both but you won’t be here forever and I need to find a life of my own, a purpose, maybe even a partner and children one day.’
Gran sighed. ‘Yes, you do. Your mother and I both know it, although I think it suits Anita to have you right here under her nose where she can keep an eye on you.’
‘I know Mum wants to keep me from feeling pain but I can’t live like this forever. I feel like my life is on permanent
pause. I haven’t done any of the things most women my age have. I haven’t travelled. I haven’t even had a serious relationship.’
‘Well, only you can change that. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but sometimes you don’t gain anything unless you’re willing to take some risks and feel some pain along the way. Maybe you’ve been wrapped in cottonwool for too long.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You don’t need to make any decisions now. You’ve had a really rough day. If you give yourself some time to digest everything that’s happened you might find that a path opens up.’
‘You always know the right thing to say, Gran. Will I ever be as wise as you?’
‘The wisdom is nature’s compensation for the wrinkles. Why don’t you come downstairs and help me get some dinner ready? It looks like puss wants his dinner as well.’
Sure enough my hoover-cat was patiently waiting by the closed door for us to finish talking and get down to the serious business of filling his bowl.
‘That cat needs to go on a diet,’ Gran said.
‘Shhh, don’t mention the D word, he knows what it means!’ I laughed. ‘Besides, you know what the locum vet said.’
Shadow’s an exceptionally large cat, both tall and long and his normal vet is used to his panther-like proportions. The last time we’d taken him to the vet a locum was filling in. When the young man popped his head out and called my name I huffed and puffed my way into his surgery. Approaching the table I heaved the cat carrier up and plonked it down with an audible whoosh of breath. The vet looked at his booking sheet and then looked at me.
He was clearly wondering what was wrong with me if I couldn’t even carry a cat without breaking into a sweat. Then he opened the door to the carrier and started the usual routine to try to get Shadow to come out from its depths.
I cut to the chase. ‘Have you got any liver treats?’ I asked.
‘Um, yes, somewhere,’ the young man muttered, surprised that his bedside manner wasn’t working.
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