Last Kiss (15 page)

‘The potential options are the victim, someone connected with them, the killer, or someone else entirely. I don’t believe they’re aimed at the victim.’

‘Why not?’

‘For a start, Chief Superintendent, the victims are dead. How the scenes are depicted isn’t going to say a lot to either of them.’

‘I see. Continue, Dr Pearson.’

‘I think these re-creations are pointers or markers in an overall scheme or map in the killer’s mind, which ties in with the Tarot-card connection and a potential card spread.’

‘Let me be clear, Dr Pearson.’ Gary Egan appeared perplexed.
‘Are you absolutely sure the killer is re-creating these Tarot images because of some kind of card spread or map?’

‘Not one hundred per cent, but it’s a strong possibility.’

‘And who is deciding on this spread?’

‘Whoever is holding the deck.’ She gazed at him blankly.

‘Dr Pearson, I’d like you to stay back after we finish here.’ Egan turned to the bookman, Sean O’Keefe, who, Kate knew, under the Irish police system managed the case file, or book as it was known. ‘Sean, once Mark has gone through the final logistics of the current state of play, vis-à-vis ongoing allocation of duties, I want a full analysis of the Shevlin book. I need to review everything we have. This thing looks like it’s going to be moving fast, and I’ll be damned if we’re not up to speed on it.’

IT’S DARK BY the time I drive back to the house in Greystones. I take the diary with me. I haven’t a choice, now that I know someone has meddled with it. On the way, I call Edgar on the mobile. I don’t want him to be suspicious so I tell him I’m going to visit Karen for a couple of hours, hoping it will buy me time.

On reaching the house, I phone her. ‘Karen, it’s Sandra.’

‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘You sound frazzled.’

‘Do I?’ I try to control my breathing. Keep calm.

‘Lori phoned earlier. She said you were upset.’

‘What else did she say?’

‘Not much.’

‘Look, don’t mind Lori.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t.’ She lets out a laugh.

‘I need you to cover for me.’

She doesn’t respond, at least not immediately. Her silence feels like a judgement. Finally she says, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I need time on my own, time away from Edgar.’

Again a couple of seconds pass before she says, ‘Do you still think he’s having an affair?’ Her question feels loaded.

‘Look, I don’t want you worrying, which is why I’m asking you to cover for me. I’ve told Edgar I’ll be with you. If he calls, stall him – tell him I’ve gone to the bathroom or something. If necessary, ring me and I’ll take it from there.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘That doesn’t matter. I told you, don’t worry. I just need space.’

For a while, I stay in the car, staring at the house. It looks empty. I know that the longer I wait, the more I risk someone coming back. I feel cold. I think about driving around the block, giving the car engine time to heat up again. I can’t shift the chill, even though my ears are burning and my hands are sweaty and shaking. I think about why I came here. Did I want to see this mystery woman? What if she’s with Edgar? I’ve given them the perfect opportunity to meet. They could be sitting in a bar now, laughing at me. If the house is empty, this is my best chance. How hard would it be to break in?
For once in your life take a chance
–
you know you want to
.

I step out of the car. Everything is happening in slow motion. I don’t have a plan for getting inside, but somehow I know I will. I think again about the mystery woman coming back, finding me there, and for a moment I hesitate.

Before going into the garden, I glance up and down the
street. And, as if I’ve done it a million times, I walk to the back of the house, turning the handle on the door. It’s locked. Then I notice two large ceramic pots planted with lavender and mint. The smell is intoxicating. I lift the first pot, the smaller of the two, and worms wiggle underneath. I lift the second, the one with the lavender, and find a key. It all feels too easy.

As I turn the key in the lock, my heart is pounding, like an internal warning system.
If you do this, there will be no going back
. I don’t know what I’m most afraid of, being caught, or the feeling that, for some unknown reason, I might be doing exactly what others want me to do.

Inside the house, I feel like a stronger person, having crossed the line. I’ve broken in. I’ve done something completely out of character. It’s almost like a kind of freedom. I tell myself to remain calm, but walking through the house, the deeper I go, the more the fear is coming back.

I open the door onto the hallway from the kitchen, and when it creaks, I have the strangest feeling that I’m being watched. Standing in the hallway, my fear intensifies. There is a narrow table with claw legs, and overhead, a small glass chandelier. For a moment, I think about it crashing down, breaking the dead silence. Looking at the staircase, I wonder if the house has an alarm system. I hadn’t heard any bells going off, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t protected. Sometimes the alarm bells go off elsewhere, at a security station. At any moment the place could be surrounded, and I would be caught, like a common criminal, having broken into someone else’s home.

I think about getting out of there fast, visualising myself running towards the back door, firing the key into the shrubs,
not having time to replace it under the garden pot, getting into the car and driving somewhere else, perhaps to Alice’s house, confronting her with Lori’s suspicions. If she isn’t at home, it could be proof that she’s with Edgar. I’m so fixated that I’m surprised to find myself on the bottom step of the staircase, as if it’s challenging me, urging me to go further into
her
domain. Taking another step, I hear a whine, a cat wailing as if in pain. It’s coming from outside, but it unsettles me. I realise I’m experiencing
déjà vu
, a feeling of something familiar, before I understand why. It’s the smell.

AS KATE MADE her way to Chief Superintendent Gary Egan’s office, she figured that, if he wanted to talk to her directly after the incident-room briefing, the prospect of her visiting the international crime scenes had increased, and she would be carrying the white flag to Declan.

‘Thanks for waiting, Dr Pearson.’ Egan was practically bursting up the hallway, Adam and Lynch in tow. Once inside the office, it was Egan who spoke first. ’It looks, Dr Pearson, as if the link to the cold case from Rome, in 2006, has got stronger. Apart from extensive wounds to the face and body, the cause of death was also similar to Shevlin’s, exsanguination
– and, like Shevlin and Laurent, the victim had a chequered sexual history.’

‘By chequered, Chief Superintendent, you mean what exactly?’

‘Michele Pinzini had numerous affairs, used prostitutes regularly, and a whole lot more, if you get my drift.’

‘I see.’ Kate could tell Egan was uncomfortable, so she didn’t push the point, knowing she would get more out of the others later.

‘The crime scene had other variables too.’ Egan turned to Lynch. ‘Why don’t you fill Dr Pearson in?’

‘Certainly, Boss.’ He smiled at his superior, then turned to her. ‘As I’ve mentioned to you already, this time the crime scene wasn’t confined to one victim. The fire could have killed both the victim and his wife. Even with the hotel maid raising the alarm, the room was ablaze by the time the emergency services arrived. As the chief super has already noted, despite the fire we do know the actual cause of death, something that would have been difficult to determine if the blaze had advanced any further. The wife was found unconscious. She had suffered smoke inhalation. It was she who filled the police in on the victim’s sexual history. She was pregnant at the time. Her unborn child also survived.’

‘What else did she tell them?’

‘That she suspected her husband was deeply involved with another woman before the murder, but this time, it was different from the others.’

‘Because of the suspected stalking?’

‘And because her husband’s moods had grown darker, a lot
darker. Before the killing, she was concerned about his well-being as well as her own.’

‘Why didn’t she report the stalking beforehand?’

‘She had mentioned it to a few close friends but, like Anita Shevlin, she couldn’t put her finger on anything concrete.’

‘Have you the images from the crime scene?’ She was directing her questions at Lynch.

‘It’s another cold case, and unfortunately Italian paperwork moves even slower than our own. We should have it by the time you and Detective Inspector O’Connor arrive there.’

So it’s happening, she thought. ‘I’m going somewhere, am I?’ she said, emphasising her surprise.

Egan gave Lynch a disgruntled look. He hadn’t liked his reference to the speed of Irish paperwork, or that he had told Kate she was going on the international trip.

‘Sorry to spring this on you, Dr Pearson,’ Egan was keen to take back the reins, ‘but we don’t have any time to waste. I meant what I said at the briefing. It’s imperative we move fast. We’re a number of steps behind, with multiple crime scenes and case files to deal with. It is both fortunate and unfortunate that the two cases are outside our jurisdiction, and more unfortunate that we’re dealing with stale leads.’ He turned to Adam, who was leaning against the side wall, keeping quiet. ‘I’m depending on you, Detective, to work closely with Dr Pearson, and bring us back something tangible.’

‘Was any form of message left at the scene?’ Kate directed her question at all three men.

‘No, other than the fire being a potential Tarot card connection,’ Lynch replied.

‘Was Michele Pinzini drugged?’

‘We know the victim and his wife had been out dining. They’d had an argument. According to the original investigation, Pinzini was very drunk. The autopsy report confirmed high levels of alcohol in his system. His wife also said he’d been drinking heavily.’

‘Had he drunk enough to lapse into unconsciousness?’

Again Lynch answered: ‘Possibly – but outside that, the police found traces of sedatives in his bloodstream and his wife’s. The wife’s statement said, one moment they were arguing, the next she was coughing her guts up in the room with the emergency services around her, and her husband was dead beside her.’

‘The victim’s age and profession?’

Gary Egan answered this time. ‘He was in his forties, a photographer, and a very successful one. He did a lot of work for fashion magazines.’

‘A photographer,’ she repeated, contemplating how that would fit with everything they had so far.

Egan stood up. ‘Dr Pearson, we can make all the travel arrangements at this end, but you’ll need to confirm your availability for tomorrow.’

‘Which destination are we going to first?’

‘We’ve provisionally booked yourself and Detective Inspector O’Connor on a six a.m. flight tomorrow from Dublin to Charles de Gaulle airport, and then onto Rome the following day. That will give the Italian end of the operation time to pull out any case details we need. I appreciate this is short notice, but there’s not a lot we can do about it.’

‘I understand. Give me an hour.’ It was her turn to stand up.

‘I’m looking forward to reading your report, Dr Pearson.’ Egan leaned forward to shake her hand, content in the knowledge that both her interim report and confirmation of travel plans were almost securely in the bag. ‘O’Connor, will you walk Dr Pearson out?’

Adam held the door open for her, still the old-fashioned kind of guy, she thought. With Egan’s door firmly closed behind them, she said, ‘You kept very quiet in there.’

‘There’s no point in saying anything unless you’ve something to say.’

‘I guess not.’ She suspected there was more to it than that. ‘I’ll have to make a phone call. Is there somewhere I can go – somewhere private?’

‘Sure.’

She was glad he didn’t ask why. She wasn’t looking forward to her conversation with Declan, but there was no way around it now.

THE FAMILIAR SMELL hits me, like a slap in the face, in the same way that the memory of Edgar turning the key in the front door of this house keeps coming back to me. The aroma of a man’s cologne conjures up so much. He has taken me for an idiot. All I feel is anger, against him and her. The voice inside my head is telling me to forget about any alarm systems, or fear of being caught, and find out everything I can.

I wait a few seconds before moving, the silence of the house a form of security. There are no police cars with bright lights arriving outside. No one knows I’m here. Looking up the stairs, I’m conscious that I may not have a lot of time, but then another thought strikes me, causing the panic to rise again. I have no idea what I’m looking for.

I take another step upwards, telling myself to remain calm. Speed could mean missing something, but the higher I go, I realise I’m moving deeper into the belly of the house, and further away from any potential escape. What if she comes back? What if I don’t hear her? What if, in my effort to find information, I become so engrossed in what I’m doing that she suddenly appears, standing behind me? Without understanding why, I have a vision of her laughing at me.

Downstairs, her touches had been everywhere, the lavish furnishings, the claw-legged hall table, the ornate chandelier. I turn around, looking behind me. The door to the living room is open, and I can see the gold-framed mirror hanging over the fireplace, two tan couches at either side. I think of her sitting in one of them, perhaps her and Edgar, raising wine glasses, joking with each other about me.

I continue up the stairs, and despite the silence of the house, and my weight pressing on each step, I’m not making any noise, as if I’m invisible. The only thing I hear is my heart thumping.

The first two bedrooms are small, furnished lightly with little more than a single bed. The last room, the one at the back, is the largest, a double, spanning the width of the house. I know it’s her room from the moment I walk inside. There is a black silk dressing gown lying across the bed, and on the bedside locker, a pearl necklace. I pick it up, allowing the beads to slip through my fingers, before holding them to my neck, as if I’m pretending to be her. I feel the coolness of the pearls against my skin, then look up and see my shadow on the wall, large and looming. I don’t close the clasp, but drop the beads back onto the locker.
I feel as though I’m choking, even though the necklace is no longer on my neck.