Last Kiss (28 page)

The earth was damp with the familiar smell of moss and sap, as I lay embryonic upon the flattened earth, as if in the hollow of a hand, willing my mother to rise from the ground and take hold of me, but she was too long gone for that. Not even the photograph I clutched in my hand, of the woman I had never known, with that forlorn expression on her face, could summon her ghost.

I waited for first light, the amber sun rising between the knotted branches, me, like a sleeping princess in the castle, the witch’s evil spell casting a tangled web, with everyone trapped in time. You may think I’m being silly now, as if I’m waiting for some elusive prince to cut through the thorns to me. If you think that, then you are the fool. I live a half-life. I do not sink into an eternal sleep. I roam. I feel. I touch. I bend. I seek. I lose myself and face the dark. It is loss and fear that haunt most people. I have experienced both, and have overcome the two.

If you could see me now, you would notice that I’m smiling. I’m glad Sandra has become temporarily brave, pushing out her boundaries. It will be interesting to see how far I can push her before she snaps.

I never told you how I killed my surrogate parents. I still see them in my mind’s eye, their bodies lying beneath the black knight on the Death card. I chose my time well. He had
mellowed, and she had become more withdrawn. They took my subservient disposition at face value, their stupidity adding to the final pleasure. I brought them to the woods on a pretext, akin to the step-father in the Grimms’ fairy-tale of Hansel and Gretel, although neither was an innocent child. They had already drunk the poisoned wine. I tied them up like animals, hanging their bodies close to one another, letting them watch the other die. The first cut I made across their throats was barely deep enough to draw blood. The second was deeper than the first, and with each thrust of the carving knife, more blood escaped.

I had covered their mouths with rags to keep their silence. They screamed with their eyes. When I cut their deadened bodies down, I skinned them, trapping some of their pooling blood in a jar. The weather had been freezing for weeks so the animals were conveniently peckish. Scattering their body parts, I knew it wouldn’t take long. What was left, I burned in the scorched earth of my mother, and carrying the last of their bones to a fox’s den, I poured the blood from the jar over them, giving the den an unexpected party.

The witch and my step-father had been planning a trip away for some time. I doubt they envisaged the one I gave them. I had encouraged talk of a long holiday, making sure everyone knew about it so they wouldn’t be missed. I filled their absence with lies. People believe what they want; most are gullible, especially if they didn’t care too much to begin with. I was seventeen then, nine years after I had first contemplated killing. I had thought afterwards, when the murders were done, and the foxes had gnawed at their bones, that I would find a bitter-sweet peace. Instead, I felt fragmented. It was only when I went to Dublin
that I got a sense of escape. It took me some time before I found the hidden stash of cash in the old house. Otherwise, I could never have made that trip to Paris, where my spirits changed. Then the darkness visited me again, and I learned from Pierre that their wickedness could live on in others.

Sandra has drawn the Devil card. It attracts sinister forces that overturn the order of things. The goat of lust wants to attack Heaven with its horns. I’m a believer in destiny. Another thing you now know about me. You’re getting closer all the time, but there will be more twists and turns before you discover the ultimate lie.

KATE AND ADAM were back at the squad car when he said, ‘Sandra Regan was hiding something.’

‘She was nervous from the outset, for sure. But her mood kept shifting from nervousness to bravado and sometimes detachment. I assume you noticed her reaction to the tag name.’

‘Something twigged in her brain, no doubt about it.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ll move on it from the outside in. I want to have a chat with her husband, and then her friend Alice Thompson.’

‘I don’t need to remind you that you’re no longer part of the investigation team.’

‘Which is why, Kate, I’m going to have to move fast.’

‘Her curiosity about the hotel was strange. I mean, there was any number of things she could have queried, yet she chose to ask about that.’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘It could be nothing, but something isn’t right about this.’

As they drove away, Kate studied the sketch of Pierre Laurent.

‘What do you hope to get from that?’ he asked. ‘We already know what he looked like.’

‘I want to see how she perceived him, if there was any emotional attachment.’

‘And?’

‘It’s kind of peculiar. On the one hand the sketch looks like Pierre Laurent, yet it doesn’t. Pull in for a second.’

‘Your wish is my command.’ He turned the squad car into a side street and switched off the engine. ‘Well?’

‘Sandra Regan said Pierre reminded her of her father.’

‘So?’

‘Maybe that’s why the image is confusing.’

‘Let me have a look.’ He took the sketch from her. ‘It seems pretty abstract to me.’

‘There’s a lot going on here, that’s for sure. She was obviously fond of him.’

‘Not the emotional strain of the killer, then?’

‘It wouldn’t seem so, but I’d wager she’s under some form of stress.’

‘Killer or not, Sandra Regan knows more than she is saying.’

Kate studied the sketch again. ‘It’s always bothered me that Pierre Laurent’s face wasn’t touched.’

‘Any new theories as to why?’

‘There’s a couple floating around in my brain.’

‘Care to share them?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Kate, you seem bothered.’

‘I am – something has always bothered me about this case.’

‘What?’

‘That’s the thing. I can’t put my finger on it. Sandra Regan didn’t have a problem talking about Pierre Laurent, and it certainly seemed like Rick Shevlin’s name meant nothing to her, but I’m still unsure about her, like there’s something we’re not seeing.’

‘Maybe she’s protecting someone.’

‘Or maybe she’s scared out of her wits.’

MARK LYNCH WASN’T one bit happy that O’Connor was fishing in the investigation. He had his sources in the airport authority too, and he’d be damned if he was going to let the detective regain face with the chief super, or meddle in his investigation. He had tried to get through to him all morning, but the bloody mobile kept ringing out before going to voicemail. He didn’t want to put anything out over the airwaves by contacting the squad car directly but he hadn’t much choice.

‘O’Connor.’

‘Is that you, Mark? The signal is shocking.’

He wanted to tell him he wasn’t a bloody idiot, but care was needed with other squad cars listening in.

‘You’re assigned to Traffic, not this investigation.’ His words sounded like the order they were.

‘I understand that, but I think I could be on to something. I need to talk with an Edgar Regan and an Alice Thompson before I can be sure the lead is concrete.’

‘The line isn’t so bad that you didn’t hear what I just said. You’re not part of this investigation any more and all interviews will be looked after by others. Can you hear that loud and clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Where were you this morning?’

‘I was talking to a woman called Sandra Regan. Her name came up on flight information—’

Lynch interrupted before he could finish: ‘I know all about that. Get back here and fill me in on what you have.’

‘I’m on my way.’

‘I’m warning you, O’Connor, no detours.’

The next call Lynch made was to Kate. ‘There appears to be a fresh lead on the Shevlin case, a Sandra Regan.’

‘I know. I’m with Detective Inspector O’Connor now.’

‘I don’t take kindly, Kate, to being kept out of the loop. I’ll talk to you both when you get here.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’ve another appointment at Ocean House.’

‘I’m not happy about this. I need any additional information you have.’

‘I don’t have any additional information, at least not yet. If I have something new, I’ll be in touch.’

He was livid, and it didn’t help that O’Connor was sitting in the squad car beside her, taking it all in. ‘Make sure you do, Kate. You may not be an official member of the force, but you are fully aware of the guidelines that are in place. I’ll be expecting you to keep to them.’

‘As I said, I’ll make contact if I’ve more to add.’

Hanging up the phone and opening his office door, Lynch roared at the first victim he could see, Detective Sergeant Martin Lennon. ‘Lennon, set up a full incident-room briefing for half an hour from now. This Shevlin case is gaining some wings and we’d better all be flying in the one direction. Where’s Fitzsimons?’

‘He’s gone for a smoke.’

‘When he gets back from killing himself, I want both of you in here. I’ve half a dozen names that I need you to find out about.’ He was about to slam his door when he caught sight of Paul Fitzsimons entering the squad room. ‘Right,’ he shouted. ‘You two in here now.’

Both men remained standing while he began his rant. ‘First off, if either of you hear wind of O’Connor meddling in my case, I want to know about it.’

They nodded.

‘Second, we have six new names in the pot, four women and two male partners. O’Connor’s already checked them through PULSE and they appear clean. I need you to do more digging. Find something. I want business details, family connections, where they went to school, where they were born, and every damn place they’ve been since.’ He paused for breath. ‘Lennon, make contact with Edgar Regan – he’s one of the names on the
list. Set up a meeting for directly after the briefing, and then I’ll want to see an Alice Thompson. Arrange that too.’

‘Sure, Boss,’ Lennon replied.

‘Fitzsimons, you work with Lennon on this. I’ll use Sergeant Janet Lacy to accompany me for any house calls.’

As both men walked out of the office, Lynch roared after them, ‘And remember, if O’Connor sticks his nose anywhere it shouldn’t be, I want to know about it pronto.’

I PHONE EDGAR the moment the police squad car turns the corner. When he answers, I’m unable to talk sense, my words getting mixed up, coming out in a jumbled mess.

‘Sandra, calm down.’

‘The police have been here asking loads of questions.’

‘Questions about what?’ He lowers his voice.

‘About different things, about years ago, someone I knew in Paris, about Alice and a man I’ve never heard of called Rick Shevlin.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘Not a lot, but listen, Edgar, it doesn’t matter what I told them. What matters is I think you’re in danger.’

‘What are you talking about? Do you mean from the police?’ He sounds shocked.

I take a deep breath. ‘Edgar, I followed you a few days ago, when you went to that house in Greystones. I broke into her house. I know you’ve been lying to me, but it doesn’t matter now. None of it matters. You have to listen to me. The woman you’re seeing, she isn’t normal – she’s been here in our home. I told you someone was moving things around. At first I thought she was playing mind games, and then I found a card with the Devil’s face on it. I thought she wanted to kill me. But it isn’t me. It’s you she’s after. I’m sorry I didn’t say more of this before, but I didn’t want you brushing me off, not until I had proof. You haven’t believed me in the past, but I don’t care about that.’ I’m rocking back and forth, trying to calm myself down. My heart is thumping, and for a few seconds, no words come out, as if I’m having a panic attack. What if he doesn’t believe me? What will I do then? I wait for him to say something, but all I hear is silence. Then somehow I get my voice back and yell at him, ‘Edgar, do you understand what I’m saying to you? I think she killed someone, this Rick Shevlin guy. Her name is Cassie4Casanova. That’s the name you know her by. She’ll kill you too.’ I start crying, but then I say, ‘I’m so frightened.’

‘I want you to listen to me.’ His words come out slowly, a long pause between each one.

‘I’m listening.’ I try to breathe deeply and evenly.

‘Don’t say anything more to the police.’

‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘I believe you.’

The relief feels enormous.

‘Sandra, I can explain everything.’

‘Look, I don’t care about your reasons. I just want to make sure you’re safe. We can work out all the other stuff later.’

‘Sandra?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember the house you followed me to?’

‘The one in Greystones?’

‘That’s the one.’

Why does he sound so calm? ‘What about it?’

‘I want you to go there.’

‘What? Now? Edgar, I can’t go back there.’ My voice is high-pitched, almost hysterical. None of this is making sense.

‘Sandra, I need you to trust me.’

‘I’m … I’m …’ I want to say I’m not sure I do any more.

‘Listen to me, Sandra. I’ll meet you there. It will be all right. I promise you.’

I can’t speak.

‘Sandra, are you still there?’

I swallow hard, my hands shaking.

‘Sandra!’ He’s shouting now, like he’s the madman. Finally, I say, ‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘I need you to go to the house. I can’t explain over the phone. Just go there. I’ll meet you outside. You have to trust me.’

‘But it’s her house. How can you be sure she won’t be there?’ I bite my lips so hard that they bleed.

‘She won’t be. I promise you. You’re completely safe. I’ve taken care of everything.’

SINCE THE CONVERSATION with Sandra Regan earlier that morning, the investigation was in the forefront of Kate’s thoughts. Mark Lynch would ensure that all four women would be interviewed, but there was something about Sandra that didn’t sit easy with her. How was she connected? She didn’t know Rick Shevlin, and if she didn’t know the victim, she couldn’t be the killer. That put those close to her in the frame – one of her girlfriends, her husband, or someone connected to them. Rick Shevlin and Michele Pinzini had had extra-marital relationships. What if Edgar Regan was having an affair? It might explain why Sandra had asked about the name of the hotel. She could have stumbled on the information by accident – information that could put the woman in danger.