Last Kiss (29 page)

It was all supposition, and she certainly hadn’t spent long enough with Sandra Regan for a comprehensive assessment of her state of mind. They would have more information once the others were interviewed, but if finding Sandra turned out to be a breakthrough in the investigation, Adam would have done well, and Lynch’s icy tones reflected his annoyance that he had. Opening her laptop, she looked again at her interim report, and specifically her earlier conclusions. It was as good a place as any to start.

Conclusions

• Killer: female

• Known to victims – possible previous relationships

• Psychopathic/sociopathic inferences

• Ability to detach: possible childhood or early trauma

• Interval between murders: indicative of emotional stressors prior to attack

• Killer: creative – will have link with visual-art world, photography, sculpture, painting and/or design

• Age thirty–forty

• Attractive

• Ability to deceive and gain trust

• Capable of social integration

• A planner and a dreamer; will fantasise about murders in advance

• Manipulative/charming

• Capable of delusional thinking and distortion of information

• Seeks emotional fulfilment

•
Attention-seeker

• Dangerous and volatile when provoked

• Uses sexual attraction to meet victims/partners

• Has the ability to compartmentalise killings

• Early trauma: damage during development of relationship between the id, the ego and the super-ego

• Ability to adjust to preferred sexual fetish – prior sexual grooming

• Will operate solely or within a small group

• Lacks trust

• High level of hatred

• Emotionally damaged

• Violent attacks: possible pleasure/release for killer

• Creation of crime scene: reflective of visual awareness

• Takes pride in the end result

• Level of intelligence: HIGH

• Ability to avoid detection: HIGH

• Victims are chosen and are potentially groomed

• Calmness of killer during aftermath v. frenzied assault: further analysis required

• Risk of repeat killing: HIGH

• Time frame: subject to stressor/s

• Identification of stressor: unknown

Having reviewed the information a number of times, her attention kept going back to one line:
Capable of delusional thinking and distortion of information
. How delusional? How distorted? What was the level of personality disorder involved? She had treated many cases of detachment over the years, fragmented
recall due to trauma, psychotic and psychopathic sufferers, but it felt like something else was driving this.

Walking around the room, she considered how, at first glance, many patients appear normal. They can hold down credible careers, give an illusion of living a normal life, but there are cracks once you start digging. They walk a tightrope: their relationships are usually fundamentally flawed, and no matter how much they achieve in life, career or other accomplishments, they cannot rid themselves of the demons that fuel their sense of worthlessness, igniting anger and a pathway to self-destruction.

Did the killer murder the victims because she craved the intimacy they could give her, even though each of the relationships was doomed to fail? With a mind capable of this level of hate and destruction, there could be no simple fix. Kate thought about another case. She had met Samantha Deering in her first year at Ocean House. Samantha had made a number of suicide attempts, and was eventually referred to her. The girl used her sexual appeal, because she desperately craved affection, hating herself afterwards, creating a vicious circle of sex, intimacy, regret, depression and then attempted suicide. She remembered having to commit the girl. It was after Samantha’s mother had called, with the girl uncontrollable, that she finally had to take action.

When she had arrived at the girl’s home, Samantha was in her bedroom, her eyes closed as if she was deep in sleep. When she called her by name, at first Kate thought she couldn’t hear her, so she went closer, touching her on the shoulder. She would
never forget the expression in the girl’s eyes when she opened them. She looked lost inside her mind, breathing fast, her face contorted. She began screaming, hitting out blindly, sweat pouring from her forehead, and yelling expletives at invisible monsters in the room. She had become utterly detached from reality, her mind split, and she was visiting Hell. Samantha had been abused by one of her mother’s ex-boyfriends, which only came to light when her sister told her mother about an approach he had made to her. The sister had refused him. When Samantha found out about it, it was as if she was being abused again. She blamed herself for not saying ‘No’, for being weaker than her sister, a part of her feeling complicit with the abuse.

If Rick Shevlin’s killer walked a dangerous tightrope, the answers to why would be found in their early development. The forming of unhealthy attachments occurs for a reason. Kate opened a file on family therapy, which dealt specifically with attachment styles, examining child–parent relationships over a life cycle – how it affects the child and the forming of their adult romantic attachments.
Children exposed to constant stresses and problematic situations, exceeding their ability to cope, specifically where abuse occurs, are found within a disorganised attachment style, with deep psychological problems in adult life. Avoidance, denial and suppressed anger can all form part of their psychological makeup
. That brought Kate back to her first question: how delusional was this killer? Was a dissociative disorder involved, a means of avoiding reality, and what coping methods had she sought?

Pacing the room again, she finally realised what it was about Sandra Regan that had bothered her. It had been her facial
reactions. When they had spoken about her time in Paris, and alluded to the faking of documents, the upper part of her face had been harsh, her forehead frowning, her eyes intense, yet the lower part was different: her mouth had curled downwards, her cheeks soft. It was almost as if she had two separate faces.

I ARRIVE IN Greystones before Edgar. I’m too fearful to park on the street and wait there alone, so I drive down to the seafront. It’s sunny. There are plenty of people about, but instead of feeling safer with others around, I start thinking she could be anywhere among them.

The car is fogging up, but I daren’t open a window. I’ve no intention of risking anything until I meet Edgar. It’s then that his text comes in, saying he’ll be twenty minutes late: the police had wanted to talk to him. Edgar says he’s taken care of everything. But what does he mean by that? I think about how odd he has been lately. I’m not the only one who has been showing signs of pressure.

I wish I was a smoker. If I was, I would be lighting up now, and as I’m thinking this, I wonder why Alice never phoned after she didn’t turn up at the studio. Before I know it, I hear my phone ring. Then, ‘Hi, Sandra.’

‘You never came to the house the other day.’

‘I did. I couldn’t get an answer.’

‘Alice, I’ve found out the truth.’

‘About what?’

‘About Edgar and this other woman – I’ve proof he’s having an affair and …’ The rest of the words won’t come out.

‘And what?’

‘The woman,’ I’m stammering, ‘she’s dangerous.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She broke into our home. She left messages for me, wrote stuff in my diary and now—’ I choke up again.

‘Sandra, take it easy.’

‘The police have interviewed Edgar. They called to the house earlier.’

‘Why? What do they want?’ Her voice is agitated now.

‘They wanted to know about Pierre. You remember him, don’t you?’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘I know it was, but now someone else has been killed, a guy called Rick Shevlin. The police think the two killings are linked. I’ve warned Edgar. I told him the woman he’s seeing could be the killer. His life might be in danger.’

‘Have you told the police all this?’

‘Not yet. I wanted to talk to Edgar first. There’s more to this than I can work out. He’s on his way to see me now. He’s told
me not to worry, that he’s taken care of everything, but he could be saying that to keep me from being scared.’

‘Sandra,’ her voice is stern, ‘I want you to listen to me.’

They’re the same words Edgar used earlier on. Everyone is asking me to listen to them, like I’m not capable of functioning on my own merits. Then the voice inside my head says,
You rang her, stupid, and you don’t trust her. She didn’t help the other day. She didn’t bother phoning you to see if you were okay. For all you know she could be lying about calling over to the house. Maybe she never came
.

‘Sandra, are you still there?’

The car feels suffocating. I want to hang up, but instead I say, ‘Yes, I’m still here.’ I open the driver’s window to get air. I can hear a woman calling her dog, some teenagers passing by, chatting loudly, and music blaring from a car parked nearby. It all sounds loud and fast.

‘Where are you?’ she asks.

‘I’m in Greystones, down by the seafront.’

‘Stay there, Sandra. I can be there in fifteen minutes.’

‘I can’t, Alice. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to see Edgar.’

I hang up the phone, turning it off in case she tries to call back. I tell myself it’s all going to be okay, as I hear the waves crashing in. I roll up the window, put my seatbelt on and drive to the street where I’m supposed to meet Edgar. As I turn the corner, I see his car parked at the top. I take the first space I can find. I see him getting out of the car, walking towards me. It’s only then that I unlock the doors and step out onto the street. I pass a middle-aged man with his two terriers. He smiles as he gets closer, lifting his hand to wave at me.

‘How are you? It’s been a while,’ he says, with a wide smile.

God, maybe I look like her. Men do that all the time, falling for similar features in a woman.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘You must be mistaken.’

He stares at me, then says, ‘Here’s Edgar now,’ waving at him too. ‘I’d better get on.’ He’s practically chirping, and then, looking down at his dogs, he starts to laugh. ‘These monsters are dangerous if they don’t get their exercise.’

‘Sandra,’ Edgar says, when the man passes, ‘are you all right?’

‘What’s going on? Why does that man think he knows me?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘But I …’

‘It’s okay. I told you I’d explain everything.’

He takes me by the arm, walking me in the direction of the house. I pull back. ‘I can’t go in there, Edgar. I told you, I can’t.’

He looks at me in the sympathetic way someone might look at a foolish child.

‘Sandra,’ he says, ‘it’s all going to be okay, I promise you.’

‘I don’t understand.’ We’re in front of the house. ‘I can’t go in there,’ I tell him again.

‘Yes, you can.’ His voice is more assertive as we move towards the back of the house, and he takes the key from under the plant pot, pushing me towards the back door. ‘Sandra, the police are about to talk to Alice. Now get inside.’

STUCK IN TRAFFIC, coming from Christchurch, Kate had got a call from Mark Lynch to say they had interviewed Sandra Regan’s husband, and a couple of the guys were currently talking with Alice Thompson. Both of them, in Lynch’s opinion, were being particularly evasive. People knew things they weren’t saying, and when that happened, the police dug their heels in.

Catching a glimpse of her face in the rear-view mirror, Kate thought again of the sketch of Pierre Laurent. Considering the traffic wasn’t going anywhere fast, she phoned Lynch back. ‘Mark, did you find anything of interest on Sandra Regan’s father? I assume you’re running background checks?’

‘I am. On everyone involved, but there’s nothing on him yet. Is there something particular you’re fishing for?’

‘I’d like to know what he looks like.’

‘Why?’

‘It was something Sandra Regan said about the sketch of Pierre Laurent. It could be nothing.’

‘Okay. I’ll see what I can do, but if you’re working on any scenarios, even if they’re not conclusive, I want you to run them by me.’

‘If I have anything, I’ll let you know.’

They spoke for a couple of minutes before she hung up. She thought about Adam. His hands were tied right now, and there wasn’t a darn thing he could do about it. When the traffic lights changed to green, and only two cars got through, she made her next call to him.

‘I wish you’d do something about city traffic,’ she said, when he answered. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

‘I don’t plan on being here long enough to solve Dublin’s road problems.’

‘I guess not.’

‘Did you hear any more from Mark Lynch?’

‘Not a lot. Alice Thompson and Edgar Regan are being evasive. It seems neither of them had solid alibis for the night of Rick Shevlin’s murder. Alice Thompson says she was at home alone, Edgar Regan says he was at home with his wife.’

‘Convenient.’

‘Mark’s running background checks on everyone involved. I’ve asked him to get me an image of Sandra Regan’s father. It may turn out to be nothing, but I’d like to know what he looked like.’

‘I can call over later, talk things through again.’

‘I’m better off working alone. I’ve told Mark I’ll contact him first if I have anything more.’

‘I’ll settle for second.’

‘But you’re not on the case.’

‘Maybe not, but rumour has it I’m a good sounding board.’

‘Psychologists,’ she laughed, ‘are supposed to be the best listeners.’

‘I’m in the wrong job, then! Remember, phone me.’

At last, the traffic began to gain pace. Charlie, she thought, wouldn’t be back from football practice until after seven and, thankfully, it wasn’t her week on pickup duties. She checked the time on the dashboard: five thirty-five. If she got home by six, she’d have an hour. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

WHEN EDGAR PULLS back the curtains, the house looks different with the sun shining through the windows. I’m still terrified she’ll arrive at any moment. What if this is a plan the two of them have concocted to get rid of me? I don’t remember if he locked the door after we came in. As if reading my thoughts, he says, ‘Sandra, there’s nothing for you to worry about.’