Last Kiss (36 page)

Lynch took a step forward, hovering over him. ‘There’s caring, and then there’s abuse. You wouldn’t be the first teacher caught with your trousers down.’

Kate could hardly believe the speed by which the old man
jumped up and grabbed Lynch by the throat. The detective responded by pinning him against the wall.

‘Look, let’s all settle down, shall we?’ Kate shouted. ‘This isn’t going to get us anywhere.’ The hatred in both men’s eyes was palpable.

Lynch reluctantly stood back, while Barry Lyons recomposed himself.

‘Barry,’ Kate said, ‘we have a number of questions for you.’

‘Ask me anything you want,’ he replied, sitting down again and cupping his face in his hands.

‘We believe Sandra Connolly has a direct link to our investigation. We also believe the two of you had a relationship.’

‘I never touched her. She wanted me to, but I never did.’

Kate watched as Barry Lyons’s face crumpled and tears formed in his eyes. He was hurting, she thought, and badly. ‘Tell us exactly what happened,’ she said.

He clenched his fists, his body and voice tensing more as he spoke. ‘She used to visit me some afternoons after school. It was a little irregular, I admit, but I felt sorry for her. I had the feeling she didn’t have anyone else. She would bring some artwork, keen to hear my observations on it.’ He looked away from Kate, staring ahead of him. ‘We had art lessons in the school, but not at the level Sandra had reached.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘She came to my house late one night …’ He swallowed hard. ‘I could tell she was upset, so I didn’t mention the hour. I went into the kitchen to make some cocoa. I told her to sit by the fire and get some warmth back into her.’

‘And what happened then?’ Lynch butted in, clearly fearful that Lyons might clam up.

Lyons was silent.

Kate tried again: ‘Listen, Barry, we know Sandra was promiscuous from a young age. If you didn’t do anything wrong, you’ve nothing to fear.’

He stared at her. ‘I wasn’t totally innocent either.’ His head dropped into his hands.

Kate gave him a few seconds to recover, and this time, so did Lynch.

Splaying his fingers on the table, he said, ‘I think she knew I was in love with her, long before I knew it myself. Call it the foolishness of a middle-aged man, but there was something about her I was drawn to.’

‘Barry, you said you went into the kitchen to make cocoa. What happened then?’ Kate knew she needed to push him.

‘When I came back, there was only the light of the fire. She had stripped to her underwear. Her breasts were already showing signs of development …’ Again he swallowed hard. ‘She was so beautiful, not a child, but not yet a woman, a body metamorphosing in the most thrilling way.’ He looked from Kate to Lynch, then back to Kate. ‘As I said, I think she knew I loved her long before I did. It took all my strength to resist, with her standing like some mythical vision by the fire and the flames dancing off the wall.’

‘So what stopped you?’ Kate asked.

‘She was still a child, and undoubtedly a child who had seen her fair share of hurt. When I looked into her eyes, I realised I was being tested, one part of her wanting me to take her, the other part hoping I wouldn’t.’

‘So you passed the test?’ Kate replied.

‘Yes.’ He nodded. Then, standing up, he said, ‘You see, all I could think of was the girl I had come to know, the one who was obsessed with Grimms’ fairy tales, her wanting me to read them over and over in school. That night I told her she was beautiful, which wasn’t a lie.’ He exhaled. ‘I gave her a blanket to wrap around herself, knowing if I forced her to get dressed there and then, it would have heightened her shame. I needed to be careful. She was so fragile …’

‘And then what?’ Kate was relieved that Lynch had decided to leave the questioning to her.

‘She told me about her mother – or, at least, what she had fantasised about her.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘She said her grandfather had abused her mother, and that after she was born, her grandmother …’

‘Go on,’ Kate pressed.

‘I doubt any of this is true, you understand, but …’

‘What about her grandmother?’

‘Sandra believed her grandmother killed her mother, or at least left her to die, before burning her in the woods.’

Kate kept her voice low: ‘It may be truer than you think, Barry.’

‘She said that when she used to run through the woods she hoped one day she would find her.’

As if remembering something else, he began to pull stuff from the corner of the cabin. ‘I have some of her artwork here. Do you want to see it?’

Without either of them answering, he pulled two empty sacks from the top of a tea chest. Reaching in, he took out a scrap album and opened it on the small table. When he started talking, it was as if he was remembering a prized student.

‘You see here how advanced she was, capable of working in abstract from a very young age. It was all about perspective with her.’ Kate looked down at the sketches and paintings, varying collages made up of cubes, while Lyons grew increasingly animated. ‘Cubism,’ he continued, ‘isn’t about cubes. It’s about creating a greater reflection of reality. Sandra used different perspectives to elevate the work from a flattened vision.’ He flicked through the pages. ‘Look how her work developed. Her use of shadow is extraordinary. We used to watch old black-and-white movies together. She became obsessed with how the light created the shadows across the screen. What some people saw as a negative, with the early black-and-white movie pictures, inadequate to re-create real life, she was fascinated by.’

‘It’s all making sense.’ Kate looked at Lynch.

‘What is?’

‘Don’t you see? Look at her artwork, the breaking up of the world into segments, fragments, creating an obscured reality. Look at her use of shadow, the splitting of self, and the self-portraits.’ Kate turned back and forth through the scrapbook. ‘She’s experimenting with light and the use of the dark. As her work advanced, the shadows in the self-portraits became increasingly dominant.’

‘I still don’t get you.’

‘She has control of the re-creation, a world she is comfortable within. The portraits would have become progressively more important to her, especially as she couldn’t control reality. The artwork was becoming an expression of her identity …’

‘How is this connected to the killing?’ He still sounded unsure.

‘It’s what she does after she kills. She creates the scenes so she can be photographed in them. That’s why the reflection in the mirror is so important. It’s like …’ Kate began pacing around the cabin, both men staring at her ‘… she is using the images as markers. It’s her way of proving she exists.’

‘Why would she do that?’ Lynch sounded more confused than ever.

‘She’s never sure when the other identity is going to take over. The darker, more aggressive and daring side would have known of the existence of her other self. When the weaker personality was put under pressure, it allowed the darker one to take over and become dominant. Creating self-portraits was her proof of existence.’

‘I always wondered why she could change,’ Barry Lyons said, ‘from being mostly shy to more forceful, almost demanding my attention. I put it down to her insecurity, nothing more. I should have realised. Maybe if I had …’

‘It would have been impossible for you to know, at least not fully.’ Kate touched his arm. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think she did love you – at least, one side of her personality certainly did.’

‘How do you know?’ he asked.

‘Sandra did a sketch of someone who looked very like you, especially the eyes. It illustrated she cared, and certainly enough not to harm anything that reminded her of you.’

‘We’ll need to visit her old home.’ Lynch was clearly itching to move on. ‘I can get the address from O’Connor.’

‘This time you’ll need a search warrant,’ Kate responded, ‘if you want me to be part of it.’

THERE WAS NO denying Adam O’Connor’s adrenalin rush at being back in the centre of the investigation. He had no idea what to expect with Alice Thompson, but one thing on which he was in complete agreement with Lynch was that he would get answers. He chose Interview Room 9B, the smallest and darkest room in the unit. It faced west, with only one small window, and was constantly in need of artificial light.

He knew Sergeant Janet Lacy had been part of the first interview with Alice Thompson, and was keen to hear what she had to say. Initially he was surprised by her hostility: she described the woman as up herself, and a pain in the rear end. He liked Janet’s passion, even if it sounded over the top.

‘Janet, you’ll be joining me for the interview with Alice Thompson.’

‘You know she’s already here, don’t you? She won’t like being kept waiting.’

‘There’s nothing like pre-interview nerves to add energy. Give her another ten minutes, then bring her down.’

He wanted Alice Thompson on edge, and for her to believe he knew more than he did. If he could chisel out even the smallest crack, he’d know he was on the right track, keeping the relationship between Sandra and Alice’s father in reserve. He had made more enquiries about the father, Sam Thompson. He was still alive and kicking, and had remarried a woman the same age as his daughter, with two kids in tow. He wondered if Alice felt a sense of abandonment. Without meaning to, he thought of his son. The last conversation he’d had with him was difficult, as was the previous one, and the one before that.

Janet Lacy opened the interview-room door. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I am.’

‘Detective Inspector O’Connor will speak to you now.’

Some women are hard to forget, and as Alice Thompson walked through the doorway of 9B, Adam knew he was face to face with one of them. She was tall and slender with perfect proportions, blonde hair scooped up at the back, a long side fringe half covering her beautiful face. She moved with grace and poise, wore black high heels, a dark pencil skirt and a powder pink blouse, loosely hugging her curves. What looked like an expensive handbag hung on her shoulder. Her skin was pale, but she wore vibrant red lipstick and had magnificent blue eyes. If
she was aware of him staring, she gave no hint of it. Women like her, he thought, took male admiration as a given.

‘Alice, I know Detective Lynch has already spoken to you.’

She stared back at him without a word.

‘Since then, a lot of fresh information has come to light.’

Still nothing. He was going to have to change tactics.

‘Your father has recently remarried, I understand.’

The first glimmer of something: a momentary balking of the eyes. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

‘Don’t you?’ Adam raised his eyebrows in surprise. Let her wait a few seconds. ‘You and Sandra Regan are very close?’

‘We’re friends, if that’s what you mean.’

‘From childhood?’

‘Look, Detective, you and I already know that. Why don’t you get to the point and save us both time and energy?’

‘Very well. We’ll move through this quickly. Tell me what you know about the Pierre Laurent murder.’

‘Not a lot. It was a long time ago.’

‘Did you sleep with him?’

Another flinch. ‘No, I did not.’ She sounded indignant.

‘You were in Paris when he was killed.’

‘So were a great many other people.’

‘Including Sandra?’

‘Yes,’ she eased her shoulders, ‘including Sandra.’ Her voice hinted at concern for the first time.

‘You’re worried about her, aren’t you?’

Another silence.

‘And her husband Edgar – are you concerned about him too?’

‘He’s Sandra’s husband, not mine.’ A tinge of anger in her voice.

‘I imagine you two know a lot about each other, what with Sandra being a lifelong friend?’

She gave him another stone-wall look – time to pull off the gloves.

‘Alice, can I be honest with you?’

‘That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?’

‘Sandra is under suspicion for the murder of Rick Shevlin.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Now, he thought, she looks rattled. ‘And other killings. There is every reason to believe those closest to her, including you and Edgar, were well aware of this.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sandra has been under a lot of pressure lately. She suffers from depression, forgetfulness, but she isn’t capable of what you’re saying. Edgar was worried about her, as was I.’

‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’

‘I’m not sure – a few days ago.’

‘Was Sandra aware of your conversations behind her back? Not exactly the actions of a friend.’

‘Maybe not, but I can’t help it if he sought my advice.’

‘Has he looked for it before? Does he see you as some kind of confidante?’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘We have already spoken to Edgar.’ He was referring to the earlier interview, but there was no harm in her thinking they had talked more recently. ‘He spoke very highly of you.’ It was a gamble, but worth a try.

She looked away, as if gathering her thoughts. ‘It’s … difficult.’ She sounded defeated now.

‘I realise that, Alice.’ What was she hiding? He needed to keep this vague until he got onto concrete ground.

‘I care for Sandra very much,’ she continued.

‘I’m sure you do.’

‘I wouldn’t have chosen Edgar for her. I knew the marriage would eventually have difficulties.’

‘Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?’

She stared uncomfortably at Janet Lacy, who was leaning against the wall.

Adam gestured at Janet with his eyes that she should move further back, out of sight. He lowered his voice: ‘Look, Alice, you can speak in confidence here. You’re not under arrest, being cautioned or anything else at this point. We’re simply looking for the truth. You want that too, don’t you?’

She relaxed her shoulders, and he thought how easy it would be to believe anything she had to say. He needed to be careful.

‘He was unhappy about the lack of pleasure he was giving her.’

‘Sexual pleasure?’

‘Yes – they’ve had problems since early in the marriage.’