Last Kiss (37 page)

‘What kind of problems?’

‘Initially, Edgar thought everything was fine – she was adventurous, seductive. He said he became totally obsessed with her …’

‘And then?’

‘He started to worry about it being a one-way indulgence. Everything revolved around his enjoyment. It preyed on his mind. I think he felt less of a man because of it.’

‘It’s kind of unusual, him speaking to you about it?’

‘He had his reasons.’

He didn’t push the point, not yet, wanting to hear more about the Regans’ marital problems. ‘You were saying about their difficulties …’

‘The first time he told me he was drunk. As I said, I think his male ego was compromised. I told him to give it time, but he became increasingly dependent on me for advice.’

‘Go on.’

‘I thought things had settled, but then Sandra’s behaviour became unpredictable, angry outbursts, bouts of forgetfulness, shutting him out. He told me he’d tried being gentle with her, constantly reassuring her of how much he loved her. I thought it would be okay. As I said, I wouldn’t have chosen him as her partner, but I didn’t doubt he cared for her. Otherwise I wouldn’t have given him the time of day.’

‘And then what?’

‘He began contacting me again, phoning daily, telling me he thought she was having an affair.’

‘And was she?’

She stared at him blankly. ‘I can’t be sure. She might have been. I spoke to her about it, but she laughed it off.’

‘Did she ever speak to you about the Tarot cards?’ This time her flinch was filled with fear. Was she wondering how much more she should tell him? If he was to get anywhere, he had to move quickly. ‘You’re familiar with them? Perhaps you messed around with them at some point?’

‘It was just a silly game.’

‘What kind of game?’

‘The kind little girls play, imagining their future.’

‘What were the rules? There were rules, I assume.’

‘Yes – we would take turns picking a card for the other. Whatever card you picked meant something. Sandra had a book on them. We would look up their meanings.’

‘Did they ever land you in trouble?’

‘Sometimes.’ Again a blank look. ‘I thought Sandra had forgotten all about them, but then …’

‘Then what?’

‘It doesn’t matter. They don’t count for anything.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

Another silence.

He got up and walked over to her side of the table. ‘You do know Sandra and your father were lovers?’

‘You’re lying!’ she spat, instantly angry.

‘Why would I lie?’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Again the seething rage, far too much for her not to have had her doubts.

He held back for a minute. She would either recompose herself or come clean. He hoped it would be the latter.

‘I should hate her, shouldn’t I?’ Her words were reflective now, no longer angry. ‘I did for a long time … I thought I despised her. It put a divide between us, one that has never gone away, but eventually I came around.’

‘Why do you think that was?’

‘We share a common bond.’

‘What’s that?’

Another damned silence.

‘Do you believe Sandra was abused as a child?’

‘Yes.’ Tears formed in her eyes. ‘We both were.’ Her composure crumbled. ‘It was the two of us against the world.’

He could see even Janet Lacy was softening.

‘Keep talking, Alice. If you still care for Sandra, anything you tell us will help.’

‘As children, we thought we could live in the woods for ever, have a silly life of fantasy, wild with the wind, nothing would ever stop us. It was ridiculous, of course, but looking back, despite everything, there was still something wonderful about it, believing we could create our own future, that we were mythical creatures of the forest. I can still see the two of us running through the woods, the light from above splintering through the branches. When I think back, do you know what I hear?’

‘No, Alice, I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘I hear the sound of laughter, the kind only children can make. It was everywhere, blocking out the darkness.’

‘Alice?’

‘Yes?’

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

‘Today.’

‘Did she say anything important? Think hard.’

The tears were back in her eyes, and for the first time, Adam saw the unhappy young girl she might have been. He didn’t want to press her, but he needed answers. ‘Alice, your last conversation with Sandra, what did she say?’

‘She wanted me to pick another card.’

‘Like you did as children?’

‘Yes, but she’s asked me at other times too – I would humour her, hoping she would get better.’

‘What card did you pick?’

‘The Death card – it means a new beginning, all the negativity and those creating it will be no more, and you can move on with the energy of the sun.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘That she needed to go back to the woods.’

Alice Thompson looked far removed from the cool, confident beauty who had entered Interview Room 9B, but there was one question he still had unanswered.

‘Alice, you said Edgar had his reasons for confiding in you. Can you tell me what they were?’

‘He didn’t find my sexuality threatening.’

‘Why not?’

‘He saw what many others didn’t.’

‘Which is?’

‘I desire women, not men. In a way, he saw me as an ally. I think it led Sandra to believe we were close for other reasons. Lately, she has doubted my loyalty.’

‘Why did you help him?’

‘Because I knew he loved her, and I loved her more than anyone else ever could. I have done since we ran through the forest together as children.’

WHEN WE REACH the house, Edgar’s enthusiasm is draining my spirits. He thinks my bringing him here for the first time is positive.

I check the knives in the kitchen drawer as he lights the fire, the flames catching fast with the dryness of the wood.

‘Come and sit by the fire,’ he says.

‘I will – give me a moment.’

‘Will I put our stuff upstairs?’ he asks – stupid lapdog.

‘No, don’t worry about that. There’s plenty of time to have a look around.’

He doesn’t know how much I hate this house, how the memories linger in my mind, my grandfather holding me down,
pretending love, with more cruelty than the witch. At least she paraded her evil.

I don’t want Edgar finding the cellar too soon, so I watch his every move from the other room, keeping the kitchen door ajar. The house is small, and has certainly suffered the wrath of abandonment: the windowpanes are crumbling, the wallpaper in the front room is torn, the old carpets and curtains reek of dirt and dust, and every part of the place creaks against the sharp crackle of the fire.

Edgar knows he’s still walking a tightrope, taking it one step at a time. I wonder should I give him my body one last time, for old times’ sake. I could strip naked and take him now, the way the flames are consuming the branches. He wouldn’t refuse – why would he?

As I walk into the sitting room, he turns, the fire magnificent behind him. Before he speaks, I pull him towards me, pressing my mouth against his, our tongues tasting each other, my hand caressing the back of his head. I feel his arousal. My voice sounds husky, as I tell him how much I need him. He sinks into me. I lick my lips, putting my finger to his mouth, asking him to close his eyes.

Naked, I tell him he can open his eyes again. He looks at my arms, seeing the cuts of the knife. ‘You’ve been harming yourself again,’ he says, his voice pitiful, full of shame for both of us.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Nothing matters now.’

He lets me strip him, transfixed, afraid to break the spell, and still the fire crackles, loud and wild. We embrace again, his fingers travelling down my body, scratching, needing me desperately. I put his hand between my legs. He’s nearly mine. Kneeling in
front of the fire, grinning playfully, I run my fingers through my hair. I hear him gasp, before he lays me beneath him. I arch my back, holding him at arm’s length. ‘Oh, God,’ I say, ‘you’re inside me.’ My words thrill him, his face contorting, his body like a large hungry bear, beyond stopping, as he comes far too quickly.

He’ll sleep now. That will give me the time I need. I put more wood on the fire, taking the blade from the kitchen, watching the flames glisten with its reflection, the edge sharp, cutting myself again, the blood trickling down on his face.

KATE HAD MADE a couple of attempts to get in touch with Sophie and Charlie, but she hadn’t been able to get an answer. At six o’clock, she dialled the apartment again. She could have insisted on Lynch getting her back to Dublin in a separate car, but with the prospect of the search warrant coming through at any moment, coupled with the news from Adam that Sandra had planned a trip to the woods, she hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision to stay.

This time, thankfully, Sophie answered: ‘Sorry, Kate, we popped out to the shops to get more ingredients for pancakes. The traffic was awful. Are you nearly home?’

‘No, unfortunately not – I’m stuck in Wicklow. I was hoping
you could either wait on at the apartment, or take Charlie with you to stay over. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if it isn’t possible, I can be there in half an hour.’ Kate felt crap asking her the favour, but she hoped Sophie would swing with it – she didn’t ask often.

‘Hmm, yeah …’ She sounded a little hesitant. ‘That should be okay. I can stay on for a while. If it gets really late, Charlie can stay with me. I’ll put him on to you, will I?’

‘Hi, Mum, are you on your way?’

‘No, honey, I’m stuck in work. Sophie says she can stay on for a bit. If it gets late, you can sleep over in her place.’

‘But we got stuff to make more pancakes.’ He sounded disappointed.

‘I know, honey. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

‘No, you won’t. You’re always saying things like that. I hate you.’ She heard him drop the phone and then, a couple of seconds later, his bedroom door slammed.

‘Charlie,’ she called down the phone.

The next voice she heard was Sophie’s: ‘Hi, Kate – don’t worry, he’s upset, that’s all. He’s probably overtired. He’ll be okay in a while.’

‘But …’

‘Look, don’t worry. It can’t be helped.’

‘Tell him I love him, and I’ll be there soon.’

‘I will. Listen, I best go into him.’

‘Yes, of course. We can talk later.’

She hung up. Mark Lynch walked towards her. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she replied, even though she felt like the worst mother in the world.

‘We should have the warrant in the next fifteen minutes. O’Connor’s on his way down. The recon team have been at the Regan house for the last four hours. There hasn’t been a sighting of either of them.’

‘How far away from the woods is Sandra’s old home?’ she asked, shivering now the sun had gone down.

‘No more than ten minutes. In the dark, it could take us longer. There’s back-up on standby from Dublin, depending on what we find. I’ll need you to hang back if this thing starts to unravel.’

‘I didn’t stay on to sit in the car.’

‘Look, calm down. The truth is, Kate, if Sandra Regan and her husband are down here, they could be anywhere in these woods.’

‘People always return to the familiar. She may not have happy memories of that house but it would be her starting point. We’re all creatures of habit, and killers are no different from the rest of us.’

Driving through the village, the back road to the house was no more than five minutes away, but far enough to be isolated. Soon the secondary road gave way to a dirt track, coming to a stop at a rusted gate.

When Lynch opened the gate, even in the dark, under an archway of blackthorn bushes, he could see the impression of recent tyre marks on the overgrown pathway. Kate rolled down the window. ‘Well?’

‘They’re here, all right.’ He looked at the three squad cars
stopped behind them. Going to the car furthest from the gate, he said to the driver, ‘You stay here while we check it out. If O’Connor comes, tell him to hang back with you. The other two cars can follow me.’

Getting back in, he turned to Kate. ‘We’ll drive on another bit.’

The cars rumbled their way slowly up the path, the only light guiding them that of the moon. Halfway up, the road took another twist. Mark stopped the car, got out and instructed everyone, except Kate, to walk the rest of the way.

‘You stay here until we give you the all-clear. Lock the doors and don’t attempt to open them for anyone except me.’

‘Okay,’ she replied, and watched the half-dozen detectives set off along the narrow path.

She checked her phone – seven o’clock: an hour since she had spoken to Charlie. Unless there was a miracle, there was no way she’d be back to Dublin in time to put him to bed. She leaned back, suddenly exhausted as she stared at the full moon. In the distance, she could see the woodlands. The tips of the trees were engulfed in a fast-falling fog, reminding her of a mystical landscape.

She jumped out of her skin when she heard tapping on the glass.

‘Bloody hell, Adam,’ she said, opening the door. ‘You gave me a fright.’