Picking it up, I sit on the window seat. I’m still wrapped in a towel, and my wet hair drips. I open the diary at my last entry. The one in which I wrote every detail I could remember about her house, including the key. It’s exactly as I had written it, but when I reach the end, instead of closing the diary, I turn the page, wanting to see a blank sheet. It’s the same handwriting, those large bold letters: BE AFRAID.
My hands shake again and I drop the diary. She must have been in the room. Perhaps she followed me last night. For all I know, she could have watched me while I slept, or maybe she came in while I was in the shower. I’m going to be sick – I run to the toilet and throw up until there is nothing left inside me, then curl up, like a scared animal, against the bathroom wall, scrunching my knees to my chest, knowing I’m not safe there any more.
Maybe in the studio I’d be safe. Edgar doesn’t have a key. I try to remember if anything had been moved in there. I need to be sure. If she copied Edgar’s keys, she wouldn’t have been able to copy the studio key. I have the only one. I don’t need to go to Reception. I paid them last night in advance. I can ring once I’m home; tell them I won’t need the room for a second night. That something unexpected has come up. Or I could say nothing. I don’t need to give them a reason. I don’t need to explain myself to strangers.
In the studio I’ll be able to figure it all out. I need to be somewhere she can’t get to me. She could follow me once I’m outside, but I have to take that chance. I’m running out of choices.
Going down in the lift, I panic every time the door opens, scared that each woman stepping in might be her. I tell myself to get a grip, that maybe I’m imagining all this. These things don’t happen to normal people. You don’t wake up one morning and realise your life is in danger. Do you? But someone wrote that note, and they’ve told me to be afraid.
Once I reach the underground car park, the sound of moving cars, making screeching sounds, feels loud and threatening. I bite my lip again, and taste blood. I know I have to get to the car. I can see it from here. It’s no more than ten metres away. A man passes with a child in his arms, a girl. She has curly blonde hair. She looks about four. I think all this as I’m walking to the car, the sight of a stranger and his child giving me courage. Once inside it, I lock the doors, making sure the back seat is empty.
Exiting the underground car park, the daylight beams into my eyes, blinding me. I indicate to turn right, waiting for a break in the traffic. I’m driving too fast, but I don’t care. There are cars parked on either side, making the road narrow. A woman pushes out a baby in a buggy. I screech to a stop. The buggy is so close that I scream, then break out in a sweat. My ears are on fire. I roll down the window to say sorry, but she’s roaring at me, telling me I’m an idiot. It’s useless. I put my foot back on the accelerator. There are tears in my eyes. I can’t go on like this. I can’t do this on my own. I need to tell someone, someone who’ll believe me.
FLIGHT FROM DUBLIN TO CHARLES DE GAULLE AIRPORT
KATE WAITED WHILE Adam flicked back and forth through the contents of the report. She knew he would have questions.
‘What makes you think she’s between thirty and forty?’
‘Shevlin was in his mid-forties, the victim in Paris was twenty-three, but that was nine years ago. It makes sense. I doubt Rick would go for someone older.
‘Why not?’
‘Men, particularly older men in their forties, fifties and sixties, are in the main attracted to younger women. Some say it is part of the evolutionary process. Older men can still reproduce, and the chances of conception are significantly higher with a younger model.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Simply saying it as it is, but Pierre Laurent sets the marker.’
‘Because?’
‘He was younger than the other two. Pierre may have been attracted to someone older, although I’d wager not much older. It’s partly why I came to the age profile. If she was significantly older than Pierre, she wouldn’t have been attractive to either Rick Shevlin or Michele Pinzini, assuming we make a conclusive connection to the latter. Remember, Rick also used the services of an escort, and Annabel was barely twenty. It’s indicative of his preferences. None of this is absolute, you understand, merely a calculated analysis based on the facts.’
‘Is there anything else about Pierre rocking your boat?’
‘Apart from his age, he wasn’t professionally successful or flush with money. Alongside the other variants in my report, he does stand out. Depending on what we discover in Paris, he could be particularly important.’
‘Go on.’
‘I doubt he’s the first victim. His killing has all the hallmarks of having been carried out by someone who had killed before, but there’s a chance he might have been the first serious adult relationship our killer experienced. After that, her choice of victim looks like it changed in age and profile.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
‘I have a theory, but it’s no more than that.’