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 He had mellowed, and she had become more withdrawn.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.
THE BIRCHES, BLACKROCK, COUNTY DUBLIN
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.’