‘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.’
CHRISTCHURCH, DUBLIN
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.
SANDRA
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.’
‘You keep saying that,’ my voice is shaky, ‘but you’re not telling me anything. Why have you brought me here? What do the two of you want with me? She lives here, doesn’t she? The woman you’re having an affair with?’
He steps towards me. His movements seem predatory. ‘You’re wrong,’ he says. ‘I need you to take a good look around.’
‘Why? I told you I’ve been here before. I know it was wrong to break in, but you didn’t leave me much choice.’
‘You didn’t break in.’
‘What do you mean? I’ve already told you I came here a couple of days ago.’ I’m biting my lip again, trying to get my bearings. ‘Why are you contradicting everything I’m saying?’
‘You couldn’t have broken in.’
‘Edgar, you’re not talking sense.’
He grabs my arms. ‘It’s you who isn’t talking sense. You couldn’t have broken in because this house belongs to us, you and me.’
‘You’re lying.’ I pull away from him.
‘How can you break into your own house, Sandra?’
He sounds desperate. What game is he playing? I stare at him as if he’s mad. ‘You’re trying to scare me,’ I say.
‘Why would I lie? You were unwell, Sandra. You got very sick. The medication was supposed to help.’
‘I don’t believe you.’