He sits on the chair by the door, looking at his feet instead of me, the words pouring out of him, fast. ‘I knew you were seeing someone else, Sandra. I found the dating link on the computer.’
‘No, no!’ I roar. ‘That was you, not me.’
‘I followed you. I saw you with him in the restaurant. I saw the two of you having that argument, and I thought, perhaps it’s not too late. Maybe we can patch things up.’ His face is in his hands, his shoulders shaking. I realise he’s crying. ‘I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.’ He looks up at me, as if he is begging me to understand.
I don’t know what to do next, other than stare at him.
‘I’ve never been good enough for you, Sandra. I know that. I should have tried harder to please you. Maybe then you wouldn’t have wanted to be with someone else.’
I keep looking at him blankly. He continues talking, his voice lower, barely audible: ‘After you left the restaurant, I watched you follow him. Then I saw you go back to your car. You removed a large carrier-bag from the boot. At first I didn’t understand why, but then I realised you were going to him. I thought about bursting into the room, but instead I walked around outside, trying to work things out. I’ve no idea how long it was before I found myself back at the hotel, taking the lift to this floor, standing in the shadows as I waited for you to leave.’
I look from Edgar to the bed, thinking about the image of the dead man, and again I turn to the mirror in the bathroom, to see if she’s watching me, but I can see only myself.
‘When you opened the door, Sandra, I called your name. At first you didn’t turn. You froze like an animal caught in a snare. I know you killed him because I saw the aftermath, but there wasn’t a drop of blood on you. I thought at first somebody else had done it, but then I saw the knife in your bag, and the things you used to clean the place.’
‘You’re lying!’ I roar.
‘I wish I was. You went into complete shock. I didn’t know what to do. Instead of calling the police, I protected you. We took the stairs instead of the lift, not wanting to risk being seen. Thankfully, there was no one at Reception, and the next thing I remember, I was driving you home in your car. I kept thinking about you coming out of that hotel room, and how vulnerable you looked. All I could think of was getting you help, making you better. I should have paid more attention to the tell-tale signs, the forgetfulness …’ He puts his hands over his face again. ‘I called Lori the following day. I needed someone to rely on, if I had any chance of pulling this off. I didn’t tell her anything about the murder, but I told her how sick you were. That you were the worst I’d ever seen you. She helped me convince you to get help.’
For a few moments I say nothing, but after a while, I hear myself speak: ‘What do you want to do next?’
‘We need to go to the police. We can explain that you were unwell, that you’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what I was thinking of that night. It was a stupid mistake. I know that now.’
‘Edgar,’ my voice sounds so calm, I surprise myself, ‘I want to go home.’
For a moment I think he’s going to refuse to take me, but he says, ‘Okay, if that’s what you want. I know it’s a lot to take in. I understand that. We can talk to the police later. You do agree that you’ll talk to them, don’t you?’
‘It doesn’t look like I have a choice.’
I follow him out of the room, going back down in the lift, and finally out to where I parked the car.
‘I’ll drive,’ he says. ‘I can get a taxi and pick up my car later.’ It’s as if we’re going home after an evening out.
Back at the house, I lock myself into the studio. When he leaves, I pick up my diary, looking at the old black-and-white photograph with the shadow. I finally make the call to Alice. ‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘I need to go back to the woods.’
ELLIOT FOREST, COUNTY WICKLOW
THE CLOSER KATE got to the village of Leach, the more beautiful the landscape became. Many of the houses still had thatched roofs, and as they drove past St Kevin’s church, nestled among thick shrubs and trees, she tried to imagine the place thirty years earlier, when the affluent, almost cosmopolitan appearance of the small town would have been different. Lynch was right about small-town protectiveness, especially where the past was concerned. Parts of it might look like picture-postcard Ireland, but dig deep and historical scars can usually be found.
Neither she nor Lynch said much during the journey. She preferred it so, having taken the case file to read along the way. While reviewing her notes, she remembered Lynch hadn’t come back to her with an image of Sandra Regan’s father.
‘Any luck on that photo I asked you for?’
‘That proved a bit tricky.’
‘How so?’
‘No one knows who Sandra Regan’s father was. After her mother did a runner, the girl was raised by her grandparents.’
‘When was that?’
‘From birth, it would seem.’