Last Kiss (9 page)

ALTHOUGH O’CONNOR WASN’T due back in work until the following day, his mind slotted into investigator mode when Kate mentioned the Parisian killing. ‘This case, nine years ago,’ his voice was animated, ‘what are the similarities to Rick Shevlin’s killing?’

‘We have another male victim, Pierre Laurent, this time in his mid-twenties. He had a link to the art world – a student specialising in fine art. The body was also found in a hotel room. Again there were knife injuries, but that’s not all.’

‘Don’t tell me he was laid out the same way as Shevlin?’

‘The body was positioned differently. According to Mark Lynch, he was wearing a hooded robe.’

‘So?’ O’Connor seemed sceptical.

‘The Parisian police initially thought the killing had religious inferences, the victim being dressed as a monk, but they also considered an association with the Tarot, the Hermit card in particular. It didn’t lead them anywhere, but it was that link to the Tarot, and the belief on the part of the French police, albeit tentative, that the killer was female that has sparked Mark’s interest about a connection between that case and the current murder.’

‘Lynch did well, although not without your help. What else did he tell you about the Parisian investigation?’

‘There was a candlelit lantern on a side table beside the victim’s body. It didn’t belong to the hotel, so it’s likely the killer placed it there, especially if they were replicating the card.’

‘And its meaning?’

‘It’s interpreted as a time of introspection, an inner search or reflection. If this is the same killer, it creates a pattern. We could have two cards within an overall spread. The difficulty is less about interpreting the individual cards, and more about working out what the overall spread looks like. The murder of Pierre Laurent happened nine years ago. That’s a long time for a killer to be inactive. But the use of the cards may be her way of telling us she’s on some kind of journey.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Tarot is seen as reflective of a life path. Everything is viewed within the context of your past, how it forms the person you are in the present, and moving on from there, the current mind-set and future of the Querent—’

‘The Querent?’ He sounded slightly baffled.

‘The person who seeks the reading from the cards. The current mind-set is what the Querent believes will happen next versus what the cards predict, which can be contradictory.’

‘I don’t get you.’

‘Do you have a deck of cards?’

‘Yeah, somewhere.’ He pulled open one of the doors in the walled unit, behind which were books, CDs, DVDs and other bits. It didn’t take him long to find the cards.

Kate took the deck as he sat down, shuffling them. ‘Let’s say we’re looking at a six-card spread and, believe me, there are many variations.’ She tidied the cards neatly together. ‘I’ve been thinking about a Celtic-cross spread.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a modification that arose over continental Europe, which would fit for most jurisdictions.’ She placed a five of diamonds face up on the table. ‘The A card,’ she pointed to the five of diamonds, ‘represents you – it’s at the centre.’ She placed the queen of spades over the first card, forming a cross. ‘This card, the crossing or issue card, represents the crux of the issue.’

‘How come you know so much about the Tarot?’

‘As I told Mark Lynch, I studied them for an investigation in the UK.’

‘I don’t know about this.’

‘Stick with me for a few minutes.’ She positioned a third card to the far left of the other two, the three of hearts. ‘This is the limitation card, the potential snag in your plans. It can represent your past, a challenging mother injecting defeatist thoughts …’ her mind slipped back to her own mother, and how her lack of self-belief may have been formed because of
her grandmother’s harshness ‘… but, like the others, it’s open to different interpretations.’ Placing another card top centre, she continued, ‘The crowning or conscious card represents what you can control, and the unconscious card, which I’m placing at the bottom centre, is the killer’s unconscious or subconscious awareness. It’s the part of them they’re mindful of, an inner voice or layer that they recognise it would be foolish to ignore.’ The final card she positioned to the far right of the first card. ‘This card represents what is likely to occur in the future. It is not the final outcome, simply the next step on the journey.’

‘How is this of any use to us?’

‘If our killer is dealing with an issue, something deep set, possibly influenced by limitations from their past, they are acutely aware of the things they can control and, coupled with that, they have a perceived outcome in their mind. Everything stems from what went before. It’s the same with all human behaviour. The past forms the present and, carrying on from there, an individual’s future. If our killer is on a journey, and a concrete link to the Parisian case can be made, whatever happened in Paris nine years ago happened for a specific reason. It is also possible that the image created at each of the crime scenes is telling us something about the killer’s current mind-set.’

‘Which can change over time?’

‘Precisely. The depiction of the Hermit card could be the killer’s way of saying they were ready to retreat, adopting the life of the card through introspection and solitude.’

‘Kate, you said the Hangman reflected acceptance or the forming of a new point of view.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then Rick Shevlin’s murder could be the end of the road for our killer. They could be accepting their fate.’

‘Or they could be moving on, looking in a completely different direction.’

‘I don’t know …’ He stood up, almost agitated. ‘The way I see it, the big issue is not whether or not these crime scenes are messages from the killer, but the fact that we could be dealing with a murderer who has operated undetected for a long time and isn’t geographically contained.’

‘O’Connor, I’ll be honest with you. I have my reservations about Mark handling this case. He can be over-zealous to say the least.’

‘Letting the power go to his head, is he?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, from tomorrow morning, whether he likes it or not, he’ll be stuck with me.’

Kate noted the bitterness in his words. There wasn’t a whole lot more to add, and it was only when she walked towards the door to leave that she noticed the photograph to the side of the flat-screen TV. It was of a teenage boy. His resemblance to O’Connor was undeniable. Without thinking, she picked it up. ‘Who’s this?’

Taking it from her, he placed it on the unit in the exact same spot. ‘He’s my son. His name is Adam.’

‘A good, strong name.’ She knew to tread carefully.

‘It’s my name too.’

She waited.

‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve never mentioned him.’

‘You don’t owe me an explanation.’

‘Don’t I?’

‘You must have had your reasons for not saying anything.’

He gestured for her to sit down again, then sat opposite, putting the cards spread out on the table back into their pack.

‘His mother and I separated a number of years ago. It was before I joined the force. We were very young.
I
was very young.’ He placed his hands, palms down, on the table, his fingers spreadeagled. ‘I could say a lot of things, Kate, but none of them would matter, except that I was stupid and selfish.’

‘Do you ever speak to him, your son?’

‘I made contact with him after I was placed on suspension.’ He leaned back in the chair, this time pushing his fingers through his hair, as if he was trying to think clearly. For the first time, Kate noticed how tired he looked.

‘He didn’t want to know me. I thought time would help, but I’m afraid I screwed up big-time. I wasn’t there when he needed me.’ He kicked the leg of the table nearest to him. ‘I fucked up.’

Kate thought about Charlie, how things had become difficult now it was obvious she and Declan would never get back together. Even at six years of age, Charlie carried his own baggage –
Why is Daddy not living with us any more? Does he not love us?
No amount of explanations could help him understand the
why
behind the three of them not being together.

‘We all mess up, Adam. Is it okay if I call you that?’

‘It’s my name.’

‘How come you stopped using it?’

‘I couldn’t bear to hear it. Every time someone said it, it was a reminder …’ He looked at the photograph and away from her.

‘I understand.’

‘Do you, Kate? Because I sure as hell don’t.’

‘What about his mother? Do you two talk?’

‘She is solid. She always was. She isn’t the kind to hold a grudge, but she’s told me not to expect miracles.’

Kate placed her right hand on his arm, not knowing what to say next. Looking at him, she wasn’t sure if she saw anger, hate or confusion. Again, she waited. If she had learned anything over the years of counselling it was the importance of being a listener.

‘I’m fond of you, Kate. You know that?’

She took her hand away. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Us working together again, it could bring its own problems – depending on how we want to take it from here.’

‘And how do you want to take it?’ Part of her realised she was asking him to take the lead.

‘I’ve already laid my cards on the table.’ He placed one hand over the deck.

‘I don’t rush into things,’ she said, ‘with Charlie to consider.’

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that filled her with warmth. ‘I guess that’s where we differ, Kate. You’re the patient one, considering all aspects before taking a chance.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘No, there isn’t, but at some point we all have to take a risk for what we want.’

Was he waiting for her to make the next move? She wanted to touch him, to show how she felt. Instead, she said, ‘Can you give me more time?’

He reached out and stroked her cheek. The roughness of his
skin felt good. ‘I guess some things in life are worth waiting for.’

She wanted to kiss him, more than she had ever wanted to before. It would be the easiest thing in the world to feel her lips on his. If she made the next move, he would take over, and the real reason, outside the investigation, for her being there would be reduced to two people wanting each other.

I REGURGITATE LAST night’s conversation with the girls. They had all fussed when I said about Edgar being unfaithful, and how someone had been moving things around the house – everyone, except Alice.

Karen wanted to know if we were still doing it. She took my lack of response as a bad sign, as did Lori. I could tell from their faces that they knew the truth, even though they kept rabbiting on. Alice said I had no real proof, I could have imagined it all. I hated the way I instantly went to defend myself, like I had to pass a test with her. With her, at times, I feel I’m being examined under a microscope, needing to prove myself. I told her I didn’t need proof, but even in her silence, she had the upper hand.
Karen poured me another glass of wine. Lori got tissues from the bathroom. I sat with a towel on my lap, fidgeting, nervous, ready to tell them everything.

I told them how Edgar had been retreating, pulling back from me. My voice had that desperate shrill tone, especially when I mentioned things being moved around the house, and how I was writing things down, small incidentals at first, like that time I thought I saw a woman’s shadow in the garden, or the objects being moved from one place to another. Alice raised her eyebrows, and there was no denying her cynicism. The others gave me reassuring smiles, as if they wanted to believe me but weren’t quite buying it. I shifted the emphasis to Edgar. It was safer ground. I explained how I had noted all the extra hours he had spent at work, the events he’d told me he needed to attend, with invitations for one.

Karen and Lori were like sponges, soaking it all up, but Alice wasn’t letting go: Edgar was an international jewellery designer, with any number of rich and elite clients who wanted to meet him now his commercial range had taken off. I stopped listening after a while. I knew what they were thinking. That I had been unwell of late. Edgar had called it a bout of depression and said I was getting things mixed up because of the medication. All I needed was time out to recharge. No one called it a breakdown – but that’s what they were all thinking. Lori said she understood about Edgar. Karen said all men were bastards. Alice looked wary.

When I told them about him visiting strange sites on the internet, Karen thought he was using it to see porn. It wasn’t that, or not exactly. All three took notice when I explained
about the internet dating site, and how the laptop in the study had been acting up, the one Edgar used when he was working from home. How I was working on it one afternoon when the whole thing crashed. I thought we’d lost everything so I phoned the girl we’d met at our school reunion, Marjorie, the computer geek. She talked me through rebooting it in safe mode, and afterwards suggested doing a few more background checks and defragmenting the hard drive. Alice got tetchy then, telling me to get to the bloody point, but I kept going.

I explained that it wasn’t long before Marjorie suggested clearing the cookies. I didn’t want to clear them all in one go. I thought there might be something important there, something Edgar might need. Instead I trawled through the links line by line, working out which ones were okay to delete. That was when I saw the first site link, and then, like a message you don’t want to read, it repeated itself over and over, as the words Cassie4Casanova kept reappearing on the screen.

ALONG WITH THE eye of the camera, I’m keen on another eye: the inner eye of self. I like Rudyard Kipling’s poem about the road through the woods, the one that is no longer there. The road is hidden by time past, weather and rain, with trees planted over it. But it still exists, underneath, where only the keeper sees it, and if you listen hard, you can hear the horse’s hoofs, and the swish of a female rider’s skirt on the old lost road. That hidden road is part of me.