The killer adjusted the angle.’
‘Meaning?’
‘If I’m right, because she wanted to frame Rick Shevlin’s reflection in the glass.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘A photograph I took yesterday. From memory, I was standing at the windows … If the killer purposely formed a trajectory between the victim and the window, perfectly angling Rick Shevlin’s dead body in the dressing-table mirror, she wanted to layer the scene, multiply and reproduce her deed.’
‘I’m not getting you.’
‘She isn’t only creating a replica of the Hangman card. She’s creating an image within an image.’
‘Any idea as to why?’
‘No – at least, not yet. I’ll need you to double check the angle for me, to be completely sure, but this case is complicated. Our killer is extremely clever. Right now she is any number of steps ahead of us, and if I’m correct, unravelling this case won’t be easy.’
SANDRA
I STARE AT my strained image in the bathroom mirror: I look like I’ve aged a hundred years. I pull the skin on my cheeks upwards, wondering about a facelift.
Who are you kidding?
I can’t stop thinking about last night with Edgar. How I felt I was sleeping with a stranger.
It’s already a quarter to eight, and the girls will be here soon. They’ll sense something isn’t right – they always do. Karen is like the proverbial bull in a china shop, shooting off at the mouth before her brain tells her otherwise. Lori is the opposite, quiet, nervous, but with the listening skills of an electronic device. But it’s Alice I fear most. She can read me like a book. It’s been the same since we were children. I bite my lip, pulling at my earlobe, the way I always do when I’m nervous.
I’d better put another bottle of white wine in the fridge, just in case – Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio? It’s good to offer variety.
What’s wrong with you? Your life is falling apart and all you can concentrate on is the stupid wine
.
I tell myself I have no real reason to doubt Edgar. Maybe it’s all in my head. Sometimes I over-think things. Edgar says so all the time.
There’s enough food in the fridge to feed the United Nations. Thank God for online shopping. I stare at the contents, wondering how to make space for the wine. I could take out last night’s chicken or something else. I grab a carton of eggs and jump back as they crash to the floor. I push the wine bottle into the gap, slamming the door, before kneeling down to clear up the eggs. I need to settle my nerves. If I don’t pull myself together, the girls will know for sure that something is wrong. But maybe if I talk about it, it won’t seem so bad. It isn’t only Edgar, though: it’s all the other stuff I can’t explain. I tug at my ear again, feeling it heat up some more.
Last night, I tossed and turned in the bed as if I had a fever. I had been thinking about Edgar being grumpy and evasive, wondering if that, too, was a tell-tale sign. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Karen – when she was having that affair with the Italian guy. She said it was easier to be grumpy when she got home: it was the best way to hide how ecstatic she felt inside. Anger took the smile off her face, keeping her husband’s suspicions at bay. You wouldn’t think Karen was the affair type, especially as she includes married men. I don’t know how she carries it off. I couldn’t. Perhaps it’s like one side of her life is denying the other. It’s ten years since we becameroommates. We were in our twenties then, long before either of us got hitched.
But now that you might be the wife whose husband is having an affair, are you quite so forgiving? Didn’t think so!
I pour a glass of wine and empty it in one go. ‘Take it easy,’ I mutter. ‘You don’t have any proof – not yet.’ There’s that voice again:
Trust your instincts, Sandra
.
He’s being too careful, giving nothing away
. I check myself again in the hall mirror. My ear looks as red as a hot
‘Meaning?’
‘If I’m right, because she wanted to frame Rick Shevlin’s reflection in the glass.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘A photograph I took yesterday. From memory, I was standing at the windows … If the killer purposely formed a trajectory between the victim and the window, perfectly angling Rick Shevlin’s dead body in the dressing-table mirror, she wanted to layer the scene, multiply and reproduce her deed.’
‘I’m not getting you.’
‘She isn’t only creating a replica of the Hangman card. She’s creating an image within an image.’
‘Any idea as to why?’
‘No – at least, not yet. I’ll need you to double check the angle for me, to be completely sure, but this case is complicated. Our killer is extremely clever. Right now she is any number of steps ahead of us, and if I’m correct, unravelling this case won’t be easy.’
SANDRA
I STARE AT my strained image in the bathroom mirror: I look like I’ve aged a hundred years. I pull the skin on my cheeks upwards, wondering about a facelift.
Who are you kidding?
I can’t stop thinking about last night with Edgar. How I felt I was sleeping with a stranger.
It’s already a quarter to eight, and the girls will be here soon. They’ll sense something isn’t right – they always do. Karen is like the proverbial bull in a china shop, shooting off at the mouth before her brain tells her otherwise. Lori is the opposite, quiet, nervous, but with the listening skills of an electronic device. But it’s Alice I fear most. She can read me like a book. It’s been the same since we were children. I bite my lip, pulling at my earlobe, the way I always do when I’m nervous.
I’d better put another bottle of white wine in the fridge, just in case – Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio? It’s good to offer variety.
What’s wrong with you? Your life is falling apart and all you can concentrate on is the stupid wine
.
I tell myself I have no real reason to doubt Edgar. Maybe it’s all in my head. Sometimes I over-think things. Edgar says so all the time.
There’s enough food in the fridge to feed the United Nations. Thank God for online shopping. I stare at the contents, wondering how to make space for the wine. I could take out last night’s chicken or something else. I grab a carton of eggs and jump back as they crash to the floor. I push the wine bottle into the gap, slamming the door, before kneeling down to clear up the eggs. I need to settle my nerves. If I don’t pull myself together, the girls will know for sure that something is wrong. But maybe if I talk about it, it won’t seem so bad. It isn’t only Edgar, though: it’s all the other stuff I can’t explain. I tug at my ear again, feeling it heat up some more.
Last night, I tossed and turned in the bed as if I had a fever. I had been thinking about Edgar being grumpy and evasive, wondering if that, too, was a tell-tale sign. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Karen – when she was having that affair with the Italian guy. She said it was easier to be grumpy when she got home: it was the best way to hide how ecstatic she felt inside. Anger took the smile off her face, keeping her husband’s suspicions at bay. You wouldn’t think Karen was the affair type, especially as she includes married men. I don’t know how she carries it off. I couldn’t. Perhaps it’s like one side of her life is denying the other. It’s ten years since we becameroommates. We were in our twenties then, long before either of us got hitched.
But now that you might be the wife whose husband is having an affair, are you quite so forgiving? Didn’t think so!
I pour a glass of wine and empty it in one go. ‘Take it easy,’ I mutter. ‘You don’t have any proof – not yet.’ There’s that voice again:
Trust your instincts, Sandra
.
He’s being too careful, giving nothing away
. I check myself again in the hall mirror. My ear looks as red as a hot
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