The Sanatorium(24)

Elin perches on the end of the bed, flicking through the desktop, the saved documents, internet history. He’s right—it all looks work related. Nothing obviously concerning.

Putting the laptop back on the desk, she heads into the bathroom, Isaac right behind her. Makeup is scattered around the sink—compacts, moisturizer. Several towels are curled in wonky S’s on the floor. A white canvas toiletry bag is open on the shelf above the sink.

Delving through the contents, she finds pink fat-bellied tweezers, wax strips, a blusher brush and compact, tinted moisturizer, mascara. Tampons are zipped into a side pocket along with antihistamines and a foil strip of ibuprofen.

As she zips the bag back up, Elin feels a creeping sense of uneasiness. She wouldn’t leave this behind. If Laure were planning on going somewhere, if she was anything like her, this toiletry bag was a safety blanket. Part of her daily armor.

She turns, about to speak, and it’s then she sees it—in the reflection of the mirror, Isaac grabbing something from the other side of the shelf, sliding it into his pocket.

Elin watches, motionless. He turns, smiles—he hasn’t noticed she’s seen him.

Quick, but not quick enough: He took something. Hid something from me. He’s meant to be upset about his missing girlfriend, but he’s already being deceitful.

Her fingers clench, disgust thickening in her throat, a solid mass. How could she be so stupid? She’d nearly fallen for it, the words, the feigned emotion, but people don’t change, do they? The ability to lie, deceive, it’s woven so deep, it’s impossible to pick out, remove.

When they were children, Isaac lied all the time. He hated his middle status—two years younger than Elin, two years older than Sam—so lying became his default: a way to grab attention, to take advantage, to put them in their place.

She remembers Sam proudly bringing home his first swimming trophy, Isaac’s barely concealed expression of agony as their parents effusively praised him. Two weeks later, a deep groove appeared in the wooden stand; more than a scratch—a slash. Something that could never be passed off as accidental.

Isaac denied it, but they all knew it was him. Knew what he was capable of.

“This must be like being back at work for you.” Picking up one of the towels from the floor, he feeds it through the rail. “You know, I’d never have thought it. You, in the police, all this time.”

“I know.”

“You never did say,” he continues, “why you decided on it. When we were kids, you wanted to be an engineer.”

Elin looks at him, feels the words coming, backing up inside her. She could just come out with it, couldn’t she?

I chose to do it because of you, Isaac. Because of what you did.





20





What are you working on at the moment?” Isaac breaks her reverie.

It would be easy to lie, but Elin can’t. Can’t add another layer onto something already far too complex. “I’m not working. I’m on a break,” she replies, walking back into the bedroom.

“A break?” Isaac follows, stops beside the window.

“Yes. There was this case, a big one.” She’s gabbling, heat chasing up her neck. “I screwed up.”

Images come, spooling: Splayed fingers across her face. Striations of rock: variegated streaks of gray and black. The water. Always the water.

“What happened?”

“I can’t really say.”

“Elin, come on, I’m hardly going to tell anyone.”

She nods. “The case was high profile. My first one as a DS. A murder, two girls, both fifteen. The guy had tied their bodies to a boat, let the propeller do the work.” Elin tenses, remembering. “We had nothing to go on. The boat was stolen. No prints. No CCTV footage at the harbor thanks to blown-out cameras. We ended up putting out an appeal. Online, papers. A press conference with the parents.” She clears her throat. “A month in, we had a breakthrough. An anonymous tip-off gave us a name—Mark Hayler. We found him on the database. Previous arrests for possession of Class As, a conviction for grievous bodily harm.”

“A proper lead.” Isaac scratches the corner of his eye, the skin sore and angry looking.

“It was. We went to his home address, but he’d got wind we were searching for him. We found him at his ex’s. He surprised us, ran toward the seafront. We split up. I caught sight of him, tried to call it in, but my radio was bust. I didn’t think, just followed. Across the beach, into the caves. I went in, but I lost him. By the time I came back out, the tide was in, up to my neck. I started swimming, but he was in the water, waiting. He hit me with a rock.” She touches her lip. “That’s how I got the scar.”

“I noticed.”

“He kept pushing me under. I . . . I froze. It was like my body . . . it stopped working. Eventually, I went under, didn’t come back up.” She gives a funny, brittle laugh. “I think he assumed I’d had it then, left me there.”

Elin doesn’t tell him how when she was under, part of her had almost let go. It had felt so strong. The desire to give in. Stop fighting. But her will to live came out stronger. The will to know the truth about what happened to Sam.

The thought, once again, pulls her up sharp. Reminds her why she’s here. “I took some sick leave that turned into a career break, and here I am. Unofficially unemployed.”