The Sanatorium(74)

“When the lift didn’t work, I asked one of the staff if there was another way up. They showed me the staircase. It opens into the den.”

“That must be how they got in,” she murmurs, putting the bottle of water onto the table next to her. “They put Laure in the lift, then came up the stairs.”

This was the potential delay, wasn’t it?

For some reason, they’d been delayed in or around the stairs.

Because of that, the killer had needed to improvise, and in doing so had made a mistake. Given her time to send the message.

Elin thinks it through: if the killer had made one mistake, there might be another. She casts a glance toward the lift. She needs to take another look.

Examine Laure’s body properly.

Will follows her gaze. Eyes falling on Laure, he flinches. “Don’t.” His voice is unsteady. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t. The police might only be a day out. Leave it for them.” He looks at her. “And you need to tell Isaac, Elin, before you do anything else.” His eyes once again involuntarily flicker to Laure. “He needs to know what’s happened.”

Elin shifts position. What he’s saying makes sense, but the stakes have been raised. She can’t leave it here. This setup is about killing Laure, but it’s also about her.

The fact that the killer went after her tells her something vital: They wanted her out of the way. The only reason for that is because they’re planning something else.





59





Crouching down, Elin starts photographing Laure’s body.

With every click and freeze-frame of her phone, her eyes find something new; a bloodstain, a mark, a feature of Laure’s face she hadn’t noticed before.

Elin takes a deep breath, batting away memories, glad of the screen between them, the slight distance it provides.

Hands shaking, she focuses on the neck incision: photographing it from several angles, making sure she captures the detail of the wound. Yet again, its depth, precision, pulls her up short.

Ruthless. There’s no doubt. No indecision as blade met flesh.

An execution.

Her gaze moves over the visible parts of Laure’s body—hands, wrists, forearms. Like Adele, there’s no sign of a struggle—no cuts, abrasions, or bruising.

No visible marks at all.

The killer had to have used a sedative to restrain her. If they’d used force there would be some bruising, at least.

Elin puts her phone down and reaches for her bag. She pulls out her notebook, starts scribbling down her thoughts, but as her head tips forward it throbs.

There’s a strange flashing behind her eyes—not lights, but scenes, fragments of moments. Melting into one another, lucid, bright.

A flashback. Another one.

Elin blinks, tries to stop them from coming, but it doesn’t work. They’re continuous, unstoppable:

Isaac’s face that day, his mouth parted. Fear, freezing his features into something eerily precise, alien.

The burning sun on the back of her neck.

A fishing net, drifting across the surface of the water.

She reaches for the bottle of water Will gave her, and takes a long drink. In seconds, the detail, the essence of the images, dissolves, leaving a void: something vital trickling through her fingers.

“So it’s the same.” Will walks up behind her. “As Adele.”

Elin notices his mouth involuntarily contract in revulsion as he takes in the scene close-up. He stares glassy-eyed before turning away.

“Not exactly,” she replies, pretending not to notice his reaction. “The method of killing, it’s different. With Adele, it was most likely drowning, but this . . .” She coughs. “The killer has cut her throat. You can’t see, not from this angle, but her fingers . . . they’re also different. The wounds aren’t sutured like Adele’s were.”

But what do the differences mean?

She doesn’t know definitively, but it points to the possibility of Laure’s killing being more hurried, and also more frenzied. Yet, she thinks, other elements are the same: the mask, the digit removal, the glass box, the bracelets . . . identical. None of these were essential to the killing itself, so she’s certain they’re symbolic: the killer trying to communicate something.

But what?

Elin pulls the elements apart one by one. First, the mask. There are two factors: if it was only on the killer’s face, you could assume it was simply a way of trying to conceal his or her identity, but the fact that it’s on the victim’s as well, it has to mean something, doesn’t it? Have some significance.

It’s impossible to say what that could be: not unless she has more information. It’s the same with the finger removal. There could be multiple explanations as to why, but at the moment she’s in the dark.

The glass box is the only thing she’s certain of. Like the ones in the hotel—containing the spittoon, the clias helmet, it’s a deliberate ploy to draw attention to the contents.

Why?

The overarching motive is key, but now that her previous theory about Laure has been disproved, she’s back to the beginning. Trying to link disparate, seemingly unconnected elements together.

Turning back to Laure, she starts taking photographs again when her phone rings, buzzing against her palm. She scans the screen.