The First Cut

“How do you know it’s the same person?” Kirsten asked. “You said something earlier about the similarity of injuries.”

Elswick looked at her grimly. “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

Kirsten wasn’t sure, but she certainly didn’t intend to give in. “Considering that so much else has been kept from me, I think I have a right, don’t you?”

Elswick sat back and studied her face for a moment. “All right,” he said. “The wounds were the same, the areas he used his knife on were the same; there was also bruising about the face consistent with punching and slapping. And that strange cross he cut, with the long vertical and short horizontal just below the breasts, that was found on her body, too. Do you want me to go on?”

Kirsten nodded.

“When he was with you, he was disturbed. The dog, we assume. Up to that point your injuries are identical with those of the other victim.”

“What killed her, then?”

“She was strangled.” Elswick pinched his nose, then scratched the mole lightly. “Oh, she’d no doubt have died of loss of blood or internal bleeding, but just to make sure, the bastard strangled her. And according to our forensic experts, he did this after he had inflicted the other injuries.”

“Are you saying that she was conscious while he did all…what he did to me?”

Elswick shook his head. “We don’t know. It would have been difficult for him if she’d been able to struggle. The blows to the face and head were probably enough to cause loss of consciousness, and it seems that they were the first injuries. He grabbed her from behind, threw her down onto the ground, straddled her, pi

Kirsten felt sick. She could feel the blood drain from her cheeks. She struggled to control herself. She wasn’t going to be sick. She wasn’t going to let Elswick say, “I told you so.” She wouldn’t appear as the weak woman in front of these men who were intimate with every aspect of her brutalization. To cover up her discomfort, she poured another cup of tea. Inspector Gregory shook his head quickly when offered some. He was so still and silent he seemed really to have become part of the chair.

“What we were wondering,” Elswick went on slowly, “was whether you’d remembered anything else, no matter how insignificant or unimportant it might seem to you.”

Kirsten shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve tried, of course, but after what I told you, it’s all still a blank.”

“You see,” Elswick persisted, “what we think is that the victim must have still been conscious, at least at the time he threw her onto her back. And if that’s so, then it might have been the same with you. You might have got a glimpse of his face. Maybe he was wearing a mask or a stocking, but even that could help us. Or maybe he said something. Anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirsten said, “really I am. But I just can’t remember. You might be right. Maybe I did see his face, maybe he did talk to me. But I can’t remember. Do you think I don’t want to? Of course I’d like to help you, but I can’t. After that rough hand closed over my mouth, I can’t remember a thing.” She felt tears in her eyes and fought to hold them back.

“There was a moon that night,” Elswick said.

“Yes. I was looking for it when…before. But I couldn’t see it.”

“It was there, behind you, just over the tops of the trees. We’ve checked.”

“Why?”

“Light. Because if you were conscious when he pushed you down to the ground, there would have been just enough light to make out at least something about his appearance. It was a clear night-a bit hazy maybe-and there was a full moon.”

“But I can’t have been conscious,” Kirsten said. “I don’t remember.”

“Never mind, then.” Elswick glanced over at Inspector Gregory, who slipped his notebook back in the inside pocket of his tan jacket, and both men swung forward in their chairs, preparing to leave. “I’m sorry to have brought such bad news and stirred up painful memories,” Elswick went on, getting to his feet. His knees cracked and he put his hand to the small of his back as if it hurt. “Getting old. I hear you’ve been seeing a doctor, Kirsten.”

“There’s not much you don’t know, is there?” Kirsten said. “As a matter of fact, yes, I have. Her name’s Laura Henderson and she’s a psychiatrist.”

Elswick smiled indulgently. “Yes, we know.”

“Don’t tell me-you checked her out?”

“It’s standard procedure in cases like this.” Elswick followed her out of the room down to the hall. “Doing you any good?”

“Yes, I think she is. She says my loss of memory might be anterograde amnesia, caused by the trauma.”

“Hmm, yes, we’d heard. And it’s consistent with the facts. All you remember is the hand, and you’ve blotted out all the violence, all the pain. According to our medical experts, the memory may or may not come back.”

“You’ve certainly done your homework, haven’t you, Superintendent?”

Elswick seemed embarrassed again. He changed moods remarkably quickly for a policeman, Kirsten thought. One minute he was all confident and superior, the next he was avuncular and then he got all tongue-tied. This time she decided to help him.

“What is it you want?” she asked. “Do you want to talk to her? Do you want access to her records of our sessions? They won’t tell you anything, you know.”

“Er, no, no, that won’t be necessary,” Elswick said as Kirsten handed them their coats from the hall cupboard. She sensed from his hesitation that he might already have had such access or could easily get it if he wanted, and she felt a surge of anger toward Laura.

“What I was wondering was,” he went on, scratching his mole again-Kirsten felt like telling him to get it seen to before it turned cancerous-“was, well, with the doctor’s permission, of course, I was wondering if you’d consider trying hypnosis?”

33 Susan

It was partly the way you smoke your cigarette,” Keith said. “Everybody’s different. You hold it straight out between your first two fingers like a real lady, or like you’re just pretending to smoke.” He gri

Sue smiled and flicked her cigarette end onto the sand. “You know what they say: a change is as good as a rest.” Why the hell did he have to turn up? she asked herself. And what am I supposed to do about him?

“Did you need a rest?”

“No, I needed a change.”

They both laughed.

“But seriously, Martha,” he persisted, “it’s almost as if you’re trying to avoid someone. You aren’t, are you?”

“It’s nothing but a skirt and a blouse. You’re acting as if I’m dressed like Richard III or something.”

“There is the wig.”

Sue touched the false hair. “I was sick of having it short. I couldn’t wait.”

“And the makeup.”

“Can’t a girl put a bit of lipstick on anymore?”

Keith smiled. “I’m still not convinced. I think you’re a spy. I just don’t know whose side you’re on.”

He seemed happy to meet up with her again, despite the sour note they had parted on, but she could tell he was suspicious by the way he studied her. He had recognized her without much difficulty, that was clear enough. Maybe it was because he fancied her, and when you fancy someone you notice little things like how they hold their cigarettes and the way they walk. She was sure that strangers, people she had passed in the street or sat near in a pub, wouldn’t co

“What are you doing up here?” he asked.

“Just taking a break for the day. And you? I’d have thought you’d be in Edinburgh by now.”