"And there's no doubt? Absolutely no doubt?"
The policewoman glanced sideways at her colleague and then shook her head negatively. She seemed to choose her words carefully:
"As I said, a forensic pathologist must evaluate the evidence at the crime scene. But at this stage, all signs point in the same direction: your ex, Jack, killed your daughter." Fay closed her eyes and stifled a sob.
Julien was finally sleeping. Her hair was spread out on the pink headboard. She was breathing calmly. Fay gently stroked her cheek, carefully so as not to wake her. Jack would return tonight from a business trip to London. Or maybe Hamburg? Fay couldn't remember. He would be tired and stressed when he arrived home, but she would make sure to relax him in the best way.
She carefully closed the bedroom door so as not to wake Julien, quietly stepped into the hallway, and checked if the front door was locked. In the kitchen, she ran her hand over the countertop. Three meters of white marble with grayish-blue veins. Carrara marble, of course. Not very practical, unfortunately, since the porous material absorbed everything like a sponge and already had a bunch of ugly stains. But Jack wouldn't be convinced to find something more convenient; it wasn't even a thought in his mind.
The kitchen of their apartment in Narvaggen had cost just under a million, without bargaining or penny-pinching. Fay took a bottle of Amaro and placed a glass on the counter. A glass on the marble surface, the sound of wine pouring and foaming... That was, in short, how her evenings went when Jack was away.