by Nicci French
‘It’s just me,’ said Frieda. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Late.’
‘I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.’
‘It was a last-minute decision.’
‘Your clothes are wet. And what are you wearing that dress for?’
‘Never mind that now. I’m going to have some tea, but you should go straight back to bed.’
‘I’ll have some tea with you. Sasha and Ethan are asleep in your bed, by the way.’
‘I expected that.’
‘Me and Jack are in your study.’
‘The sofa will be fine.’
To her surprise, the house looked all right but there was an unfamiliar smell of talcum power and something she didn’t recognize in the air; Babygros and miniature cardigans were draped over the radiators.
‘How’s it been?’ she asked, as they sat in the kitchen with their mugs of tea and the cat sitting at her feet purring loudly.
‘I’ve made lots of tea,’ said Chloë, ‘and lots of toast and I’ve learned how to change a nappy – it’s not so bad, really. Sasha’s slept a lot. Jack was here after work and he’s even washed the floor and the bath and he said he was going to clean the windows. But I don’t think he got that far. Ethan’s really cute but it’s tiring having a baby around all the time. I mean, I know it’s only been a matter of hours, really, but you can never just take time out, can you?’
‘You can’t. But you’ve clearly done terrifically,’ said Frieda. ‘I knew you were the person to ask.’
Chloë tried and failed to look modest and unresponsive. ‘How are things in the country?’ she said.
Frieda sipped her tea. ‘I can’t really talk about that now.’
‘Why? I mean, that’s fine. By the way, Sandy’s been here. He said he’d come back.’
‘Did he?’
‘I like him. I don’t see why you have to break up. Do you think there’s a chance …?’
‘No.’
Upstairs they heard a small wail, then a louder one. After a few seconds it stopped.
Chloë went back up to bed. Frieda crept into her room where Sasha lay sleeping in the bed, Ethan’s small dark head beside her. They looked very warm and peaceful. She took her dressing gown from the door and went into the bathroom for a quick shower. Then she took a rug from the airing cupboard and lay on the sofa. What had just happened felt like some disordered, feverish dream. Was it really only a few hours ago that she’d been at Braxton High, surrounded by all the people from her past, or that she’d seen Max swinging from the girder in his room? She stared around at her familiar room: the hearth where tomorrow she would build a fire, the chess table where she would sit and play through a game, the pictures on the wall. She was at home, where she had longed to be, and yet it felt slightly strange to her. Or perhaps she felt strange to herself, only half returned. It wasn’t over, but the end had begun. She knew at last.
She lay back on the sofa and heard the cat yowling as it made its way towards her. Its behaviour seemed to have changed while she had been away, as if it had to re-establish possession of her. It came into the room and she felt its weight on the sofa and it lay beside her, occasionally licking at her hair. It was quite dark outside, and silent, but it took her hours to fall asleep.
In the morning, she woke Sasha with a mug of coffee and took Ethan while she showered and got dressed. When she came downstairs, Frieda saw that although her hair was clean and her clothes seemed neat and well ordered, there was something askew. She felt as if she was watching a film where the picture and the sound were very slightly out of sync, just enough to make the viewer feel uneasy without quite knowing why.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Better. Definitely better. I saw your doctor friend and she was understanding and helpful.’
‘What did she give you?’
‘Well, it’s got a funny name and a picture of the sun on the box but it’s citalopram. I know all about these things.’
‘And you’re taking it properly?’ said Frieda.
‘I’m doing what it says on the packet. Frank’s coming to collect me today.’
‘Will he take time off to look after you?’
‘Don’t worry. I’m going to be all right.’
‘You know that the pills will take a couple of weeks to work?’
‘I think the placebo effect has already kicked in. I’m really feeling a lot better than when you last saw me.’
‘Did your doctor recommend therapy?’
‘I told her I had friends who could help me with that.’
‘I’ve been talking to a woman called Thelma Scott. She’s very good.’
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to see a therapist that you’d seen. I’d find it …’ Sasha paused for a few seconds ‘… unsettling.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Frieda. ‘I’ve used your contacts in the labs before and I’ve got something. I want to know if there’s any useful trace that can be recovered from it.’ She reached into her shoulder bag and took out the little toy squirrel wrapped in lavatory paper.
At the sight of it, Sasha pulled a humorous face. ‘Is there a reason why the police aren’t checking it?’
‘It’s complicated,’ said Frieda. ‘I got this from a crime scene, but unfortunately it was the wrong crime scene.’
‘I’m not even going to ask what that means. But I’ll make a call.’
‘It’s urgent,’ said Frieda. ‘Really urgent.’
‘I’ll make it right away.’
Frieda felt like a ghost in her own life. She was going to have to start things up, properly see her patients, take on new ones, but on her first day back, she didn’t call anyone and she didn’t check her messages. Sasha and Ethan left before midday, and Chloë an hour later. For years the house had been her refuge, her escape; now it felt empty and abandoned. She needed to reclaim it. But for now she was waiting. Waiting for the phone to ring, for the knock on her door, for justice to be done, for danger to be over.
That day, she tried to work, contacting patients, going through her notes, preparing for a lecture she was to give in the new year. In the evening she took out her pad and pencils and sketched a bottle of water that was standing on a small table in a patch of sunlight. She went to bed early and lay awake with the thought scratching away at her that she was in the wrong place, that she should have stayed in Braxton. No, she said to herself, no. She had done what she could. She had rescued Max and she had told the police about Ewan and it was up to them now. They would interview Max. He might remember being assaulted by Ewan and that would be that. Or there were all the other things that police could do: CCTV, number-plate recognition cameras, tracing mobile-phone signals. He’d had to leave the scene in a hurry. He might have left something or Max might have left traces in his car. There’d be something. It wasn’t much comfort, though, and it didn’t help her to sleep.
The next morning she woke late, drank a black coffee, had a bath, drank another coffee and, almost on impulse, left the house. The day was grey and cold but it was dry, so she headed north into Regent’s Park and walked to the boating lake. She sat down on a bench near the water and watched the runners and the children and the mothers or child-minders pushing buggies. A few yards away an old woman was throwing pieces of bread to a gaggle of Canada geese. Frieda was suddenly aware of someone sitting next to her. She shifted away slightly on the bench.
‘We should start eating them,’ said the voice. ‘They’re pests, but they probably taste good.’
Frieda didn’t need to look round. She knew the voice. She had heard it in recent days and she had heard it years ago, whispering to her out of the darkness.
‘How did you find me?’
‘It wasn’t too hard,’ said Ewan. ‘Vanessa got your address from Eva and I came up to London with the commuters and waited in the street, then followed you. It’s interesting looking at someone when t
hey don’t know they’re being looked at. You see them in a different way.’
The idea of Ewan spying on her made her feel nauseous.
‘Why didn’t you see me in my house?’ said Frieda. ‘Wouldn’t that have been simpler?’
‘I wanted to make sure you were alone.’
‘There are all these people around.’
‘And the geese. When we were children, these geese were exotic and now they’re shitting everywhere that there’s fresh water.’
Frieda turned and stared at him. He was wearing a thick duffel coat. His hair was tufty and his face was red in the cold air. He looked like a nice, friendly kind of guy, the favourite uncle.
‘Was it Rohypnol?’ Frieda asked.
Ewan’s smile disappeared, and a more wary expression replaced it. Frieda thought of Sarah May and Becky. That expression had been the last thing they ever saw. ‘Have you got a phone?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Show me.’
Frieda took out her phone. Ewan took it and examined it. ‘I want to check you’re not recording this.’
‘I hardly know how to use it for making phone calls,’ she said.
He handed it back to her. ‘You’re due for an upgrade,’ he said. ‘That one’s an antique. Now, you were asking me a question.’
‘Rohypnol.’
‘You mean in the drink I gave poor little Max? No. There are better things than that. You wouldn’t have heard of them.’
‘GHB?’
‘All right, you have heard of it.’
‘Easier to get hold of, traces disappear from the body more quickly.’
‘You should be doing my job,’ said Ewan.
‘A patient of mine used to take it,’ said Frieda. ‘Recreationally.’
‘My turn to ask a question. How did you know?’
‘Many small things that added up to one large thing. And you left evidence at the scene.’
‘Oh, yes, you took Becky’s touching little fluffy toy. It’s funny how teenage girls decorate their beds with the cuddly animals they had when they were toddlers. How would you interpret that? I mean as a therapist.’
‘I’m having it tested.’
‘Good luck with that.’ Ewan seemed utterly unconcerned. ‘Is that all?’
‘It was a sort of feeling,’ said Frieda. ‘That lying story you told me about failing to stand up for Vanessa. It showed you were constructing a persona for me. One you thought I’d like.’
‘It’s not exactly evidence.’
‘I don’t care about evidence. Everything was too perfect. Nobody else remembered the night of the concert properly except you. You remembered everything, and in the right order.’
‘I always was a bit of nerd.’
‘Everyone else was suspicious but you wanted to help me, to get involved: you and your timeline.’
Ewan leaned forward and Frieda thought he was going to whisper something but instead he gave a sniff as if he was savouring the smell of her. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was thinking of something pleasurable.
‘I can’t tell you what that meant to me,’ he said. ‘It was like experiencing it all over again, being close to you, seeing your skin, your hair, those eyes. I know about you and your psychotherapy. I’ve looked you up. You’re wanting to ask me why I did it.’
‘No. I don’t need to ask you that.’
‘This is part of it. Following you, then sitting here with you. The fact that you now know is even better. You know and yet you have nothing. It’s like doing it all over again but better. Doing a thing like that to someone in the dark is never quite enough. You need them to know who did it. Really, it’s almost like being in love, that special connection between two people. Very few people have it.’
‘Becky was a troubled, vulnerable young woman. You terrified her, attacked her, raped her, and later you killed her.’
‘Yes,’ said Ewan, softly. ‘Troubled, vulnerable young women are just the sort who make things like that up. No wonder the police have trouble believing them.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes for a whole minute. Then he gave a long sigh. ‘You can’t imagine it.’ He opened the fingers of one hand and looked at it as if he were holding something. ‘It’s like taking something and capturing it for ever. Now, I know what you’re going to ask.’
‘What?’
‘Why am I here? Why aren’t I being questioned by the police and charged with multiple offences?’
‘All right, why aren’t you?’
Ewan looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’m not an expert on police procedure but I don’t think that blurting out an accusation without any evidence of any kind is much use to anybody. A young police officer asked one or two questions about the reunion. She seemed a bit embarrassed about it. I was in and out in less than half an hour. The only irritating thing is that in the small world of Braxton, when something interesting like that happens, everyone seems to know about it.’
‘They didn’t learn it from me,’ said Frieda.
Ewan continued, as if he hadn’t heard, ‘I went into the farm shop and someone asked about it. The barman at the Dog and Butcher mentioned it. Judy at the garage mentioned it when I was buying petrol.’
‘That must have been embarrassing.’
Ewan’s smile returned. ‘You know what I tell them? I tell them that there was this strange woman called Frieda Klein who used to go to the high school with all of us. She left the area for some mysterious reason.’ His voice changed to a stage whisper. ‘I refer to rumours of a breakdown. Now she’s back because her mother’s dying and she’s going around making wild accusations and we should all be understanding.’ He grinned at her with satisfaction. ‘That’s what I tell them.’
‘I’ll never stop,’ said Frieda. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Ewan looked at a long-legged blonde runner loping past, then back at Frieda, as if he were about to deliver a punch-line.
‘The police aren’t even very interested in Max. You never know what these young people are going to do after they’ve taken the wrong pill.’
‘I mean it. I don’t stop. I don’t give up. I don’t go away.’
‘Neither do I, Frieda.’
Frieda looked straight at him, a giddy feeling opening up inside her. It was as if they were playing chess, staring at each other across the board.
‘One day,’ she said, ‘when you’ve been in prison for months or years, mainly in solitary for your own protection, you’ll realize that you were acting out of a pitiable fear and weakness. Then you can begin the journey of understanding what you’ve done and who you are. That’ll be terrible, unimaginably terrible, but it’ll be better than being you now, here.’
When he replied, he spoke more softly. ‘None of us liked you, Frieda Klein. You thought you were better than us. You didn’t even bother to look at me. You barely knew I existed, however hard I tried. Well, you had the smile wiped off your face.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘You think you have power, but you should be dealt with mainly as a public-health risk, like a rabid dog. You’re already being punished in the worst possible way, which is being you, living your life. Being in the hell of yourself. But I won’t give up until you’re stopped.’
Ewan smiled at her. She stood up and he stood up too.
‘’Bye, Frieda – I need to catch my train. But remember, I know where you live, in every sense. Are we going in the same direction?’ Frieda looked at him with contempt. ‘No? Pity.’ He paused, then added, ‘Sweetheart.’
Frieda sat back on the bench and stared in front of her, not watching him walk away and not seeing or hearing the geese. At last she took out her phone and dialled.
‘Sasha? Did you hear back yet?’
38
Karlsson had a small, narrow, neglected garden behind his house. They took their mugs of coffee and stepped out into it. There was a hint of imminent rain and it was cold and nearly dark.
‘You don’t need to be poli
te about it,’ said Karlsson.
‘I wasn’t going to be.’
‘Some time soon I’ll go to a garden centre and get some plants.’
‘It could do with a bit of colour,’ said Frieda.
‘But not too many. Mikey and his friends need to play football here. I want to get a little toy goal for them. Or un gol as they probably call it now. Did I tell you that I’m learning Spanish? I’m going to a class.’
‘That sounds good.’
‘So I can talk to my children. Someone in the office said that Spanish was a really easy language to learn. I’m glad I’m not doing a difficult one.’
‘You just need to keep at it.’
‘Is that what they taught you in the Girl Guides?’
‘I was expelled from the Girl Guides.’
‘You’ll have to tell me about that some time.’
‘But if we could stick to this case for the moment? What do you think?’
‘Do you want the good news or the bad?’
‘The good news, I suppose.’
‘There isn’t any. I’m sorry, Frieda. I know this is …’ He stopped. ‘Let me go through it as I understand it. Stop me if I get something wrong. There’s no active police investigation into any of the Braxton crimes.’
‘That’s right.’
‘There was crucial evidence at the scene of the staged suicide but you removed it – committing a criminal offence in the process.’
‘Ewan had put it there to frame Max. I had to take it away.’
‘You don’t have much confidence in the police, do you? Anyway, you had this evidence independently tested. Which meant that it would be inadmissible in any court proceedings. But, from what you told me, the said item had no trace evidence of any kind, except for the fibres from the toilet paper in which you stored it. Can I warn you that the next time you steal evidence from a crime scene you should wrap it in a clean plastic bag?’
‘The toy squirrel was taken from Becky’s room but it had no trace of her or any fibres at all. It had been cleaned in a washing machine. Doesn’t that strike you as revealing?’
