by Nicci French
‘Well?’
‘She just repeated what Josh Kerrigan said: that he’d probably been with her, they’d spent practically every minute of the day together since they’d started going out, she couldn’t quite remember. But she was pretty sure that there wasn’t a time when he was away for a large chunk of the day or night.’
‘It’s a bit vague.’
‘He didn’t use his credit card to buy any kind of transport to London on that day. But he did take a hundred pounds out in cash a couple of days before, so he could have used that.’
‘But he’s not looking very likely, is he? Not that he ever was.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
Karlsson looked at Munster more attentively. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There was something his girlfriend mentioned that I thought might interest you.’
‘Go on.’
‘She said Josh was furious with his father. Spitting mad, she said. She said he’d had a letter, telling him his dad was not the happy family man he set himself up as.’
‘So he knew.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘Good work, Chris. We need another talk with him. Right now. And his little brother while we’re at it.’
Josh Kerrigan had got himself a haircut – or maybe, thought Karlsson, looking at the uneven tufts, he’d done it himself with clippers. It made his face seem rounder and younger. He sat in the interview room and couldn’t keep still, but drummed his fingers on the table, twisted in his chair, tapped his feet.
‘What now?’ he asked. ‘More questions about my whereabouts?’
‘We spoke to Shari Hollander.’
‘Did she say I was with her, like I said?’
‘She said you probably were.’
‘There you go, then.’
‘She also said that you knew about your father’s affair.’
‘What?’
He suddenly looked scared.
‘Is that true? Did you receive a letter telling you about the affair?’
Josh stared at Karlsson, then away. A heaviness settled on his young face, making him resemble his father. ‘Yes. I got a letter sent to me, care of my physics department.’
‘Anonymous?’
‘That’s right. So whoever sent it didn’t even have the courage to admit who they were.’
‘Who do you think it was?’
Josh gazed darkly at Karlsson. ‘Her, of course. Who else?’
‘You mean Ruth Lennox?’
‘That’s right. Though I didn’t know that at the time.’
‘Do you still have the letter?’
‘I tore it into little bits and threw it in the bin.’
‘What else did you do?’
‘I tried to put it out of my mind.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘I didn’t get on a train to London, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Did you speak to your father about it?’
‘No.’
‘Or your mother?’
‘No.’
‘Are you close to your mother?’
‘I’m her son.’ He looked down, as if he was embarrassed about meeting Karlsson’s eye.’ She’s always put me and Ben before anything else – even when she had cancer, we were all she thought about. And Dad,’ he added viciously. ‘She put him first, too.’
‘But you didn’t tell her about this letter?’
‘No.’
‘Did you tell your brother?’
‘Ben’s a kid doing his A levels in a few weeks’ time. Why would I tell him?’
‘Did you?’
Josh pulled at a tuft of newly cut hair. ‘No.’ But he sounded stiff and uneasy.
‘Listen to me, Josh. We’re going to talk to your brother, and if his account doesn’t agree with yours, you’re going to be in even more trouble than you are right now. It’s better to tell us the truth at once. Better for Ben, as well.’
‘All right, I told him. I had to tell someone.’
‘Did you tell him over the phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did he react?’
‘Like me. Like anyone would. He was shocked, angry.’
‘Is that all?’
‘He thought we should tell Mum. I didn’t.’
‘How did it end?’
‘We agreed we’d wait until I came back for Easter, that we’d talk about it then.’
‘And did you?’
He gave a wide, sarcastic smile. ‘We sort of got overtaken by events.’
‘And you didn’t tell your mother?’
‘Like I said.’
‘And Ben didn’t either?’
‘He wouldn’t without telling me.’
‘And you’re telling me that neither of you confronted your father, however angry you were with him.’
‘I said, no.’
‘Why were you both so quick to believe what the letter said?’
Josh seemed taken aback. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘We just did. Why would anyone make up something like that?’
‘And there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sticking to your story that you didn’t know who the mystery writer was?’
‘Yes.’
Karlsson waited. Josh Kerrigan’s eyes flickered towards him, then away again. There was a knock at the door and Yvette put her head around it. ‘I need a word,’ she said.
‘We’re done here anyway. For now.’ Karlsson stood up. ‘We’ll speak to your brother.’
Josh shrugged. But his eyes were anxious.
‘No,’ said Ben Kerrigan. ‘No, no and no. I did not tell my mother. I wish I had. But we decided to wait till we were together. I had to look at her over the breakfast table and not say anything. And him.’ His face twisted.
‘Yes?’
‘I didn’t say anything to him either. I wanted to. I wanted to punch him in his stupid fat face. I’m glad he’s got beaten up. He’s just a wanker. It’s such a fucking cliché, isn’t it? Except the other woman wasn’t some bimbo. What did he think he was doing? Ten years. He was cheating on Mum for ten years.’
‘But you never confronted him or told your mother about the letter.’
‘Like I said.’
‘And you never got the impression that your father knew about the letter.’
‘He didn’t know anything.’ Ben’s voice rang with scorn. ‘He thought he could get away with it, and no price to pay.’
‘Or your mother?’
‘No. She trusted him. I know Mum. She thinks that once you trust someone, it’s unconditional.’
‘Why did you hide this information from us?’
‘Why do you think? We’re not stupid, you know – we do realize that you’re all thinking this murder is some kind of revenge.’ His voice rose in distress.
‘All right.’ Karlsson tried to hold his eyes. ‘Let’s take it slowly, from the beginning. You were here, living with your parents, when Josh told you.’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do when you found out?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘I keep telling you.’
‘You didn’t talk to anyone apart from Josh?’
‘No.’
‘But you believed it was true?’
‘I knew it was true!’
‘How?’
‘I just did.’
‘How did you know, Ben? What made you so sure?’ He waited, then asked: ‘Did you find out anything else?’ He saw Ben flinch involuntarily before he shook his head. ‘Ben, I’m asking you one more time: did you try to find anything out?’ He stopped and let silence fill the space between them. ‘Did you go through your father’s things, looking for evidence? It would only be natural. Ben?’
‘No.’
‘Alone in the house, with this new and horrible suspicion, and you didn’t do anything?’
‘Stop it.’
‘We will find ou
t.’
‘OK. I may have.’
‘You may have?’
‘I poked around a bit.’
‘Where?’
‘You know. Pockets.’
‘Yes.’
‘And his phone. His papers.’
‘His computer?’
‘That too.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘You do understand how serious this is, Ben?’
The boy turned to him. Karlsson could hear his ragged breathing. ‘All right. I looked fucking everywhere. Of course I did. What would you have done? Me and Josh agreed that I would do a search, and then I went through all his grubby tissues and his receipts and his emails and nicked his mobile phone to look at texts and calls. We – me and Josh – rang a few numbers I didn’t recognize, just to check. There wasn’t anything. But I couldn’t stop. If I hadn’t found something, I could have gone on for the rest of my life, trying to find the evidence that he was cheating on my mum. It’s like that thing they teach in science, you can only prove something is true, not that it isn’t.’
‘But you did find something?’ Karlsson said gently.
‘I went through his history.’
‘On his computer, you mean?’
‘I don’t really know what I was looking for. There was a search he’d done on Google images for Ruth Lennox. And I just knew. It’s the way you look up someone you know, just to see if there’s a picture of them somewhere.’
‘So. You and Josh knew your father was having an affair with someone called Ruth Lennox.’
‘Yes. Then of course I did a search for her name. He thought he was being so clever. He doesn’t understand computers.’
‘What did you find?’
‘An email from her. Hidden in a folder called something boring like “Household Insurance”. Just one email.’ He snorted derisively.
‘What did it say?’
‘It didn’t say, “Darling Paul, I like fucking you”, if that’s what you mean,’ Ben said savagely. ‘It said that yes, she would like to see him again and that he wasn’t to worry, everything was going to be all right.’ He grimaced violently. ‘It was kind of tender and practical. I thought of Mum being so ill and weak and still looking after us, and then this other woman loving Dad as well, and it seemed so fucking unfair.’
‘When was it sent?’
‘The twenty-ninth of April 2001.’
‘And you still insist you didn’t tell your mother?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘But you did push a mutilated doll through the Lennoxes’ letterbox.’
Ben turned a deep red. ‘Yeah. I didn’t plan to. But I saw this stupid doll stuffed in a big basket of toys at a friend’s house – it was his kid sister’s. And I just took it on a whim and cut it up a bit to show her what we thought of her. I had to do something.’
‘She never got your little message, though. Her ill daughter picked it up and thought it was meant for her.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘So you and Josh knew where she lived?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go there at other times?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘Not really?’
‘I might have stood outside every so often. To see her.’
‘Did you see her?’
‘No. I saw her kids, I think. It all made me feel a bit sick, if you want to know. Poisoned.’
‘Is there anything you haven’t told me?’
Ben shook his head miserably. ‘Josh is going to be mad at me. He made me swear not to say anything.’
‘That’s what happens when you start breaking the law. People get mad at you.’
FORTY-SIX
Frieda had got Judith’s email address from Chloë, and sent her a short message, saying she would be waiting for her at four o’clock the next afternoon at Primrose Hill, by the entrance just minutes from Judith’s school. The weather had changed: it was blustery and the clouds were low and grey, threatening rain.
She saw Judith long before Judith saw her. She was in a knot of friends, which loosened and dispersed as they went, and finally it was just the girl making her way slowly towards the gate. She was wearing her clumpy boots, which made her legs seem thinner than ever, and she had an orange scarf tied several times round her head, like a turban from which wild tendrils of hair escaped. Even her walk was unsteady, her feet in their heavy boots tripping on the pavement. She looked hunted, her eyes darting from side to side, and she kept putting her hand to her mouth, as if she was stopping herself saying anything.
As she came into the park, she noticed Frieda sitting on the bench and her step quickened. A series of expressions flickered on her face: bewilderment, anger, fear. Then it hardened into a mask of hostility. The blue eyes glittered.
‘Why is she here?’
‘Because it’s not me you need to speak to. It’s DC Long. Yvette.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need to talk to either of you. I don’t want to. I want everyone to fuck off. Leave me alone, all of you.’ Her voice cracked. A hoarse sob forced its way out of her mouth and she lurched where she stood, as if she would fall.
Frieda stood up and gestured to the bench. ‘You’ve been under terrible pressure. You must feel as if you’re about to explode with it.’
‘I don’t know what you’re going on about. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. Or somewhere,’ she added.
But she didn’t move, and for a moment she looked so young and so full of uncertainty and terror that Frieda thought she would burst into tears. Then, as if her legs would no longer hold her, she crumpled on to the bench beside Yvette and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, hunching her body up protectively.
‘Tell Yvette why you’re so scared.’
‘What do you mean?’ whispered Judith.
‘You can’t protect him.’
‘Who?’
‘Your father.’
Judith closed her eyes. Her face became slack, suddenly like that of a middle-aged woman, defeated by tiredness.
‘I sometimes think I’m going to wake up and this will be just a dream. Mum will still be there and we’ll be arguing about stupid stuff, like staying out late and makeup and homework, and all the horrible things won’t have happened. I wish I’d never had a boyfriend. I wish I’d never met Zach. I feel sick when I think about him. I want to be like I was before all of this.’ She opened her eyes and looked at Frieda. ‘Is it because of me he’s dead?’
‘You tell me.’
And then Judith did at last burst into tears. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands and rocked her body to and fro and wept. Tears dripped through the lattice of her fingers and snorts and groans and gasps shook her.
Yvette stared at her, then tentatively put out one hand and touched her on the shoulder, but Judith reacted violently, lashing out and pushing her away. It was several minutes before the sobs got quieter, and at last they ceased. She lifted her face from the sieve of her hands; she was blotchy with weeping; there were streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. She was barely recognizable. Frieda took a tissue from her bag and, without a word, handed it over. Judith dabbed at her sodden face, still making sniffling sounds.
‘I told him about Zach,’ she said at last, in a whisper.
‘Yes.’
‘Did he kill him?’
‘I don’t know that.’ Frieda handed her another tissue.
‘But you did right to tell us,’ added Yvette, decisively. ‘We would have found out anyway. You’re not to feel responsible.’
‘Why? Why shouldn’t I? It’s my fault. I had sex with him.’ Her face puckered. ‘And then I told my dad. He just wanted to protect me. What’s going to happen to him? What’s going to happen to us? Dora’s just a little girl.’
‘Yvette’s right, Judith: you’re not responsible.’
‘He’ll know it was me who told you.’
‘He should never have put you in this position,’ Yvette said.
‘Why is this happening to us? I just want to go back to when it was all right.’
‘We should take you home,’ said Frieda.
‘I can’t see him, not now. I just can’t. My poor darling dad. Oh, God.’ And she ended on a juddering sob.
Frieda made up her mind. ‘You’ll come to my house,’ she said, thinking of how her calm, orderly home had become like a circus for other people’s grief and chaos. ‘You and Ted and Dora. We’ll call them now.’ She nodded at Yvette. ‘And you’ll have to speak to Karlsson.’
When Yvette told Karlsson what she’d learned from Judith, he just stared at her for a moment.
‘Stupid, fucking idiot,’ he said finally. ‘Who’s going to look after his family now? What a mess. Russell Lennox knew about Judith and Zach. Josh and Ben Kerrigan knew about their father and Ruth Lennox. All those secrets. Where’s this going to end?’ His phone rang and he snatched it up, listened, said, ‘We’ll be there,’ then put it down again.
‘That was Tate in forensics. He’s invited us for a guided tour of Zach’s flat.’
‘But –’
‘Have you got anything better to do?’
James Tate was a small, stocky, dark-skinned and peppery-haired man with a peremptory manner and sarcastic sense of humour. Karlsson had known him for years. He was meticulous and dispassionate, very good at his job. He was waiting for them and when they arrived he gave them a small nod and handed them both paper shoes and thin latex gloves to put on, before they stepped into the scene of the crime.
‘You couldn’t have just told me on the phone?’ Karlsson asked.
‘I thought you’d like to see it for yourself. Like this, for example.’
He pointed at the doorbell. ‘Nice clear prints.’
‘Do they match –’
‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’ He opened the door into the little entrance hall. ‘Exhibit number two.’ He pointed at the muddy footprints on the floor. ‘Size forty-one shoes. We’ve got a clear image. And three: signs of some kind of struggle. This picture has been dislodged.’
Karlsson nodded. Yvette, following them past the disordered kitchenette into the bedroom, had the strange sensation that she would find the body all over again.
