by Nicci French
‘I think I would have been dubious,’ said Frieda.
‘You think I wasn’t?’ said Boundy. ‘We checked everything. The twins were interviewed by different researchers, we checked the subjects’ backgrounds, everything. We tried to knock it down, but the findings were robust.’
‘If it’s robust,’ said Frieda, ‘then what the hell’s it about? You’re not talking about some kind of ESP, because if so…’
Boundy laughed. ‘Of course not. But you’re a therapist. You think that we’re just rational beings, that we can talk about our problems and…’
‘That’s not exactly -’
Boundy continued as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘People talk about our brains being like computers. If that’s true – which it isn’t – then the computer comes into the world with a lot of its software pre-installed. You know, like a female turtle that spends its whole life at sea. It doesn’t learn how to come ashore, lay its eggs and bury them by watching its mother. Certain neurons just start to fire in ways we don’t understand and it just knows what to do. What my twin studies showed is that a lot of what look like responses to the environment, decisions made using free will, are just the working out of patterns that the subject was born with.’ Boundy spread his hands like a magician who had just performed a particularly clever trick. ‘So there we are. Problem solved. You don’t have to worry about going mad.’
‘No,’ said Frieda, not looking at all as if she was relieved by what she’d heard.
‘The problem is that these separated twins are getting rarer. Social workers are less likely to separate them, adoption agencies keep them together. It’s good for the twins, of course. Not so good for people like me.’ He frowned. ‘But you haven’t answered my question. Why was it so urgent?’
When Frieda answered, it was almost as if her mind was elsewhere. ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ she said. ‘But there’s something I’ve got to do.’
‘I might be able to help you. Do you want to find out more about the family of your patient?’
‘Probably,’ said Frieda.
‘It’s just that my team have got a great deal of expertise in finding out about the hidden histories of families. Discreetly. We’ve built up some useful informal contacts over the years. They’re good at finding out things about people’s families that they don’t know themselves. In the way that you seem to have stumbled across, but a bit more systematically.’
‘That might be useful,’ said Frieda.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help…’ said Dr Boundy. His tone had now become warmer, and almost casual. ‘It might make up for my rudeness when you arrived. I’m sorry about that, but you walked into the middle of one of those ghastly occasions when we invite the neighbours in. You know the sort of thing. It’s the worst time of year.’
‘I understand.’
‘Obviously they won’t be able to get on to it until after the holiday. As you know, Britain is now closed for business for the next ten days or so. But if you give me the names of these two brothers, their addresses perhaps, any other details you know of, maybe we could make some checks when we’re all back.’
‘What kind of checks?’ said Frieda.
‘Family-tree stuff,’ said Dr Boundy. ‘And if they’ve had any dealings with the social services, any criminal records, credit problems. It would be for your eyes only. We’re very tactful.’ He picked his book up from his desk and handed it to Frieda. ‘You can read this and see how careful we are.’
‘All right,’ said Frieda, and she wrote down the two names and addresses.
‘Probably nothing will come of it,’ said Dr Boundy. ‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘Don’t worry.’
He took the book back from her. ‘Let me sign it for you,’ he said. ‘At least it’ll stop you going off and selling it.’ He wrote in it and then handed it back to her.
She looked at the inscription. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Can I offer you some lunch?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve been a great help. But I’m in a hurry.’
‘I quite understand,’ he said. ‘Let me show you out.’
He walked her to the front door, talking as he did so of colleagues they might have in common, of conferences they might both have attended. He held his hand out to shake hers, then seemed to think of something. ‘They’re interesting,’ he said, ‘these separated twins. I did a paper once about twins where one of them had died in the womb. They seemed to know, even if they didn’t know, if you know what I mean. It’s as if they were in mourning for something they didn’t know existed and were forever trying to recover it.’
‘What’s the effect of that on a life?’ asked Frieda. ‘Feeling incomplete like that. What do you do with it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Boundy. ‘It feels important, though.’ Now he shook her hand. ‘I hope we’ll meet again soon,’ he said.
He stood and watched as she climbed into the van and as it trundled down the drive, narrowly missing a parked Mercedes that belonged to the Master of Professor Boundy’s college. After he closed the front door, he still didn’t join the guests. He stood in thought for a few moments, then walked back to his study and shut the door. He picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Kathy? It’s Seth. What are you doing?… Well, stop and come over here and I’ll tell you about it when you get here… I know it’s Christmas, but Christmas happens every year and this is once in a lifetime.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour?… Fine. I’ll be here.’
Boundy put the phone down and smiled, listening to the hum of conversation and chink of glasses in the room beyond.
Chapter Thirty
Frieda got back into the van and Josef turned off the radio. He looked at her expectantly.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said. ‘And give me your mobile. I’ve got a call to make.’
But there was no signal for a few miles. When at last a single bar appeared on the mobile screen, she ordered Josef to stop.
‘I smoke,’ he said, and climbed out of the van.
Frieda called the police station. ‘I need to speak to Detective Inspector Karlsson. I know he won’t be there on a Saturday and I know you won’t give me his home number, but I’ll give you this mobile number and you can tell him he has got to phone me at once. Tell him that if he doesn’t call me within the next ten minutes I am going to ring up the newspapers and give them the information about Matthew Faraday that he is refusing to listen to. Tell him those exact words.’ The woman at the other end started to speak but Frieda cut her off. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.
She watched Josef. He looked very peaceful, sitting by the side of the road under a tree that was leafless and bent out of shape after decades of wind blowing across this flat landscape. The sky was white and the ploughed field looked like a frozen brown sea.
The mobile rang.
‘Frieda here.’
‘What the fuck are you on about?’
‘We need to meet at once. Where are you?’
‘At home. It’s the day I have with my children. I can’t leave.’
‘Where do you live?’ She wrote down the address he gave her on a scrap of paper. ‘I’ll be right there.’
She opened her door and called Josef over. ‘Home?’ he asked, as he climbed back into the van.
‘Can you take me one more place first?’
Karlsson lived just off Highbury Corner in a Victorian semi-detached house that had been divided into several flats. As Frieda went up the steps to the raised front door, she could see through the window just beneath her into the lower ground flat that was his. As she looked, he crossed her field of vision carrying a tiny girl, her arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala bear.
That was how he came to the door. He hadn’t shaved and was wearing jeans and a thick blue cardigan. The girl had yellow curls and chubby bare legs. She was sobbing, her wet cheek pressed against his chest. She opened one gleaming blue eye to peer at Fried
a and closed it again.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Football traffic.’
‘This isn’t a good time.’
‘I wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t ignored my calls.’
The large living room was strewn with toys and children’s clothes. A boy sat on the sofa watching cartoons on the television and posting popcorn into his mouth. Very carefully, Karlsson unwound his daughter’s arms and legs and placed her beside her brother. Her wails grew louder.
‘Just for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll take you both swimming, I promise. Give her some popcorn, Mikey.’
Without taking his eyes off the screen, the boy held out the tub and she took a fistful and pushed it into her mouth. Fragments stuck to her chin. Frieda and Karlsson stood at the other end of the room, at the large window from where she could see Josef in the van. Karlsson was slightly behind her, as if he was shielding his children from her.
‘Well?’
Frieda went through the events of the past days, and as she did so, Karlsson’s posture stiffened and the expression on his face changed from irritated impatience to fierce concentration. When she had finished, he didn’t speak for a moment. Then he picked up his mobile.
‘I’ll have to get someone to look after the children. Their mother lives in Brighton.’
‘I could do it,’ said Frieda.
‘You’re coming with me.’
‘How about Josef?’
‘Josef?’
Frieda pointed to the van.
‘What?’ said Karlsson. ‘Are you insane?’
‘He’s a friend,’ Frieda said. ‘He’s been looking after a colleague of mine. He’s actually a builder.’
Karlsson looked doubtful. ‘You can vouch for him?’
‘He’s my friend.’
She went out to Josef.
‘Home?’ he said once more to her. ‘I am cold and also now hungry.’
‘I need you to look after a couple of little children for me,’ she said.
He didn’t seem at all surprised. He nodded docilely and climbed out of the van. She couldn’t tell if he had understood her.
‘They might be upset. Just – I don’t know – give them sweets or something. A friend will take over.’
‘I am father,’ he said.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.’
Josef wiped his boots very thoroughly on the doormat. Karlsson appeared, already in his coat and carrying a bag. ‘Let me introduce you to the kids,’ he said. ‘Their mother will be here in about an hour and a half. Thanks for helping out. Mikey, Bella, this man is going to take care of you until Mummy comes. Be good for him.’
Josef stood in front of the two children who stared up at him. Bella’s mouth opened: she was about to howl.
‘I am Josef,’ he said, and made his slight, formal bow.
Chapter Thirty-one
There was a ring at the door. Dean Reeve didn’t even turn his head. He was expecting it. He stood, and ran up the stairs to Terry, who was painting the little room in clumsy white strokes. She had almost done: just a few square feet were left unpainted. He stroked her hair. ‘All right?’ he said.
‘Course.’
‘You’d better be.’
‘I said I am.’ The bell rang again. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’
‘They’re not going away. You get that finished. Quickly now.’
He walked down the stairs and opened the door. It wasn’t who he was expecting. Standing on his doorstep was a young woman. She wore rimless spectacles and her brown hair was tied up with just a few strands spilling over her forehead. She was dressed in a black suede jacket with blue jeans and leather boots that almost reached her knees. She was carrying a leather briefcase. She smiled. ‘Are you Dean Reeve?’ she said.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m sorry just to barge in on you. My name is Kathy Ripon and I’m here to make you an offer. I work for a university and we’re doing research into people we choose virtually at random. All I want to do is to give you a questionnaire and go through it with you. It’s a simple personality test. It would just take half an hour of your time, a bit more maybe. I’d do it with you. And then we would, of course, recompense you for your time. My employers will pay you a hundred pounds.’ She smiled. ‘All for filling out a simple form. Which I’ll help you with.’
‘I haven’t got the time for this.’ And he started to shut the door.
‘Please! It won’t take long. We’ll make it worth your while.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘I said no.’
‘How about a hundred and fifty?’
‘What’s this about?’ he said. ‘Really. Why me?’
‘It’s quite random.’
‘Then why so eager? Go and knock next door.’
‘There’s no catch,’ she said, although she was becoming slightly flustered. ‘Your name won’t be used in any of the research. We’re just doing an investigation into personality types.’ She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a wallet. She took out a card and held it out to him. It had a photograph of her on it. ‘You see?’ she said. ‘That’s the institute where I work. You can phone my boss, if you want. Or look at our website.’
‘I’ll ask you again, why me?’
She smiled again, a little falteringly this time. The money was usually enough, and she didn’t understand what the problem was. ‘Your name came up on our database. We look for all sorts of people to use in our study and yours was one of the names. It’s a hundred pounds for half an hour of your time. It’ll be no trouble.’
Dean thought for a moment. He looked at the woman’s nervous face, then over her shoulder, up and down the empty street. ‘Come in, then.’
‘Thank you.’
For one moment, she felt a tremor of disquiet running through her, but then shrugged it off and stepped inside.
‘I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth,’ he said, and the door shut behind them with a small, firm click.
Dark, so dark. Very quiet. The drip of water. Dry swollen tongue tasted the iron wetness. Then the rustle of tiny feet. Are there long yellow teeth waiting to chop me up into little bits for the birds? He mustn’t speak, mustn’t say a word. Body burning with cold but mustn’t speak.
Scraping sound. Grunting sound. Lighter darkness to scrape his soft eyes. Soft voice of Master. Mustn’t speak. Not a sound shall escape. Mustn’t even breathe.
Scraping sound and darker darkness.
Oh, no. Oh, no. It wasn’t him making this sound. Like a wild animal panting. Like a wild animal screaming next to him. Over and over and over. Something scrabbling at him, shaking him, shouting, screaming and screaming, cracked high madness of screaming, his ears were going to burst. He mustn’t speak. It was a test and he couldn’t fail because if he failed it was over.
Still it went on. It was outside him and it was inside him, a shriek swelling and echoing, and he couldn’t escape. Fingers over ears, body in a ball, head on stone, sharp knees on sharp stones, grit in eyes, burning skin, don’t make a sound. Once upon a time there was a little boy.
It didn’t go the way Frieda thought it was going to. They didn’t jump in the car and head straight to the house. Instead, an hour later, Frieda found herself sitting in Karlsson’s office giving a statement to a uniformed officer while Karlsson stood to one side, frowning. At first, Frieda could scarcely control herself.
‘Why are we sitting here?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think the situation is just a bit urgent?’
‘The quicker we get your statement, the quicker we can get a warrant and the quicker we can act.’
‘We don’t have time for this.’
‘You’re the one who’s holding us up.’
Frieda had to take a deep breath, just so she could speak calmly.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘So what do you want me to say?’
‘Keep it simple,’ said Karlsson. ‘All we want is for t
he judge to grant the warrant. So don’t go into detail about your patient’s dreams or fantasies or whatever they were. In fact, don’t even mention them.’
‘You mean, don’t tell the truth?’
‘Just tell the part of the truth that’s helpful to the process.’ He looked at Yvette Long. ‘Ready?’ She smiled at him and clicked her pen. Frieda thought: She’s in love with her boss. Karlsson paused for a moment. ‘You want to say, “During therapy with my patient Alan Dekker, he made certain statements that implicated his brother Dean Reeve in the abduction of blah blah blah.” ’
‘Why don’t you just dictate it yourself?’
‘If we go into too much detail, the judge may start asking difficult questions. If we find the boy, it doesn’t matter if it was the man in the moon who told you about it. We just need the warrant.’
Frieda gave a brief statement while Karlsson nodded and made occasional comments.
‘That’ll do,’ he said finally.
‘I’ll sign anything,’ said Frieda. ‘Just as long as you do something.’
Yvette handed her the form. She signed it, and the copy underneath.
‘What do I do now?’ said Frieda.
‘Go home, whatever you want.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Our job. We’ll wait for the warrant, which should be delivered in an hour or two.’
‘Can’t I help?’
‘This isn’t a spectator sport.’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Frieda. ‘I told you about it.’
‘If you want to come on police operations, you’ll need to join the force.’ He paused. ‘Sorry. I don’t meant to be… Look, I’ll let you know what happens as soon as I can. That’s all I can do.’
Back in her house, Frieda felt like a child who had been dragged out of the cinema five minutes before the film ended. At first she walked up and down her living room. All the action was happening somewhere else. What could she possibly do? She rang Josef’s mobile and got no reply. She called Reuben and he told her that Josef wasn’t back. She ran herself a hot bath and lay in it with her head mostly under the water, trying not to think and failing. She got out and put on some jeans and an old shirt. Clearly there were things she needed to do. She needed to make some sort of plans for Christmas. She’d been resisting it for weeks but she had to do something. She had appointments with patients to rearrange. It seemed impossible even to consider any of this now.