Blue Monday

by Nicci French

  Karlsson paused for a moment. Terry was still staring in front of her.

  ‘But if you tell us where she is,’ he continued, ‘things could be very different.’

  Still she didn’t speak.

  ‘Your husband’s gone,’ said Karlsson. ‘We’ll get him soon. In the meantime, you’re going to take the full force of this. I can give you a way out. But it won’t be on offer for very long. If you don’t help us, people will get very angry indeed.’

  ‘You can’t turn me against him,’ said Terry. ‘We did everything together.’

  ‘That’s what he’s relying on,’ said Karlsson. ‘He gets away. Or tries to get away. And you’re left here facing the music.’

  ‘He can rely on me,’ said Terry. ‘He’s always been able to rely on me. I can be strong for him.’

  ‘What are you doing this for?’ said Karlsson, almost plaintively. ‘It’s all over. There’s no point.’

  She just gave a shrug. Karlsson glanced round at Frieda with a look of defeat. He took his watch and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then stood up and walked over to her. ‘What’s in it for her? What’s she got left to lose?’

  ‘Him, maybe,’ Frieda said softly. ‘Can I talk to her?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Frieda walked across and sat down in the chair Karlsson had left. She stared across at Terry and Terry returned her gaze, setting her jaw as if she were challenging her.

  ‘You saved Matthew’s life,’ said Frieda. ‘It sounds funny to say it and I don’t think you’ll get much credit for it from the mob outside, but it’s true.’

  Terry looked wary. ‘You’re just trying to grease up to me. You want to get me to talk.’

  ‘I’m just telling the truth. When I saw you at the cemetery, I knew that Matthew was there. If it had taken any longer to find him, he would have died.’

  ‘So?’ said Terry.

  ‘He didn’t die. That’s something good that’s come out of this, isn’t it? Is that why you went back? Were you going to see if he was still alive?’

  Terry looked contemptuous. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  ‘It must have preyed on your mind,’ said Frieda. ‘In a way, it would have been easier if you’d killed him. But those days you were under observation, when you were in here, you must have had this image of a little boy lying in the dark. So you went back. That was done out of a kind of… I’m not sure what the right word is. Care, maybe. And then you saw me and you saw that I saw you. You ran away and you rang Dean. You were caring for him as well. You were looking after him. Did he look after you?’

  ‘You’re not going to turn me against him.’

  ‘I’m not trying to.’

  ‘You fucking liar.’

  ‘Matthew’s going to be all right,’ said Frieda. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital. I think that may be a relief to you.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘I think you do. But now we need to know about Kathy.’

  Terry gave her habitual shrug.

  ‘And Joanna – what happened to Joanna, Terry? Where is she buried?’

  ‘Ask Dean.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Where’s my tea and fag, then?’

  ‘I want to ask you one last thing: why did you go home?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Terry. ‘Why not?’

  Frieda thought for a moment. ‘I think I know.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You went to the cemetery and you saw me and you knew we’d find the boy and you phoned Dean and you knew you’d done what you could for him. Then what? Were you really going to run away? Really? What would that mean? Could you have gone on the run? Hidden for ever? Taken a new identity? If it were me, I think I would have thought about it the same way you did. The idea of it would be too tiring. I’d done what I could. I’d want to go home, even if I could only be there for a minute. I’d just want to go home.’

  Terry breathed deeply. She felt in the pocket of her jeans and took out a crumpled old tissue and blew her nose loudly. Then she tossed the tissue on to the floor and stared back at Frieda. ‘You won’t get me to say anything against him,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing to say.’

  ‘I know.’ Frieda stood up, then knelt down and picked up the soggy tissue. ‘You needn’t add littering to your other problems.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ said Terry.

  Frieda and Karlsson left the room. Karlsson sent two female officers in to watch Terry. He was starting to say something when another detective came around the corner. He was panting and could hardly get his words out. ‘Alan Dekker just called. He’s talked to Dean Reeve. He met him.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Karlsson turned to Frieda. ‘You want to come? Hold his hand?’

  Frieda thought for a moment. ‘No. I’ve got something to do.’

  Karlsson couldn’t stop himself smiling. ‘Is this not interesting enough for you?’

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’

  ‘Is this Christmas shopping or is it something I should know about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Frieda.

  Karlsson waited but Frieda didn’t say any more.

  ‘Fuck it, then.’ Karlsson left.

  Frieda sat down, and drummed her fingers on a table. Then she got up and walked out into the operations room. At the end there was a clink of glasses, laughter. It felt like the case was completed and celebrations had begun. She rummaged in her pocket for a notebook and flicked through it. She walked over to a desk, picked up a phone and dialled.

  ‘Is that Sasha?… It’s Frieda… Yes, I’m so glad I’ve caught you. I need a favour, a really big one. Can we meet?… I mean now. I can come straight over to wherever you are… Great. ’Bye.’

  She slammed the receiver down. On the other side of the room, a young detective looked round and wondered what that doctor woman was doing, running across the office.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Karlsson knocked at the door and it opened almost before his hand dropped back to his side. A small, strong-looking woman stood before him, wearing old jeans and an orange jumper with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her face, bare of makeup, looked tired and anxious.

  ‘Carrie Dekker? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Karlsson. And this is Detective Constable Yvette Long. I think you and your husband are expecting us.’

  ‘Alan’s in the kitchen.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s quite upset.’

  ‘We just need to ask some questions.’

  ‘Can I stay?’

  ‘If you like.’

  Karlsson followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Alan,’ she said softly. ‘They’re here, Alan.’

  He was a crumpled, distraught figure. He was still wearing his shabby duffel coat and sat slumped at the kitchen table. When he lifted his face, Karlsson saw that he looked as if he had been crying for hours, days even.

  ‘This is urgent,’ said Karlsson. ‘You need to tell us what happened.’

  ‘I told him he shouldn’t go,’ said Carrie. ‘I told him. I said he was putting himself in danger.’

  ‘I wasn’t in any danger. I told you. We met in a crowded place. It was only for a few minutes.’ He gulped. ‘It was like looking in a mirror. I should have told you. I know I should. A few weeks ago, I had no idea he even existed. I had to see him. I’m sorry.’

  He was visibly trembling and there were tears in his eyes again. Carrie sat beside him and took one of his hands between her own. She kissed his knuckles and he leaned his big, heavy head towards her. ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ she said.

  Karlsson saw how she protected him, motherly and tender. ‘What time did he call you?’

  ‘What time was it, Carrie? About nine, maybe a bit before. I heard they found the little boy.’

  ‘It was partly down to you.’

  ‘I’m just glad I could do something.’

  ‘When he called you, what did he say?’

  ‘He said we had to meet. That he di
dn’t have long and it was our only chance. He told me he wanted to give me something.’

  ‘And you agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’ It came out in a mumble. ‘I had a feeling that if I didn’t, then I would never see him. That it was my only chance and if I passed up on it I would regret it for the rest of my life. Does that sound stupid?’

  ‘Do you have the number he called on?’

  ‘It was a mobile,’ said Carrie. ‘After Alan left, I did a 1471 and wrote it down.’ She passed over a scrap of paper, which Karlsson gave to DC Long.

  ‘Where did you arrange to meet?’

  ‘On the high street. He was already there, he said. By the old Woolworths. It’s closed and boarded up now. He said he’d look out for me. Then I told Carrie.’

  ‘You had to, didn’t you? I heard you talking on the phone anyway. I was going to go with him. I wanted to but he said his brother might not talk to him if I was there. So I let him go but not until he’d promised to phone me every five minutes. I had to know he was safe.’

  ‘What time did you meet him?’

  ‘I walked slowly. I felt sick all the way there. About ten minutes.’

  ‘Was he there?’

  ‘He came up behind me. Took me by surprise.’

  ‘What was he wearing? Do you remember?’

  ‘An old leather jacket. Jeans. A woollen hat, kind of greeny-brown colour, I think, which covered his hair.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He called me bro. He said, “Well, bro, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Like it was a joke.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Then Carrie rang me on my mobile and I told her it was all OK and I was safe. I said I’d be back as soon as I could. After, he said – sorry, love – he said, “Are you a bit henpecked, bro? You don’t want a nagging wife, you know. They’re the worst, trust me.” He said he wanted to have a look at me. And he wanted to give me something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hang on.’

  Karlsson watched Alan retrieve a canvas holdall from under the table. It was obviously heavy and it clinked. He put it on the surface between them.

  ‘He wanted me to have his special tools,’ he said. ‘I haven’t looked at them yet.’

  He started pulling at the zip with thick fingers.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ said Carrie, sharply. ‘Don’t go touching anything that belonged to him.’

  ‘It was a gift.’

  ‘He’s wicked. We don’t want that in the house.’

  ‘I’ll take them,’ said Karlsson. ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Not really. He said something stupid. To remember there were worse things than being dead.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What was his manner? Was he agitated?’

  ‘I was in a state, but he was calm. He didn’t seem in a hurry. It was like he knew where he was going.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. He patted me on the shoulder, said it was nice to meet me, and then he just left.’

  ‘Which way did he go?’

  ‘I don’t know. I saw him turn off the high street. It leads to the bus depot and that waste bit of ground where they’re building the superstore.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you where he was going?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re not protecting him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. He’s a bad man. There was something about him.’ This with sudden venom.

  ‘After you saw him leave, you went home?’

  ‘I rang Carrie to say I was OK and he’d left. I felt strange but it was like a relief as well. Like something had gone out of my life, like I was free of him.’

  ‘You didn’t go anywhere or speak to anyone after you saw him go?’

  ‘No. Nobody.’

  ‘And there’s nothing else you can think of?’

  ‘That’s everything. I’m sorry. I know I’ve done wrong.’

  Karlsson stood up. ‘DC Long is going to stay here for the time being, and I’ll send another officer over as well. Just do what they say.’

  ‘Will he come back?’ Carrie’s hands flew to her mouth.

  ‘It’s just a precaution.’

  ‘You think we’re in danger.’

  ‘He’s a dangerous man. This might not be over yet. I wish you’d called us.’

  ‘Sorry. I just – I had to see him. Just the once.’

  Karlsson ordered a redeployment around the area where Reeve had met his brother. He didn’t feel hopeful, though. It was early afternoon and the paltry day was already fading back into darkness. In houses and flats, Christmas lights glowed in the windows and garlands hung from knockers. There were gaudy trees in shops and the streets were bright with neon bells, reindeers and characters from children’s cartoons. A small group of men and women were singing carols outside Tesco Direct and rattling buckets. Once again, spits of snow drifted in the bitter air. It would be a white Christmas of a kind, thought Karlsson, but for him Christmas was an unreal thing. Dimly, he imagined his children in their house far from here: the tree with the presents stacked underneath, the smell of mince pies, their hectic cheeks, family life continuing but without him in it. Matthew had been rescued and was safe, a fact beyond everyone’s wildest hopes. The papers would herald him as the best Christmas present his parents would ever have. A miracle. In truth, it felt like a miracle to Karlsson. He had long ago given Matthew up as dead. He knew he was tired, but he didn’t feel it. He felt stingingly awake, more clear-headed than he had felt in days.

  Frieda was still at the police station when he returned. She was sitting in an empty interview room, quite straight-backed, with her hair newly brushed, drinking from a mug. He smelt peppermint. She looked up expectantly.

  ‘They’re still looking. He’s out there somewhere. Where can he go?’

  ‘Is Alan all right?’

  ‘Very shocked. Who wouldn’t be? He’s gone through a traumatic experience and it isn’t over yet. His wife’s a strong woman.’

  ‘He’s lucky to have her.’

  ‘By the look of him, he’ll be in touch with you soon.’

  ‘Perhaps, though I might be the last person in the world he wants to see. I’d like to see him. Apart from anything else, he’ll soon have the most hated face in the country.’

  ‘I know. And that lot out there…’ He nodded towards the front of the station, where a crowd was still gathered. ‘They’re not the most forgiving lot in the world.’

  Karlsson left the room and before Frieda even had time to start thinking about what she should do, whether it was time to go home and try to sleep, he burst back in. ‘They’ve found him,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In an old dock off the side of the canal just along from where he met Dekker. Under a bridge. He was hanging from it.’

  Chapter Forty-five

  The car couldn’t get Karlsson all the way to the canal. He stopped at a bridge that intersected it. An officer was waiting for him and led him down the steps to the towpath.

  ‘Who found the body?’ Karlsson asked.

  ‘Some old man walking his dog,’ said the officer. ‘He didn’t have a mobile and he couldn’t find a phone box, so he walked all the way home and he’s got a bad leg. It took an hour for someone to get there. If he’d had a mobile, maybe the paramedics could have done something.’

  Ahead, Karlsson could see people on the towpath, kids mostly, trying to get a view. He and the officer stepped under the police tape and turned off the main towpath along the small inlet, a watery cul-de-sac. Once it had been a wharf for barges to tie up next to a factory. Now it was abandoned and desolate with bushes growing out of the cracked walls. Several officers were clustered ahead but there was no sense of urgency. One of them said something that Karlsson couldn’t hear and the others laughed. Further along the path Karlsson could see one of his team, Melanie Hackett, talking to an officer. He called her over.

&
nbsp; ‘They cut him down,’ she said. She gestured at a green tarpaulin on the ground. ‘You want a look?’

  Karlsson nodded. She pulled the sheet back. He was prepared but he still flinched. The eyes stared upwards at nothing, the pupils enlarged; the swollen tongue protruded between the teeth. Hackett pulled the sheet back further. The rope was gone but the ligature mark along the neck leading behind the ear was clear to see.

  ‘He never even got changed,’ she said. ‘He’s wearing the same clothes he wore in the station.’

  ‘He never went home,’ said Karlsson.

  Karlsson pulled a face. There was a distinct smell of shit. Hackett saw his expression and pulled the sheet back across.

  ‘It’s what happens when you hang yourself,’ she said. ‘If people knew that, it might put them off doing it.’

  Karlsson looked around. There were some windows in the old factory but they had all been blocked up long ago.

  ‘Is the area overlooked from anywhere?’

  ‘No,’ said Hackett. ‘This bit of the canal’s quiet enough and nobody comes up here.’

  ‘I guess that’s why he came here.’

  ‘He knew the game was over,’ said Hackett.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘There was a letter in his pocket.’

  ‘What kind of letter?’

  ‘We’ve got it over in the box with the rest of the stuff we found in his pockets.’ She walked over to a small blue crate and pulled out a transparent folder. ‘He had a mobile phone, packet of cigarettes, lighter, a pen and this. It was in an envelope with nothing written on the front.’

  She handed him the folder. Karlsson could read the note without opening the folder. He moved along the path out of the bridge’s shade. It was a small page torn out of a ring-backed notebook. He recognized the large looping handwriting from the signature he’d seen at the bottom of Reeve’s witness statement. It was short and easy to read: