Waiting for Wednesday

by Nicci French

  ‘Don’t say that. Not even as a bad joke. But why have you made me come here to tell me this?’

  ‘He’s in a bad way, saying wild things. That it was you – or one of your friends.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘He claims that threats have been made against him.’

  ‘By me?’

  ‘By people close to you.’

  Frieda remembered Reuben and Josef at that dreadful meal, Reuben’s revenge fantasies and the look of hatred on his face, and her heart sank. ‘They wouldn’t,’ she said firmly.

  ‘It gets worse, Frieda. He’s spoken to the press. He hasn’t gone as far as naming names but it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘They’re inside, waiting for you.’ Briefly, he laid a hand on her arm. ‘But I’ll be there as well. You’re not on your own.’

  The commissioner – a stocky man with beetling brows and a pink scalp showing through his thinning hair – was a deep shade of red. His uniform looked far too hot for the day. Bradshaw was in jeans and a T-shirt and hadn’t shaved. When Frieda entered the room, he stared at her, then slowly shook his head from side to side, as if he was too full of pity and anger to trust himself to speak.

  ‘I’m very sorry indeed about what happened,’ said Frieda.

  ‘Sit down,’ said the commissioner, pointing to a small chair.

  ‘I’d prefer to stand.’

  ‘Suit yourself. I’ve been hearing your story from Dr Bradshaw. I’m bewildered, absolutely bewildered, as to why we ever had professional dealings with you.’ Here he turned towards Karlsson. ‘I must say I’m disappointed in you, Mal, turning a blind eye to your friend letting a possible psychopath loose.’

  ‘But he wasn’t a psychopath,’ said Karlsson, mildly. ‘It was a set-up.’

  The commissioner ignored him.

  ‘Punching a colleague. Attacking a young woman she’d never met before and forcing her to the floor, just because she stood up for her boyfriend. Stalking poor Hal here. Not to mention killing this schizophrenic young woman, of course.’

  ‘In justified self-defence,’ said Karlsson. ‘Be careful what you say.’

  Crawford looked at Frieda. ‘What have you got to say in your defence?’

  ‘What am I defending myself against? Arson?’

  ‘Frieda, Frieda,’ murmured Bradshaw. ‘I think you need some professional help. I really do.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘My wife was in that house,’ said Bradshaw. ‘And my daughter.’

  ‘Which makes it even worse,’ said Frieda.

  ‘Where were you?’ said Crawford.

  ‘I was in Birmingham. And I can put you in touch with someone who can confirm that.’

  ‘What about your friends?’ asked Bradshaw.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They’ve taken your side against me.’

  ‘It is true that I have several friends who think you acted unprofessionally and unethically –’

  ‘That’s rich,’ said the commissioner.

  ‘– but they wouldn’t do anything like this.’

  Karlsson coughed loudly. ‘I think this is getting us nowhere,’ he said. ‘Frieda has an alibi. There’s not a shred of evidence, just Dr Bradshaw’s claims, which some might believe to be motivated by malice. In the meantime, I have an interview to conduct with Mr Lennox, who is being charged with the murder of Zach Greene.’

  Bradshaw rose and came close to Frieda. ‘You won’t get away with this,’ he said, in a low voice.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Karlsson.

  Frieda walked back home. She tried not to think, just put one foot in front of the other, moving steadily through the thickening crowds, feeling the warmth of the day on her. She needed to steady herself before she was with the Lennox family again. Soon they would have neither mother nor father to turn to.

  FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Are you ready?’ said Karlsson. Yvette nodded. ‘We’ve let him stew long enough and it looks cast-iron to me. You won’t have to do much. Just keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t do anything stupid. Even I couldn’t fuck up this one, though.’

  He nodded at her and they walked into the interview room. Russell Lennox was sitting at a table and next to him was his solicitor, a middle-aged woman in a dark suit. She was called Anne Beste. Karlsson didn’t know her but he didn’t give her much consideration. What could she do? Yvette started the recording machine, then stepped away from the table and stood to one side, leaning back against the wall. Karlsson reminded Lennox that he was still under caution, then opened the file and carefully went through the forensic evidence from Zach Greene’s flat. As he talked, he glanced from time to time at Lennox and Anne Beste to see the effect he was having. Lennox’s wearily impassive expression was unchanged. Anne Beste listened intently with a frown of concentration and occasionally looked sideways at her client. They never spoke.

  When he had finished, Karlsson closed the file quietly. ‘Can you give me some innocent explanation for the traces you seem to have left at the scene of the murder?’ Russell Lennox shrugged. ‘Sorry, you have to say something. For the benefit of the machine.’

  ‘Do I have to explain it?’ said Lennox. ‘I thought you had to make the case against me.’

  ‘I think we’re doing that pretty well,’ said Karlsson. ‘One more question: have you any evidence about your whereabouts on the day of the murder?’

  ‘No,’ said Lennox. ‘I’ve told you already.’

  ‘Yes, you have.’ Karlsson paused for a moment. Then, when he spoke, it was in a calm, almost soothing tone. ‘Look, Mr Lennox, I know what you’ve been through, but haven’t you put your family through enough? Your children need to put this behind them and move on.’

  Lennox didn’t speak, just stared at the table.

  ‘All right,’ said Karlsson. ‘Let me tell you – both of you – what is going to happen. We’re going to leave the room now, Mr Lennox, and give you five minutes to discuss various issues with your solicitor. Then I’m going to come back into this room and you will be charged with the murder of Zachary Greene. I need to caution you clearly that you don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. But what I’d really like to say to you is we all, but especially you, and even more especially your family, need to lay this to rest.’

  When they were outside, Karlsson looked at Yvette and smiled grimly.

  ‘Does it matter what he says?’ she asked.

  ‘It’ll go a bit more quickly if he confesses,’ said Karlsson. ‘But it’s not that big a deal.’

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Let’s just wait.’

  After a couple of awkward minutes, Karlsson looked at his watch, then knocked on the door and stepped inside. Anne Beste held up her hand.

  ‘We need more time.’

  Karlsson stepped back outside and closed the door. ‘What the hell’s that about?’ Had something gone wrong? Could they have made some mistake?

  It was more like ten minutes when they were both back in the room. Anne Beste was briskly tapping the surface of the table with the fingers of her left hand. She glanced at Lennox and he gave the smallest of nods.

  ‘Mr Lennox is willing to admit to the manslaughter of Zachary Greene.’

  Karlsson looked at Lennox. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘I went to see him,’ said Lennox. ‘After Judith told me. I had to. I was desperate. I was just going to talk to him, but we started ar
guing and I lost control. And then he was dead.’

  Karlsson sighed. ‘You fucking idiot. Do you realize what you’ve done?’

  Lennox barely seemed to hear him. ‘What about the children?’ he said.

  Yvette started to say something, but Karlsson stopped her with a look.

  ‘Do you know where they are?’ Karlsson asked.

  Lennox leaned back in his chair. His face was dark with misery. ‘They’re all staying in that therapist woman’s house.’

  ‘With Frieda?’ said Karlsson. ‘What are they doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Mr Lennox,’ said Yvette. ‘You do understand, don’t you, that this isn’t over?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There have been two murders – Zach Greene’s, to which you’ve confessed.’

  ‘Manslaughter,’ put in Anne Beste.

  ‘And your wife’s.’

  Lennox lifted his eyes to her, then dropped them.

  ‘My client has co-operated and now he has nothing further to say,’ said Anne Beste.

  Karlsson rose. ‘We’ll talk again tomorrow. As my colleague here says, this isn’t over, Mr Lennox.’

  FIFTY-TWO

  Frieda opened her door to find Karlsson, Yvette and a woman she didn’t recognize outside. The woman forced her way inside. Ted and Judith, Dora and Chloë were sitting around the table in the living room, with mugs and plates and phones and a laptop.

  ‘Oh, my darlings, my poor, poor darlings,’ said Louise. The three Lennoxes shrank from her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Chloë put a hand on Ted’s shoulder.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Frieda asked Karlsson, who murmured a quick explanation to her. When she heard, she looked round at the young people. Her face became stern.

  ‘We want to stay here.’ Judith turned to Frieda. ‘Please? Please, Frieda.’

  ‘They’re quite welcome,’ Frieda said to Karlsson. ‘If I can do anything to help.’

  Louise put her hands on her hips, as if willing to square up to her. ‘No. Absolutely not. They’re coming home with me. That’s what they need. Children, say thank you to this woman for everything she’s done.’ She looked back at Frieda with a fierce expression. ‘They need to be with their family,’ she said, in a sort of stage whisper. Then she turned back to the children. ‘Now, we’re going back to our house, I mean my house, and this policewoman is coming with us.’

  ‘No!’ said Chloë. ‘Frieda, can’t you stop this?’

  ‘No. I can’t.’

  ‘But it’s horrible and –’

  ‘Chloë, quiet now.’

  Karlsson turned to Yvette. ‘Are you going to be all right dealing with this? It’ll be difficult.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Yvette had paled. ‘That’s what female police officers are for, isn’t it? To do the emotional stuff.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Karlsson.

  There was a chaos of bags being picked up and jackets looked for and Chloë being hugged and the three Lennoxes making their way out to Louise’s car. They got inside. It was a tight fit, with Yvette sitting in the front seat. Ted’s face stared out through the window.

  ‘This doesn’t feel right,’ said Frieda.

  ‘It’s the beginning of the rest of their lives,’ said Karlsson. ‘They’d better get used to it. Sorry. That came out wrong. But what can we do? They’ve lost their mother, and now they’re losing their father, for the time being at least. They need a family. You can’t be that for them.’

  ‘But it’s important how they hear about their father,’ said Frieda. ‘And how they’re listened to afterwards.’

  ‘You don’t think Yvette can handle it? All right. You don’t need to answer that. You’d probably be the person to do it.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘I can’t ask you,’ said Karlsson. ‘I’m sorry. Yvette may fuck it up. She probably will. But she’ll do her very best, and at least she’s on the payroll.’ He frowned. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Frieda glanced at Chloë.

  ‘What?’ Chloë’s voice was high and harsh.

  ‘I’m going to have to tell you something in a minute,’ said Frieda. ‘It’s about Ted and Judith’s father. But, first, Karlsson and I are going out for a few minutes. Is that all right?’

  ‘No! It isn’t all right. They’re my friends and I have a right to –’

  ‘Chloë.’ Frieda spoke in a quiet, warning tone that silenced her niece. She pulled on a jacket and stepped outside.

  ‘You don’t mind walking?’ she said.

  ‘I’m used to it,’ said Karlsson.

  Frieda led the way out of the cobbled mews and turned right. When they reached Tottenham Court Road, they stood for a moment and watched the buses and cars careering past them.

  ‘You know,’ said Frieda, ‘that if you move from the countryside to a big city like London, you increase your chance of developing schizophrenia by five or six times.’

  ‘Why?’ said Karlsson.

  ‘Nobody knows. But look at all this. It makes sense, doesn’t it? If we abolished cities and went back to living in villages, we’d reduce the incidence of the disease by a third at a stroke.’

  ‘That sounds a bit drastic.’

  Frieda turned south, then took a small quiet road off to the right.

  ‘I missed you today,’ said Karlsson.

  ‘But you saw me today. Remember? With Hal Bradshaw and your commissioner.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Karlsson said dismissively. ‘That was just a farce. No, when Lennox confessed, I actually expected to see you standing there with your beady-eyed expression.’

  ‘But I wasn’t. And you seem to have done all right. So what happened?’

  As they headed west, Karlsson gave Frieda a brief account of the day’s events.

  ‘Will you charge him with manslaughter?’

  ‘Probably. He hears about the relationship. Rushes round in a rage. A father’s anger. A jury would probably be sympathetic to that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ said Frieda, ‘but he didn’t find out just before he killed Zach. According to Dora, he’d known for some time.’

  Karlsson frowned. ‘Really? That’s not what he said. I’m not sure I want to know that. Oh, well, it probably won’t make much difference. He’s still an angry father. And we’ve got the pattern of behaviour. An argument escalates into violence. It’s the same thing.’

  Frieda stopped. ‘Yes. It is the same.’

  ‘You’ve got a way of saying that that makes it sound suspicious.’

  ‘No. I was just echoing what you were saying.’

  ‘We know that Lennox has a habit of turning violent. Look at him with Paul Kerrigan, we’re pretty sure that was him, and even that dealer in stolen goods. Why not his daughter’s predatory boyfriend?’

  The streetlight shone on Frieda’s face, which seemed thin and sad.

  ‘Poor kids,’ she said softly. ‘With that dreadful aunt.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what about their mother’s murder?’

  Karlsson shrugged. ‘I’m going to have another go at Lennox,’ he said. ‘Everything points to him. But it’s all so tangled. There’s so much rage and grief swilling around the whole affair, so many people who knew or might have known. It was a leaky secret, after all, for all they thought they were being so careful.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The Kerrigan boys knew,’ said Karlsson. ‘It turns out that Ruth Lennox – this cheerful, kind woman – turned a bit nasty when she discovered that Paul Kerrigan was going to leave her and she must have sent the
m a poison-pen letter. Someone did, anyway.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Frieda. ‘So that changes everything.’

  ‘They knew about the relationship and they knew who it was with. They tracked her down – the younger one even posted a nasty little message through the Lennox letterbox.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘It wasn’t in words. It was a rag doll, with its genitals cut out.’

  ‘So it was like a warning.’

  ‘Perhaps – though the wrong person picked it up, as it happens. Also, once a secret’s out, it spreads. You can’t stop it. Who else did they tell? They swear they didn’t mention it to Mrs Kerrigan – but I don’t know if I believe them. Those boys adore their mother.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  She turned on her mobile once more and scrolled down her contacts.

  ‘Agnes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Frieda here. Sorry to bother you.’

  ‘I’m in a meeting. Is this –’

  ‘It won’t take long. Did you know Sharon Gibbs?’

  ‘Sharon Gibbs? Yes. Not very well. We weren’t friends – but she lived near us and she was a year below me at school. Lila knew her. I think they hung out with the same crowd after we’d lost touch.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s what I wanted to know.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You go back to your meeting.’

  Frieda sat on the bed, looking at the blowing curtain, hearing the sound of life outside. She thought of Sharon Gibbs’s face, which had smiled at her from Fearby’s crowded wall. His voice came back to her: Hazel Barton, Roxanne Ingatestone, Daisy Crewe, Philippa Lewis, Maria Horsley, Lila Dawes, Sharon Gibbs.

  When her mobile rang, she reached out to turn it off, then saw it was Fearby calling.

  ‘Sharon knew Lila,’ she said.

  There was a pause.

  ‘That makes sense,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know that conversation I had with Lawrence Dawes?’

  ‘Yes. You seemed to be getting on pretty well.’