Friday on My Mind (21 page)

‘Yes, he’s gone.’

‘He can stay,’ said Mira. ‘He can stay all the night.’

‘He’s just a friend.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Mira, laughing. She came into the room and looked around for somewhere to sit. There wasn’t anywhere.

‘We talk about you, Ileana and me.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’

‘Ileana say you running away from husband.’

‘And what do
you
say?’

‘I not sure. But now we meet Josef. Interesting man.’

Frieda stood up and started to edge Mira towards the door.

‘You wouldn’t like him,’ she said. ‘He’s Ukrainian.’

Mira looked puzzled. ‘Ukrainian not so bad. Romanian bad. Russian a bit. Not Ukrainian.’

Frieda pushed the door shut.

A homeless man had been found kicked to death and left behind a skip near King’s Cross. Karlsson thought it was one of the most depressing cases he had ever dealt with: not just that the man, whose name he didn’t know, had been so mutilated and then discarded like a piece of rubbish, but that there was no one who claimed his body, knew his identity or anything of his life, or cared that he was dead. The victim looked old but the pathologist said he was only about fifty. His possessions, which he had pushed about in a rusty old supermarket trolley, had been scattered nearby and had been found near his body; they consisted of a sleeping bag, some pieces of quilting, a few cans of white cider, a plastic bag of cigarette butts, six used-up cigarette lighters and some dog food, although he hadn’t owned a dog. Nobody had seen anything; nobody knew anything; nobody cared.

He looked at the photographs of his two children, Bella and Mikey, that were on his desk: that man had been a little kid once; a baby who had squirmed and cried and smiled. How did a life go so off the rails? ‘Poor sod,’ he muttered.

There was a knock and Yvette put her head round the door. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

‘I needed disturbing. What is it? Any new leads from the lads?’

‘No. But it’s not about that. There’s someone who wants to see you.’

‘Who?’

‘A woman called Elizabeth Rasson. I asked her what it was about but she said she only wanted to talk to you. She’s very insistent.’

‘Elizabeth Rasson?’ Karlsson frowned. ‘But that’s –’ He stopped. ‘Never mind. Send her in.’

Lizzie Rasson came through the door in a rush and stopped, looking around her as if unsure of where she was or how she had got there. She was very thin, with a sharp collarbone, and her face wore a dazed expression that Karlsson was familiar with.

‘Mrs Rasson,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

‘Lizzie,’ she said. ‘We met once. Or were in the same room. You won’t remember.’

‘I think I do.’

‘It was a long time ago. I remember you because I don’t usually meet police officers, and also because Sandy really didn’t like you.’

‘Right.’

‘Sandy’s my brother.’

‘I know.’

‘Was. Was my brother. I keep doing that. How long does it take?’

‘To use the past tense, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll probably feel strange for a long time.’

‘I’m talking so that I don’t have to say anything, if you see what I mean.’

‘I do. Please.’ He pulled out a chair and she sat down in it abruptly, her long legs folding under her. He saw how bony her shins were.

‘We were very close when we were children – there’s only fourteen months’ difference between us. We drifted apart a bit when we were adults but then this time, when he came back from America, I saw a lot of him. He wasn’t in a good way and he came to our house a lot and, well, we’re family. I was the only family he had, after …’ She bit down on her words, rubbed her face.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘You’re a good friend of Frieda’s, aren’t you?’ Lizzie continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.

‘She’s my friend, yes.’

‘Yes.’ The single syllable was heavy with bitterness. ‘That’s why Sandy didn’t like you. He thought the two of you were too friendly. He was jealous. Especially after it all ended. She treated him very badly, don’t you think?’

‘The ends of relationships are always painful,’ Karlsson said guardedly. ‘And Frieda –’

‘Yes, yes, Frieda’s a special case. Even now. Do you think she killed my brother?’

The directness of the question took Karlsson by surprise. ‘No.’

‘You mean, you don’t think she did.’

‘I mean that she didn’t.’

‘Why? Because she’s your friend?’

Karlsson blinked and pinched the top of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I suppose it comes down to that,’ he said at last.

‘Lucky Frieda, to have such friends. But you don’t sound very much like a detective.’

‘That’s because I’m not a detective in this case. You do understand that I have nothing to do with the inquiry? If you need to know anything, or if you have anything to say, you should speak to DCI Hussein. I can give you her number.’

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Why are you here, then?’

‘I’ve been thinking.’

Karlsson waited.

Lizzie wrinkled her nose and looked into the distance. ‘About the last few weeks of Sandy’s life.’

‘Go on.’

‘He was all over the place. You know Sandy –
knew
. He was quite controlled, reserved. But not in the time before he died. He kind of unravelled, if that makes sense.’

Karlsson nodded but didn’t speak. The light was flashing on his phone but he made no move to answer it.

‘He’d done something bad,’ said Lizzie.

‘What had he done?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You should speak to Sarah Hussein. It might be important.’

Lizzie made an impatient gesture with her hand. ‘I’m speaking to you. He wasn’t just troubled, he was scared.’

Karlsson leaned forward in his chair. ‘What was he scared of, Lizzie?’ he said softly. ‘Who was he scared of?’

‘No. Not like that. You don’t understand.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘He kept trying to call Frieda.’

‘Yes, I knew that.’

‘But she wouldn’t answer. He called and he emailed and she never replied.’

‘I think she believed that there was nothing to be said.’

‘No. He wasn’t pursuing her – not at the end, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t think he ever stopped loving her so when he was scared he was frantic to get in touch with her.’ Tears filled Lizzie’s eyes. ‘Frantic,’ she repeated.

‘He was calling Frieda for help?’ asked Karlsson.

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

‘I thought she killed him, so it didn’t matter. But if she didn’t, then I have to warn her, however cruel she was.’

‘Please. You have to be clearer. What are you saying?’

‘He wasn’t scared for himself. He was scared for her. He thought she was in danger.’

Karlsson stared at Lizzie Rasson. He felt a bead of sweat work its way down his temple. ‘Your brother believed Frieda was in danger.’

‘Yes.’

‘He told you that himself?’

‘Yes. But he was drunk when he told me, and when he died and Frieda was OK, I didn’t think it meant anything. Just a wild notion. But now you have to warn her. It’s the last thing I can do for Sandy.’

‘I don’t know where she is. But we need to tell Sarah Hussein.’

‘You have to warn her,’ she said again. ‘Before something terrible happens to her as well.’

After Lizzie Rasson had left, Karlsson picked up the phone and called Hussein, who listened to what he had to say in a silence so complete that he kept having to check that she was still there.

‘What do you think?’ he said, when he had finished, although he left out the part about the need to warn Frieda.

‘I think this is probably a red herring and that Frieda Klein killed her ex and that’s why she’s disappeared. If she was innocent, why would she do that?’

‘Because she was being framed.’

‘That’s a theory,’ Hussein said. ‘But it’s not one we can usefully pursue until Dr Klein is in custody.’

‘Sandy was scared Frieda was in danger. Then Sandy was killed. Doesn’t that suggest you’re looking in the wrong place for the murderer?’

‘No. It suggests that we need to find Frieda Klein and question her.’

‘But –’

‘I appreciate your concern,’ Hussein said. ‘And I hope that
you
appreciate I’m not trying to stitch up your friend but to get to the truth. That’s my job. That’s what I intend to do. And that’s what is in everybody’s best interests, including Frieda’s.’

‘Of course,’ said Karlsson.

‘So are you going to help?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Where is she? I assume that’s why Mrs Rasson came to you not me – because she thought you could let Frieda know she was in danger. I’m not entirely stupid.’

‘I never thought you were.’

‘So?’

‘I don’t know where she is.’

‘You had better be telling me the truth.’

‘I am. I don’t know.’

Karlsson didn’t know, but after he had spoken to Hussein he told Yvette he was going out for a while. Thirty-five minutes later, he was sitting in Reuben McGill’s office in the Warehouse. Reuben, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, sat on the sill of the open window and smoked.

‘Is this going to be awkward?’ he asked.

‘I’m concerned for Frieda’s safety. I need your help.’

Reuben threw his cigarette stub out of the window and turned towards Karlsson. ‘Is this a way of getting me to talk?’

‘Frieda’s in danger.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘I’m here as Frieda’s friend. I’m not on the inquiry.’

Reuben looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘What kind of danger?’

‘I don’t know. But Sandy was trying to warn her before he died.’

Reuben came away from the window and sat at his desk, his chin propped on his hands. ‘I don’t know what I can do,’ he said.

‘You don’t need to tell me where she is, but you need to tell her what I’ve told you.’

‘I don’t know where she is.’ He met Karlsson’s sceptical gaze. ‘It’s the truth. She’s disappeared.’

‘You have no way of getting in contact with her?’

‘No.’ He unfolded his hands so that they covered most of his face and closed his eyes. Karlsson waited. ‘You swear you’re not tricking me?’

‘I’m not tricking you.’

Reuben spoke slowly, reluctantly. ‘I don’t know why I’m saying this. But if anyone knows anything, Josef does. I may have done a terrible thing telling you that.’

‘I won’t get him into trouble.’

‘Frieda would never forgive you.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He’s working at a house in Belsize Park. He’s stubborn. As you know.’

‘We’ll see.’

Reuben nodded and wrote down the address on a piece of paper that he tore from the pad and handed across the desk. ‘If this goes wrong,’ he said, ‘I’ll come for you with all the weapons in my psychotherapeutic arsenal.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ said Karlsson. He took the paper and left.

He found Josef in the back garden of the house. He was with a group of men, drinking tea, smoking. Josef saw him and rose to his feet, looking wary. ‘Nothing to say.’

Karlsson took him by the arm and led him away from the group of men, who were watching them curiously. ‘There’s something you should know.’

‘You think you scare me?’

‘I’m not going to threaten you.’ He held up a hand to stop Josef interrupting. ‘I’m not going to ask if you know where she is. I’m just giving you this.’ He thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the letter he had written in the café down the road.

Josef stepped away from it as though it were a bomb that might explode in his face. ‘This is trick.’

‘What trick could it be? I am giving you a letter. It would be good for Frieda if she read it, but that’s up to you.’

‘I know nothing.’

‘Then I’m wasting my time.’ He waited a moment. ‘I’m Frieda’s friend and I have reason to believe that she’s in danger.’

‘You are police.’

‘That too. But you can still trust me.’

Josef wrinkled his face, which was grimy. There was dust in his hair and Karlsson saw that his hands were blistered.

‘You say danger,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

Josef glowered at him. ‘If I take it, then it means nothing.’

‘OK.’

He held out the letter once more and this time Josef took it. As soon as Karlsson had gone, Josef pulled out his phone. Frieda had given him her new number. He dialled it. No answer.

Frieda felt as if she was on the verge of saying goodbye to Ethan, for the moment anyway. This couldn’t go on. They got onto a bus and went upstairs to the front. Ethan stood up on the seat and stared out of the window and gave a running commentary on what he could see: people and pets and cars and bikes and houses and shops. The bus went through Elephant and Castle and down the Old Kent Road. They got out and Ethan said he was tired and that he was hungry.

‘Wait,’ said Frieda.

She took him by the hand and led him off the main road and to the right and there, improbably, as if by magic, was something Ethan had never seen before. She led him through the gate, across the cobblestones, into the stables. Two horses peered out of their stalls, looking curiously at them. Frieda lifted Ethan up.

‘You can touch,’ she said. She put out her free hand and
stroked the soft, salmon-pink skin between one of the horses’ nostrils. Ethan shook his head and leaned away. He didn’t dare touch the horses but he didn’t want to leave. Even when Frieda led him back out onto the pavement, he stared back behind him, as if he thought the stables might vanish when he stopped looking at them. Then they walked past the forge. Frieda tried to explain what a horseshoe was. Ethan just frowned. Frieda couldn’t tell whether he didn’t understand what she was saying or whether he did understand but didn’t believe it.

They continued following the tell-tale slopes and banks. Frieda noticed a broad pipe crossing the railway line. A few minutes later, she led him off into a little side-street. On the ground there were two manhole covers.

‘Do this,’ she said, and knelt on the ground and put her ear to one of them. He copied her. ‘Can you hear it?’ she said.

He sat up and nodded.

‘Do you know what it is?’ she said.

He shook his head.

‘Long, long ago there was a river,’ she said, ‘a little river. It ran through the streets and there were boats in it. And the horses, like the horses we saw, the horses drank from it. But then they hid the river. They covered it and built houses and roads on top of it. And people forgot about it. But the river is still there.’ She rapped on the metal cover. ‘That’s it, down there. It’s called the Earl’s Sluice.’

‘Sluice,’ he said solemnly.

‘That’s it. Only you and me know that it’s there and we won’t forget it, will we?’

‘No,’ he said obediently.

She stood up and held out her hand.

When they reached the Thames, Ethan put his head against the railings, as if he were trying to get at it. He seemed hypnotized.