Frieda Klein 2 - Tuesday's Gone (38 page)

It occurred to Frieda that, for a man who
liked rest, he had chosen a very restless partner in Olivia, and he must have sensed
something of this because he suddenly said, ‘Olivia has been good for
me.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Frieda.
She excused herself for a moment and went into the hall to make a call to Chloë.
The phone rang and rang and then switched to voice mail. She ended the call and was
about to turn her mobile off again, when it vibrated in her hand.

‘Frieda?’

‘Yes. Where are you,
Chloë?’

‘What do you mean, where am
I?’

‘I mean, where are you?’

‘I’m at home. Why?’

‘At home?’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘I thought you were out.’

‘What are you talking
about?’

‘This is ridiculous. Hang
on.’

She ran up the stairs and knocked on
Chloë’s door, which opened a crack on to Chloë’s bewildered
face.

‘What? Frieda? I don’t get
it.’

‘I was downstairs. I’ve been
here since six. Olivia thought you were out.’

‘Yeah, well.’

‘You’ve been here all the
time?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why didn’t
you let Olivia know you were in?’

‘She didn’t ask. I didn’t
think she’d be interested.’

‘When did you get back from
school?’ Frieda looked at her niece’s sullen expression. ‘Did you go
to school?’

‘I had a headache.’

‘Does your mother know?’

A shrug. The door opened a bit wider. Frieda
could see the litter of the room. ‘Did you go yesterday?’

‘What is this? Interrogation
time?’

‘Did you?’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t feel like
it.’

‘When did you last go?’

‘Monday. For a bit.’

‘And Olivia doesn’t know about
this?’

‘Not until you tell her.’

Frieda paused. She looked at
Chloë’s face and the dim, jumbled interior of her room. ‘You’re
going to school tomorrow,’ she said. ‘In the evening, I’ll collect you
from here at seven o’clock and take you for a meal somewhere and we can talk. All
right?’

Another shrug.

‘Chloë?’

‘‘K.’

‘And you’ll promise to go to
school?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Have a shower now. Put on some clean
clothes, do a bit of work and then come downstairs and have a meal with your mother. All
right?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Chloë, I’m
serious.’

‘OK. Is he
here?’

‘Kieran?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s in the kitchen, mending
Olivia’s broken china. Why? Don’t you like him being here?’

‘She forgets about me even
more.’ She added grudgingly, ‘He’s all right, though. He pays
attention.’

‘Right. Shower. Meal. Work. Up in the
morning at a proper time – I’ll call you to make sure you are – and then off to
school. Be waiting for me at seven.’

As she went downstairs, she heard
Olivia’s thin, violent screech of laughter from the living room and Harry’s
steadying voice in response. The door opened as she came into the hall.

‘All done for now,’ said Harry,
cheerfully. ‘I think we’ve made some headway.’

‘Good.’ She turned to Olivia.
‘Chloë’s upstairs in her room.’

‘Is she? Mysterious child!’

‘She needs a proper supper.’

‘Kieran’s cooking.’

‘Cooking for three, then. And pay her
proper regard.’

Olivia made a face at Harry. ‘See how
scary she is!’

Harry put on his coat. ‘Are you
leaving now?’ he asked Frieda.

‘Yes. We can go together. Bye,
Olivia,’ she added, cutting Olivia off mid-exclamation.

They walked in silence down the street, and
when they came to the main road, Frieda said, ‘There’s a bar just along the
street that’s OK.’

Harry ordered a glass of red wine for
himself, a ginger
beer for Frieda, and they sat at a table in the
corner. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Family stuff,’ she said.

‘I gathered.’

‘Are her finances in a dreadful
state?’

‘I’ve seen worse. That’s
not what I wanted to say.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve been thinking about
you.’ He held up a hand before she could speak. ‘Not just about what I feel
– that’s not what I want to talk to you about. I don’t want to be oppressive
in any way. I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been going through
recently. I get the impression you’re not good at confiding in people, but I know
you’ve been having a rough time with everything that’s been going on, and I
think you’re being extraordinarily strong and impressive about it, and I would
very much like to help if I can. If only by being someone you can turn to, talk
to.’ He sat back and ran his hand over his brow in self-mockery. ‘There.
It’s not often I speak without irony for more than one sentence.’

‘Thank you,’ said Frieda,
simply.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘What do you know about my rough
time?’

‘The complaint against you, and that
book, then all the awful stuff in the papers.’

‘It’s been worse for other
people.’

He took a small sip of his red wine.
‘And you finding that poor woman’s body.’

‘How did you know that?’ Frieda
asked.

‘Sorry. Olivia told Tessa and Tessa
told me.’

‘How did Olivia know?’

‘I think her daughter told her. But
before you ask, I’ve no idea how she knew.’

‘I see.’

‘I haven’t been spying on you.
It was hard to avoid.’

‘I understand that.’ She looked
at him and he didn’t drop his eyes.

‘How do you deal with it
all?’

‘I’m not sure that I really
do.’ She twisted her glass round. ‘It’s like winter. I just trudge
through, head down, and hope that spring won’t be delayed.’

That was it, she thought, the Frieda Klein
method of survival, but not one she would recommend to her patients or her friends.

‘You just endure.’

‘I just try to endure.’

‘And if you can’t?’

‘I don’t have a
choice.’

Was that true? There had been times in her
life that she had been so engulfed by darkness that she had had to grope her way through
it, blindly, without hope and without expectation. ‘You just keep going because
you keep going.’ Who had said that to her? Her father, and look at him, after
all.

‘If you feel you can’t, remember
there are people who would like to be there for you.’

‘You hardly know me.’

‘I know enough.’

She lifted her glass and took a fiery sip.
‘I’m fine, really. Just a bit tired.’

‘Is it this case?’

‘Partly.’ She frowned to
herself, then continued, ‘When I first got involved with the police, it was
because of the disappearance of a child. Two children, in fact.’

‘I know,’ said Harry. ‘I
read about it.’

‘That was a crime everybody wanted to
solve. It’s different
with this man, Robert Poole. All we know
about him is that he cheated people and exploited them. As your sister noticed, though
she seemed to be the only one who did. I think what they mainly feel is that he’s
not worth the trouble. Mainly they wish the case would just go away.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I suppose I’m discovering that
the police are like everybody else. There are some parts of their work that interest
them more than others.’

‘That reminds me of my cleaner,’
said Harry. ‘She’s from Venezuela. She loves dusting and she loves putting
things into piles. What she doesn’t like is washing the really nasty bits behind
and under things.’

Frieda smiled. ‘In that analogy,
Robert Poole is the bit behind the fridge that you can’t be bothered to wash
because it means you have to move it.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever
even thought of cleaning behind my fridge.’

‘But when you
do
move the
fridge,’ said Frieda, ‘you’ll find something strange or something
really important that you lost years ago.’

Harry looked puzzled. ‘Are we talking
about cleaning now or is this something more profound?’

‘That’s probably enough of the
fridge comparison.’

He touched her hand. ‘That stuff in
the paper about Janet Ferris and Bob Poole: I’m sorry about it. You don’t
deserve it.’

‘I wonder,’ said Frieda
musingly. ‘But thank you. I must go now. It’s been a long day. I’m
grateful to you, Harry.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said softly.
‘Will you be in touch?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’

He watched her as she rose from her chair,
gathered up
her coat and bag, and walked with her swift, decisive
steps from the bar. Outside, she passed by the window but didn’t turn her head
towards him. He sat for a while after she had left, taking time over the last of his
wine, thinking about Frieda’s face.

The Kerseys’ house was in Highgate,
near the top of the hill. It was large and old, with gabled windows, uneven stone floors
and low ceilings. From the kitchen where she sat, Frieda could see London spread out
beneath her. An ancient spaniel lay curled near the fire. It twitched in its sleep and
occasionally gave piteous murmurs. Frieda wondered what dogs had nightmares about.

‘Mervyn was going to be here as well,
but at the last moment something came up. Well, actually, he just couldn’t face
it.’ She grimaced at Frieda. ‘He’s taken this so hard. He feels it was
his fault.’

‘What, exactly?’

‘Everything that happened with Beth.
That’s being a parent for you, of course. Do you have children?’

‘No.’

‘You blame yourselves, of course you
do. Anyway, it’s just me.’

‘Just you is fine. Thank you for
seeing me. I work with Detective Chief Inspector Karlsson. I’m a doctor, not a
detective.’

‘What kind of doctor?’

‘I’m trained as a psychiatrist
but I work as a therapist.’

Frieda was used to the expressions that
crossed people’s faces when she said this, but Lorna Kersey’s suggested
something different – a flicker of anticipation, watchfulness.

‘Did your detective want you to talk
to me because Beth was disturbed?’

‘Would you say your
daughter was disturbed?’ Frieda asked. ‘Rather than simply unhappy and
confused?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never
known. I ask myself all the time. Was it because of her childhood? Were we bad parents?
Did she need medical help or did she need understanding and kindness? I don’t
know. I don’t know what the word means to people like you.’

‘Your daughter received treatment. Is
that right?’

Lorna Kersey waved a hand in the air.
‘We were desperate. Counselling, therapy, drugs, you name it.’ She pinched
the top of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, sharply, and closed her eyes for a
moment. ‘I hate to think of her out there, alone,’ she said. ‘I
can’t begin to tell you how much I hate it. The thought of what she’ll
do.’

‘Do you mean to herself?’

‘Well, yes. That too.’

‘To other people?’

‘I don’t know! I haven’t
seen her for so long. I never thought she could manage on her own. I can’t imagine
what she’s doing or how she is.’

‘What kind of drugs was she
on?’

‘Why does that matter?’

‘What were they for? Were they
anti-depressants?’

‘I can’t remember their
name.’

‘But were they because she was
depressed, or were they for something else?’

Lorna Kersey laid her hands flat on the
table in front of her and stared at them. Then she looked up at Frieda. Her eyes seemed
sore behind her round glasses. ‘She had these episodes,’ she said.
‘I’m an expert now. I’ve read the books, I’ve talked to experts.
You’re not meant to say, “She’s a schizophrenic.” You say,
“She had schizophrenic episodes.” That’s meant to make us feel better.
Either way, they were terrifying.’

‘I know,’ said
Frieda.

‘No,’ said Lorna Kersey.
‘If you don’t have a child, you can’t know.’

‘We’d like to try and help you
find her.’

‘You think she may have killed
him?’ whispered Beth’s mother. ‘You think my Beth may have murdered
him?’

‘I’m not a detective.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘We need to find her for
you.’

‘Are you ready for this?’ said
Karlsson.

‘How do you mean?’ said
Frieda.

‘I’m just trying to be
encouraging. Wyatt’s got his lawyer with him. Don’t let him put you
off.’

‘Put me off what?’

‘Nothing,’ said Karlsson.
‘I didn’t mean anything. Just be yourself. Remember, this is what you do,
what you’re good at.’

‘What you want,’ said Frieda,
‘is for me to get Frank Wyatt to confess to killing Robert Poole.’

Karlsson held up his thumb and first finger,
almost touching. ‘We’re this close to having the evidence to charge him.
This close. But, yes, it would be helpful. I should warn you. I’ve just spent an
hour with him. I dangled the idea of a manslaughter charge in front of him. I said he
might even get a suspended sentence. But he’s not biting. So, it would be nice if
you could work your magic on him.’

‘I’m interested in talking to
him,’ said Frieda. ‘But I don’t want you to get your hopes
up.’

‘No pressure,’ said Karlsson, as
he opened the door and led her into the interview room. Frank Wyatt was sitting at a
table. The jacket of his grey suit was draped over the back of his chair. He was wearing
an open-necked white shirt. Beside him was a man dressed in a suit and tie. He was
middle-aged, and not so much balding as thinning. His pale scalp showed through his
short dark hair. As the door opened, they drew apart from each other, as if they had
been caught saying something embarrassing.

‘Mr Joll,’
said Karlsson, ‘this is my colleague, Dr Klein.’ He waved Frieda towards the
chair opposite the two men, then went and stood to one side, slightly in the background,
so that Frieda felt he was looking over her shoulder, checking on her. As Frieda
arranged herself on the chair, Karlsson stepped forward and pressed a button on the
sound recorder on the table. She saw a digital counter but she couldn’t read the
figures.