Nicci French: Waiting for Wednesday

‘Your bath is gone away,’ said Josef. ‘While you were with your friend, Sasha, me and my friend, Stefan, we take your bath away and we take it to the dump. It was a bad plastic bath, and it was small, not good for lying in.’

‘It was very good for lying in,’ said Frieda.

‘No,’ said Josef, firmly. ‘It is gone. I have great luck. I work on a house in Islington. He spends much, much money. He cut everything out of the house and throw it in four skips and then put new things in. He is throwing out many beautiful things but the most beautiful thing is a big iron bath. I see the bath and I think of you. It is perfect.’

Frieda looked more carefully at the bathroom. Where the bath had once stood, the wall and floor were now exposed. There were cracked tiles, bare floorboards, a gaping pipe. Josef himself was covered in dust, his dark hair speckled with it. ‘Josef, you should have asked me.’

Josef spread his arms helplessly. ‘If I had asked you, you would have said no.’

‘Which is why you should have asked me.’

Josef made a gesture, palm upwards. ‘Frieda, you protect all other people and sometimes you get hurt from that. What you must do is let other people help you.’ He looked at Frieda more closely. ‘Why are you holding your pen like that?’

Frieda glanced down. She was still holding the pen in her fist, like a dagger. ‘I thought there was a burglar,’ she said. Once more she made herself take a deep breath. It had been well meant, she told herself. ‘So, how long will it take to put my old bath back just the way it was?’

Josef looked thoughtful. ‘That is problem,’ he said. ‘When we took the bath from the wall and the pipe and the brackets, there were big cracks from that. That bath was just all crap. And, anyway, it is now at the dump.’

‘This is probably some sort of crime, what you’ve done, but anyway, what happens now?’

‘The beautiful bath is now in the workshop of another friend called Klaus. That is no problem. But here …’ He gestured with his wrench at the damage and gave a sigh. ‘That is problem.’

‘What do you mean a problem?’ said Frieda. ‘ You did it.’

‘No, no,’ said Josef. ‘This is …’ He said something in his own language. It sounded contemptuous. ‘The pipe connecting here is very bad. Very bad.’

‘It always worked fine.’

‘It was just being lucky. One movement of the bath and …’ He made an eloquent gesture signifying a chaotic and destructive flood. ‘I will put a proper pipe here and make the wall good and tiles on the floor. It will be my gift to you and you will have a bath that will be your place to be happy.’

‘When?’ said Frieda.

‘I will do what must be done,’ said Josef.

‘Yes, but when will you do it?’

‘It will be a few days. Only a very few.’

‘I was going to have a bath now. All the way home I had an idea in my head of having it and what it was going to be like and how much I needed it.’

‘It will be worth the waiting for.’

My very dearest Frieda, I’m sitting in my office, thinking of you. Whatever I do, whoever I meet, I think of you. I can give a lecture, and all the time I’m talking, the words coming quite fluently from me, part of my mind is occupied with you. I can hold a conversation, cut up an onion, walk across Brooklyn Bridge, and you’re there. It’s like an ache that won’t go away, and that I do not want to go away. I was going to say I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager, but I never felt like this as a teenager! I ask myself why I’m here, when my life’s work is to make you happy. I can hear you say that happiness isn’t the point, that you don’t know the meaning of the word – but I know the meaning of the word: happiness for me is being loved by Frieda Klein.

You sounded a bit distracted on the phone this evening. Please tell me why. Tell me everything. Remember our river walk. Remember me. Sandy xxxxxxx

Commissioner Crawford frowned. ‘Make this quick,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a meeting.’

‘Is it a problem?’ said Karlsson. ‘I rang ahead before I came over.’

‘We’re all doing more with less at the moment.’

‘Which is why I wanted to talk to you about Bradshaw.’

The commissioner’s frown darkened still further. He got up, walked to the window and looked out over St James’s Park. He turned to Karlsson. ‘What do you think of the view?’

‘Very striking,’ said Karlsson.

‘It’s one of the rewards of the job,’ said the commissioner. He brushed a few specks of dust off the sleeve of his uniform. ‘You should come here more often. It might clarify your mind.’

‘About what?’

‘About running a tight ship,’ said the commissioner. ‘About being a team player.’

‘I thought it was about solving crimes.’

The commissioner took a step away from the window towards Karlsson, who was still standing beside the large wooden desk. ‘Don’t come that with me,’ he said. ‘A police force is about political influence, and it always has been. If I can’t get up the home secretary’s arse and get you the funding that you’re pissing away, you won’t be in a position to solve your crimes, any of you. I know things are tough, Mal, but these are tough times and we all have to make sacrifices.’

‘In that case, I’m willing to sacrifice Dr Hal Bradshaw.’

The commissioner looked at him sharply. ‘You mentioned him on the phone. Has he done something wrong?’

‘I met him at the Chalk Farm murder scene. He just turned up.’

‘That’s the arrangement,’ said the commissioner. ‘I know the way he works. The quicker he can get on the scene, the more use he can be to us.’

‘I think he’s a distraction,’ said Karlsson.

‘Does this have anything to do with that Dr Klein?’

‘Why should it?’

‘Dr Klein and Dr Bradshaw were treading on each other’s toes. One of them had to go. We went through a full consultation process. The fact is that your Dr Klein is not trained in the forensic field.’

Karlsson paused for a few seconds. ‘In my opinion,’ he said, ‘Dr Bradshaw does not represent good value for money.’

‘Wait,’ said the commissioner. He strode across to his desk and pressed a button. He leaned down. ‘Send him in.’

‘What is this?’ said Karlsson.

‘I don’t believe in being underhand,’ said the commissioner. ‘Things like this should be dealt with face to face.’

Karlsson turned as a young uniformed officer opened the door and Hal Bradshaw walked in. Karlsson felt his cheeks flush with anger and hoped it didn’t show. When he saw the hint of a smile on Bradshaw’s face, he had to look away.

‘Mal,’ said the commissioner. ‘I don’t believe in going behind people’s backs. Tell Dr Bradshaw what you’ve just told me.’

The three men were now standing in an awkward triangle in the middle of the commissioner’s office. Karlsson had the feeling that he’d walked into a trap.

‘I didn’t realize that talking to my boss was going behind people’s backs,’ he said, ‘but I’m happy to be clear about things.’ He turned to Bradshaw. ‘I don’t believe that your presence is helpful to the inquiry.’

‘Based on what?’

‘Based on the fact that I’m running it.’

‘That’s not enough,’ said the commissioner. ‘Dr Bradshaw’s got a track record. He appears on the Today programme.’

‘I don’t think he represents a proper use of public money.’

Bradshaw turned to the commissioner and gave a sigh. ‘I think this is a problem that you need to sort out between yourselves,’ he said.

‘No,’ said the commissioner. ‘I want it sorted out here and now.’