Nicci French: Blue Monday

Yvette Long looked at Karlsson and frowned.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Your tie,’ she said. ‘It’s not straight.’ She leaned forward and adjusted it.

‘You need to look your best for the cameras,’ she said. ‘You’re a hero. And Commissioner Crawford’s going to be there. His assistant just phoned. He’s very pleased with you. The press conference is going to be a big one. They’ve got an overflow hall.’

His mobile vibrated on the table. His ex-wife had left several messages asking him when the hell he was going to collect his children, each one angrier than the one before.

‘We’ve got the little boy back,’ said Karlsson. ‘That’s all they really care about. Where’s Terry Reeve?’

‘She’s just arrived. They’ve put her downstairs.’

‘Has she said anything about Kathy Ripon?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I want two officers with her every second.’

He picked up his phone and wrote a text message:

Sorry. Call soon

pressed ‘Send’. Perhaps she would hear the news and understand, but he knew it didn’t work like that: there were other people’s children, and then there were your own. An officer put her head round the door and said that Dr Klein had arrived. Karlsson told the officer to send her straight in. When Frieda came in, he was startled by the fierce gleam in her eyes and recognized in it his own elated weariness, which made the idea of sleep impossible.

‘How is he?’ he said.

‘He’s alive,’ said Frieda. ‘He’s with his parents.’

‘I mean, will he recover?’

‘How do I know?’ said Frieda. ‘Young children are surprisingly resilient. That’s what the textbooks say.’

‘And you did it. You found him.’

‘I found one, and I gave one away,’ said Frieda. ‘Forgive me if I don’t dance with joy. You’ve got Terry Reeve.’

‘She’s downstairs.’

‘I passed the mob on the way in,’ said Frieda. ‘I half expected them to be carrying pitchforks and flaming torches.’

‘It’s understandable,’ said Karlsson.

‘They should be back looking after their own children,’ said Frieda. ‘Where did you find her?’

‘At her home.’

‘Her home?’ said Frieda.

‘We were watching it, of course,’ said Karlsson. ‘And she came home and we arrested her. Simple as that, no brilliant detective work involved.’ He gave a grimace.

‘Why would she go home?’ Frieda was asking herself rather than Karlsson. ‘I thought they’d have a plan.’

‘They did have a plan,’ said Karlsson. ‘You stymied it when you saw her at the cemetery. She called him. We know that. We’ve got her phone. She phoned him. He got away.’

‘So why didn’t she?’ said Frieda. ‘And why did she go to the cemetery?’

‘You can ask her yourself,’ said Karlsson. ‘I want you to come in with me.’

‘I feel I ought to know already,’ said Frieda. ‘What is it that lawyers say? You should never ask a question if you don’t already know the answer.’

‘We need to ask a question that we don’t know the answer to,’ said Karlsson. ‘Where’s Kathy Ripon?’

Frieda sat on the corner of Karlsson’s desk. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about that,’ she said.

‘You had a bad feeling about Matthew,’ said Karlsson.

‘This is different. They wanted a son. They saw him as a child. Even when they got rid of him, they didn’t kill him. They hid him away, like a child being left in the woods in a fairy story.’

‘They didn’t leave him in the woods. They buried him alive.’

‘Kathy Ripon is different. She wasn’t part of the plan. She was just an obstacle. But why did Terry go to the cemetery? And then why did she go home?’

‘Maybe she wanted to see if he was dead,’ said Karlsson. ‘Or finish him off. And maybe she wanted to collect something from home before escaping. She may have been checking ahead for her husband. To see if the coast was clear.’ Karlsson saw that Frieda’s hands were trembling. ‘Can I get you something?’

‘Just some water,’ said Frieda.

Karlsson sat and watched while Frieda drank a polystyrene cup of water and then they both drank cups of black coffee. They didn’t speak.

‘Are you ready?’ he said finally.

Terry Reeve was sitting in the interview room staring in front of her. Karlsson sat opposite her. Frieda stood behind him, leaning against the wall next to the door. It felt surprisingly cool against her back.

‘Where’s Katherine Ripon?’ said Karlsson.

‘I haven’t seen her,’ said Terry.

Karlsson slowly unstrapped his wristwatch and laid it on the table between them. ‘I want to make the situation clear to you,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you have some idea in your head that you’re going to face some little charge like reckless endangerment and get a nice little sentence, out in a couple of years for good behaviour. I’m afraid it’s not going to be like that. This is a soundproofed room, but if we took you out into the corridor, you’d be able to hear a crowd of people shouting and they’re shouting about you. There’s one thing we don’t like in Britain, and that’s people who harm children or animals. And there’s another thing, and Dr Klein here would probably consider it sexist, but they particularly hate women who do it. You will get a life sentence and if you think it’ll be all pottery classes and readers’ groups, then think again. Prison’s not like that for people who’ve done things to children.’

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?’