Nicci French: Blue Monday

‘You’re not going to turn me against him.’

‘I’m not trying to.’

‘You fucking liar.’

‘Matthew’s going to be all right,’ said Frieda. ‘I’ve just come from the hospital. I think that may be a relief to you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I think you do. But now we need to know about Kathy.’

Terry gave her habitual shrug.

‘And Joanna – what happened to Joanna, Terry? Where is she buried?’

‘Ask Dean.’

‘Very well.’

‘Where’s my tea and fag, then?’

‘I want to ask you one last thing: why did you go home?’

‘I dunno,’ said Terry. ‘Why not?’

Frieda thought for a moment. ‘I think I know.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You went to the cemetery and you saw me and you knew we’d find the boy and you phoned Dean and you knew you’d done what you could for him. Then what? Were you really going to run away? Really? What would that mean? Could you have gone on the run? Hidden for ever? Taken a new identity? If it were me, I think I would have thought about it the same way you did. The idea of it would be too tiring. I’d done what I could. I’d want to go home, even if I could only be there for a minute. I’d just want to go home.’

Terry breathed deeply. She felt in the pocket of her jeans and took out a crumpled old tissue and blew her nose loudly. Then she tossed the tissue on to the floor and stared back at Frieda. ‘You won’t get me to say anything against him,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing to say.’

‘I know.’ Frieda stood up, then knelt down and picked up the soggy tissue. ‘You needn’t add littering to your other problems.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ said Terry.

Frieda and Karlsson left the room. Karlsson sent two female officers in to watch Terry. He was starting to say something when another detective came around the corner. He was panting and could hardly get his words out. ‘Alan Dekker just called. He’s talked to Dean Reeve. He met him.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Karlsson turned to Frieda. ‘You want to come? Hold his hand?’

Frieda thought for a moment. ‘No. I’ve got something to do.’

Karlsson couldn’t stop himself smiling. ‘Is this not interesting enough for you?’

‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’

‘Is this Christmas shopping or is it something I should know about?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Frieda.

Karlsson waited but Frieda didn’t say any more.

‘Fuck it, then.’ Karlsson left.

Frieda sat down, and drummed her fingers on a table. Then she got up and walked out into the operations room. At the end there was a clink of glasses, laughter. It felt like the case was completed and celebrations had begun. She rummaged in her pocket for a notebook and flicked through it. She walked over to a desk, picked up a phone and dialled.

‘Is that Sasha?… It’s Frieda… Yes, I’m so glad I’ve caught you. I need a favour, a really big one. Can we meet?… I mean now. I can come straight over to wherever you are… Great. ’Bye.’

She slammed the receiver down. On the other side of the room, a young detective looked round and wondered what that doctor woman was doing, running across the office.

Karlsson knocked at the door and it opened almost before his hand dropped back to his side. A small, strong-looking woman stood before him, wearing old jeans and an orange jumper with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her face, bare of makeup, looked tired and anxious.

‘Carrie Dekker? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Karlsson. And this is Detective Constable Yvette Long. I think you and your husband are expecting us.’

‘Alan’s in the kitchen.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s quite upset.’

‘We just need to ask some questions.’

‘Can I stay?’

‘If you like.’

Karlsson followed her into the kitchen.

‘Alan,’ she said softly. ‘They’re here, Alan.’

He was a crumpled, distraught figure. He was still wearing his shabby duffel coat and sat slumped at the kitchen table. When he lifted his face, Karlsson saw that he looked as if he had been crying for hours, days even.

‘This is urgent,’ said Karlsson. ‘You need to tell us what happened.’

‘I told him he shouldn’t go,’ said Carrie. ‘I told him. I said he was putting himself in danger.’

‘I wasn’t in any danger. I told you. We met in a crowded place. It was only for a few minutes.’ He gulped. ‘It was like looking in a mirror. I should have told you. I know I should. A few weeks ago, I had no idea he even existed. I had to see him. I’m sorry.’

He was visibly trembling and there were tears in his eyes again. Carrie sat beside him and took one of his hands between her own. She kissed his knuckles and he leaned his big, heavy head towards her. ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ she said.

Karlsson saw how she protected him, motherly and tender. ‘What time did he call you?’

‘What time was it, Carrie? About nine, maybe a bit before. I heard they found the little boy.’

‘It was partly down to you.’

‘I’m just glad I could do something.’

‘When he called you, what did he say?’

‘He said we had to meet. That he didn’t have long and it was our only chance. He told me he wanted to give me something.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘Yes.’ It came out in a mumble. ‘I had a feeling that if I didn’t, then I would never see him. That it was my only chance and if I passed up on it I would regret it for the rest of my life. Does that sound stupid?’

‘Do you have the number he called on?’

‘It was a mobile,’ said Carrie. ‘After Alan left, I did a 1471 and wrote it down.’ She passed over a scrap of paper, which Karlsson gave to DC Long.

‘Where did you arrange to meet?’

‘On the high street. He was already there, he said. By the old Woolworths. It’s closed and boarded up now. He said he’d look out for me. Then I told Carrie.’

‘You had to, didn’t you? I heard you talking on the phone anyway. I was going to go with him. I wanted to but he said his brother might not talk to him if I was there. So I let him go but not until he’d promised to phone me every five minutes. I had to know he was safe.’

‘What time did you meet him?’

‘I walked slowly. I felt sick all the way there. About ten minutes.’

‘Was he there?’

‘He came up behind me. Took me by surprise.’

‘What was he wearing? Do you remember?’

‘An old leather jacket. Jeans. A woollen hat, kind of greeny-brown colour, I think, which covered his hair.’

‘Go on.’

‘He called me bro. He said, “Well, bro, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Like it was a joke.’

‘What else?’

‘Then Carrie rang me on my mobile and I told her it was all OK and I was safe. I said I’d be back as soon as I could. After, he said – sorry, love – he said, “Are you a bit henpecked, bro? You don’t want a nagging wife, you know. They’re the worst, trust me.” He said he wanted to have a look at me. And he wanted to give me something.’

‘What?’

‘Hang on.’

Karlsson watched Alan retrieve a canvas holdall from under the table. It was obviously heavy and it clinked. He put it on the surface between them.

‘He wanted me to have his special tools,’ he said. ‘I haven’t looked at them yet.’

He started pulling at the zip with thick fingers.

‘Don’t touch them,’ said Carrie, sharply. ‘Don’t go touching anything that belonged to him.’

‘It was a gift.’

‘He’s wicked. We don’t want that in the house.’

‘I’ll take them,’ said Karlsson. ‘Did he say anything else?’