She thought now about the four psychology students and their stunt, trying to separate the actual story from the fact of having been tricked and the humiliation of this being made public. She didn’t know why she couldn’t lay it to one side. It prickled in her mind, shifted and changed in its meaning. There was something that wouldn’t let her go, like a piece of string twitching in her hands. Sometimes at night, lying awake with the darkness pressing down on her, she would think of the four of them and what they had said to her. The blades opening and closing; the image of tenderness and dangerous power.
Her mobile rang in her pocket and she took it out.
‘Frieda.’
‘Karlsson.’
‘You turned your phone on.’
‘I can see why you became a detective.’
He laughed, then said: ‘You were right.’
‘Oh, good. What about?’
‘Ruth Lennox. She was too good to be true.’
‘I don’t think I said that. I said she was like an actress performing her life.’
‘Exactly. We’ve found out that she was having an affair. For ten years. Every Wednesday. What do you say to that?’
‘That it’s a long time.’
‘There’s more, but I can’t talk about that now. I’ve got to go and see the husband.’
‘Did he know?’
‘He must have done.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘I thought you’d like to know. Was I wrong?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can I come round for a drink later? I can fill you in. It can help to talk things through with someone on the outside.’
Something in his voice, the nearest he had ever come to pleading, stopped Frieda refusing.
‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously.
‘I’ll be there at seven.’
‘Karlsson –’
‘I’ll call if I’m running late.’
The Lennox family had moved back into their home. The carpet had been removed; the walls had been washed, though the bloodstains were still visible; the broken glass and scattered objects had been taken away.
When Karlsson and Yvette arrived, the door was opened for them by a woman wearing an apron. He could smell baking.
‘We’ve met before,’ said the woman, noticing Karlsson’s expression, ‘but you’ve forgotten who I am, haven’t you?’
‘No, I remember you.’ He recalled the baby in a sling, the little boy at her side, ashen with exhaustion, the girl pushing her buggy, as if she was trying to copy her mother.
‘I’m Louise Weller. Ruth’s sister. I was here on the day it all happened.’ She ushered them inside.
‘Are you staying here?’ said Karlsson.
‘I’m looking after the family, as much as I can,’ she said. ‘Someone’s got to. It won’t get done by itself.’
‘But you have children of your own.’
‘Well, of course Baby’s always here. My sister-in-law is helping out with the other two when they’re not at their nursery. This is an emergency,’ she added reprovingly, as if he had forgotten that. She regarded him critically. ‘I suppose you’re here to see Russell.’
‘You must have been close to your sister,’ said Karlsson.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You’re here helping her family, even though you have small children of your own. Not everyone would do that.’
‘It’s my duty,’ she said. ‘It’s not hard to do one’s duty.’
Karlsson gave her a closer look. He felt she was telling him who was in charge. ‘Did you see much of your sister?’
‘We live over in Fulham. My hands are full with my family and we have very different lives. We saw each other when we could. And Christmas, of course. Easter.’
‘Did she seem happy?’
‘What does that have to do with anything? She was killed by a burglar, wasn’t she?’
‘We’re just trying to build up a picture of your sister’s life. I was interested in her frame of mind. As you saw it.’
‘She was fine,’ said Louise, shortly. ‘There was nothing wrong with my sister.’
‘And she was happy in her family life?’
‘Haven’t we suffered enough?’ she said, looking at Yvette and then back at Karlsson. ‘Are you digging around trying to find something nasty?’
Yvette opened her mouth to say something but Karlsson flashed her an urgent look and she stopped herself. Somewhere out of sight, the baby began to cry.
‘I’d just got him to sleep.’ Louise gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You’ll find my brother-in-law upstairs. He has his own room at the top.’
Russell Lennox’s room was a little den at the back of the house that looked over the garden. Karlsson and Yvette could barely squeeze inside. Yvette leaned on the wall to one side, next to a poster of Steve McQueen clutching a baseball glove. Lennox was sitting at a small pinewood desk, on which was a computer. The screensaver was a family group. They were posing by a blue sea, all wearing sunglasses. Karlsson reckoned it must have been taken a few years earlier. The children were smaller than he remembered.
Before speaking, he examined Lennox, assessing his condition. He seemed in control, clean-shaven, in an ironed blue shirt, evidently the work of his sister-in-law.
‘How are you doing?’ said Karlsson.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Lennox. ‘My wife’s been murdered.’
‘And I was expressing concern. I want to know how you are. I want to know how your children are.’
Lennox replied in an angry tone, but without meeting Karlsson’s eyes. He just stared down at the carpet. ‘If you really want to know, Dora is scared to go to school, Judith cries all the time and I can’t talk to Ted at all. He just won’t communicate with me. But I don’t want your concern. I want all this brought to an end.’ Now he looked up at Karlsson. ‘Have you come to tell me about the progress of the investigation?’
‘In a way,’ said Karlsson. ‘But I also need to ask you a few questions as well.’ He waited for a moment. He wanted to do this gradually but Lennox didn’t speak. ‘We’re trying to build up a fuller picture of your wife’s world.’ He glanced at Yvette. ‘Some of it may feel intrusive.’
Lennox rubbed his eyes, like someone trying to wake himself up. ‘I’m beyond all that,’ he said. ‘Ask me anything you want. Do anything you want.’
‘Good,’ said Karlsson. ‘Good. So. Well, one question: would you describe your relationship with your wife as happy?’
Lennox started slightly, narrowing his eyes. ‘Why would you even ask that?’ he said. ‘You were here when it happened. On the same day. You saw us all. You saw what it did to us. Are you making some kind of insane accusation?’
‘I’m asking a question.’
‘Then I’ll give you a simple answer, which is, yes, we were happy. Satisfied? And now I’ll ask you a simple question. What’s going on?’
‘We’ve had an unexpected development in the inquiry,’ said Karlsson. As he spoke, he was aware of listening to himself and being repelled by what he heard. He was talking like a machine because he was nervous about what was going to happen.
Frieda handed him a mug of tea and he took several sips before putting the mug on the table.
‘Christ, I needed that,’ he said. ‘Just before I told him, I felt as though I was in a dream. It was as if I was standing in front of a large plate-glass window, holding a stone in my hand, round and solid like a cricket ball. I was about to throw it at the window and I was looking at the glass, smooth and straight, knowing that in a few seconds it would be lying on the ground in jagged pieces.’ He stopped. Frieda was sitting down again with her own mug of tea, still untouched. ‘You can see that I’m getting better. I didn’t tell you not to analyse the image, not to read hidden meaning into it. Except that I have now. But you know what I mean.’