‘How did he react?’ said Frieda.
‘You mean what happened when the stone hit the glass? It shattered, that’s what. He was devastated. He’d lost his wife and it was as if I was taking her away from him all over again. At least he’d had the memory of her and there I was contaminating it.’
‘You’re sounding too much like a therapist,’ said Frieda.
‘That’s rich coming from you. How can anyone be too much like a therapist?’ He took another sip of tea. ‘The more like a therapist everyone is, the more they’re in touch with their feelings, the better.’
‘The only people who should be like therapists are therapists,’ said Frieda. ‘And then only when they’re at work. Policemen should be like policemen. So, to get back to my question, did he react in any way that was relevant to the investigation?’
Karlsson put his mug down.
‘At first he denied it absolutely and said how much he trusted her and that we’d made a mistake. Then Yvette spelled out in detail what we’d learned about Paul Kerrigan, about the flat, about the days when they met, about how long it had been going on. In the end, he saw reason. He didn’t cry, he didn’t shout. He just looked almost empty.’
‘But did you get the impression that he knew?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. How could it be possible? Ten years, eleven years. She was seeing this man, having sex with him. How did he not smell him on her? How did he not see it in her eyes?’
‘You think he must have suspected, at least?’
‘Frieda, you sit there day after day with people telling you their dark secrets. Do you ever just think that the clichés about relationships turn out to be true? What it’s like to fall in love, what it’s like to have a child, and then what it’s like to break up. The old cliché, you can live with someone for years and you realize you don’t know them.’
‘Who are we talking about now?’ Frieda asked.
‘Well, that was a bit of me, but it’s mainly about Russell Lennox. What I hoped for, obviously, was that we’d tell him about the affair, he’d break down, confess everything, case closed.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘I should have brought you.’
‘You make me sound like a dog.’
‘I should have invited you to come. As a favour. I’d like you to have been there to see his face at the moment I told him. You notice these things.’
‘But Yvette was there.’
‘She’s worse than I am and I’m bloody awful. You should ask my ex-wife. She’d say that I didn’t know what she was feeling, and I’d say that if she wanted me to know what she was feeling, she ought to tell me and … Well, you get the idea.’
‘If he could sit with you on the day of the murder,’ Frieda said, ‘and not break down, then today would be no problem for him. And I wouldn’t have been any help to you.’
‘Do you miss it?’ asked Karlsson. ‘Be honest.’
Frieda was silent for a long time.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe. Sometimes I catch myself, like when I heard about Ruth Lennox’s secret life. But I tried to stop myself.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Karlsson, with a stab of alarm. ‘You’re meant to be recovering and here I am, trying to drag you back into what nearly killed you.’
‘No! It’s not like that at all. It’s good to see you. It feels like a visit from the outside world. Some of the visits I have from the outside world are bad but this is one of the good ones.’
‘Yes,’ said Karlsson. ‘Listen, Frieda. I’ve only just discovered about that bloody scam. I’d like to wring Hal Bradshaw’s pompous neck.’
‘That probably wouldn’t help my cause.’
‘He’s got it in for you, hasn’t he? You made him look bad, and he can’t bear that and he won’t ever forget it. No wonder he’s had such a smirk on his face recently.’
‘Are you saying he set the whole thing up just to get at me?’
‘He’s capable of it. If I had my way, I’d never have to listen to his drivel about the art of crime again. Unfortunately, the commissioner is a fan.’ He hesitated, then added: ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m going to anyway. At the beginning of the Lennox inquiry, I told the commissioner that I didn’t want us to use Bradshaw any more. I thought I was making an informal suggestion, but Crawford hauled Bradshaw in and made me repeat what I’d said in front of him. There’s nothing he loves more than playing one person off against another.’
‘What’s this got to do with me?’
‘Bradshaw started slagging you off so I defended you and said he was jealous of you because you’d made him look stupid. It’s probably my fault for taunting him. I wish there was something I could do.’
‘There isn’t. And if you think of something, please don’t do it.’
‘I’m not going to have him getting his hands on the Lennox children, though.’
‘Are you going to tell them?’
‘Yes. Although perhaps their dad will do it for me. Poor kids. First their mother gets murdered, and then their whole past gets demolished. You know the son already, don’t you?’
‘I’ve met him. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I’ve got a proposition.’
‘The answer’s no.’
It was Riley who discovered all the bottles. They were in the small shed in the garden, which was full of the tiny lawnmower, spades, rakes, secateurs, a large ripped tarpaulin, a wheelbarrow, a stack of empty plastic flowerpots, old jam jars, a box of bathroom tiles. Somebody had wanted them to remain hidden, for they were pushed into a corner behind the half-used tins of paint and had been carefully covered with a dust sheet. He looked at them for a while, then went to get Yvette.
Yvette pulled them out one by one and inspected them. Vodka, white cider, cheap whisky: alcohol to get drunk on, not to give pleasure. Were they the children’s or the parents’, old bottles or recent? They looked new. They looked secret.
TWENTY-SIX
Karlsson needed to find an appropriate adult. Often an appropriate adult for a juvenile is a parent, but in the case of the Lennox children, one of their parents was dead and the other was not at all appropriate in the circumstances. He thought about asking Louise Weller, Ruth’s sister, to be present instead – but Judith Lennox said that she would prefer to die than talk about her mother in front of her aunt, and Ted had muttered about Louise getting off on the whole thing.
‘She can’t keep away,’ he said. ‘We don’t want her or her cakes or her religion. Or her bloody baby.’
So the appropriate adult was a woman nominated by Social Services, who turned up at the police station prompt and eager. She was in her early sixties, thin as a bird, bright-eyed and glittering with nervous excitement. It turned out that this was her first interview ever. She’d done the training, of course, she’d read everything she could lay her hands on and, what was more, she prided herself on her gift for getting on well with young people. Teenagers were so frequently misunderstood, weren’t they? Often, all they needed was someone to listen to them and be on their side, which was why she was here. She smiled, her cheeks slightly flushed.
‘Very well,’ said Karlsson, doubtfully. ‘You understand that we will conduct three interviews, one after the other, with each of the Lennox children. The eldest, Ted, isn’t strictly juvenile – he’s just eighteen. As you know, you’re simply there to make sure they’re properly treated, and if you feel they need anything, you should say so.’
‘Such a painful and difficult age,’ said Amanda Thorne. ‘Half child and half adult.’
‘I’ll conduct the interviews, and my colleague, Dr Frieda Klein, will also be present.’