‘What do I think? What do you know?’
‘We can construct a very plausible scenario. Someone – a man wearing size forty-one shoes – entered. Presumably he was let in by the victim, but we can’t be sure. There was no sign of a forced entrance. They had some kind of a struggle in the hall, then went into the bedroom where the victim was bludgeoned to death with a weapon as yet unfound. The perpetrator must have got splashed with the victim’s blood and he wiped himself with the cloth and flung it into the bin. I take it he was feeling unsteady by then. He leaned against that wall, leaving several very satisfactory fingerprints. Then he left.’ Tate beamed at them. ‘There.’
‘And the fingerprints belonged to?’
‘Russell Lennox.’ Tate’s triumphant smile faded. ‘Aren’t you impressed?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I really am. But there’s being careless and there’s being really careless.’
‘You know all about that, Mal. Murderers are almost always in an almost psychotic state because of the stress. They suffer memory loss. I’ve found wallets, jackets at crime scenes.’
‘You’re right,’ said Karlsson. ‘I’m not going to say no to a clear result.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Tate.
FORTY-SEVEN
When Frieda and the Lennox children had arrived at her flat, it was far from the calm place of refuge she had wanted for them. Instead, it felt like a battle zone. Shoes of all shapes and sizes lay in the hall, with coats piled up by the banisters; bags and satchels, spilling their contents, led into the living room. Music was playing loudly. The air was thick with the smell of cooking: onions, garlic, herbs. She had to pause for a moment and take a few deep breaths. She felt as if she had led them all on stage. She heard loud voices, the rattle of glasses, like a party. As she stepped into the living room, Josef and Chloë looked up. She saw the bottle of wine on the table, the glasses, a bowl of nuts.
‘It’s all right,’ said Chloë. ‘Reuben’s making supper. I thought it would be nice for you not to think about it for once. He says it’s his speciality. Oh, hi, Ted!’ She blushed and smiled.
Then the door opened and Reuben peered round, his face flushed and beaming. Drunk, thought Frieda. Drunk as a lord.
‘Hello, Frieda. I thought we all needed a slap-up meal and since you won’t come to me I thought –’ He noticed the Lennoxes bunched in a corner, dazed and scared. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realize. You must be the poor kids whose mother died.’
‘Yes,’ said Judith, faintly. Dora started to snivel.
‘Very tough,’ said Reuben. ‘Very very very tough.’ He lurched a bit. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But for now, I’ve made enough for an army. The more the merrier. And the food is ready.’ He gave a sweeping bow and winked at Judith.
‘I don’t think it’s the right night,’ Frieda said firmly. ‘We need to have a bit of quiet here. I’m sorry.’
His expression curdled. He glared at her and raised his eyebrows, ready to pick a fight.
‘Don’t be mean, Frieda!’ Chloë was indignant. ‘He’s been working for hours on this. You don’t mind, do you, Ted?’ She put a hand on his shoulder and he stared at her with stupefied eyes.
‘Nah. It’s OK,’ he said listlessly. ‘It doesn’t really matter one way or another.’
‘I don’t think –’ began Frieda.
‘Great!’
Josef had already laid the table with unfamiliar plates that Frieda never used. He must have found them at the back of a cupboard. But when he laid them out on the table, it added to her impression that she was a guest in her own house and a stranger in her own life. He filled tumblers with water from a jug. Then Reuben drew a large blue casserole dish from the oven, his hands swathed in two tea-towels. Frieda already knew what it was. Reuben’s speciality, his fallback dish, his comfort food, ever since she had known him, was a particularly hot, spicy and meaty chilli con carne. When he triumphantly lifted the lid, the sight of the meat and the purple kidney beans almost made her gag.
‘This was the meal I used to cook as a student,’ he said, to Chloë. ‘You’ll need to build up a few dishes for when you go to college. And you’re a bit peaky, if I may say so,’ he told Judith. ‘Red meat is what you need!’
‘You didn’t make a salad as well, did you?’ Frieda asked.
Reuben left the room and returned with a fairly small green salad. He ladled the chilli on to the plates and passed them round. When he had finished, he poured wine into the glasses.
Chloë took a mouthful of chilli, flinched and coughed. ‘It’s really hot,’ she said, with a gasp. She took a gulp of water.
‘Water only makes it worse,’ Reuben said. ‘Wine’s better.’
Josef took a large forkful and munched. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Feel it in the chest.’
Frieda toyed with the food. She took a salad leaf in her fingers and put it into her mouth. Ted drank a glass of wine as if it was water and, without asking, poured himself another. Dora simply stared at her plate and then at Frieda with her huge beseeching eyes.
Judith prodded the greasy pile in front of her. ‘It’s very nice, but I think I’m going to go and lie down,’ she said. ‘Can I lie on your bed for a bit?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve been having revenge fantasies about that bastard Hal Bradshaw,’ said Reuben, loudly and cheerily, as Judith left the room.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Chloë, looking anxiously at Ted.
‘He’s the bastard that conned me and Frieda and set us up to public ridicule. I keep imagining different scenarios. Like I’m walking past a lake and I see Bradshaw drowning and I just watch him as he sinks below the surface. Or I come across the scene of a car accident and Bradshaw is lying on the road and I just stand and watch him bleed out. I know what you’re going to say, Frieda.’
‘I’m going to tell you to be quiet right now.’
‘You’re going to tell me that fantasies like that aren’t very healthy. They’re not therapeutic.’ He stressed the last word as if there was something disgusting about it. ‘So what do you think?’
‘I think it might be a better revenge fantasy if you rescued Bradshaw from drowning. Or staunched his bleeding. And I think you’ve had too much wine and this is not the night.’
‘That’s not much fun,’ said Reuben.
‘No,’ chimed in Ted. His cheeks were blotchy and his eyes bright. ‘Not fun at all. Revenge should be bloody.’
‘A dish served cold,’ announced Chloë. ‘We’re doing it for GCSE.’
‘Staunched?’ said Josef. ‘Served cold?’ He was drunk too, decided Frieda.
‘I’ve been planning a real revenge with Josef,’ said Reuben.
Frieda looked at Josef, who had just taken a mouthful. He made an effort to chew and swallow it.
‘Not the planning so much,’ Josef said. ‘The talking.’
‘There are things builders know how to do,’ Reuben continued, apparently unaware of the tangible air of distress in the room. ‘Josef can gain entry. You hide shrimps inside the curtain rails and behind the radiators. When they start to rot, the smell will be staggering. Bradshaw won’t be able to live in his own house. Then there’s more subtle things you can do. You can loosen a water-pipe connector beneath the floorboards, just a little, just so there’s a drip of water. That can cause some serious damage.’
‘That’s awesome,’ said Ted, in a loud, harsh voice. His eyes glittered dangerously.
‘This is just a fantasy you’re talking about,’ said Frieda. ‘Right?’
‘Or I could do worse than that,’ said Reuben. ‘I could tamper with the brakes on his car – with Josef’s help, of course. Or torch his office. Or threaten his wife.’