‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I can’t ask you,’ said Karlsson. ‘I’m sorry. Yvette may fuck it up. She probably will. But she’ll do her very best, and at least she’s on the payroll.’ He frowned. ‘Can I have a word?’
Frieda glanced at Chloë.
‘What?’ Chloë’s voice was high and harsh.
‘I’m going to have to tell you something in a minute,’ said Frieda. ‘It’s about Ted and Judith’s father. But, first, Karlsson and I are going out for a few minutes. Is that all right?’
‘No! It isn’t all right. They’re my friends and I have a right to –’
‘Chloë.’ Frieda spoke in a quiet, warning tone that silenced her niece. She pulled on a jacket and stepped outside.
‘You don’t mind walking?’ she said.
‘I’m used to it,’ said Karlsson.
Frieda led the way out of the cobbled mews and turned right. When they reached Tottenham Court Road, they stood for a moment and watched the buses and cars careering past them.
‘You know,’ said Frieda, ‘that if you move from the countryside to a big city like London, you increase your chance of developing schizophrenia by five or six times.’
‘Why?’ said Karlsson.
‘Nobody knows. But look at all this. It makes sense, doesn’t it? If we abolished cities and went back to living in villages, we’d reduce the incidence of the disease by a third at a stroke.’
‘That sounds a bit drastic.’
Frieda turned south, then took a small quiet road off to the right.
‘I missed you today,’ said Karlsson.
‘But you saw me today. Remember? With Hal Bradshaw and your commissioner.’
‘Oh, that,’ Karlsson said dismissively. ‘That was just a farce. No, when Lennox confessed, I actually expected to see you standing there with your beady-eyed expression.’
‘But I wasn’t. And you seem to have done all right. So what happened?’
As they headed west, Karlsson gave Frieda a brief account of the day’s events.
‘Will you charge him with manslaughter?’
‘Probably. He hears about the relationship. Rushes round in a rage. A father’s anger. A jury would probably be sympathetic to that.’
‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ said Frieda, ‘but he didn’t find out just before he killed Zach. According to Dora, he’d known for some time.’
Karlsson frowned. ‘Really? That’s not what he said. I’m not sure I want to know that. Oh, well, it probably won’t make much difference. He’s still an angry father. And we’ve got the pattern of behaviour. An argument escalates into violence. It’s the same thing.’
Frieda stopped. ‘Yes. It is the same.’
‘You’ve got a way of saying that that makes it sound suspicious.’
‘No. I was just echoing what you were saying.’
‘We know that Lennox has a habit of turning violent. Look at him with Paul Kerrigan, we’re pretty sure that was him, and even that dealer in stolen goods. Why not his daughter’s predatory boyfriend?’
The streetlight shone on Frieda’s face, which seemed thin and sad.
‘Poor kids,’ she said softly. ‘With that dreadful aunt.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what about their mother’s murder?’
Karlsson shrugged. ‘I’m going to have another go at Lennox,’ he said. ‘Everything points to him. But it’s all so tangled. There’s so much rage and grief swilling around the whole affair, so many people who knew or might have known. It was a leaky secret, after all, for all they thought they were being so careful.’
‘Tell me.’
‘The Kerrigan boys knew,’ said Karlsson. ‘It turns out that Ruth Lennox – this cheerful, kind woman – turned a bit nasty when she discovered that Paul Kerrigan was going to leave her and she must have sent them a poison-pen letter. Someone did, anyway.’
‘Oh,’ said Frieda. ‘So that changes everything.’
‘They knew about the relationship and they knew who it was with. They tracked her down – the younger one even posted a nasty little message through the Lennox letterbox.’
‘What did it say?’
‘It wasn’t in words. It was a rag doll, with its genitals cut out.’
‘So it was like a warning.’
‘Perhaps – though the wrong person picked it up, as it happens. Also, once a secret’s out, it spreads. You can’t stop it. Who else did they tell? They swear they didn’t mention it to Mrs Kerrigan – but I don’t know if I believe them. Those boys adore their mother.’
FIFTY-THREE
She turned on her mobile once more and scrolled down her contacts.
‘Agnes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Frieda here. Sorry to bother you.’
‘I’m in a meeting. Is this –’
‘It won’t take long. Did you know Sharon Gibbs?’
‘Sharon Gibbs? Yes. Not very well. We weren’t friends – but she lived near us and she was a year below me at school. Lila knew her. I think they hung out with the same crowd after we’d lost touch.’
‘Thanks. That’s what I wanted to know.’
‘But –’
‘You go back to your meeting.’
Frieda sat on the bed, looking at the blowing curtain, hearing the sound of life outside. She thought of Sharon Gibbs’s face, which had smiled at her from Fearby’s crowded wall. His voice came back to her: Hazel Barton, Roxanne Ingatestone, Daisy Crewe, Philippa Lewis, Maria Horsley, Lila Dawes, Sharon Gibbs.
When her mobile rang, she reached out to turn it off, then saw it was Fearby calling.
‘Sharon knew Lila,’ she said.
There was a pause.
‘That makes sense,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know that conversation I had with Lawrence Dawes?’
‘Yes. You seemed to be getting on pretty well.’
‘About being in the same line of work.’
‘Selling photocopiers and finding news. I can see the similarity.’’
‘Come on, Frieda. Don’t you get it? Being on the road.’
‘Being on the road,’ Frieda repeated dully. She felt suddenly and overwhelmingly tired. Her pillow looked plump and soft and welcoming.
‘I’m a journalist. So what do I do? I go to Copycon – that’s the company he worked for. Who’d call a company Copycon? I spoke to the area manager.’
‘Did you say who you were?’
‘You need to feel your way with these things,’ he replied vaguely. ‘Make people want to tell you stuff. And he did.’
‘What?’
‘He told me the area Lawrence Dawes covered until he retired a few months ago.’
Frieda felt clammy and sick. She could feel beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead.
‘His own daughter?’ she said. ‘All those others? Is that possible?’
‘Everything fits, Frieda.’
‘Why didn’t I know?’
‘Why would you?’
‘Because – are you sure?’
‘I’m not sure. But I know.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Near Victoria.’
‘Good. We’ve got to get hold of Karlsson.’
‘Karlsson?’
‘He’s a police officer. Quite senior.’
‘I’m not sure we’re ready to go to the police yet, Frieda.’
‘We can’t wait. What if he does it again?’
‘They’ll need more than we’ve got. Believe me, I know them.’
‘So do I,’ said Frieda. ‘Karlsson will listen. I can’t explain – but he owes me. Anyway.’ She remembered the note he’d pushed through her door. ‘He’s a friend.’
Fearby still sounded unsure. ‘Where do you want to meet?’
‘At the station.’ She looked at her radio clock. ‘In about forty-five minutes. Three o’clock. Is that good?’
‘I’ll get there as soon as I can.’