Waiting for Wednesday by Nicci French Read Free Book Online Page A

trademark in this scene was the trademark of a basic idiot. They’re the worst kind, except when you catch them in the act.’ He paused. ‘But I’ve had a thought. There’s a couple of local shops, trinkets, cheap stuff mostly but not always. There’s Tandy’s up on the corner of Rubens Road and there’s Burgess and Son over on the Crescent. Let’s say that if someone goes in there and offers them some silverware, they don’t ask too many questions. Get someone to look in the window over the next few days. They might see something. You could take it from there.’
    Karlsson was doubtful. ‘If you’ve killed someone, you’re not exactly going to take your swag to the local jeweller, are you?’
    Curzon shrugged. ‘These clowns are addicts, not bank managers. Burgess and Son is a bit further away. That might be his idea of being clever. It’s worth a try, anyway.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Karlsson.
    On the way out of the house Curzon put his hand on Karlsson’s sleeve. ‘Can I get you out on the course? Show you what you’re missing out on?’
    ‘I’m not really a golfer. In fact, not a golfer at all.’
    ‘Or come and get a little fishing in. You wouldn’t believe how peaceful it is.’
    ‘Yes.’ Karlsson nodded. He didn’t like fishing either. ‘Yes, that would be good. Maybe when the case is over. We can celebrate.’
    ‘I almost feel guilty,’ said Curzon. ‘Showing you what you’re missing.’
    ‘Go there with Russell Lennox, if he feels up to it,’ said Karlsson to Yvette. ‘See if he recognizes anything.’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘Take young Riley with you.’
    ‘Fine.’ Yvette hesitated, then, as Karlsson turned to go, blurted out, ‘Can I ask you something?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Do you blame me?’
    ‘Blame you? For what?’ He knew what, of course – ever since Frieda had been found lying on the floor of Mary Orton’s house, in that scene of carnage, Yvette had wanted his forgiveness, his reassurance that it wasn’t really her fault.
    ‘For not taking her concerns seriously. All that.’ Yvette gulped. Her face had turned very red.
    ‘This isn’t really the right time, Yvette.’
    ‘But …’
    ‘It isn’t appropriate,’ he said. His gentleness was worse than anger. She felt like a small child facing a kind, stern adult.
    ‘No. Sorry. Tandy’s and Burgess and Son.’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Frieda took the phone out of its holster and considered it. Her eyes itched with tiredness, and her body felt hollow yet enormously heavy. The grave in Suffolk seemed like a dream now – a neglected patch of soil where the bones of a sad man lay. She thought of him, the father she had not been able to rescue. If she let herself go back, she could remember the way his hand had felt, holding hers, or breathe in his smell of tobacco and the cloves from his aftershave. His hopelessness. His heavy posture. And Dean Reeve had sat over him, with that smile.
    The cat clattered through the cat flap and she looked down at it, the two of them staring at each other. Then, still holding the phone, she walked slowly up the stairs – stairs were still hard for her – and sat on her bed, gazing out of the window at the soft grey evening that was settling over the city, making it mysterious again. At last she lifted the phone and keyed in the numbers.
    ‘Hello,’ she said.
    ‘Frieda!’ There was no mistaking the warmth of his voice.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘I’ve been thinking of you.’
    ‘Where are you now?’
    ‘In my office. Five hours behind you.’
    ‘What are you wearing?’
    ‘A grey suit. A white shirt. You?’
    Frieda looked down at her clothes. ‘Jeans and a creamy-brown jumper.’
    ‘Where are you?’
    ‘Sitting on my bed.’
    ‘I wish I was sitting on your bed too.’
    ‘Did you sleep well?’
    ‘Yes. I dreamed I was ice-skating. Did you?’
    ‘Dream I was ice-skating?’
    ‘Sleep well.’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘So you didn’t.’
    ‘Sandy?’ She wanted to tell him about her day