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