Waiting for Wednesday

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