Waiting for Wednesday

attractive, isn’t he, in a grungy kind of way? Doyou think Chloë’s in love with him? What a calamity. I mean what
happened to him. At such an age, too. Just think of it! Let’s have that
drink.’
    Billy Hunt stared up at Karlsson. His eyes
were bloodshot and he was twitchier and thinner than ever, but he wasn’t
budging.
    Karlsson sighed. ‘You’re making
life hard for us and hard for yourself. You’ve admitted breaking and entering; the
stolen items have been traced back to you; the murder weapon with your prints all over
it, and Mrs Lennox’s blood, has been found. Just admit what you did.’
    ‘Unless I didn’t do
it.’
    ‘The jury won’t believe
you.’ Karlsson stood up. His head felt tight with weariness and irritation. Now
his team would have to trawl through the evidence to put a watertight case together. The
time he wanted to be spending with his children, Bella and Mikey, would be spent instead
examining statements, going through the house again, talking to expert witnesses, making
sure the correct procedures had been followed.
    ‘Wait.’
    ‘What now?’
    ‘I wanted to say – there is somewhere
I went just before.’
    ‘Before?’
    ‘Before … you
know.’
    ‘Tell me anyway.’
    ‘Before I went to the house, where she
was.’
    ‘Mrs Lennox.’
    ‘Right. I went to another place
first.’
    ‘Which you haven’t told us
about?’
    ‘Right.’ Billy bobbed his head
up and down. ‘You’ll see why.’
    ‘Hang on, Billy. If you’re going to
change your statement, we need to do this officially. I’ll come back.’
    In the corridor, he met Riley.
    ‘Hey,’ said Riley.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ve just come from
Margaretting Street,’ said Riley. ‘We found something. Under the mat. In
fact, I found it. Munster thought you’d want to know.’
    ‘What is it?’
    Riley held up a transparent evidence sachet.
Inside was a used envelope on which was scrawled a message, written with a blunt
pencil.
    Karlsson took it and held it up:
‘Hello, Ruth, I’m here but where are you? Maybe in the bath. Give us a call
when you read this, and we can have our tea.’ At the end there was what looked
like two interlocking initials or perhaps a signature. ‘What’s
this?’
    ‘Munster thinks it’s a
“D” and an “M” but I think it’s “O” and
“N”.’
    ‘It might have been there for months.
Who’s following it up?’
    ‘DC Long, sir, and Munster. But
I’m going back there later. It’s probably not so important, though, is it,
even if it is recent? I mean, if Billy killed her, it doesn’t really matter what
time exactly she died, right?’
    ‘No, it could be important,’
said Karlsson, thoughtfully.
    ‘You’re welcome, then,’
said Riley, with a cheerful smile.
    Karlsson raised his eyebrows. ‘Just
get back to Margaretting Street,’ he said.
    Yvette Long showed the note to Russell
Lennox, who stared at it, then shook his head. ‘I don’t recognize the
writing.’
    ‘What about the initials?’
    ‘Are those initials? Is that a
“G”?’
    ‘A “G”?’
    ‘Or maybe it says Gail.’
    ‘Do you know a Gail?’
    ‘I don’t think so. Or it could
be Delia, or even Dell. I don’t know a Delia either, or a Dell. Or it could just
be a squiggle.’
    ‘Which of your wife’s friends
used to pop round during the day?’
    ‘Oh.’ Russell Lennox frowned.
‘Lots. I don’t know. She knew almost everyone in our neighbourhood. There
are her friends and then people she’s friendly with – and she helps organize the
street party every year, which means people are always coming in and out. And then there
are her friends who aren’t so local. She was very popular, my wife. I was always
amazed at how many people she kept in contact with. You should see her Christmas card
list.’ He stared at Yvette and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘I
can’t believe I’m already using the past tense,’ he said. ‘Was.
She was. As if it happened years ago.’
    ‘We’ve got her address book on
her computer,’ said Yvette. ‘We can look through that. But if you think of
anyone in the meantime –’
    ‘I thought you’d got the guy who
did it?’
    ‘We’re just crossing the
‘t’s,’ said Yvette.
    ‘I’ve been trying to remember
the last thing we said to each other. I think I said I’d be back a bit later than
usual, and then she reminded me not to forget my cousin’s birthday.’
    ‘Well,’ Yvette said
awkwardly.
    ‘At first I thought that was too
prosaic.