Waiting for Wednesday

what she actually wanted, but she did know that she felt suddenly more
alert and less jangled, as if a knob had been turned very slightly and her world had
come into clearer focus.
    The doorbell rang at ten minutes past
nine.
    ‘Hello, Frieda,’ said Karlsson.
He held out a bunch of red tulips, wrapped in damp paper. ‘I should have brought
these to you weeks ago.’
    ‘Weeks ago I had far too many flowers.
They all died at the same time. This is better.’
    ‘Can I come in?’
    In the living room, he took one of the
chairs by the empty grate. ‘I always think of you sitting by a fire,’ he
said.
    ‘You’ve only really known me in
the winter.’
    There was a silence: they were both
remembering the work they’d done together, and the way it had ended so
violently.
    ‘Frieda …’ he began.
    ‘You don’t need to.’
    ‘I do. I really do. I haven’t
been to see you since you left hospital because I felt so bad about what had happened
that I went into a kind of lockdown about it. You helped us – more than that, you
rescued us. And in return we got rid of you and then we nearly got you
killed.’
    ‘
You
didn’t get rid of
me and
you
didn’t nearly get me killed.’
    ‘Me. My team. Us. That’s how it
works. I was responsible and I let you down.’
    ‘But I wasn’t killed. Look at
me.’ She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, smiled. ‘I’m
fine.’
    Karlsson shut his eyes for a moment.
‘In this job you have to develop a thick skin or you’d go mad. But you
can’t have a thick skin when it involves a friend.’
    Silence settled around the word. Images of
Karlsson flitted through Frieda’s mind: Karlsson at his desk, calm and in control;
Karlsson striding along a road with a tight face; Karlsson sitting by the bed of a
little boy who, they thought, was perhaps dying; Karlsson standing up to the
commissioner for her; Karlsson with his daughter wrapped around his body like a
frightened koala; Karlsson sitting beside her fire and smiling at her.
    ‘It’s good to see you,’
said Frieda.
    ‘That means a lot.’
    ‘Have your children left yet?’
she asked.
    ‘No. They go very soon, though. I was
supposed to be spending lots of time with them. Then this case came up.’
    ‘Hard.’
    ‘Like a toothache that won’t go
away. Are you really OK?’
    ‘I’m fine. I need a bit of
time.’
    ‘I don’t mean just
physically.’ Karlsson flushed and Frieda was almost amused.
    ‘You mean am I in a state of
trauma?’
    ‘You
were
attacked with a
knife.’
    ‘I dream about it sometimes.’
Frieda considered. ‘And I need to tell you that I also think about Dean Reeve.
Something happened a few days ago that you should know. Don’t look anxious, I
don’t want to talk about it now.’
    There was a silence. Karlsson seemed to be
weighing something up in his mind. To speak or not to speak.
    ‘Listen,’ he said finally.
‘That boy Ted.’
    ‘I’m sorry about
that.’
    ‘That’s not what I wanted to
say. You know about the case?’
    ‘I know his mother was
killed.’
    ‘She was a nice woman, with a decent
husband, close family, good friends, neighbours who liked her. We thought we’d got
the man who did it, all simple and straightforward. It turns out that he couldn’t
have and we’re back where we started. Except that it makes even less
sense.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Frieda said
neutrally.
    ‘Dr Bradshaw has a theory.’
    ‘I don’t want to hear it,’
Frieda said quickly. ‘That’s one of the perks of being pushed
out.’
    Karlsson looked suspicious. ‘Is there
some problem with Bradshaw?’
    ‘Does it matter?’ Frieda
didn’t say anything further, just waited.
    ‘You wouldn’t come to the house
with me, would you? Just once? I’d like to discuss it with someone I
trust.’
    ‘What about Yvette?’ asked
Frieda, although she already knew she was going to say yes.
    ‘Yvette’s terrific – apart from
the fact that she let you get nearly murdered, of course. She’s my trusted
colleague, as well as my attack dog. But if I want someone to look at a house, just to
get the smell of it, have a thought or two, I’d ask you – I
am
asking
you.’
    ‘As a friend.’
    ‘Yes. As a friend.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Tomorrow morning, when the house is
empty?’
    ‘That would suit me fine.’
    ‘Are you serious? I mean, that’s
great. Shall I send a car?’
    ‘I’ll make my own
way.’
I met a neuroscientist called Gloria
today, who I think you’d like a lot (you see, I’m