‘Don’t think you can taunt me,’ said Frieda.
‘I’m not taunting you. I’m at a stage where I’d be grateful for any input. I’m interested in anyone who knows about things I don’t know about.’
Frieda paused for a moment. ‘Have you thought about the possibility that Joanna might have been taken by a woman rather than a man?’
Karlsson put his glass down very gently on the low table by his chair. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘The disappearance was quick,’ said Frieda. ‘Rosie Vine only lost sight of her sister for a minute or so. It doesn’t seem as if there was any fuss, any noise. This wasn’t someone being snatched on a quiet lane and thrown into the back of a van. This was a street that people walked along, with shops on it. I could imagine a little girl walking off with a woman. Taking her hand.’ Frieda imagined the scene, the little girl walking away, trustingly. Then she tried not to imagine it.
‘That’s very interesting,’ said Karlsson.
‘Don’t patronize me,’ said Frieda. ‘It’s not very interesting. It’s obvious and you must have considered it from the beginning.’
‘The idea had occurred to us,’ he said. ‘It’s a possibility. You’ve got to admit, though, you’re interested.’
‘Why are you asking me this?’ said Frieda. ‘What are you trying to get me to say?’
‘I’d like you to talk to Rose Teale. Maybe you can get to her in a way we can’t.’
‘But what’s there to get at?’ She picked up the file and flicked through it.
‘Isn’t it frustrating?’ said Karlsson. ‘When I read the statement, I have this fantasy that I could get in a time machine and be there just for a minute, just for five seconds, and then I could find out what really happened.’ He gave a sour smile. ‘That’s not the way grown-up policemen are supposed to talk.’
Frieda looked at the statement again: the little girl talking about her younger sister. She felt she was being asked to go on a journey and after she had said yes it would be too late to turn back. Was there any point to this? Was there anything she could contribute? Well, maybe. And if she could, she must.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘Really?’ said Karlsson. ‘That’s great.’
‘What I’d need,’ said Frieda, ‘are those police artists who are used for creating likenesses. Have you got that?’
Karlsson smiled and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve got something much better.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Tom Garret was visibly excited to meet someone who knew what he was talking about when he described the neurological aspects of facial recognition.
‘The old idea of the photofit was based on this primitive notion that we see faces as a collection of bits – blue eyes, a large nose, bushy eyebrows, a sharp chin – and when we put them together we have a face we recognize. But that’s not how we really see faces and that’s why photofit reconstructions look ridiculous.’
‘Not exactly ridiculous,’ said Karlsson.
‘Comical. And almost useless. As you know’ – and now he turned firmly towards Frieda – ‘the fusiform gyrus area of the brain is specifically associated with facial recognition and if it’s damaged the patient is unable to recognize any faces at all, even of close relatives. We’ve harnessed that idea in creating this program based on holistic facial recognition.’
‘Excellent.’
Frieda leaned more closely towards Garret’s monitor.
Garret continued talking about evolutionary facial composite systems and genetic algorithms until Karlsson coughed and reminded them that Rosalind Teale was sitting outside. ‘Is it all right if we stay here?’ he said.
‘That’s fine,’ said Frieda. ‘But please leave everything to me.’
Frieda had read the file and seen photographs but she was still shocked by Rose Teale’s appearance. She looked like someone who had suffered a traumatic episode the previous day, not more than twenty years in the past. Had this woman not received any help? Had she not been attended to? Rose glanced around her, at Garret, who was tapping at a keyboard and didn’t look at her; at Karlsson, who was leaning on the wall with his arms folded. When Frieda stepped forward and introduced herself, she didn’t ask questions, just let herself be led across the room and placed in a chair. Frieda sat opposite her. Karlsson had said that it might make Rose feel better to be useful. Looking at the passive, defeated woman in front of her, Frieda doubted that.
‘I’ve done everything,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried to remember. I’ve gone over and over it. There’s nothing left.’
‘I know,’ said Frieda. ‘You’ve done everything you possibly could.’
‘So why am I here?’
‘There are ways of accessing things in your mind that you don’t know are there. It’s nothing magical. More like opening an old filing cabinet that you’d forgotten about. I’m not going to ask you any questions,’ said Frieda, ‘and none of us expects anything of you. I just want you to bear with me for a moment. Can you do that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’d like us to try something. I don’t want you to think about it. Just do as I say.’ Frieda now let her voice become softer. ‘I know that you’re probably feeling tense, coming into a police station and talking to people you don’t know, but I’d like you to sit comfortably and relax as if someone was going to read you a story. I want you to close your eyes.’
Rose looked distrustful. Her eyes flickered towards Karlsson. He remained impassive. ‘All right.’ She closed her eyes.
‘I want you to think back to that day,’ said Frieda. ‘I want you to go back there and imagine yourself leaving school, walking along the pavements, crossing the road, looking at shops, people, cars. Don’t say anything. Just imagine yourself doing it.’
Frieda looked at the young woman’s face, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the flickering eyelids. She waited for a minute. Two minutes. She leaned forward and spoke even more quietly, almost in a whisper. ‘Don’t say anything, Rose. Don’t try and remember anything. I want you to do something for me. Just imagine a woman. Young or middle-aged. You decide.’ Frieda saw Rose’s features flicker in puzzlement. ‘Just do it,’ she continued. ‘Don’t worry about it. Don’t even think about it. Just think of a woman. Any woman, whoever comes into your head. Maybe she’s standing on the edge of the pavement, by the kerb. She’s just got out of a car and she’s looking around. Put her in the scene with you. Look at her. Can you do that?’
‘All right.’
‘Have you done it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wait,’ said Frieda. ‘Wait and look at her. Look at the woman who came into your head. Remember what she looks like.’
A minute passed. Frieda saw that Karlsson was frowning at her. She ignored him. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘You can open your eyes now.’
Rose blinked, like someone who had just woken and was dazzled by the light.
‘I want you to go over and sit with Tom and he’s going to show you something.’
Tom Garret stood up and gestured Rose into the chair he’d been sitting in. As she sat down, he made a questioning face at Frieda as if to ask, Is this for real?
‘Go on,’ said Frieda.
He gave a shrug. On the screen was a grid showing eighteen female faces.
‘None of them look like her,’ said Rose.
‘They’re random,’ said Tom. ‘They’re not meant to look like her. What I want you to do is to click on the six that feel most like her. You should do it quickly without thinking too hard. Don’t worry. There’s no right or wrong answer. It’s not a test.’
‘What’s the point of this?’
‘It’s just an exercise,’ Frieda told her. ‘I want to see what happens.’
Rose gave a sigh, like someone giving in reluctantly. She put her hand on the mouse and moved the cursor around.
‘None of them are like her,’ she repeated.
‘Choose the ones that are closest,’ said Tom. ‘Or the ones that are least unlike.’
‘All right.’ She clicked the cursor on one face, the narrowest, then on another, then another, until six were highlighted. ‘Is that it?’