‘Can I say something?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re someone that people tell their troubles to. Maybe you find it hard when it’s the other way round. You can say what you like to me. I’m not going to run to the newspapers.’
‘That’s kind of you.’
‘What’s troubling you about this investigation?’
‘The police think they know who it is.’
‘That’s good, no?’
‘They’ve found new evidence.’
‘What was that?’
‘Something in the room where Robert Poole’s body was discovered, something that was in his pocket when the body was found. I think they’re going to charge someone soon.’
‘Who?’ asked Harry. He took a small sip of water.
‘Now that really would be breaking a rule,’ said Frieda.
‘But you’re not happy?’
Frieda looked steadily at him. Her expression of concentration almost scared him.
‘It’s not just the investigation,’ she said. ‘The fact is, I’ve had it with all this. At first I enjoyed being involved in a police investigation. It was like an escape from my real life. But now, when I’ve been attacked by people saying, ‘What the hell is this analyst doing here?’ well, I mainly agree with them. So, I’m going to do this last thing and then I’m out of here.’
Harry smiled at her. ‘What’s this last thing?’
‘Oh, you don’t want to hear all the boring details,’ said Frieda.
‘I do,’ said Harry. ‘I’m interested in what you’re doing, in the things that make your life so complicated.’
‘All right,’ said Frieda. ‘It’s about Michelle Doyce, the woman who found the body. She’s in a psychiatric hospital down in Lewisham and she’ll probably never leave. The police have hardly bothered with her, she’s so obviously delusional. But I’ve stayed in touch with her. I’ve seen her from time to time, and just recently she’s been getting more lucid. She was terrified by the noises in the ward, all the other people, and it made her worse. But they moved her to a room on her own and she calmed down and she’s starting to talk about things.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Michelle found the body and brought it back to her room. But from what she’s started saying, I think she did more than that. I think she saw who dumped the body.’
There was a pause. With great care Harry took a piece of goat’s cheese, put it on a piece of toast, chewed it and swallowed. ‘What do the police say?’ he asked.
‘They’re not interested,’ said Frieda. ‘They’ve got their own case and they’re happy with it.’
‘So is that it?’
‘No. I’ve got to know a neurologist who’s an expert on these extreme syndromes. I’m going in with him on Monday. He’s going to give her a cocktail of medication and I’m convinced she’ll be able to tell us exactly what she saw. Then I’ll give her statement to the police and they can do the inquiry the way they should have done it in the first place, which is properly. But they’ll have to do it without me. I’m done.’
‘Why do you do this?’ said Harry. ‘You can’t do everybody’s job for them. Aren’t you just tempted to walk away now? To get your life back?’
‘And watch an innocent man go to jail?’ she said. ‘How could I possibly?’
‘The police might just manage to get the right person themselves,’ he said. ‘Otherwise they wouldn’t be called police.’
Frieda shook her head. ‘Without this, they’ll go with the case they’ve got already and move on to something else.’ She looked suspiciously at him. ‘Don’t you like goat’s cheese salad?’
‘Not much.’
‘Why did you order it?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry, anyway. You know I’m mad about you, don’t you?’
‘Harry …’
‘Don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything. You know, anyway. That’s why I’m here ordering goat’s cheese and babbling.’ He put his hand out and touched her face. She sat quite still, her eyes fixed on his. Marcus, washing espresso cups at the counter, watched them.
‘Do I stand a chance?’
‘Not yet,’ said Frieda. She shifted away from him very slightly and he sighed.
‘Why?’
‘Bad timing.’
‘But one day?’
‘I need to go now. I have a patient.’
‘Don’t go yet. Please. What do I need to do?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘No. Tell me. Give me an order.’
‘All right.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. ‘Leave me alone.’
Frieda finished work just before six. It was twilight and a damp wind was blowing through the streets. She turned up the collar of her coat, pushed her hands deep into the pockets and began to walk towards her house, which felt far off and infinitely desirable. Then someone touched her softly on the shoulder and she turned and saw Harry. ‘Were you waiting for me?’ She sounded angry.
‘I’ve been here for over an hour. I wanted to talk to you.’
‘I’m going home.’
‘Can I come along?’
‘Not this evening.’
‘All right. Can I say something to you?’
‘What is it?’
‘Not just on the street. Here – can we talk in here?’ Harry gestured towards the wasteland that Frieda looked at from her room every day. In the darkness, it seemed larger and wilder than it did when she stared down at it during the day. Weeds had sprung up; kids had made strange structures from the boards and metal sheets that the workmen had left when they’d abandoned the site. The remains of a bonfire lay near the gap in the fence where Harry stood, its embers still giving out a glowing pulse. He held back a loose part of the fence.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Frieda.
‘‘There’s a bench near here,’ said Harry, coaxingly. ‘I saw it when I walked past earlier. Just a minute, Frieda. Hear me out.’
Frieda hesitated, then stepped nimbly through the gap in the fence. Harry followed her and pulled it close.
‘Tell me.’
‘Let’s find this bench of mine.’
‘I don’t need to sit down.’
‘This way.’
They walked further into the enclosed space. There were craters in the earth; a small crane stood motionless in front of them.
‘Frieda,’ said Harry, in a murmur.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you see, my darling …’
He didn’t finish his sentence because a figure suddenly rose from the ground in front of them: an ancient man wrapped in a blanket, with a bottle in his hand and a strange rusty moan coming from his mouth.
‘He was asleep,’ said Frieda. Then, to the man: ‘I’m so sorry to have frightened you.’
He lifted the bottle to his mouth and tipped it so it was nearly vertical, drank.
‘We’re going,’ said Frieda. ‘It’s all right. We’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Lady,’ he said, and followed them as they made their way back to the fence, through the gap.
‘What was it you wanted to say sorry for?’ asked Frieda.
Harry stared at her. It seemed hard for him to speak. He looked around at the people bustling past, on the way from work, heading home or for a drink.
‘I wanted a word in private. I couldn’t come to your place, could I? Just for a moment.’
‘Not now.’
‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘It can wait.’
Forty-six
Michelle Doyce liked the hospital food. It was soft and greyish. It didn’t look like anything. There was something that tasted a bit like fish, with a thick grey sauce. But there were no bones, no shape. There was something that tasted a bit like chicken, also with a thick grey sauce, also with no bones and no shape. It never looked like it would move, like it would speak to her. She didn’t like the days. There were too many things all around her that felt like they were trying to batter at her head, colours and sounds and prickings on her skin, intertwining and tangling so that she couldn’t tell what was the colour and what was the sound. It was all just there, like a storm she was wandering around in, lost.