Free Frieda Klein 2 - Tuesday's Gone by Nicci French Page B

two. He
     wanted to co-operate fully with any investigation. Did they know, for instance, that
     kids came to get their drugs here – and that means
kids
, no more than fourteen?
     It wasn’t right. He knew he wasn’t one to talk, but those days were in the
     past for him; he’d served his time and cleaned up his act and was going straight
     now; he just wanted to help.
    ‘I see that,’ said Karlsson,
     gravely. He’d spent enough time in the Met to recognize a crack addict. ‘Can
     you tell us anything about Michelle Doyce?’
    ‘Her? She avoided me. I try to be
     friendly – but with this lot, it’s hard going. The first time I saw her she wanted
     to give me tea, but she changed her mind. I think it was Buzz. She didn’t like
     you, did she, Buzz?’ Buzz growled and saliva poured from his open jaws. The
     radiator trembled. ‘She wasn’t here much, always out looking for stuff. I
     once saw her down on the riverbank, when the tide was out picking things up from the
     mud.’
    ‘Did you ever see her with
     anyone?’
    He shook his head. ‘I never heard her
     speak much either.’
    ‘The men who used Mr Metesky’s
     room, did they ever go into the rest of the house?’
    ‘I know what you’re getting
     at.’
    ‘Then answer the question.’
    ‘No. They didn’t.’
    ‘Not into Michelle Doyce’s
     room?’
    ‘She kept herself to herself. Quite a
     sad kind of lady, if you ask me. Why else would she end up in this dump? You
     wouldn’t be here if you had anywhere else to go, would you?Except I’ve got my dog, eh, Buzz? We keep each other company.’
    An unearthly sound came from Buzz’s
     barrel chest, and Karlsson could see the whites of his rolling eyes.
    Frieda walked over Blackfriars Bridge,
     stopping in the middle to look west towards the London Eye and Big Ben, then east at the
     smooth dome of St Paul’s, everything flickering and dissolving in the falling
     snow, which was turning to slush on the pavements. Then she moved swiftly, trying to
     throw off a feeling of dread and dejection, not pausing at Smithfield Market or in St
     John Street, and at last she was in Islington, standing in front of Chloë and
     Olivia’s house, five minutes early for her niece’s chemistry lesson. She
     knocked and heard feet running to the door. Chloë had grown taller and thinner over
     the past few months, and her hair was cut dramatically short; it stood up in uneven
     tufts and Frieda wondered if she’d done it herself. She had kohl smudged round her
     eyes and there was a new piercing in her nose. She had a fading love bite on her
     neck.
    ‘Thank goodness you’re
     here,’ Chloë said dramatically.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Mum’s in the kitchen with a
man
.’
    ‘Is that such a crisis?’
    ‘She found him on the
     Internet.’
    ‘Is that a problem?’
    ‘I thought at least you’d be on
     my side.’
    ‘I didn’t know there were
     sides.’
    ‘I’m not a patient,
     Frieda.’
    Frieda wiped her feet on the mat and hung
     her coat on the hook. She stepped into the wild disorder of the living room and looked
     around for somewhere to sit. ‘Chemistry?’ she asked.
    Chloë rolled her eyes.
     ‘It’s Friday. What else would I be doing with my fucking life?’
    The snow turned back to rain. It rained for
     the rest of the day and through the night, so heavily that the roads ran with water and
     in the parks puddles formed and spread into each other. Drains overflowed. Cars sent up
     blinding arcs of dirty spray. Canals bubbled. In the streets people ran between shops
     under umbrellas that barely protected them. The drenched world shrank. In the sheets of
     cold, driving rain, it was barely possible to see to the end of a road or the top of a
     tree. The brown Thames surged. It rained through the evening and into the night. In
     houses and in flats, alone or in pairs, people lay in their beds and listened to it
     hammering against their windows. The wind ripped through the trees, and dustbin lids