Free Saturday Requiem by Nicci French

to work.’ Berryman’s tone was cheerful.
    Mendoza didn’t reply.
    ‘Can we at least speak to her for a few minutes?’ asked Frieda.
    ‘She had a severe psychotic episode and has been heavily sedated. I’m sure you understand.’
    ‘I understand very well,’ said Frieda. ‘Last time I was here, Hannah had been beaten up.’
    ‘Last time you were here,’ said Dr Mendoza, ‘Hannah had just stabbed someone and nearly killed them.’
    ‘And this time she has been drugged so heavily that we can’t see her.’
    ‘I’m not sure you understand the kind of patients we have to deal with here.’
    ‘I understand that you want your job to be easy. You don’t want trouble.’
    ‘My dear Dr –’
    ‘If you want my advice,’ said Berryman, ‘you shouldn’t call her that.’
    ‘But you should understand this – you’ve got trouble. And we will come back and we will see her.’
    Mendoza looked at her, then suddenly stood up. He took off his glasses and, without them, his eyes were defenceless. ‘You can see her,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you want.’
    An orderly took Frieda and Berryman up some stairs, through a room that was empty of people but contained several chairs, a sofa, a television, and through two sets of heavy doors. Now it felt like a prison, not a hospital. They walked along a corridor full of identical green doors with grilles in each one; their footsteps echoed. The orderly stopped at a door near the end and pulled a set of keys from his belt.
    ‘You asked for it,’ he said.
    The room was small and bare: just a cell with a narrow bed beneath the high window that cast little light. He turned a switch and a garish brightness flooded the space. The shape in the bed didn’t move. Frieda could see a greasy tangle of hair and one out-flung hand, a tattoo on its wrist.
    ‘There she is,’ he said.
    Frieda went over to the bed and bent over the figure. ‘Hannah,’ she said softly.
    There was no response. Very gently, she drew down the cover slightly to see Hannah’s clammy, swollen face. There was blood around her nostrils and drool running from her mouth. Her neck was grimy with old dirt. She was breathing hoarsely and her lips puffed with each exhalation. Frieda put a hand on her shoulder and briefly rested it there, but Hannah was deeply asleep. Her eyes moved under their closed lids, and Frieda wondered if her dreams were nightmares or moments of freedom. She lifted a thick strand of hair away from Hannah’s cheek and pulled the cover back over her.
    ‘Well?’ asked Levin. He was drinking peppermint tea from a huge mug and his tortoiseshell spectacles were steamed over. ‘How was she?’
    ‘Unavailable.’
    ‘That’s a pity.’ Levin looked across at Keegan, who was onhis knees, pulling a large box out of a cupboard marginally too small for it. ‘Isn’t that a pity, Jock?’
    An indistinguishable grunt came from the cupboard.
    ‘The case is unsound,’ said Frieda.
    ‘Would you like some peppermint tea?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Of course it’s unsound. We know that. We just want to establish whether she is in any danger of knowing that and of making trouble.’
    ‘No, she isn’t. I’m certain of that at least.’
    Keegan got up from the floor. He was perspiring. ‘So that’s that, then,’ he said.
    ‘No.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s precisely because she’s in no danger of knowing that that we have to continue.’
    ‘Continue?’ Keegan frowned at her so that his forehead was corrugated with wrinkles. Levin put down his mug and leaned back in his chair. He took off his glasses and began scrupulously to polish them on his frayed orange tie. ‘Continue with what?’
    ‘With this investigation.’
    ‘There is no investigation.’
    ‘There is now.’
    Keegan turned to Levin. ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’
    ‘What would you like me to say?’
    ‘That this is ridiculous. That this is
over
. Thank you and goodbye.’
    Levin put his glasses back on and tapped them into