‘Do you mean he feels safe?’
‘It seems like that. He knows we can’t touch him. The question is: why?’
Frieda waited. Karlsson picked up the tumbler and examined it, then set it down again. ‘The boy’s dead,’ he said. ‘Or if he’s not, he will be soon. We’re not going to find him. Oh, don’t misunderstand me. We’re not giving up. We’re doing everything we can. It’s Christmas, they should be with their kids, but everyone’s working all out. We’re going through the Reeve house again with a finetooth comb. We’re knocking on the doors we’ve already knocked on. We’ll find out every job Dean Reeve has worked on in the last year and go there to see if that leads us anywhere. We’ll use all the manpower we’ve got to search the area, with sniffer dogs. But you’ve seen the area yourself, all those boarded-up houses, old warehouses, those condemned flats. There are thousands and he could be in any one of them – or somewhere completely different. Except we should probably just be looking for a patch of ground that’s been recently disturbed, or a body floating in the river.’
‘But you think it’s him.’
‘I can smell it,’ Karlsson said savagely. ‘I know it’s him, and he knows I know. That’s why he’s enjoying it.’
‘He knows he’s safe from you. How? Why?’
‘Because he’s got rid of the evidence.’
‘What about his wife? Is she saying anything?’
‘Her?’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘She’s worse, if that’s possible. She just sits there and looks at you as if what you’ve said makes no sense at all and repeats the same phrase over and over again. He’s the dominant one, that’s for sure, but there’s no way she doesn’t know something. My guess is that she did to Matthew what Dean Reeve’s mother did to Joanna: lured him into a car. But it’s just that, a guess. I’ve got not a scrap of evidence.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Well.’ He looked grim. ‘We’ve got our big new clue, of course. Kathy Ripon. She was going to see him and she disappeared. We’re talking to the parents, her friends, anyone who might have seen her, mounting a full-scale search, pulling all the CCTV footage – then we’ll see if we can place her in the area. The way the media goes on about CCTV, you’d think it’s on every street corner and nothing goes unseen, but don’t you believe it. Anyway, I sometimes think that days’ and weeks’ worth of footage to go through can hold up an investigation, rather than help it.’ He looked at his watch, grimaced. ‘Still, if she went to London that day, as Professor Boundy says, she’s bound to be on camera at either King’s Cross or Liverpool Street and maybe we can track her from there. There’s a window between her leaving Cambridge after he rang her, and the time when we put the Reeve house under investigation later that day.’
‘What about Alan?’
‘DC Wells is in with him now, taking his statement. His was the other address Kathy Ripon was going to visit, of course.’
‘I’ll wait for him, I think. See him home.’
‘Thank you. Come back after.’
‘I don’t work for you, you know.’
‘Would you please come back after?’ But he spoilt it by adding, ‘Is that better for you?’
‘Not much. But I’ll come back because I would like to help.’
‘I know the feeling,’ Karlsson said bitterly. ‘Well, if nothing else works, you can hear about their dreams.’
Chapter Thirty-six
When Frieda offered to take Alan home, he didn’t reply. He just stared at her.
‘Alan? Have you called Carrie?’
‘No.’
‘You can call her on the way.’
‘I’m not going until I’ve seen him.’
‘You mean Dean.’
‘My brother. My twin. My other self. I have to see him.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘I won’t go until I’ve seen him.’
‘The police are interviewing him at the moment.’
‘I spent the first forty years of my life not knowing anything about my family, not even having a name, and now I find out that I’ve got a mother who’s still alive, and a twin brother and he’s a few feet from me. How do you think that feels? You’re supposed to be good at knowing things like that. Tell me!’
Frieda sat down and leaned towards him. ‘What do you want from it?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t just go away, knowing I’ve been so close.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Frieda said. ‘It’s not possible. Not now.’
‘All right.’ Alan stood up and started pushing his arms into his duffel coat. ‘Then we’ll go to her.’
‘Her?’
‘My mother. The one who kept my brother but dumped me.’
‘Is that why you want to see him? To find out why she chose him over you?’
‘There must have been something, mustn’t there?’
‘You were just two babies. And she won’t remember you.’
‘I’ve got to see her.’
‘It’s late.’
‘I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. Do you want to tell me where she is or do I have to find out for myself? Somehow. Maybe your detective friend would tell me.’
Frieda smiled and stood up too. ‘I’ll tell you,’ she said. ‘If this is how you want it. But ring Carrie and tell her when you’ll be home, tell her you’re OK. The taxi’s on me.’
‘Are you coming?’
‘If you want me to.’
Karlsson sat in front of Dean Reeve. Every question he asked came back short and fast – a ball thrown at a dead bat, over and over again, with the same sickening little smile on his face. He was watching Karlsson. He knew that Karlsson was angry and he knew that he was feeling increasingly helpless.
He was the same with Yvette Long – except with her his eyes would slide from her face to her body, and to her rage she found herself blushing.
‘He’s playing with us!’ she fumed to her boss.
‘Don’t let him get to you. If you do that, you’re letting him win.’
‘He’s already won.’
‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Frieda asked.
Alan stood beside her. He looked frightened and there were already tears in his eyes. ‘Will you come in with me?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Yes. Please. I can’t -’ He gulped.
‘OK, then.’
Frieda took him by the hand, as if he were a small child. She led him down the corridor towards the little room where his mother sat. His feet dragged and his fingers were cold in hers. She smiled reassuringly at him, then knocked at the door and opened it. Alan walked in. She could hear his laboured breathing. For a moment he stood quite still, staring at the old woman sitting stooped in her chair. Then he stumbled across to her and sank to his knees beside her.
‘Mother? Mum?’
Frieda had to turn away from the expression of horror and abject supplication on his face.
‘Have you been a naughty boy again?’
‘It’s not him. It’s me. The other one.’
