By twenty to eleven, Hussein had taken up her position at the back of the chapel, and was watching mourners come in. Some of them she recognized: Sandy’s sister, of course, Lizzie Rasson, with her husband and small child, several people from the university that they’d interviewed during the course of their investigation. Then she saw Reuben McGill come in with Josef and also the young man from the Warehouse, she couldn’t remember his name, with wild orange hair. He was wearing striped jeans and a purple shirt. A woman seated near the front turned round and waved them over with extravagant gestures and Hussein recognized her too: Frieda’s sister-in-law, or ex-sister-in-law, there with her daughter.

Gradually the chapel filled up. It was going to be full: soon there would be standing room only. A slender woman and a solid-looking man took a seat across the aisle from her. She recognized Sasha, but not the man.

Frieda walked up Primrose Hill. It was a clear, warm day and she looked down at the zoo and the city beyond, spread out in the sunlight. People lay on the grass, which was already bleached from the summer – it had started early this year. She slid off her shoes and took off her dark glasses. It was eleven o’clock. They would be carrying Sandy’s coffin into the chapel now. What music would be playing? Who would pay tributes? She imagined the rows of mourners and she, who had known him so well, wasn’t among them. Instead she had come here, where they had so often come together, in all seasons. This was her own private ceremony, but how should she say goodbye to someone she had loved so dearly, left so abruptly, seen descend into a self-destructive and wretched anger?

‘… This is an occasion for people of all faiths and none to say goodbye to Sandy Holland …’

Hussein looked round at the solemn faces. The coffin lay on the catafalque and Lizzie Rasson and her husband sat at the front; she was already sobbing silently. Hussein glanced down at the order of service: Lizzie was supposed to be speaking later; how would she manage to do that?

‘… and to remember him, each in their own way …’

Frieda let herself remember Sandy as he had been when they first met. She summoned him into her mind, image by image: Sandy laughing, Sandy lying in bed, Sandy cooking for her, Sandy as he had been when she had sought him out after their long separation, at his sister’s wedding reception, and the way he had looked at her then. Sandy sitting by her hospital bed, with a stricken face. Sandy standing at her door, returned from the States because she had finally told him about something that had happened to her in her past. And then Sandy angry, baffled, hurt, humiliated, full of jealousy. All of these were him. Only once someone is dead can their many different selves come together.

A striking woman came to the front.

‘My name is Bridget,’ she said, in a clear voice. ‘Sandy was my friend and I loved him. No. I love him. Just because he’s dead it doesn’t mean he has gone from our hearts. I loved him, but he wasn’t easy, as most of you here will know. I want to tell you all a little story about the first time I met him …’

Hussein half listened to the words, the appreciative ripples of laughter. Frieda wasn’t going to show up. She felt a stab of disappointment because, although she knew it was irrational, she had half believed that Frieda would find a way to say goodbye.

A few people were crying, most of them quietly, but at the front there was a snorting, choking noise that she worked out came from Olivia. Across from Hussein, Sasha had her head on the man’s shoulder and he was patting her tenderly on the back.

She wondered where Karlsson was. She had expected him to be there.

In her head, Frieda said goodbye to Sandy. She told him that she was sorry for all that had happened and that she wouldn’t forget him. She closed her eyes and felt the soft breeze on her face.

‘Hello, Frieda.’

The voice came from behind her. For a moment, she didn’t move but went on looking at the skyline. Then she turned. ‘Karlsson,’ she said.

‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘How did they know where I was?’

‘They didn’t. I did.’

‘How?’

‘I know that you and Sandy used to come here a lot together.’

‘So now you’re a mind-reader as well as a detective.’

‘May I join you?’

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘Of course. If you tell me to go, I’ll go. But please don’t do that.’

‘You’re not here in …’ she gave a wry smile ‘… an official capacity.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re crossing a boundary, Karlsson.’

‘I crossed it some time ago.’

‘It’s what you used to get so angry with me for.’

‘Don’t think I won’t again.’

‘All right, you can join me.’

He sat beside her on the grass, took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘You brought me up here once, many years ago. I asked you to tell me something interesting about what we were looking at and you pointed to the zoo and said that, not so long ago, foxes had got into the penguin enclosure and killed about twenty of them.’

‘About a dozen, I think.’

‘Right. Your hair’s not so bad. I was a bit shocked when I first saw it on the video.’

‘What video would that be?’

‘The one of you breaking into the Warehouse.’

‘Oh.’

‘Which, of course, Reuben kept from the police.’

‘I’m sorry anyone else has to get involved in this.’

‘They’ll catch you soon, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘When they do, it won’t be pretty.’

‘No.’

‘And in the meantime, I think you’re in danger.’

‘I think perhaps I am. I feel that someone is always one step ahead of me.’

‘How can you be so calm?’

‘Am I calm?’

‘The question is, Frieda: what are we going to do?’

She turned her face to him and he felt the brightness of her gaze. Then she touched him very lightly on his arm with the tips of her fingers. ‘I appreciate that “we”.’

They both sat in silence, gazing at the horizon of tower blocks against the blue sky.

‘Will you give yourself up?’ he said at last. ‘It would be better than being caught and we could get you the best legal team there is. I’ve already started making enquiries.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Sarah Hussein is very fair.’

‘I’m sure that’s true.’

‘Where are you living?’

She just shook her head at him.

‘Tell me what to do, Frieda. Now that I’ve found you, you can’t just melt away again.’

‘Just a few more days.’

Karlsson stared straight ahead, at the haze over the city. ‘Promise me something.’

‘What?’

‘Contact me, day or night, if you need my help.’

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘I notice you’re not promising. Do you have a mobile?’

‘I threw it away.’

‘Here.’ He took his jacket from the grass beside him and took his wallet out of its breast pocket, opened it to find a card. ‘Keep this with you. It’s got all my different numbers on it. And this is my home landline.’ He wrote the number on the back of the card.

Frieda took it. ‘I should go now. I feel a bit exposed here and the funeral must be nearly over.’

Karlsson looked at his watch. ‘Yes. About now.’

Frieda slid her feet into her shoes and put on her dark glasses. She stood and smiled down at him. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, raising her hand in a farewell salute. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

29

When Karlsson arrived back at his office, Yvette Long was waiting for him. She looked anxious.