Friday on My Mind Read Online Free PDF Page A

said Hussein.
    There were two dressing gowns hanging from the hook, one for a man and a smaller one for a woman – and the woman’s had been worn by several different people. There was a supply of toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet, alongside paracetamol and mouthwash. He read a lot, mostly books to do with his work.
    ‘What’s noticeable,’ said Sophie Byrne, ‘is what’s not there. No passport. No wallet. No computer. No phone.’
    ‘Keys?’
    ‘One set of keys in a bowl near the front door. And then some keys which don’t belong to the flat.’
    ‘His sister’s, perhaps?’
    ‘We’re checking.’
    ‘Any correspondence?’
    ‘No – but it was probably on his computer, which is also gone.’
    ‘We should presumably be able to get it from his server. Or perhaps he has a computer in his office at the university. Get onto that, will you, Chris?’
    ‘Sure.’ Chris gave an extra vigorous chew on his gum.
    ‘There was a notebook on his desk,’ said Sophie Byrne. ‘But it was mostly lists of things to do, things tobuy. There was also what looked like a schedule written down, dates and times with asterisks by them. It was headed “WH”.’
    ‘WH?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘OK. What about phone calls, Glen? Any joy?’
    ‘Ah.’ Bryant looked pleased, cleared his throat, picked up a sheaf of printouts stapled together. ‘His mobile’s missing, as you know. But we’ve got a record of the calls that were made, going back six months to the beginning of the year.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Over a third of all calls were made to the same number.’
    ‘And whose number was that?’ asked Hussein, already guessing the answer.
    ‘Frieda Klein’s.’
    ‘Are you going to call a press conference?’ Bryant asked Hussein, after the meeting.
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    ‘Shall we bring her in?’
    ‘Dr Klein? Not yet. There’s a couple of people I think I need to talk to first.’
    Then she remembered something else that had been like a small niggle in her brain.
    ‘When Frieda Klein’s name first came up on the system, it was because she had reported someone missing. Miles Thornton. Can you look into that?’
    ‘Come in, come in,’ he said, holding out his hand and grasping hers with a wrenching firmness.
    Hal Bradshaw had bare feet and artfully unkempt hair, glasses whose frames were long, thin rectangles that made it hard to see the whole of his eyes. Perhaps that was the point. He led her through into his study, a bright, book-lined room with several framed certificates above the desk, a photograph of himself shaking the hand of a prominent politician and a long sofa to which he gestured. She took a seat at one end and he sat rather near to her. He smelt of sandalwood.
    ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Dr Bradshaw. Especially on a Sunday.’
    ‘Professor, actually. Recent thing.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
    She was slightly perplexed. ‘I know. I rang you to make the appointment.’
    ‘No, I mean as soon as I heard about her finding the body of her friend. Her ex-friend.’
    ‘Can I ask how you know about that?’
    Bradshaw gave a modest shrug. ‘It’s part of the arrangement.’
    ‘With the police?’
    ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘They keep me in the loop. The commissioner himself called me on this one.’
    ‘In fact, Dr Klein didn’t actually find Alexander Holland. She was the one who identified him.’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, as if she were corroborating what he had said. ‘Can I offer you some tea, by the way? Or coffee?’
    ‘No, thank you. I’m here because Commissioner Crawford suggested it would be useful to get some background information about Dr Klein.’
    The expression on Bradshaw’s handsome face was thoughtfully sad. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
    ‘I’ve read the file that the commissioner gave to me. Can we perhaps begin with the case of Dean Reeve?’
    ‘Dean Reeve is dead.’
    ‘Yes, I know, but –’
    ‘But Frieda Klein is convinced that he is