Friday on My Mind Read Online Free PDF Page B

yourself.’
    ‘What can I say?’ said Detective Chief Inspector Karlsson. ‘She has been a valued colleague and she’s a friend.’
    ‘Did you also know Alexander Holland?’
    ‘Sandy.’ Karlsson spoke soberly, but kept his glance fixed on her. ‘Yes.’
    ‘You may or may not be aware that he has been killed.’
    Karlsson was visibly shocked. He looked away for a moment, collecting himself. Then he started asking questions and Hussein had to go through the explanation, the discovery of the body, its state, the plastic tag on the wrist bearing Frieda’s name, and Frieda’s visit to the morgue. He sat forward in his chair, listening intently.
    ‘Can you tell me something about his relationship to Dr Klein?’ she asked.
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘I thought you were friends.’
    ‘Frieda is a very private person. She doesn’t talk about things like that. They split up well over a year ago, that’s all I can tell you.’
    ‘Who ended it?’
    ‘You’ll have to ask Frieda.’
    ‘Have you seen him since then?’
    Karlsson hesitated. ‘A couple of times,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Briefly.’
    ‘Was he upset at the ending of the relationship?’
    ‘Again, you’ll have to ask Frieda. I can’t comment.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hussein. ‘I don’t think that’s a proper answer.’
    ‘I mean that I don’t really know. It’s not the kind of thing that Frieda would ever talk about to me.’
    ‘Commissioner Crawford seems to think that Dr Klein is at best unreliable, at worst dangerously unstable.’
    ‘Oh, that.’
    ‘He is your boss.’
    ‘Yes. You’ll just have to judge for yourself.’
    ‘I intend to. And Dr Bradshaw –’ She stopped and grinned to herself. ‘Sorry,
Professor
Bradshaw put it even more strongly.’
    ‘You’ve been busy.’
    ‘There’s nothing you can tell me that might help?’
    ‘No.’
    She turned to leave, then stopped. ‘Do you have any idea what the initials “WH” might stand for?’
    Karlsson thought for a moment. ‘They might stand for the Warehouse,’ he said.
    ‘What is that?’
    ‘It’s a therapy clinic.’
    ‘Is Dr Klein connected to it?’
    ‘She works there sometimes. And she’s on the board.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    An officer called Yvette Long showed her out, glowering, as if Hussein had said something to offend her.
    Bryant called her as she was leaving. ‘That person Dr Klein reported missing.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Miles Thornton. He was a patient of hers.’
    ‘Was?’
    ‘He was her patient on and off – more off than on recently, because he was sectioned for a few weeks. He was psychotic and deemed to be a danger to himself and others. Now he seems to have disappeared. Or, at least, he hasn’t been seen recently. His family aren’t overly worried: they say he often goes AWOL.’
    ‘But Dr Klein reported him missing.’
    There was a slight pause. Hussein could imagine Bryantchewing the edge of his thumb, thinking. ‘Why is this relevant?’ he asked at last.
    ‘It probably isn’t. But don’t you think it’s a bit odd how she’s surrounded by distress and violence? Bradshaw would say that’s just evidence of her narcissistic delusion.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Never mind. There are too many doctors and professors in this case.’



6
     
    The Warehouse wasn’t Bryant’s idea of a medical institution. With its stripped pine, metal, plate glass, it looked more like an arts centre, somewhere you’d be led through on a school outing. And the woman he’d spoken to on the phone the day before, Paz Alvarez, didn’t look like a manager. Dark-eyed, flamboyantly dressed, she was like a flamenco dancer or a fortune-teller. Bryant had told her that he wanted to talk about Frieda Klein and she was clearly suspicious. Reuben McGill was seeing a patient. He would have to wait.
    Bryant waited in Paz’s office. When she talked on the phone, she seemed a different person, laughing, cajoling, ordering. Then she would hang up, look round, and her expression