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    Sunday Silence: A Novel
    Sunday Silence: A Novel
    Sunday Silence: A Novel
    Ebook427 pages6 hours

    Sunday Silence: A Novel

    By Nicci French

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    It started with Monday. But it doesn't end with Sunday.

    Read Sunday Silence, the new novel in the series that LOUISE PENNY calls "fabulous, unsettling, and riveting" — and brace yourself for the breathtaking series finale in summer 2018.

    Lover of London, gifted psychologist, frequent police consultant — Frieda Klein is many things. And now she's a person of interest in a murder case. A body has been discovered in the most unlikely and horrifying of places: beneath the floorboards of Frieda's house.

    The corpse is only months old, but the chief suspect appears to have died more than seven years ago. Except as Frieda knows all too well, he's alive and well and living in secret. And it seems he's inspired a copycat...

    As the days pass and the body count rises, Frieda finds herself caught in a fatal tug-of-war between two killers: one who won't let her go, and another who can't let her live. 

    Crackling with suspense, packed with emotion, Sunday Silence is a psychological thriller perfect for fans of Elizabeth George and Paula Hawkins.

    Editor's Note

    What a way to end the week…

    After a dead body is found in her house, what’s psychologist Frieda to do when two killers have their sights set on taking her down? Nicci French closes out an intense, fraught week’s worth of thrillers with this latest (but not last!) installment in the Frieda Klein series.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateJan 9, 2018
    ISBN9780062676696
    Author

    Nicci French

    Nicci French is the pseudonym for the writing partnership of journalists Nicci Gerrard and Sean French. The couple are married and live in London and Suffolk.

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    Reviews for Sunday Silence

    4/5

    171 ratings39 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Having never read a Frieda Klein book, the author did a good job of character descriptions. The plot held my interest and there were a few interesting twists in this book. I enjoyed reading this book and look forward to another in the series if there is one.
    • 5/5
      This 7th book of this series feels familiar and yet fresh and new. Frieda is still her usual cold-on-the-outside, warm-on-the-inside self and the creepy influences in her life are still annoyingly present but Frieda is convinced pretty quickly that none of her old foes is responsible for the strange things that start happening to the people she loves. And, of course, she's right. Frieda finds herself in the unwelcome media spotlight again but she'll do what she has to do to protect the disparate crew of people who make up her family. The ending is a compelling setup for the final installment which, fortunately, is already sitting on my shelf!
    • 4/5
      Good book but I would have understood more if I had read the whole series.
    • 5/5
      What a compelling read! I enjoyed Sunday Silence so much. it's part of a series, but not having read any of the others, it stands on its own. Dr Frieda Klein is a complex character, a psychologist that helps the police in London. A body is found under her living room floor. And the investigation begins. I look forward to reading the first six in the series.
    • 4/5
      Nice solid mystery. Planning to go back and start with #1 now.

      (A review copy of this book was provided by the publisher.)
    • 5/5
      I agree with my best friend(who read this book before me,and finally gave it back to me)its keeps you on the edge of your seat. This is the second of Nicci French books I have read and looking forward to getting my hands on other once. Checking with my library(read to much would go broke if I brought them)to see what Nicci French books they have in stock.
    • 4/5
      Part of the Frieda Klein series but can be read as a standalone. As always, this book is well written and fast paced with an interesting cast of characters. If you're a Nicci French fan, you know what to expect. If you haven't read this author, this is book to start your journey. You'll be looking for previous works by Nicci French.
    • 4/5
      First book I have read in this series, I will go back and read the rest of the Frieda Klein series. Most enjoyable were the close friends gathered by Frieda who form her family. The plot has plenty of action and suspense. Set in London, Frieda works closely with the police to provide psychological profiles to help the police catch criminals. In this case, the criminal hits closer to home when the killer targets Frieda and her family of friends. But is the killer from the previous book back or is this a copy cat?
    • 5/5
      I really liked this installment of Frieda Klein! It picks up right where the last book does and jumps right into the mystery. I love how the author(s) flesh out all the characters, not just the main ones. Loved where the continuation from the previous book went.
    • 4/5
      Finding a dead man under your floorboards is not a good way to start your day. And when people and friends around Frieda Kiein start getting killed and hurt its time to band together for saftey.#7 in this series gets off to a fast start and keeps up the momentum throughout. Even though a little more catch-up on a few characters would have been helpful, it did not deter my enjoyment of this story as a first time reader of this series.Thank You to Nicci French, William Morrow Publishing and LibraryThing for the chance to read and review a ARC copy of this book.
    • 3/5
      I haven't read Nicci French before now, but that's going to change. This was a fun read that contained twists and details that set it apart. Love having a reading list to look forward to...
    • 4/5
      This is the second Frieda Klein mystery I have read. Regrettably, the first very early in the series and a long time ago. I feel having read the series in order would have provided a more solid platform for many of the characters brought back in this novel. However, you can certainly read this novel out of sequence and enjoy it as a well written psychological thriller. The authors did an admirable job of introducing enough about the characters and their prior associations with Frieda that one can easily remain focused on the page turner that it is. I enjoyed the subtle plot shift midway through the novel from a "who dunit" to a "how do I prove it". This shift helped reinforce the immediacy and gravity of what was going on and further reinforce the page turner pace. It's hard to say whether we'll see any more of Frieda but I would argue that there are more than enough unresolved issues with this cast of characters to bring them back for another adventure. I'd even go as far as suggesting at a working like "Tomorrow Is Another Day" or "The Week In Review" might be a suitable place to start.
    • 4/5
      Well, it has become a habit to check back in with Frieda Klein and see if they've caught the maniac who is stalking her. As usual she is calm and logical in a chaos of violence and madness. She is also quite flat, and her relationships with the other characters are quite stilted and therefore not particularly brought to life. It is not clear if this is the last in the series, as the title would imply
    • 4/5
      This is the 7th novel in French's Frieda Klein series. Klein, a psychotherapist has unearthered a body burried under her floorboards. There is definitely a message here and it seems to come from serial killer, Dean Reeve who has a strangely intimate relationship with Klein. The only problem is, Reeve is supposed to be dead. As Klein's friends and family are targetted, it becomes a race against time to stop whoever is responsible before anyone else is killed. I have read & enjoyed manny Nicci French books before, but none in the Klein series. Although I've clearly missed a lot of backstory, this will still work as a stand alone read. However, I think the reader would benefit from the entire backstory - I can imagine the shock of the 'is he, isn't he dead?' question being amplified many times over for those familiar with the whole story. And no, that's not a spoiler - if you want to find out, you'll need to read this book!
    • 3/5
      Frieda Klein is once again in the midst of murder and mayhem, this time focusing of those near and dear to her. I have to say this wasn’t my favorite book in the series, at times it felt a bit pedestrian and obvious but as the penultimate novel in the series it effectively built the tension up for the final installment coming soon.
    • 3/5
      Frieda Klein, a psychologist and a consultant with the police discovers a dead body under the floor boards of her home. At first, considered a suspect, she soon is being pursued by two murderers who are hurting people close to her. This is the first Frieda Klein novel that I Have read, and although, the premise intrigued me, I felt it dragged on which made my mind wander. I couldn’t get into the character and was happy to see it end.
    • 4/5
      I’m ambivalent about this series. This latest was well-written and engaging, but the storylines are so similar to the others in the series that I am frequently annoyed. This one eventually developed a plot that had some merit on its own, but the endings are never really in doubt. I’ll probably keep reading them as well-written diversions but they will not be on the list of books that I eagerly await.
    • 5/5
      Well, I have ANOTHER series to find and enjoy now! This book is the seventh in French's "Frieda Klein novels" and it kept me up reading late for three nights running until I finished it. Frieda Klein is a London psychotherapist who discovers that a body has been buried under the floorboards of her house [the body is that of an ex-cop/investigator whom Frieda had hired], and her immediate suspicion falls on serial killer Dean Reeve, with whom Klein has had previous dealings. The problem is that Dean Reeve died more than seven years earlier ... except Klein is certain he's not actually dead. We're introduced to Frieda's inner circle, including another psychotherapist [who's dying of cancer], Frieda's niece Chloë [and her mother, Frieda's sister-in-law Olivia, who's a basket case], and a Ukrainian builder [who discovered the body under Frieda's house, and whose young son has just been reunited with dad Josef]. Lots of quirks and sweetness that Frieda is afraid to accept because bad things keep happening to her friends, and she's sure that Dean Reeve is going through those friends one by one to torture Frieda.The question is, DID Dean Reeve kill the investigator, or is this the work of a copycat? Frieda finally finds the answer -- but the book ends with a cliffhanger. There's one more book in the series, apparently ...
    • 5/5
      Book Description:Lover of London, gifted psychologist, frequent police consultant — Frieda Klein is many things. And now she's a person of interest in a murder case. A body has been discovered in the most unlikely and horrifying of places: beneath the floorboards of Frieda's house.The corpse is only months old, but the chief suspect appears to have died more than seven years ago. Except as Frieda knows all too well, he's alive and well and living in secret. And it seems he's inspired a copycat...As the days pass and the body count rises, Frieda finds herself caught in a fatal tug-of-war between two killers: one who won't let her go, and another who can't let her live. My Review:Is this the finale for the Frieda Klein series? Can we expect some more as there are many loose ends left in this Sunday, the last day of the week book? I have loved the series and suggest they are read in order starting with the Monday book. The characters are well-developed and the plot is very suspenseful. Most of the books start out slow but are whipped into action towards the middle of the book. They are fast-moving and the pages fly by towards the end of the book. Here's hoping there will be more Frieda Klein books. I highly recommend this series to those who love psychological thrillers. This book will be published on January 9, 2018. I actually read Sunday Morning Coming Down published in the UK earlier but it is the same book as Sunday Silence.
    • 4/5
      Sunday Silence by Nicci French is an intriguing and fast paced mystery. Although this newest release is the seventh installment in the Frieda Klein series, it works well as a standalone.

      Psychotherapist and occasional police consultant Frieda Klein is very upset to discover the mutilated corpse of Bruce Stringer, the private detective she hired, under the floorboards in her home. She suspects the killer is Dean Reeve, who is a presumed dead serial killer. With her friend DCI Malcolm Karlsson on leave with an injury, Frieda must convince Chief Inspector Petra Burge that Reeve is not only alive, but responsible for Stringer's death. Six months later, the case is cold, and Frieda's family and friends are being targeted for random acts of violence and the police are forced to admit Reeve is still alive. But Frieda soon believes that someone other than Reeve is responsible for these recent attacks. With the media hounding her, Frieda agrees to an interview with reporter Daniel Blackstock in hopes of flushing out the elusive killer.

      Frieda is very cool and reserved under pressure which leads people to believe that she is not distressed by the recent events. When her friends and family are in danger, her concern for their safety leads her to make a very out of character decision to try to keep them safe. Despite having mixed feelings about this choice and fearing she has made a big mistake, Frieda nonetheless presses on in her attempt to find the person responsible for harming her loved ones. With often nebulous impressions that are hard to explain to the police working the case, Frieda concentrates on finding the link between her and the person who is using her family to rattle her. Certain she has zeroed in the right suspect, Frieda is soon in a race against time to locate the most recent victim before it is too late.

      Sunday Silence is an engrossing and suspense laden mystery with a clever storyline. With plenty of twists and turns, Nicci French pits Frieda against a formidable foe who is convinced no one will figure out their devious plan. With most of the loose ends completely wrapped up, the novel ends with a stunning cliffhanger that will leave readers desperately awaiting the next installment in the Frieda Klein series.
    • 3/5
      OK I haven't read any of the other Frieda Klien books and this probably has detracted from my enjoyment of this book a bit. Saying that though I was gripped by this book, and found it difficult to put down in the two days that I  read it.
      It is fast paced and with  almost continuous action, in fact at the beginning it was tricky keeping up with the names of characters.  This again is due to jumping into the middle of a series but this settles down shortly into the book.
      Ohh and it ends of a bit of a cliffhanger, enough to make you eagerly await the next installment but not so bad as to be annoying.

      For the full review check out my blog: Engrossed in a Good Book

    • 4/5
      SUNDAY SILENCE by Nicci French. This is the seventh (but not the last) book in the Frieda Klein Mystery series. Fans are eagerly awaiting the last, (supposedly) last installment in the series to be published in July, 2018.
      SUNDAY SILENCE opens one second after the last words are uttered from Book 6, DARK SATURDAY.
      DCI Karlsson opens the door to Frieda’s house and meets Chief Inspector Petra Burge, there to investigate the body hidden under the floorboards.
      This is a very suspenseful, mysterious, emotional plot; a Dean Reeve wanna-be/copycat is after Frieda’s family of friends and ultimately, Frieda herself.
      The last sentence of the book - Frieda visits Levin and entreaties, “Make me disappear.”

      I do get my ‘river fix’. Frieda is walking with Chief Inspector Petra Burge near Elephant & Castle (outside the old City walls). 150 years ago, the area was marshland and then it was drained and banked. Frieda talks about the Neckinger River where tanning works used to be. Now, “the river is dirtied, clogged up, buried…” But it is still there somewhere. FK “This was an area for things that London needed but didn’t want to look at or think about or smell. It’s a useful reminder.”

      Haunting, emotional, puzzling, suspenseful, mysterious - highly recommended.
    • 4/5
      Frieda Klein is a psychologist whose involvement with the police is usually as a consultant or profiler, but when a corpse is found under the floor boards of her house, it is clear that she is now the target of a twisted killer.

      This was a fast-paced gritty psychological mystery that pitted Frieda and London's police department against a very clever and very deranged killer. I had picked up this book not realizing that it is a series, with each title featuring a day of the week. The series started with Monday, but it was not a problem to start this series with the final day of the week. I'm hoping that there are more Frieda Klein mysteries in the works -- maybe months of the year?!
    • 4/5
      Dr. Frieda Klein, a clinical psychologist in private practice in London, became famous due to her involvement in the investigation of a serial killer named Dean Reeve. At the beginning of the novel, the body of a private investigator hired by Frieda is found in the floor of her home. As the police investigate the situation, Frieda is adamant that the body was placed by Reeve as a warning to her. The police are skeptical of Frieda's conclusions given her lack of proof but as the investigation continues, more attacks are made upon Frieda's friends and colleagues suggesting Reeves' possible involvement. Unhappy with the way the police are handling the case, Frieda sets out to find the man threatening her friends and family on her own.

      This was a generally suspenseful thriller, which followed the typical sequence of skeptical police detectives dismissing the more perceptive outsider/psychologist to find a killer. I would have enjoyed more in-depth analysis of Reeves, which may have occurred in the previous Frieda novel, but did not occur in this one. While the characters were relatively developed, a first person narration or greater focus on Frieda's emotions would have probably drawn me in more.
    • 4/5
      I did not realize how long it has been since I read a book from this husband and wife duo. I picked up this book and it was like I had never left. Instantly, I reconnected with Frieda and Detective Karlsson. Although, it would have been nicer to see Frieda under better circumstances. I mean it is not every day that dead bodies are found under your floor boards. Well unless you are a serial killer.

      Frieda even in this situation held up a strong front. She did what she does best but helping to solve the mystery while staying cool under pressure. I love the way she thinks. She and Karlsson meld well together. The storyline was strong as well. While, it has been a long time since I have read a book in this series, it reads well as a stand alone novel. There was no downtime from the beginning, middle, and end. Which the end was a good one. There is nothing worse then a weak ending. I can't wait to read the next book in this series. Fans of this series will enjoy this latest book in this series.
    • 4/5
      Frieda Klein is a London-based psychologist, who has been known to serve as a consultant with the local police department. After assisting with solving several cases, Frieda suddenly finds herself on the other end of an investigation. A body has been found hidden under her floorboards and naturally, suspect number one is Frieda herself. Frieda is convinced this is the work of serial killer, Dean Reeve, who has haunted her since previous cases. The issue with this theory is that Reeve has supposedly been dead for seven years.

      Forced in to the spotlight yet again, Frieda must work to prove to the police that a Reeve never died and is now hunting her. As those Frieda is connected to and love most start becoming targets, it starts to become undeniable to the detectives assigned the case that someone is out for Frieda’s life. Is this the work of Dean Reeve or has someone decided to use this serial killer as inspiration for their own murderous plot against Frieda?

      Nicci French is a pen name for the married, writing duo of Nicci Gerrard and Sean French. This is the first time I have had the pleasure of picking up one of the Frieda Klein novels and I can safely say that with a little persistence this novel can be read as a standalone. There were a few references in the beginning that I believe as someone new to the series, it took me slightly longer to work out the connections between past and present, but at no point did this stop me from enjoying the novel. Frieda Klein is the type of whip-smart, passionate, and strong female lead crime fiction readers love to follow along with. In SUNDAY SILENCE Frieda is forced to battle against the police department she has come to know and work with as she tries to convince them a presumed dead serial killer is back on the hunt. This book is a combination of police procedural meets thriller with all the characters you want to know more about. If you’re picking up this edition as a standalone, be prepared to want to head back and read through the series!
    • 4/5
      I'm pretty sure I've read one of the earlier books in this series, but don't remember the title. Anyway, this book is nearing the end of the series. Even though the week is finished, there are some loose ends which indicate one more book.
      This time around, Frieda is desperately trying to convince the police that serial killer Dean Reeve is alive and still out there. But with new attacks on the people closest to her, she suspects another killer is responsible. Now she has to convince the police about the identity of this one too.
      The story moves at a nice pace, and the characters are really interesting.
      One thing that really bothered me was near the end, when the police are doing a massive search for a missing person, they don't use search dogs. This is odd since the search area was a large complex of warehouses and search dogs would have been really helpful. I think a large police force like London has would have several dogs available for such circumstances. Of course, had dogs been used, the scene would have come to a faster, less dramatic conclusion. But overall, the story was good.

      Received this book from LibraryThing.com for review.
    • 4/5
      Note: Spoilers for previous books in the series.

      This is book seven in the detective/psychological thriller series featuring psychotherapist Dr. Frieda Klein, who is the occasional collaborator of London Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Karlsson. The authors (Nicci French is the pseudonym for the writing team of husband and wife Nicci Gerrard and Sean French) keep Frieda’s character rather opaque, but we have gotten to “know” her bit by bit as the series proceeds.

      Still, Frieda doesn't reveal much:

      “When people got too close, she pushed them away. She talked to her patients about the power of speaking, of making words and narratives, but she kept silent, guarded her secret self.”

      This installment begins immediately after the end of the previous book, Dark Saturday. A dead body has just been discovered under the floorboards of Frieda’s living room. The body is a “message” from serial killer Dean Reeve, who has been stalking Frieda. The murdered man was an ex-policeman Frieda hired to find Dean. Frieda reads the “message” as: “This is what you get if you look for me.”

      The new Chief Inspector, Petra Burge, thinks it might be helpful for Frieda to hold a press conference and go public with her concerns about Dean Reeve. Three reporters were invited to represent the press, and Frieda gave them the background about her “relationship” with Dean Reeve.

      The story then picks up six months later, when bad things start happening to those with whom Frieda is close. First her niece Chloë was abducted for a weekend. Then some of her friends are beaten and almost killed. The police understand now that Frieda and those in her life - her “real” family as she calls them - are targets, but they are still unwilling to listen to her ideas about who is behind this and how that person might be discovered. We learn rather early on that Dean is not the only bad guy in the picture; there is a copycat out there, who is in fact more of a danger than Dean - at least, for the moment. One question the police and Frieda need to ascertain is: who is the audience for this new person - Dean or Frieda, and what is the motive?

      As usual, Frieda figures out who the culprit is long before the police do.

      There is a tense, page-turning lead-up to the end, which includes a shocker, and ensures the series is not yet over, in spite of the fact that we have been all through “the week” already with titles.

      Evaluation: The books are a bit repetitive and very little actually changes in Frieda’s life (aside from people she knows ending up dead), but the recurring characters are interesting and consistent. This thriller, like the previous ones, ends in a startling way, making sure followers of the series will want to see what happens next.
    • 5/5
      I just want to say that I have read all the previous books in the Freida Klein series and was really happy to get this book. In a series starting on a Monday and this one being Sunday I couldn't wait to see if this would be the final book and just how would this wrap up. I won't address this further so as not to be a spoiler but having invested in the seven book series I will say I have enjoyed them all. Freida is a tightly controlled woman but a clever one and loyal friend to her (over the series) expanding inner circle of friends.
      My husband also read this book and it was the first in the series for him so I found it interesting how having the back story for many of her characters impacted how we each viewed the book. I personally prefer to read books in order but he is planning on going back to read the previous books.
    • 5/5
      A body under the floorboards, a body in a freezer, a drugged niece in a graveyard. Those things were the start of it.

      Frieda Kline, a noted psychologist, now turned herself into a detective as well so she could find why Dean Reeve was after her and her family again.

      Incidents and murders were coming too close to home for Frieda. She couldn’t figure out the message Dean was trying to get to Frieda, but Frieda knew it was a message of evil, sadness, and death. But was it really Dean? Was he really still alive as Frieda and only Frieda believed or could there be a copycat added to the mix?

      When another incident happened, Frieda and the police knew something definitely was not right.

      SUNDAY SILENCE had ordinary characters with ordinary jobs as well as characters who may not be as ordinary as they seemed or who they are.

      This was my first Nicci French book. The mystery, marvelous writing, and intrigue kept me turning the pages.

      I loved how the engaging, amazing, creative story line evolved and smoothly drew me in.

      SUNDAY SILENCE will definitely appeal to psychological thriller fans and repeat readers of Nicci French’s books.

      My first Nicci French was an amazingly addicting read. 5/5

      This book was given to me free of charge and without compensation by the publisher in return for an honest review.

    Book preview

    Sunday Silence - Nicci French

    PART ONE

    The Body Under the Floor

    1

    All at once the flat was full of noises. The phone rang, stopped, then rang again. The mobile rattled on the table. The doorbell sounded once, twice, and at the same time there was a thumping sound on the door itself. Detective Chief Inspector Karlsson lifted himself from his chair onto his crutches, moved to the door and opened it.

    A very short, very thin woman was looking at him with a frown. Her gingery-brown hair was cut almost to a bristle at the back, but with a long fringe that fell over one eye. She had a narrow, pale face, slightly asymmetrical, with colorless brows and eyes the brown of cinnamon. She was dressed in a black anorak, baggy gray jumper, dark trousers and orange trainers. Behind her the rain was falling. Her face was wet with it. The branches of a plane tree creaked above her.

    I’m Chief Inspector Petra Burge.

    She looked too young, Karlsson thought. But then he saw the fine lines around her eyes. And she had a scar on the left side of her head, running from her ear down her neck. I’ve heard of you.

    Burge didn’t seem surprised by that, or flattered. I’ve got to take you to a crime scene.

    Karlsson gestured at his crutches. I’m on sick leave.

    It was the commissioner.

    Crawford sent you?

    He said to tell you that there’s a body in Saffron Mews.

    Saffron Mews?

    It was like he’d been punched in the gut. He put out a hand to steady himself. What’s happened?

    We’re going there now. I’ve got a car.

    Burge turned to go but Karlsson reached out and grabbed her sleeve. Is she dead?

    She shook her head. It’s a man.

    A man, Karlsson thought. What man? As if he was observing himself from a distance, he heard himself tell Burge that he would come at once and felt himself turn in the doorway to take up his coat, checking his own ID was in the pocket, sliding his crutches under his armpits, pulling the door closed and smelling the potato in the oven as he did so. It would burn away to nothing. Let it.

    He slid into the back of the car, pulling his crutches after him, and saw that someone else was there.

    I’m so, so sorry.

    In the darkness, it took him a few moments to recognize Detective Constable Yvette Long. She leaned toward him as if to take his hands. Her hair, usually tied back, was loose, and she was wearing a shapeless jumper and old jeans. There was a sob in her voice.

    He held up a hand to stop her talking. His leg hurt and his eyes were sore. He sat quite still and straight and looked at the road streaming toward them out of the wet darkness. She’s alive, he said.

    Burge got into the front seat. Beside her a driver was staring straight forward. From behind Karlsson could make out only his cropped hair, his neatly trimmed beard. Burge twisted around so that she was facing the passengers in the back.

    Aren’t we going? said Karlsson.

    Not yet. What’s all this about?

    I don’t know what you mean.

    Commissioner Crawford rings me at home. The commissioner. I’ve never met him, never even seen him. And he rings me at home, tells me to drop everything, go to a crime scene and head an investigation I’ve not even heard of. Not only that. On the way I’ve got to collect a DC I’ve never met and a DCI who’s on sick leave. ‘It’s Frieda Klein,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to watch yourself,’ he said. ‘It’s Frieda Klein.’

    There was a pause.

    So what’s your question? said Karlsson, who was in an agony of impatience.

    What am I getting myself into?

    If Crawford appointed you personally, then that must show he’s heard good things about you. So shouldn’t we get to this crime scene?

    Who’s Frieda Klein?

    Karlsson and Yvette Long looked at each other.

    Is that a difficult question? said Burge.

    She’s a psychotherapist, said Karlsson.

    And what’s your connection to her?

    Karlsson took a deep breath. She’s been involved in various police investigations.

    As an investigator or a suspect?

    A bit of both actually, said Yvette.

    That’s not fair, said Karlsson.

    Well, it’s true. I mean look at—

    Stop, said Burge. What I’m asking is: why is the commissioner getting personally involved? That’s not how things are done. And then why is he warning me?

    Karlsson and Yvette looked at each other again.

    I’ve worked with Frieda before, he began.

    We both have, said Yvette.

    Yes, we both have. She’s got abilities. Very particular abilities. But some people find her . . . He paused. What was the right word?

    Incredibly difficult, said Yvette.

    That’s putting it a bit strongly.

    She gets people’s backs up.

    It’s not her fault, said Karlsson. Not entirely. Is that enough for you?

    Burge nodded at the driver and the car moved forward. When did you last see her? she asked.

    Karlsson glanced at his watch. About three hours ago.

    Burge looked around sharply. What?

    She’d been involved in an investigation.

    What sort of investigation?

    She was trying to get an innocent person out of a hospital for the criminally insane.

    Which innocent person?

    It was the Hannah Docherty case.

    The Docherty case? That was Frieda Klein?

    Yes.

    It didn’t go well.

    No.

    There was silence for a moment. Karlsson’s mind was racing. There were so many questions to ask. This body, he said. Is it someone Frieda knows?

    Why do you ask? said Burge. Do you suspect something?

    Nothing in particular.

    No more was said until the car turned away from the traffic of Euston Road and then they saw a haze of flashing blue lights. As the car pulled to the curb, Burge twisted around once more. Are the two of you here to help her or to help me?

    Can’t we do both?

    We’ll see. At some point maybe you can explain to me why you’re employing a psychotherapist on criminal investigations.

    I’m not exactly employing her.

    Don’t judge her by your first impression, said Yvette. Or your second impression, in fact.

    Burge shook her head in irritation, then opened her door and walked quickly forward. It took longer for Karlsson to edge his way out of the car and raise himself onto his crutches. Yvette followed him. He could hear her breathing heavily. A crowd of people had already gathered on the pavement, held back by the tapes and by several uniformed police officers. So it was true. All at once, he felt himself growing calm and detached. This was his world. He steadied himself on his crutches and swung rapidly toward the scene. There were flashes of light. The media had already arrived. How did they know? One of them had climbed up onto a wall and was crouched with his camera at the ready.

    A young officer was controlling access behind the perimeter. Burge moved quickly past him, flashing her ID. Karlsson felt like an old, sick man, fumbling for his own ID while leaning on one of his crutches. The man took it and began laboriously copying Karlsson’s name into his logbook.

    "Why didn’t you stop her?" he said, pointing at Burge.

    She’s in charge, the man said. We were expecting her. Then he looked at his watch and added the time before handing back the ID, then did the same with Yvette’s. Karlsson suddenly felt that he was back but not really back.

    He was into the mews now, his crutches sliding on the wet cobbles. An ambulance was parked outside the lockups, its doors open and a paramedic inside, bending over something. As they made their way toward the house, another ambulance drove into the mews, its lights making the narrow space unfamiliar, pooled with blue, then fading back into darkness. Around him were figures, purposeful but silent. He could see faces at the opposite windows, staring down.

    A man stood by the side of the door, leaning against the wall. He was dressed in white overalls, but his hood was pulled back and his face mask hung from his neck. He was smoking, dragging on the cigarette urgently, exhaling, dragging again.

    Where’s the SOCO? asked Burge.

    That’s me, said the man.

    What are you doing out here?

    I needed a minute.

    You’re meant to be in there.

    The man looked up at Burge and then at her two companions. Even in the light from the cars and the street lamps, they could see that his face was a gray color, sweaty. He looked as if he was going to be sick. I do robberies mainly, he said. Crashes. I’ve never seen anything like this.

    Burge looked round at Karlsson and Yvette and grimaced.

    We need to go in, said Yvette, sharply.

    The officer led them to the open door of a police van. Karlsson felt frantic with impatience and dread; he needed the help of Yvette and a crime-scene officer to pull the overalls over his suit and get the plastic shoes on, then the mask and the latex gloves. Yvette tried to support him as he walked toward the door but he pushed her away. He rang the bell, as he had done many times before, and the door was pulled open.

    2

    Karlsson took a deep breath and stepped inside. He was blinded by the tungsten lights arranged on stands and hit by the smell, like a blow in the face. He had a sudden sense memory. A hot summer, lifting the lid of a plastic rubbish bin where scraps of fish and meat had been left for days, a sweet, rotting gasp of air that made you lurch and gag.

    He could see human shapes, white-suited. Burge approached one. She was speaking to the shape but Karlsson couldn’t make out the words. The other held a bulky camera. It flashed and flashed again, leaving blue floating swirls in Karlsson’s visual field. He had been in this room many times but the walls and ceiling seemed unfamiliar in this laboratory light, every ripple, every line and flaw exposed.

    The shapes weren’t looking at the walls. They were looking down and Karlsson followed their gaze. This didn’t make sense: why were the boards up? Why was the smell so strong, so terrible? Karlsson felt a ripple of dread and then, as he glimpsed what lay in the gash in the floor, a rush of relief that ran through his body, like a pulse of electricity. He leaned on his crutches, utterly confused.

    Burge had already told him that it wasn’t Frieda, that Frieda Klein wasn’t dead. But, still, it felt different to see it for himself. He could hear Yvette saying something next to him, calling him by his name, but he couldn’t make out the words. He couldn’t think or even feel. He simply stood and let the world come back into focus. Then he made himself examine the scene.

    It was all askew and strange. There was no floor. The boards in the center of the room had been removed and piled on one side, haphazardly, not neatly in a pile. Karlsson leaned across and peered down. He could see the beams. Or were they joists? His brain seemed to be working slowly. Keep calm, he told himself. Breathe. Think. This is when your training kicks in. He could see the improbable London soil underneath. Houses are such thin, fragile things, keeping the world out.

    There it was, crammed into one of the rectangular spaces. It was the body of a man, but it was somehow all wrong. The eyes were yellow and opaque, staring upwards. The skin on the face was waxy, off-white, stained with patches of blue. The torso was inflated, bulging against the blue shirt, which had dark, oozing patches. There were traces of movement, bloated fat flies, and on the soil around the body, maggots, some coiling in on themselves, some still. Dead, probably. Karlsson didn’t want to, but he looked more closely. There was something in one of the hands. It was dried and damaged and it had lost its color. But it was a flower. A daffodil, he thought. Seasonal. It was March. He stared at the terrible face: it was missing both ears. Someone had cut them off.

    A figure in a suit was kneeling by the gap, rummaging in a medium-sized white box. Karlsson recognized it. It contained evidence bags, containers for wet and dry evidence. He started to speak and quickly realized that his voice would be nothing more than a mumble. He pulled the mask away from his mouth and suddenly there were more smells, sicklier, sweeter. Karlsson thought he might vomit. You’re a chief inspector, he told himself. Don’t be the one to throw up over a crime scene. He took a breath and regretted it. How long has this been here? he said.

    The figure looked up and said something he couldn’t make out. He gestured helplessly.

    Pathologist on his way, said the voice, which sounded like it might be female.

    Karlsson was aware that Burge was beside him. Where’s Klein? she said.

    The figure pointed away from the room, toward the back of the house. Karlsson pulled his mask back on against the terrible smell. He and Burge went through the door into the kitchen. Frieda Klein was sitting at the table, her back quite straight. It seemed strange to step from that scene of destruction and decay and crime into this space of order, where a pot of basil stood on the windowsill, a cat was delicately lapping water from a bowl on the floor and there were orange tulips, not yet fully opened, in an earthenware jug. For a moment it felt to Karlsson like a stage set and behind him was the awfulness of reality. Quite slowly Frieda turned and looked at the two of them with the alert dark eyes that had always unnerved him, even when they were smiling, and now they weren’t. Her skin was even paler than usual. There was something different about her expression, Karlsson thought. And then he understood: she didn’t recognize him even though he was on his crutches. He pulled back his hood and tugged off the mask that was covering his nose and mouth. She gave the faintest smile but said nothing. Burge stepped forward. She introduced herself and then she sat at the kitchen table facing Frieda.

    Are you able to talk? she said.

    Yes, said Frieda.

    You’ll need to give a full statement but first I need to ask you a few questions. Can you manage that?

    Can I talk to my friends first?

    You need to talk to me first.

    All right.

    You seem rather calm, said Burge.

    Frieda’s eyes seemed to darken. Is that a problem?

    A body has been found in your house. Most people would find that distressing, shocking.

    I’m sorry, said Frieda, in a low voice. I’m not good at putting on a show.

    There was a sound from outside and Burge, turning her head, saw that a figure was standing in Frieda’s small backyard in the heavy rain. The end of the cigarette glowed and faded.

    Who’s that?

    A friend of mine. He’s called Josef Morozov. He found the body and is a bit shaken.

    How did he come to find it?

    Frieda lifted her hands and gently rubbed her temples. Burge saw that she was just about holding herself together.

    I came back a few hours ago after a difficult day. There was a smell. I didn’t know where it was coming from. Josef is a builder. He helps me out sometimes. He came around and took up a floorboard. I thought it would be a rat.

    Do you know who he is?

    Yes. He’s an ex-policeman called Bruce Stringer.

    Burge paused for a moment. She barely knew where to start. Have you any idea who did this? And why they would put the body of an ex-policeman in your house?

    Now it was Frieda’s turn to hesitate. Burge saw her look around at Karlsson. He gave her a small nod. I’m sorry, said Burge. Am I missing something?

    All right, said Frieda. I’ll tell you my opinion. I strongly believe that Stringer was killed by a man called Dean Reeve. Have you heard of him?

    Is this for real? said Burge.

    It’s what I really think, if that’s what you mean.

    Everyone has heard of Dean Reeve, said Burge. He was responsible for a series of abductions and a murder. The problem is that he killed himself more than seven years ago.

    Frieda shook her head. When you go back to your office, you’ll find that there’s a fat file on me. And one of the things in that file is that I keep trying to tell people that Dean Reeve is still alive and that he’s committed other murders.

    Burge looked at Karlsson. Do you believe this?

    I do, said Karlsson.

    If this is true, then why would he kill this man and why would he go to the trouble of putting the body in your house?

    Frieda wiped her eyes with a hand and took a deep breath, as if she were trying to collect herself. When she spoke it was with a composure that seemed to take an immense effort. Bruce Stringer was helping me look for Dean Reeve and I think he must have succeeded. And I think Dean Reeve put the body here as a message.

    What message?

    This is what you get if you look for me.

    Burge stood up. I’ll send a car for you. You’ll need to make a proper statement. Be careful what you say to anyone. Even your friends. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to the press. Now I’d better go and look at that file of yours.

    She nodded at Karlsson and left the room. He stood his crutches against a work surface and sat at the table, whose surface was clear apart from a glass of water in front of Frieda and another with a finger of whisky in it and the whisky bottle it had come from. He leaned slightly toward her but neither of them spoke. Then she held out a hand and Karlsson took it between both of his. She closed her eyes briefly.

    Why can’t you be in charge of the investigation?

    It wouldn’t be right.

    The door leading into the backyard opened and Josef came in. His face was dazed with shock. His clothes were sodden and his hair flat against his skull. Karlsson gestured to a chair. Josef looked blindly at him, sat down heavily, then lifted the bottle and filled the glass almost to the brim. He drained it and then tipped more whisky into it.

    I take up the boards. His voice was slightly thick, his brown eyes glowed.

    That must have been . . . Karlsson stopped. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t obvious.

    I have three of the whisky, said Josef. And now I have three more.

    Is that your van outside? said Karlsson.

    I bring my tools.

    Maybe take the bus home.

    What happens now? Frieda asked.

    Someone will come to take swabs. With your permission. They might want your clothes. He looked at Josef. Yours as well.

    Josef emptied his glass again. Mine?

    They’ll get you some others. And they’ll fingerprint you. And take hair samples. And they’ll want statements from both of you. It’ll take some time.

    The door opened and Yvette came in. She pulled off her mask and crossed to Frieda. Her face was blotchy. Karlsson saw there was sweat on her forehead and her upper lip.

    When she spoke, her voice was loud with awkwardness and distress. If you need anyone to talk to about this, she said.

    Thanks.

    I’m probably the last person you’d choose. I’m not good with this sort of thing, but if you . . .

    Yvette was unable to say anything else. Frieda patted her hand as if to comfort her.

    Josef held out the glass of whisky to Yvette and she took a large swallow, then coughed violently. Her eyes were watering.

    More? asked Josef, encouragingly.

    She shook her head. I hate whisky. It gives me a rash. She looked at Karlsson. The commissioner wants you.

    He sighed and pulled his crutches toward him. I’ll see you soon.

    Frieda made no reply. Her pale face was blank; she stared at him with her dark, unnerving eyes. He didn’t know if she even saw him.

    3

    You know what this means, Mal? Commissioner Crawford’s face was florid. He tugged at his collar to loosen it.

    Karlsson nodded.

    "I was called out of dinner at the Guildhall. Halfway through the bloody salmon en croûte."

    He took a coffee from the desk and contemplated it. Could someone get me a fresh coffee? he shouted, at a person Karlsson couldn’t see. You want one?

    No, thank you.

    I know what you’re thinking.

    Really?

    "And I know what she’s thinking."

    Who?

    Your Frieda Klein must be thinking that she’s won. You were right and your beloved Dr. Klein was right.

    I don’t believe that’s what she’s thinking at the moment.

    Crawford got up from his desk and looked out of the window. Karlsson swung himself across and stood next to him. There wasn’t much to see. Just a police station car park whose high wall was topped with coiled razor wire.

    Did you see the body?

    Yes.

    It really was under the floorboards?

    It really was.

    It’ll be a big story. The press loves that sort of thing. The corpse under the floor. What do you think Dr. Klein will say?

    About what?

    Crawford turned his face and frowned. "About it. About the case. About me."

    About you? said Karlsson. In what sense?

    I’m the one who stopped the Dean Reeve investigation. I didn’t believe her. Now Frieda Klein has me where she wants me. I bet she’s laughing about this.

    Commissioner, I can honestly tell you that she’s not laughing and that you are not at the forefront of her mind.

    Crawford continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard what Karlsson had said. You know the woman. We need to work out how to handle this.

    The way to handle it is to solve the crime.

    Yes, that’s right. Crawford took a large white handkerchief out of his pocket, unfolded it, wiped his forehead and replaced it. When he spoke, it was in a mutter, as if he were talking to himself. I’ve got someone good on this. Properly good. Did you meet her?

    Yes, I did.

    A woman. That might balance things up a bit.

    We just need her to be good.

    We do, said Crawford. I’m fighting for my life here.

    Leaving the station half an hour later, Karlsson saw Frieda getting out of the back of a police car. She walked up the steps, an officer beside her. When she stopped beside him, he laid a hand on her arm and it felt as rigid as a piece of wood. She looked at him as if she barely knew who he was.

    I need someone to take care of my cat, she said.

    I’ll sort it out.

    Frieda was shown into a small room. There was a ficus tree in a pot in the corner. She saw that it needed watering. The window blinds were pulled down, and there was a box of tissues on the table. Like a therapy session, she thought. All those tears. Someone came in with a jug of water and two tumblers. She was asked if she wanted tea, but she didn’t. Or coffee? No. Biscuits? She didn’t want biscuits either. There was a clock on the wall: the time was ten minutes to twelve.

    She took off her long coat and someone hung it on the hook on the door. She sat down on one of the chairs and poured herself a glass of water. Her hands were quite steady, her heartbeat was normal. She could hear the rain outside. The minute hand on the clock jumped forward.

    At four minutes to midnight, the door opened and a tall young man stood there. He had broad shoulders, thick dark eyebrows and a nose that looked as if it had been broken sometime in the past and not properly reset. He came further into the room holding three disposable cups of coffee on a tray. Petra Burge was behind him. She slipped a leather backpack off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

    This is my colleague, Don Kaminsky. One of these coffees is for you. I can get you milk if you need it.

    I’m all right.

    Petra Burge took a sip of her own coffee. Even burglaries are traumatic, she said. People feel invaded, violated.

    I’ve read that.

    And this is a body. Of someone you know.

    That’s right.

    Petra Burge looked at her through narrowed eyes, then gave a nod. Are you all right to give an initial statement? I want to get going at once, unless . . .

    I feel the same, said Frieda.

    Good. She sat opposite Frieda and drew a notepad from her backpack. Don will take down what you say properly but I might make a few notes as well. Is that OK? At the end, you’ll be asked to sign your statement.

    I understand. Frieda took one of the coffees. She was cold to her bones, and its warmth was comforting. I’ll have this after all.

    More than two hours later, DCI Burge sat back in her chair. We’re done. You must be exhausted.

    Not really. In fact Frieda’s mind felt hard and clear.

    You’ve had a bad day. You need to sleep.

    I need to walk.

    I think it’s still raining. And it’s nearly half past two.

    I know.

    Petra Burge gazed at her for a few seconds, then looked at her colleague. Don, go and see who’s available.

    Available for what? asked Frieda, as Don Kaminsky left the room. But Petra Burge didn’t answer, just stared intently at the few words she’d written on her notepad, among a succession of doodles. There was a fierce frown on her thin face.

    Kaminsky returned with a young female police officer. She had dirty-blond hair, flushed cheeks, a nervous expression. Petra Burge introduced her as PC Fran Bolton. Frieda shook her hand, which was limp, with bitten fingernails. Even though she was presumably on the night shift, Fran Bolton looked tired and pale, as if she had been kept up past her bedtime.

    Go and change into street clothes, please, the DCI said to her.

    The young officer left the room.

    Fran Bolton will be accompanying you.

    I don’t need someone accompanying me.

    A body was found under your floor and you believe that it was put there by the murderer Dean Reeve. She will accompany you. If you walk around with a uniformed police officer, you’ll attract attention. People will wonder what’s up. They’ll think you’re under arrest or that something’s going to happen. Of course, it’s a trade-off.

    Dean Reeve wouldn’t be put off by a uniform.

    The officer returned in dark trousers and a brown corduroy jacket. Frieda had thought of walking down to the river and along the embankment toward the east, then back along the canal. But she didn’t think she could subject the young officer to the wind and the rain and hours of walking. And it was difficult to see that she would be much use as protection. She was small and slightly built as well as looking like a schoolgirl on work experience. She had a radio. Perhaps she could call for help. Anyway, the point about walking was to walk alone.

    It’s all right. I won’t go for a walk.

    I’m going to arrange somewhere for you to stay, just for tonight, said Petra Burge.

    So I can go home tomorrow?

    Absolutely not. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, we’ll have something more permanent for you.

    I don’t like the sound of that.

    Petra Burge put her head to one side, as if she was examining Frieda. That’s how it is going to be.

    I don’t need anywhere tonight. I’ve already arranged that.

    Give me the address. We’ll put two officers outside the house.

    Really?

    Petra Burge paused for a moment. I spend a lot of time like this, she said finally. Talking to people after there’s been a crime, a body found, a house burned down, that sort of thing. Sometimes they’re crying or they’re angry or scared, or sometimes they just shut down. But you’re just . . . She searched for the word. Normal. Calm.

    Frieda looked at her

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