Nicci French - Sunday Morning Coming Down

Nicci French is the pseudonym for the writing partnership of journalists Nicci Gerrard and Sean French. The couple are married and live in Suffolk. There are seventeen other bestselling novels by Nicci French, all published by Penguin. Blue Monday was the first thrilling story in the Frieda Klein series, followed by Tuesdays Gone, Waiting for Wednesday, Thursdays Child, Friday on My Mind and Saturday Requiem.

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Glendower. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

Hotspur. Why, so can I, or so can any man,

But will they come when you do call for them?

William Shakespeare,

Henry IV Part One (Act III, Scene I)

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 on to 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 colourless brows and eyes the brown of cinnamon. She was dressed in a black anorak, baggy grey 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.

Im 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. Ive heard of you.

Burge didnt seem surprised by that, or flattered. Ive got to take you to a crime scene.

Karlsson gestured at his crutches. Im on sick leave.

It was the commissioner.

Crawford sent you?

He said to tell you that theres a body in Saffron Mews.

Saffron Mews?

It was like hed been punched in the gut. He put out a hand to steady himself. Whats happened?

Were going there now. Ive got a car.

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

She shook her head. Its 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.

Im so, so sorry.

In the darkness, it took him a few moments to recognize Detective Constable Yvette Long. She leaned towards 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 towards them out of the wet darkness. Shes 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 round so that she was facing the passengers in the back.

Arent we going? said Karlsson.

Not yet. Whats all this about?

I dont know what you mean.

Commissioner Crawford rings me at home. The commissioner. Ive 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 Ive not even heard of. Not only that. On the way Ive got to collect a DC Ive never met and a DCI whos on sick leave. Its Frieda Klein, he said. Youve got to watch yourself, he said. Its Frieda Klein.

There was a pause.

So whats 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 hes heard good things about you. So shouldnt we get to this crime scene?

Whos Frieda Klein?

Karlsson and Yvette Long looked at each other.

Is that a difficult question? said Burge.

Shes a psychotherapist, said Karlsson.

And whats your connection to her?

Karlsson took a deep breath. Shes been involved in various police investigations.

As an investigator or a suspect?

A bit of both actually, said Yvette.

Thats not fair, said Karlsson.

Well, its true. I mean look at

Stop, said Burge. What Im asking is: why is the commissioner getting personally involved? Thats not how things are done. And then why is he warning me?

Karlsson and Yvette looked at each other again.

Ive worked with Frieda before, he began.

We both have, said Yvette.

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

Incredibly difficult, said Yvette.

Thats putting it a bit strongly.

She gets peoples backs up.

Its 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?

Shed 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 didnt go well.

No.

There was silence for a moment. Karlssons 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 kerb, Burge twisted round once more. Are the two of you here to help her or to help me?

Cant we do both?

Well see. At some point maybe you can explain to me why youre employing a psychotherapist on criminal investigations.

Im not exactly employing her.

Dont 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 on to 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 towards the scene. There were flashes of light. The media had already arrived. How did they know? One of them had climbed up on to 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 Karlssons name into his logbook.