Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (13)

She closed the window and they went to the kitchen. It had the same fustiness as the bathroom. There was no microwave, just an old-fashioned gas oven with the grill pan on a shelf above the hob. The fridge hummed in one corner. There was a stale smell of frying food, but the cracked Formica surfaces were clean and tidy. Erika pressed her foot to the pedal bin. It was empty, with a clean bag. The metal sink was empty too, with water stains. Moss crouched down and opened the freezer drawers.

‘Nothing but potato waffles, and beef mince… Oh, and a bag of kippers. No dead cats.’

They came out of the kitchen into the hall. There was a tall cupboard door with a key in the lock. Erika opened it. It was lined with shelves up to the ceiling, and they contained household supplies, cleaning products, bin liners, light bulbs, toilet paper and scores more bars of the Imperial Leather soap from the bathroom.

‘No TV, computer, or radio, and he’s a bit of a hoarder,’ said Moss, looking up at the stash.

‘Yes, but that’s not illegal,’ said Erika.

‘There’s no sign of him doing a big clean-up, unless he wore protective overalls and rubber gloves, but the bin bag we caught him throwing away had none of that inside.’

‘We need to check through the communal rubbish bins,’ said Erika.

‘Great, nothing I’d love to do more,’ said Moss. There was a twanging sound, and the cuckoo clock in the living room began to signal the hour. Erika shuddered. Time seemed to stand still in this strange, creepy little flat.





8





An extensive search through the communal rubbish bins brought up no evidence of bloodied clothing or tissues. At 3am the forensics team finished inside Vicky’s flat, and things started to wind down at the crime scene. Erika told her team they would reconvene at Lewisham Row station at 10am the next morning.

‘Do you want a lift home, boss?’ asked Moss. The forensics van had left the scene, and the police support van was pulling away. It was now very windy and bleak on the narrow road, and the taut crime scene tape gave off a low humming as it vibrated in the breeze.

‘It’s okay. My new place is two streets over.’

‘It’s late. Let me run you back and make sure you get home safe…’ They got into Moss’s car and she started the engine and fired up the heater. Erika put her freezing hands between her thighs and hunched down, waiting to warm up. Moss offered her a bag which contained sherbet flying saucers.

‘Here. Take the taste of that dumpster dive out of your mouth,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ said Erika, taking one and dropping it on her tongue. She felt the rice paper dissolve and then a delicious fizz of sweet-sharp sugar hit her system, banishing the memory of trawling through bags of fetid trash and rotting food.

‘What do you now think about Charles Wakefield?’ asked Moss.

‘Leave him in a cell overnight, and then we’ll put him in an interview room tomorrow.’

‘Do you think he killed Vicky?’

‘That would be nice and easy, but I’d have trouble linking him to the murder at this stage. Unless we find DNA.’

‘Nice and easy never happens,’ said Moss.

Erika nodded and rolled her eyes. ‘Give me another one of those flying saucers.’

‘I bought them for the kids, but they never quite made it into the house,’ said Moss, shaking the bag and holding it out. ‘Sugar is my favourite food group.’

‘They’re so good,’ said Erika, sitting back for a moment and closing her eyes. ‘Jesus. I’ve been up since five this morning for the house movers.’

They pulled away from the block of flats, where a lone officer was stationed for the night.





‘It looks… erm. It’s a fixer-upper,’ said Moss, peering up through her window when they parked outside Erika’s new house.

‘I did that thing people keep saying, buy the crappiest house on the nicest street.’

‘Well. You’ve achieved that.’

Erika laughed.

‘Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

‘Night, boss. Get some sleep!’

Moss waited until she got in through the front door before she drove away. It was freezing cold inside, and there was a breeze coming down the hallway. When Erika flicked on the light, she saw a line of neat muddy paw prints running along the wooden floorboards in the hall, coming from the kitchen. Erika followed them, and saw that the old cat flap in the back door was wedged open at an angle.

A loud miaow echoed through the house and made her jump, and then it came again. Erika followed the paw prints back out of the kitchen and down the hall, where they turned abruptly and carried on up the stairs. A pane of glass above the front door had the number 27 etched in fading paint. Where the streetlight was shining in, Erika saw two yellow eyes at the top of the stairs, glinting in the darkness.

‘Are you my late-night intruder?’ she asked. The cat gave a bright little miaow and came padding down to her, emerging into the light. Erika had been expecting some shaggy moggy, but this cat was a beautiful black with four perfect white feet, like little boots. It looked quite young, and was lean but not underfed. It had the most beautiful green eyes.

The cat came to a stop at the bottom of the steps and sat staring at her confidently, unblinking. Its front feet splayed outwards, and the posture reminded Erika of Mary Poppins’s posture with her feet turned out, when she took flight with her umbrella.