Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (16)

‘Okay. Thanks for the tip…’As they reached the front desk, Erika’s thoughts moved to Charles Wakefield. ‘I’ll see you at the briefing. I’m just going to check on Mr Wakefield, and see how he enjoyed his night in the cells.’ Peterson nodded and put his card key on the sensor next to the door. It buzzed and clicked open, letting him into the main station. ‘Morning. Can I have a look at the last night’s log, please?’ she added to the Duty Officer on the desk. He handed her a printout.

Erika scanned down the list. It detailed all the arrests and incidents that had happened during the night, and she froze when she saw the last log entry.

‘What the…’ she said under her breath. ‘Is this correct?’ she asked, pointing to the entry at the bottom.

‘Yeah. He went off first thing,’ said the Duty Officer. ‘Turns out that Charles Wakefield’s brother is Julian Wakefield, the Assistant Commissioner of Police!’





10





Erika went to the door and buzzed herself into the station. She hurried down a long, low corridor which led past the central staircase and lifts towards the custody suite. Phones rang, and officers in uniform and support staff streamed by in the opposite direction, their weary faces tense and urgent.

Erika’s mind was whirring. Jesus. Why didn’t Charles say that his brother was third in command of the whole bloody Met police? She thought back to the photos in his living room, of the two brothers. She thought that the brother looked familiar.

She bumped into Moss coming out of the staff canteen with a coffee.

‘Morning, boss. The Super wants to see you urgently in her office,’ she said, swallowing a gulp of coffee.

‘I thought she might,’ said Erika. She turned on her heel and went back to the stairs, feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety growing in her chest.

Superintendent Melanie Hudson’s office was on the top floor, at the end of the corridor. Erika knocked and waited.

‘Come in,’ came Melanie’s muffled voice. When Erika opened the door, she was sitting at her desk. She was a petite woman with fine blonde hair. Next to her was Commander Paul Marsh. He was sitting bolt upright in his chair wearing his dress uniform, which was immaculate. He had a deep tan, and his short sandy hair was still thick, despite being in his mid-forties.

‘Morning, Erika,’ he said.

‘Morning,’ said Erika cautiously, stepping into the office. Behind the desk was a view out over London, and in the far distance, amongst the haze, Erika could just make out the Houses of Parliament.

‘Please, have a seat,’ said Melanie, indicating the chair in front of the desk.

Erika had a good working relationship with Melanie, but her relationship with Marsh was complex. They’d trained together as police officers in Manchester, he’d been Mark’s best friend, and for a few years they’d all been close – but a great deal had changed since then. In Erika’s opinion, Marsh had put aside being a good police officer so he could rapidly rise through the ranks.

There was an awkward pause.

‘It’s good to be back in my old office. It looks a bit different to when I was here,’ said Marsh.

‘Yes. It’s a lot cleaner,’ said Erika. ‘It used to look like a teenage boy’s bedroom. Old coffee cups, and workout clothes everywhere…’ Melanie didn’t smile. Marsh looked annoyed. ‘I presume you’re here to tell me why a suspect I arrested last night has been released without my approval?’

‘Erika, Commander Marsh has found time in his busy schedule to come and explain directly last night’s developments,’ said Melanie.

‘Does nepotism need an explanation?’ replied Erika. ‘I just found out that Charles’s brother is high up in the Met. I presume Julian Wakefield pulled some strings to let him off assaulting a police officer,’ said Erika.

Melanie shook her head, and snapped, ‘For God sake’s, Erika, be quiet and listen.’

She wasn’t used to hearing Melanie snap at her, and it brought her up short.

‘I’m sorry, but I had no idea of who his brother was when I arrested him. And despite that, I should have been notified that he was being moved from custody,’ said Erika, feeling her cheeks blushing at the rebuke. Marsh drummed his fingers on the table.

‘This is a delicate matter, Erika. A very sensitive time for the Met. As you know, public confidence in the police has been eroded by the press. This needed to be dealt with properly, but swiftly, to avoid this being dragged into the press…’ Erika went to speak but he put his hand up. ‘I can assure you that Charles Wakefield hasn’t been let off with a slapped wrist. He was taken to Lewisham Magistrates’ Court at 8am this morning. His case was first up, and he was found guilty of a Section 89, assaulting a police officer. It was his first offence – he’s never had so much as a parking ticket – so he was given a three-month suspended sentence and has to pay a one thousand pound fine.’

Erika was surprised that he’d been convicted, but she felt cheated that she hadn’t had the chance to grill him in an interview room.

‘Where is he now?’ she said, after a pause. ‘Hiding out with the Assistant Commissioner?’

‘No. It seems Charles is the black sheep of the family. I know Julian quite well, and had no idea until today that he had a brother,’ said Marsh.