Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (20)

‘What’s his name?’

‘Shawn Macavity. He lived here for a time with Victoria.’

‘Illegally, I might add,’ said Henrietta.

‘How did he live here illegally?’ said Erika.

‘All of the tenancy agreements state that only the person or persons listed on the agreement can reside on the property. A tenancy agreement is a legal document, no?’ said Henrietta. A bright yellow van pulled up in front of the garden with Derren Bryant Locksmith written in big letters on its side.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to deal with this,’ said Charles, hurrying to meet the man getting out of the van.

‘Charles is a good man. Misunderstood. He’s not had an easy life. I’ve certainly benefitted from his loyal friendship,’ said Henrietta in a low voice as they watched Charles usher the locksmith inside. ‘He works as my caretaker for the building, but in a very loose sense. He provides light maintenance for the communal areas, organises the gardeners, and if anything needs fixing. He’s trustworthy and honest.’

‘Does he have a key to all the flats?’ asked Moss.

‘Good lord, no. As I said, it’s a very loose arrangement. The flats are all private residences.’

‘What about the other residents? There are only a few other neighbours?’ asked Erika.

‘Beryl Wentworth upstairs keeps herself to herself. Ray is away most of the year, he works in China, something to do with computers. The Bulgarian girls are lovely. Sophia and Maria. So clever and polite. Trainee doctors. It’s so nice to see foreigners here earning their keep.’

‘Are they at home today?’ asked Erika, ignoring the barb.

‘No, we just knocked on their door. I know they work enormously long hours… night shifts.’ She looked around at the churned-up garden. ‘It’s rather cold, will you help me upstairs? I can show you my studio,’ she added, looking up at Peterson and offering her arm.





13





The lobby looked different in the daylight. The walls were a bright, cerulean blue, and the light pouring in through the windows seemed to dance across the paintwork.

Henrietta glanced at the closed door to Vicky’s flat where crime scene tape was pasted across, sealing it shut.

‘How bad is it in there?’ she asked Peterson. He opened his mouth, and hesitated. ‘Ah, as bad as that,’ she added. Her face was ashen.

Charles’s front door was closed and they could hear the rattle of the locksmith working on the other side of the door. Henrietta moved steadily but slowly to the lift at the back of the lobby, gripping onto Peterson’s arm. Erika and Moss followed. They used the lift to travel up the three floors, and when they emerged onto the top, the ceiling was a few feet higher than it was on the other floors, and the landing had a long row of skylights which added to the feeling of lightness and space. There was a door on each side of the hallway.

‘My studio is here,’ said Henrietta. She took a set of keys from her pocket, and unlocked the door. ‘Do come inside.’

Erika wondered why she’d brought them here – was it to show off her work? The studio was one huge open-plan room with a glass wall at one end and spectacular views out over London and Blackheath. The sun glimmered behind the clouds and it looked like a storm was brewing on the horizon. The back wall had a tall wooden shelf containing bottles of chemicals, and art supplies. There was a chest freezer and an old Red Bull branded fridge with a clear glass door filled with boxes of camera film.

‘That’s my darkroom,’ said Henrietta, indicating a door beside the chest freezer.

The remaining walls were crowded with beautiful photos depicting textures and bold colours, and incredibly intricate shapes. In one photo Erika saw the uniformed ridges of the sand on a crystal-clear seabed, and in another it looked like an extreme close-up of ice crystals.

‘What’s this?’ asked Moss, who was equally puzzled, along with Peterson, by a photo of a roughly textured silver disc.

‘That is a coin, minted in the Norman era. It’s an extreme magnification of the coin’s edge,’ said Henrietta, coming to join them and peering up at the photo. ‘I have another one here of a snooker ball,’ she said, pointing at a photo which looked like the rocky surface of a cliff face. ‘When magnified to the extreme, there are peaks and troughs which wouldn’t look out of place in a mountain range.’

‘And what’s this?’ asked Peterson, pointing to a photo of a reddish mass which contained various bubbles and feathery fronds.

‘The digestive tract of a horse. I didn’t have the whole horse here in the studio, just the intestine. I’ve been doing a series of photos on the flesh and anatomy of wild animals. Hence, the freezer,’ she said, pointing her stick at the chest freezer humming at the back of the room. A look passed between Erika, Moss and Peterson. Henrietta caught it, and fixed her poached-egg Midas stare on Erika.

‘What is it, officers?’

‘Did any of your photography projects involve cats?’ asked Erika.

‘Yes.’

‘And did you ask Charles to dispose of these cats?’

‘Yes. Yesterday, after we had drinks, I asked him to deposit the bodies of two dead cats, which I had in this freezer, into the communal refuse bins.’

‘Where did you find the dead cats?’ asked Erika, feeling triumph but also a sense of alarm that her instincts about Charles had been wrong.