Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (21)

Henrietta hobbled over to a cluttered desk by the window, and leafed through a pile of papers.

‘Ah, here,’ she said, holding out a piece of paper. Erika moved to the desk and took it. ‘I have to keep official records for the Arts Council, they fund a portion of my work. That’s an invoice, of sorts, from Fogle and Harris Vets in Dulwich. The bodies of two cats, who sadly had to be put to sleep, were donated to me for photographic use.’

Erika scanned the invoice.

‘How long do you keep the animals before you dispose of them?’

‘I freeze them, and then thaw to photograph. I do have to be careful about decay, I only have an hour before things get nasty. I dispose of the smaller remains the night before bin day, so they’re not hanging around and stinking up the communal rubbish bins. It’s all legal.’

‘Why didn’t Charles tell us?’ said Erika. ‘He could have saved us a lot of time.’

‘I’ve asked him not to tell people about this particular project. People can be very sensitive about these things.’

‘But it went so far. We arrested him,’ said Moss.

‘Charles is very loyal. A very good friend, to his own detriment,’ said Henrietta.

‘Did Vicky ever talk to you about the arrangement you had with this local vet?’ asked Erika. Henrietta looked up at her and her thick eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

‘Why in heaven’s name would she?’

Erika briefly detailed Vicky’s podcast, and the episode she recorded about the Croydon Cat Killer.

Henrietta shook her head.

‘No, no. I have no knowledge of this, what do you call it?’

‘Podcast.’

‘What is a podcast?’

‘It’s like a radio programme,’ said Moss.

‘Well, she never spoke to me about that. And as I say, I keep my own work very private. This is a very quiet street. A quiet building. I’m taken aback that this awful thing has happened here.’





‘Why didn’t Charles just tell us the reason he had the dead cats in the bag?’ said Erika when they came back out to the car. She looked down at the invoice from the vet. ‘He was legitimately disposing of them.’

‘He did hit a police officer,’ said Moss.

‘But that’s nothing to do with Vicky Clarke’s murder… Isaac has estimated Vicky’s death between 3pm and 7pm. Charles would have had to murder her between five and six, and clean himself up to go up to Henrietta’s for drinks,’ said Erika. Peterson arrived back at the car from the flats.

‘Charles just gave me his train ticket and receipt from Monday,’ he said, holding them up. ‘He bought his ticket at Blackheath train station just up the road at 1:55pm. And he took the 2:03pm train to London Bridge.’

Erika took them both from him and saw the timestamp on the receipt.

‘He paid cash,’ she said. ‘But we can request the station CCTV. Did he tell you what time train he took back here?’

‘Yes. He said he took the 5pm train back from London Bridge. It takes around twelve minutes, add on a few minutes’ walk back from the station and it has him back here at Honeycomb Court by 5:20pm,’ said Peterson.

‘Has Isaac made that time of death official?’ asked Moss.

‘Not yet,’ said Erika. ‘We just have his estimate that Vicky Clarke was killed between 3pm and 7pm.’

‘He could have done it, he had half an hour,’ said Moss.

‘You saw his flat, where would he have cleaned up afterwards? And disposed of the murder weapon? Bloody clothes? It’s very tight.’

‘What about Vicky’s bathroom? The killer could have cleaned up there,’ said Moss.

‘Yes. Again, we’re waiting on the DNA evidence from the crime scene,’ said Erika. They sat in silence for a moment.

‘I want to talk to those sisters, the Bulgarians, who live opposite. We still don’t know if they were in on Monday,’ said Erika. ‘But first I want to pay Vicky’s boyfriend a visit.’





14





Erika studied the buttons on the doorbell. There were six ‘units’ in the building where Shawn Macavity lived. Three of them looked to be businesses: ‘BUZZY BEE CREATIVE’ was below ‘TIPPY TAPPY TOES LTD’ and ‘YOGA PET’. The name ‘SHAWN M’ was scribbled in biro on a little piece of paper above ‘MR AEGEDFIST’ and ‘PERRY GORDON’.

Moss leant over to ring the bell just as the door opened and a young woman with long curly dark hair and a trench coat came hurrying out clutching her Oyster card and her handbag over her shoulder. She didn’t give them a second look as she ran up towards the passage with her high heels clacking.

‘Late for the train, that’s London life for you,’ said Peterson, turning, along with Moss, to watch the woman as she ran. Erika was pleased they didn’t have to ring the bell. The element of surprise worked quite well.

At the end of the corridor a set of stairs led up to three closed doors. Shawn’s flat was at the end. The whole building seemed to be badly constructed, with thin rattling walls, and their feet echoed as they walked.

Erika knocked on the door and a moment passed. She knocked again, and finally a skinny young man opened the door. He was only wearing a pair of baggy wine-coloured briefs, and he had a shock of long dark hair down to his shoulders. His eyes had a haunted look.