Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (69)

For the first time in ages, Erika felt a little flutter of excitement in her chest, and she forgot all about work.





45





Igor unboxed and plumbed in Erika’s washing machine, and then, unasked, he set to work putting together her bed frame. Just as he finished, the Chinese takeaway arrived. They ended up eating in the living room, sitting on each end of the plastic-covered mattress, drinking beer, and catching up with what had happened to them over the past twenty-six years.

‘I remember that day you came to say goodbye to me at the coach station, when I was coming to England,’ said Erika. Igor nodded, picking at the label on his beer bottle. ‘It was the most frightening and exhilarating thing, like leaping off a cliff into the unknown. I knew about six words of English.’

Igor smiled.

‘We wrote to each other, didn’t we?’ he said.

‘We did,’ said Erika, picking at her beer label.

‘I’m trying to remember why we stopped?’

Erika hesitated, feeling awkward. A sudden rush of memories and emotions came back to her.

‘We stopped because of me. I met someone else,’ she said.

‘Yeah. A British guy. Mike?’

‘Mark.’

When she said it, his name hung ominously in the air. She realised that she didn’t say it out loud that often.

‘You were working in Manchester as an au pair for that professor of forensics, weren’t you?’

‘Professor Portnoy. It was a very weird, grand old house. Thick carpets. Ominous silences. Ticking clocks. It wasn’t the happiest place.’

They listened to the rain on the roof for a few minutes.

‘What happened to Mark? Where is he? I’d like to have strong words with him for stealing you away from me,’ he said with a grin. Then he saw Erika’s face. ‘Oh. I’ve just put my foot in it.’

Erika rubbed at her temples. The stress of having to explain her widowhood never seemed to leave.

‘The short version is, we got married. We both trained to be police officers, and then he was killed on duty. Shot by a drug dealer. That was almost five years ago.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Why would you know?’

‘Did they ever catch the guy who did it?’

‘No.’

‘No? Do you know who it was?’

Erika hesitated.

‘Yes. We had him under surveillance for… for a long time. He vanished into the woodwork…’ She shrugged. ‘I still check sometimes, to see if he’s resurfaced somewhere in police records. He’s vanished somewhere abroad, we think. What about you?’ she said, changing the subject. She could feel the memory of what happened to Mark dragging her down. It was a feeling she didn’t want to have in her new home.

‘I studied English literature in Bratislava. I came to London in 1999 as a translator for a finance company. Married Denise, we had a little boy. I lost my job in 2009. We divorced in 2012. The last six years have been…’ He shrugged. ‘About trying to keep my head above water. Renting. Paying child support.’

‘How old is your son?’

‘Twelve.’ He put down his beer bottle, sat up on the mattress and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a small photo and handed it to Erika. It was of a brown-haired toddler, sitting on Igor’s shoulders. They were both wearing sunglasses, and grinning at the camera. The sun was shining in the background, reflecting off the lens, bathing Igor and his son in a corona of yellow and white.

‘He’s cute,’ said Erika, and she was glad to say she meant it.

‘Thomas.’

‘Th-omas. Not Toma??’ she said. Igor shook his head and smiled. Erika handed back the photo.

‘Don’t get me started. I had so many arguments with Denise about his name. I wanted Toma?, but she thinks “Mak” is a weird enough surname for a British kid to have.’

Erika laughed. Mak translated into English was ‘poppy seed’. He looked at the picture again, and she saw his smile was tinged with sadness as he tucked it back into his wallet.

‘Tommy Poppy-Seed. Sounds like a very cute little rapper,’ she said. Igor laughed. ‘No one could ever pronounce Boledisova. Foster is much easier.’

He took another sip of his beer.

‘What kind of police officer are you?’

‘I’m a bit of a bitch, but I’m always fair.’

He laughed.

‘No. Your rank?’

‘Detective Chief Inspector,’ said Erika. She got up and found her warrant card in her coat hanging over one of the deckchairs and handed it to him, feeling a pride she didn’t acknowledge often.

‘Wow. Congratulations,’ he said, studying her photo ID.

‘I don’t have any kids, no pictures of kids… to show you.’

There was a long silence. They listened to the rain clinking on the roof. Igor handed back her warrant card. George yawned and stretched out between them on the mattress, making the plastic crackle.

‘That fireplace, does it work?’ he said, pointing to it.

‘No. I’ve got five fireplaces, and only one works. And no heating.’

‘If you wanted your fireplaces unblocked and cleaned, I could do it for you. I got all my qualifications. I did it for a few years, when I moved out. I was self-employed and… Anyway, I’d just need to hire the equipment for a few hours…’