Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (70)

‘I hadn’t thought about the fireplaces. Look at the rest of the house. So much needs doing.’

‘I just thought I’d ask,’ he said amiably, without pressuring her. Igor was easy-going. Calming to be around. She’d forgotten that about him. Mark had been so calm and easy-going. The thought of Mark flared up in her mind, and she quickly extinguished it. They sipped their beer and stared at each other across the mattress. Erika wondered how much he’d changed in the past twenty-six years. And she thought how much she’d changed.

‘I’m this close to quitting London and going back to Slovakia,’ he said, breaking the comfortable silence. ‘This delivery job is awful, the hours and the pay. And what with Brexit, and the cost of living, I dunno. But then there’s my son…’

Erika’s phone rang, and she saw it was Isaac.

‘Hi, is everything okay?’ she asked.

‘I’m just on my way round to your house, if that’s okay? I thought you might want someone to help with housewarming, and I have some news about Vicky Clarke,’ he said.

‘You have the post-mortem results?’

‘Yes. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,’ said Isaac and he hung up.

‘Is that a friend?’ asked Igor.

‘Yes, and no. Well, he’s a colleague.’

‘I should get going,’ said Igor, getting up. He downed the rest of his beer. ‘Thank you for the food.’

He went to the electric heater where his T-shirt was drying. He stripped off the dry T-shirt he’d borrowed from Erika and pulled it on. She caught a glimpse of his beautiful torso. He really looks after himself, she thought. She didn’t know many forty-year-old Slovak men who still had a six-pack.

‘Listen. I’ve got your number. I’ll give you a call about the chimneys, when I’m sorted out here,’ she said, still not sure if she meant it.

‘That would be great.’

‘And thanks for helping with the bed and washing machine.’

They walked out into the hallway, and Erika saw Isaac through the frosted glass in the front door, coming up the front path. He rang the bell and Erika suddenly felt odd at having Igor and him meet. When she opened the door, Isaac was holding a bottle of wine and a small plant in cellophane.

‘Hello,’ said Isaac, looking at Igor appreciatively. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.’

‘I’m just leaving. I’m Igor,’ he said, offering a hand. Isaac juggled the plant for a moment, and handed Erika the bottle of champagne.

‘I’m Isaac Strong. Erika’s friend… GBF,’ he said, laughing nervously.

‘GBF?’ repeated Erika, surprised. She’d never heard Isaac use this phrase before.

‘You know, Gay Best Friend,’ said Isaac, blushing. Erika stared at him, and was surprised to see Isaac’s usual cool demeanour disrupted.

‘Oh, right,’ said Igor, smiling uncertainly. He put a hand to his head. ‘I left my hat in your kitchen.’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Erika, starting up the hallway.

‘And it’s eighty quid, for the plumbing in,’ added Igor, calling after her. Erika grabbed her purse and his cap off the kitchen table. When she returned, Isaac and Igor were standing in awkward silence. She handed Igor his hat, and gave him four twenty-pound notes, and an extra ten.

‘Oh. Thanks,’ he said. ‘So, you’ll call me?’

‘Yes. I will. About the chimneys being swept,’ said Erika. Igor leant over to kiss Erika on the cheek, European style. But she moved the wrong way and he ended up kissing her on the lips.

‘Sorry!’ she said.

‘My fault. Anyway, good to see you and good to meet you, Isaac.’

When he was gone, Erika closed the door, and turned to Isaac.

‘He was delivering my washing machine and bed and he offered to plumb it in. It turns out he’s my old boyfriend from home. A very odd coincidence.’

‘Interesting. He’s handsome,’ said Isaac with a smile. ‘Happy housewarming,’ he said, handing her the plant. ‘And here’s something to water it with.’ He held up the bottle of champagne.

‘Thank you. Come in. It’s just a mattress on the floor in the living room or a deck chair,’ she said. ‘Do you want a glass of this?’

‘Yes… I also have the results of Vicky Clarke’s post-mortem. If you’re happy to talk shop.’

‘You do? That was fast,’ said Erika, intrigued and glad to have the conversation back on safer ground. ‘Come through.’





46





‘Vicky Clarke died of a single stab to the heart,’ said Isaac when they were settled in the living room. ‘There were no drugs or alcohol in her system.’

‘Were there any other signs of violence?’ asked Erika.

‘None. The heart itself is hard to stab because it lies behind the sternum,’ said Isaac, putting down his glass and sitting up to indicate the hard bone between his pectoral muscles. ‘The sternum is partially covered by the ribs, and the heart has its own fibrous layer covering the pericardium – that’s the thick protective sac that surrounds your heart.’

‘The person would have to use a very sharp, very long knife? And have a good aim.’