Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (92)

Before she left, Erika checked in on the lab with the DNA results, and was told they were still pending.

‘Time is ticking, I only have this guy in custody for a few more hours. If I don’t have a DNA result, I’ll have to release him. Pull your finger out and get that over to me!’ she snapped, slamming down the receiver. She stared at the phone for a moment afterwards. That was probably a bad move, pissing them off, but it was done now. Erika got up. She had to talk to Charles again. She debated for a moment and then set off, down to the custody suite, taking the lift, annoyed that the journey took three times as long with her gammy foot.

‘How is Charles Wakefield?’ she asked the police officer on duty.

‘I just checked on him, he’s sleeping like a baby. They gave him a sedative,’ she said. Erika nodded and looked around. The custody suite was empty.

‘Can I look at him?’

‘Look at him?’ she repeated.

‘Yes, I want to see him. Check he’s all right.’

‘His doctor has been here.’

‘Yes, I just saw him,’ Erika replied, hoping that the doctor was indeed a ‘he’.

The duty officer debated for a moment and then nodded. She accompanied Erika down the long narrow corridor to Charles’s cell. She slid open the hatch and Erika peered inside into the gloom. Charles was curled up in a ball on the small bare bench, snoring gently. He looked fast asleep.

‘See what I said, like a baby,’ whispered the duty officer. ‘He’s my only prisoner tonight, so I’m hoping for a quiet night with a good book.’

‘Was the doctor concerned?’ asked Erika. ‘With his condition and all that?’

‘The schizophrenia? Yes. He’d thrown up all of his meds, so the doctor had to get him to take them again. It was a battle.’

Schizophrenia, thought Erika, and she remembered the pill bottles they’d found in his medicine cabinet with all of the labels ripped off.

‘Did the doctor confirm that he was non-violent?’ asked Erika.

‘Yes. He’s not violent but can become very paranoid. He’s also terrified of technology. The doctor said that during some of his more severe psychosis, he’s ripped out his landline, and he won’t even have a radio in his flat.’

‘I just hope I can still talk to him tomorrow,’ said Erika.

‘The doctor is coming back in the morning, and you must know his brother is the Assistant Commissioner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Between you and me, he’s been pushing the doctor to have him sectioned under the Mental Health Act.’

‘Really,’ said Erika. She looked back at Charles sleeping, and her heart sank. If he was sectioned, and he’d suffered a psychotic episode, then they couldn’t interview him again. And anything he’d already told them in the interview room could be ruled inadmissible.

The duty officer gently slid the hatch back up, and Erika left the custody suite.





61





Her car was still in the car park, and as Erika limped across to it, she wondered if she would be able to drive. She just managed and set off for Telegraph Hill.

Telegraph Hill was very close to Goldsmith’s Drama Academy. It was an affluent slice of London on top of a steep hill leading up from New Cross. There was a park and lots of red brick terraced houses. It reminded Erika of the plush area where Marsh lived. Colin’s house sat at the very top of the steepest hill. It was a grand-looking detached house set back from the road on a large plot of land. A small tower with a stone spire rose up out of the brickwork, which seemed a little ostentatious for South London.

‘Fancy,’ muttered Erika, peering up at it. ‘People in stone houses, act like kings,’ she added. There were no spaces on the road outside, and she saw there was a decent-sized driveway outside which led to a wooden car port. There was a space next to two other cars, so she pulled in off the road and used the parking spot.

It was very secluded from the road behind the high row of bushes and tall trees lining the front wall. A security light flicked on as she limped her way to the front door. A bell jangled from deep inside, and she half expected a creepy butler to answer the door.

It was Cilla who answered, wearing a baggy smock-like dress in a bright green fabric with deep pockets on each side. She had on a towering pair of high heels in emerald green, with a crusting of silver glitter on the toes. Her hair had changed colour since the funeral. It was now pillar-box red.

‘Good evening, you’re just in time for coffee,’ she said, greeting her with a theatrical enthusiasm. Erika stepped inside, wincing as she moved up the two steep steps inside, leaning on her crutches. ‘My goodness, what have you done to your foot?’ added Cilla when they were in the hallway.

‘I stood on a broken bottle, smashed by my cat,’ she said. Cilla helped Erika off with her coat, which she hung on a huge iron coat stand by the front door. Erika looked around at the large hallway. There was lots of wood panelling and a flagstone floor. A small stained-glass window faced the car port and it felt like she was inside a small castle, or a boutique with delusions of grandeur. A delicious smell of food wafted along the hallway, and Erika could hear men’s voices coming from the first door, and then laughter. She wished she hadn’t accepted this invitation to come over. It would have been easier to talk on the phone.