Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (98)

‘How long have you been here in England?’ asked Erika.

‘Two weeks. We’re staying at your house. Marek is here too. The kids are with his mother back in Slovakia,’ said Lenka.

‘What’s Marek doing?’

‘He loves your cat, and he’s been fixing things up a bit.’

Erika sighed and winced at the pain in her ribs.

‘He better not be painting my walls green or orange,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong with green and orange?’ asked Lenka, defensively. ‘Anyway. Igor is helping him.’

Erika sighed.

‘You’ve met Igor?’

‘Yes. I remember him from before, very handsome. His sister still lives in Nitra, I know her a little bit. Is it serious?’

‘Lenka, this is serious,’ said Erika, indicating the bed and the wires in her arms. ‘What’s happening with my case?’

‘Your colleagues are coming later today. You never told me you worked with someone whose name was Kate Moss!’

Erika smiled; she wanted to see a familiar face from her life in London. Having her sister here was too surreal.

Later that afternoon, Moss and Peterson came to visit. The looks on both of their faces made Erika scared.

‘Hello, Boss,’ said Moss. She had with her a big bunch of flowers which Lenka put on the corner on a small table. ‘You’ve got a private room. Fancy.’

‘Hey Erika,’ said Peterson. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and she saw the concern on his face as he came close.

‘I’m not dying,’ she said.

‘Of course not,’ said Moss. ‘We just, we’re just…’

‘Concerned,’ finished Peterson. ‘We saw the aftermath of the crash.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ said Erika, as the memory of what happened came flooding back, and she suddenly felt deep distress and panic. ‘I wasn’t driving. He put me in the car. Made me take a load of painkillers. It’s Colin! It was him!’

‘It’s okay,’ said Moss. ‘We got him. He’s in custody. He’s been charged with the murders of Sophia and Vicky, Cilla Stone… And the attempted… Attempting to kill you.’

Erika lay back and felt a small amount of relief.

‘Was anyone else hurt in the crash?’

‘No,’ said Peterson. ‘You should see the photos.’ Moss shot him a look.

‘Have you got them, the photos?’ asked Erika.

‘You don’t need to see them,’ said Moss.

‘No. I want to.’

Peterson looked at Moss, got out his phone, scrolled through and held the screen up for her to see.

In the photo, Erika’s car was a twisted wreck, smashed into the back of a small Porsche, which had come off even worse. Her windscreen had been obliterated, and there was glass everywhere. The photo had been taken facing the hill up to Colin’s house, and you could see the path of carnage; on the road directly in front of the car park, a police officer was directing the traffic into a single clear lane. The second lane was blocked by a three-car accident, where a grey SUV had a blue Smart car buried in the back of it, and an ancient yellow Sierra had smashed into the back of the Smart car. Another ambulance was dealing with the three drivers, who looked dazed and bloody, but they were all standing by the road and staring open-mouthed at the ploughed-up flowerbeds.

‘I can’t believe I survived that,’ said Erika in a small voice, the shock of seeing it hitting home.

Peterson scrolled through his phone. ‘This one might make you feel better,’ he said. It was a screenshot from the BBC News website with the headline:



SOUTH LONDON TEACHER ARRESTED FOR MURDER AND HISTORICAL SEX ASSAULTS ON STUDENTS



Underneath the headline was a photo of Colin being escorted out of his house by two police officers. His hands were cuffed in front of him.

‘How did you get him?’ Erika asked.

‘Colin had been so confident of his plan to stage your car crash that he waited to call the emergency services until an hour after they took you to hospital. He’d told the operator that Cilla had an accident and fell down the stairs. The police who responded to the crash saw that the keys weren’t in your car, which made them question Colin’s version of events, that you drove away from his house after your visit. He’d pushed your car off in neutral with the engine switched off, but in his rush, the idiot forgot to put the keys in the ignition,’ said Peterson.

‘The police found your car keys on the floor in his office,’ said Moss. ‘When we searched the house, we found blood-stained clothes in a bin liner in his garage. The blood was Sophia’s. We also found Vicky Clarke’s notebooks and USB keys in his garage. They’re a treasure trove of information. She was very close to finding out it was Colin who carried out the assaults in the student halls.’

‘And since this has hit the headlines, more young women who auditioned at GDA have come forward to talk to the police,’ said Peterson.

‘Does this give the CPS enough to now take Colin to trial for the murder of Sophia and Vicky? And Cilla?’ asked Erika, her heart lifting at this news.

‘Yes. And he’ll be tried for your attempted murder, we’re making sure of that. Colin’s legal team are trying to argue we can’t prove a link between him and Sophia’s murder, he says that the blood-stained clothes were planted in his garage, but they now have his DNA in Vicky’s flat and the blood-stained clothes. They’ve just pulled another microscopic saliva sample off the bed frame of the sofa bed, and his DNA matches. And his DNA also matches the saliva on Vicky Clarke’s shoulder.’