The Girl In The Ice (Detective Erika Foster, #1)(48)

He tilted Ivy’s head and indicated large angry pink patches dotted with dried blood. The photographer crouched in and took a photo. As the flash illuminated her skin, it appeared almost translucent, with threads of blue veins on her forehead.

‘Andrea’s hair was pulled out,’ said Erika, softly.

‘Time of death?’ asked Peterson.

‘Internal body temperature leads me to say she hasn’t been dead for very long, but the body has been exposed to the freezing temperatures and rain, so I’ll need to clarify this.’

‘We’ve got officers doing a door-to-door and searching the area,’ said Peterson.

They watched as the photographer worked, taking pictures of Ivy from every angle. A young woman assisting Isaac gently placed plastic bags over Ivy’s hands to preserve any DNA evidence. Isaac moved to a hastily set-up bench in the corner of the tent, returning to them with a clear evidence bag.

‘This is what we found on her: a bunch of keys, six condoms, one hundred pounds in cash, a credit card in the name of Matthew Stephens, and a phone number on a scrap of paper.’

‘That’s your number,’ said Moss, shooting Erika a look.

‘I was talking to Ivy the other night in connection to Andrea’s murder; she had given me some information but I think she was scared. I said she could call me . . .’ Erika’s voice tailed off with the realisation that the information had died with Ivy.

‘Did she try to call you?’ asked Peterson.

‘I don’t know. I’ll need to check my phone.’

She hadn’t checked her messages since before the press conference. She excused herself and went back through the partition and to the doorway of the tent. A figure was working its way along the bank. When it came closer, Erika saw it was DCI Sparks.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Erika. ‘You’re not in the first response unit.’

‘I’ve been asked by Chief Superintendent Marsh to take over as Senior Investigating Officer,’ said Sparks. Despite the gravity of the situation, his glee was bubbling under the surface.

‘What? At eleven pm at the scene of a murder?’ asked Erika.

‘You should answer your phone. The Super has been trying to call you,’ said Sparks.

‘I haven’t finished here. I can discuss this with Marsh tomorrow,’ said Erika.

‘I have clear instructions. I’ve been made SIO and I would like you to leave the scene.’

‘You’d like me to leave?’

‘No. I’m ordering you to leave.’

‘DCI Sparks. I have just been to the crime scene and there are things . . .’ started Erika.

‘I said, I’m now in control of this crime scene and I’m ordering you to step aside!’ shouted Sparks, losing it.

‘I think you’ll find, if you have any knowledge of crime scene procedure, that the Forensic Pathologist has ultimate control over the crime scene, and therefore gives the orders,’ said Isaac, appearing behind Erika with Moss and Peterson. ‘DCI Foster entered the crime scene as SIO and I will finish my briefing and examination of the crime scene with her present as SIO. Now, DCI Sparks, you are in danger of contaminating the crime scene. If you wish to continue to observe, I’ll ask that you follow proper procedure, suit up and shut up.’

DCI Sparks opened his mouth to say something, but Isaac looked down at him and raised an impeccably shaped eyebrow, daring him to contradict.

‘Eight am tomorrow, there will be a briefing at Lewisham Row where we’ll be re-focusing this investigation. Be sure you attend promptly,’ said Sparks to Moss and Peterson. They nodded. Sparks gave Erika a long, hard look and then stomped away, accompanied by one of the uniformed officers.

‘Thank you,’ said Erika to Isaac.

‘I didn’t do it to be thanked. I’m not interested in police politics. All I’m interested in is preserving a scene so you can do your job and find who did this,’ said Isaac.



Erika removed her crime scene overalls, which were bagged up to go to the lab. She found shelter from the pouring rain under the peeling facade of the pavilion, lit a cigarette, and listened to her voicemails. There were four from Marsh, all growing increasingly angry. Simon and Diana Douglas-Brown had apparently been “horrified” when Erika had “hijacked the press appeal for her own agenda”, and Marsh was in agreement. He was ordering her to report to him immediately in the morning. The message finished with him saying, ‘Ignoring my calls will be seen as a further act of insubordination and a direct challenge to my authority.’

When she reached the final message in her mailbox, it began with lots of distortion; she heard a voice swearing and then the sound of coins dropping into a pay phone.

‘Yeah, it’s Ivy . . . Ivy Norris. If you can give me some money, I’ll tell you what you need to know. I need a hundred quid . . .’ There were three fast pips, more swearing and then the line went dead. Erika listened to the message again. It was timed seven hours ago. Erika put in a call to Sergeant Crane, who answered wearily.

‘Hi Crane, it’s DCI Foster, are you still at the nick?’

‘Yes, boss,’ he said wearily.

‘What was the response like to the appeal?’

‘We’ve had twenty-five calls, boss. They’ve died off over the last few hours. We’re just waiting to see if they run the number again on the evening news.’