The Girl In The Ice (Detective Erika Foster, #1)(5)

‘This is DCI Foster. She’s joining us from the Manchester Metropolitan Police,’ finished Marsh. Erika felt all eyes in the room turn to her.

‘Good morning everyone, I’m pleased to be . . .’ started Erika, but an officer with greasy black hair interrupted.

‘Guv, I’ve been on the Douglas-Brown case, as a missing person and . . .’

‘And? What, DCI Sparks?’ asked Marsh.

‘And, my team is working like clockwork. I’m following up several leads. I’m in contact with the family . . .’

‘DCI Foster has vast experience working on sensitive murder cases . . .’

‘But . . .’

‘Sparks, this isn’t a discussion. DCI Foster will now be taking the lead on this . . . She’ll be hitting the ground running, but I know you will give her your best,’ said Marsh. There was an awkward silence. Sparks sat back in his chair and regarded Erika with distaste. She held his gaze and refused to look away.

Marsh went on, ‘And it’s mouths shut, everyone. I mean it. No media, no gossip. Okay?’ The officers murmured in agreement.

‘DCI Foster, my office.’



Erika stood in Marsh’s top-floor office as he searched through piles of paperwork on his desk. She glanced out of the window, which afforded a more commanding view of Lewisham. Beyond the shopping centre and train station, uneven lines of red-brick terraced houses stretched towards Blackheath. Marsh’s office deviated from the normal order of a Chief Superintendent. There were no model cars lined along the window sill, no family photos angled on the shelves. His desk was a mess of paperwork piled high, and a set of shelves by the window seemed to be used as an overflow, crammed with bulging case files, unopened post, old Christmas cards and curling Post-it notes covered in his small spidery handwriting. In one corner, his ceremonial uniform and hat lay draped over a chair, and on top of the crumpled trousers, his Blackberry winked red as it charged. It was a strange mix of teenage boy’s bedroom and high authority.

Marsh finally located a small padded envelope, and handed it to Erika. She tore the edge off and pulled out the wallet with her badge and ID.

‘So, I suddenly go from zero to hero?’ she said, turning the badge over in her hand.

‘This isn’t about you, DCI Foster. You should be pleased,’ said Marsh, moving round and sinking into his chair.

‘Sir, I was told, in no uncertain terms, that when I returned to service, I’d be put on administrative tasks for six months minimum?’

Marsh indicated she should take the seat opposite.

‘Foster, when I called you this was a missing person case. Now we’re looking at murder. Do I need to remind you who her father is?’

‘Lord Douglas-Brown. Wasn’t he one of the main government contractors for the Iraq War? At the same time as serving in the cabinet?’

‘This isn’t about politics.’

‘Since when have I cared about politics, sir?’

‘Andrea Douglas-Brown went missing on my patch. Lord Douglas-Brown has exerted enormous pressure. He’s a man of influence who can make and break careers. I’ve got a meeting with the Assistant Commissioner and someone from the bloody cabinet office later this morning . . .’

‘So this is about your career?’

Marsh shot her a look. ‘I need an ID on this body and a suspect. Fast.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Erika hesitated. ‘Can I ask, why me? Is the plan to throw me in first as potential fall guy? Then Sparks gets to clean up the mess and look the hero? Cos I deserve to know if . . .’

‘Andrea’s mother is Slovak. And so are you . . . I thought it might help things, to have an officer her mother can identify with.’

‘So it’s good PR to put me on the case?’

‘If you want to look at it like that. I also know what an extraordinary police officer you are. Recently you’ve had troubles, yes, but your achievements far outshine what has . . .’

‘Don’t give me the shit sandwich, sir,’ said Erika.

‘Foster, the one thing you’ve never mastered is the politics of the force. If you’d done that we might be sitting on opposite sides of this conversation right now.’

‘Yeah. Well, I have principles,’ said Erika giving him a hard stare. There was silence.

‘Erika . . . I brought you in because I think you deserve a break. Don’t talk yourself out of the job before you’ve begun.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Erika.

‘Now, get over to the crime scene. Report back to me the second you have information. If it is Andrea Douglas-Brown we’ll need a formal ID from the family.’

Erika got up and went to leave. Marsh went on, his voice softer, ‘I never got the chance, at the funeral, to say how sorry I was about Mark . . . He was an excellent officer, and a friend.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Erika looked at the carpet. It was still difficult to hear his name. She willed herself not to cry. Marsh cleared his throat and his professional tone returned.

‘I know I can rely on you to reach a swift conviction on this. I want to be kept posted every step of the way.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Erika.

‘And DCI Foster?’

‘Sir?’

‘Lose the casual gear.’