Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)
Robert Bryndza
For Riky and Lola
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Oscar Wilde
One
It was late on Christmas Eve when Marissa Lewis stepped off the train onto the platform at Brockley, moving with the drunken crowds to the footbridge. The first flakes of snow twirled lazily in the air, and the crowds were full of warmth and alcohol, eager to get home and start the festivities.
Marissa was a beautiful woman with blue-black hair, violet-coloured eyes, and an hourglass figure. She took pride in being the kind of girl your mother warns you about. She was coming home from the club in London where she performed as a burlesque dancer, and wore a long black vintage coat with an elaborate fur trim, heavy pale makeup, false lashes and a slash of scarlet on her lips. As she reached the steps up to the footbridge, a couple of young men up ahead turned back, greedily checking her out. She followed their eyes down and saw that the bottom half of her long coat had come undone, revealing, as she climbed the steps, a flash of the stockings and suspenders she wore for her act. She stopped to fasten the large brass buttons, and the crowds surged around her.
‘I hope that’s fake fur,’ muttered a voice behind. Marissa glanced back to a bony young woman with her equally bony boyfriend. They both wore scruffy winter coats and the woman had long greasy hair.
‘Yes, it’s fake,’ Marissa insisted, a dazzling smile masking the lie.
‘Looks like real fur to me,’ said the young woman. Her boyfriend stood staring with his mouth slightly open at the flash of lace and suspender as Marissa finished arranging her coat.
‘Frank!’ she barked, dragging him away and off up the stairs.
The fur trim on Marissa’s coat was real. It had been a bargain from a second hand vintage shop in Soho. She’d bought it, along with the vanity case hooked over her arm.
Marissa climbed the remaining stairs and crossed the footbridge. The train tracks below gleamed in the moonlight, and a thin dusting of snow was starting to lay on the rooftops. As she neared the end, she saw the two young men had dropped back, and were waiting at the top of the stairs. Her heart began to beat faster.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the tallest, offering his arm. He was handsome, with red hair, and a smooth ruddy face. He wore a three-piece suit, a long tan winter coat, and his tan leather shoes gleamed. His friend was shorter, and dressed almost identically, but wasn’t quite as blessed in the looks department.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘It’s slippery,’ he insisted, thrusting his arm up under hers. They were now blocking one half of the stairs down. She eyed him for a moment, and decided it might be easier to accept help.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and took his arm. His shorter friend wanted to take her vanity case, but she shook her head and smiled. The salt crunched underfoot as they climbed down, keeping Marissa sandwiched between them. They reeked of beer and cigarettes.
‘Are you a model?’ asked the tall guy.
‘No.’
‘What does M.L. stand for?’ asked his shorter friend, indicating the letters printed on the vanity case.
‘My initials.’
‘And? What’s your name?’
‘I’m Sid, this is Paul,’ said the taller guy. Paul grinned, showing large yellow teeth. They reached the bottom of the steps, and she thanked them, unhooking her arm. ‘You fancy a drink?’
‘Thanks, but I’m due home,’ said Marissa. The guys were still blocking one half of the stairs, and a stream of people moved past beside them. They stood for a moment, waiting, weighing things up.
‘Come on, it’s Christmas,’ said Sid. Marissa stepped away, putting the other commuters between them. ‘Or we can give you a lift?’ he added, pushing through them to join her. Paul followed, shoving a young lad out of the way. His beady eyes were both piercing and unfocused.
‘No. Really. I must get home, but thank you guys. Have a Merry Christmas.’
‘You sure?’ said Paul.
‘I am, thank you.’
‘Can we have a picture with you?’ asked Sid.
‘What?’
‘Just a selfie with us; we like a pretty girl and it gives us something to look at when we’re cold and lonely in our beds at night.’
The way they stared at her made Marissa think of wolves. Hungry wolves. They came either side of her and leaned in. She felt a hand on her backside as Sid held out his iPhone, and took a selfie, and then another. His fingers began to work their way between her buttocks.
‘Great,’ she said, pulling away. They showed her the photo. She looked wide-eyed, but not as scared as she’d felt inside.
‘You are really fit,’ said Sid, ‘are you sure we can’t persuade you to come for a drink?’
‘We’ve got vodka, Malibu, wine,’ said Paul. Marissa looked back at the bridge, and saw there were still a few passengers crossing. She looked back at them and forced another smile.
‘Sorry guys. Not tonight.’
She looked up at one of the CCTV cameras above them, encased in its plastic dome. They followed her gaze. Then finally seemed to take the hint, and moved off.
‘What a stuck-up bitch,’ she heard Paul say. She hung back, relieved, watching as they went to a car by the kerb, but averting her eyes as they glanced back. She heard laughter, doors slamming, and then the engine starting up. Marissa only realised she had been holding her breath when their car pulled away and left the station approach.