Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(10)

‘Did you photograph the body?’

‘No.’

‘Can I look through the photos on your camera?’

‘No. It’s a film camera,’ he said, holding it up. Erika moved over to him and saw that it was a vintage model, and had no digital screen. She went to take it, but before she could, Joseph flipped it over, opened the back and whipped out the roll of film. He pulled out the negative, and dumped it on the table.

‘There. No photos to process. All gone.’

Erika stared at him. He had an odd face, both vulnerable and hard. He stared at her, defiantly.

‘I think we’ve been more than cooperative, officers,’ said David. ‘Now if that is all, we’d like to get on with celebrating Christmas.’



* * *



Erika and McGorry left through the front door. It had stopped snowing and the road was busy with cars. When they turned and looked back, the house looked oddly out of place: a crumbling, sagging structure, sandwiched in a gap between the smart, upright row of terraces.

‘It’s like it’s been dropped from above,’ said McGorry.

Erika put her hands in her pockets and hunched down against the cold, as they started back down the alleyway towards Coniston Road.

‘I’m going to have to write all this up,’ she said.

‘What about the chokehold?’

‘They haven’t said they’re going to complain, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. You’re a bloody idiot, John. Why the hell did you let it go that far?’

‘He was lashing out, I was trying to… calm him down, stop being hit. It was instinctive. And you said all about that freedom of information request, that I can justify a choke hold.’

‘He could still complain, and cause problems. You need to be on the ball. You have to always think about the consequences of your actions.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Of course it’s bloody impossible, but that’s part of being a police officer. You can’t let yourself get into a situation where you are using unnecessary force.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said McGorry, his face flushing.

‘It’s okay. We live in a shitty time, John. Everyone takes offence at everything, and you’re presumed guilty, at all times. Be smart. Think. I’ll do my best to steer my report away from it…’

They were now back in the alleyway and level with the high wall leading back over to the Pitkins’s garden. Erika spied something behind the wheelie bin and stopped.

‘What?’ asked McGorry.

She crouched down, and using a small, clear plastic evidence bag from her pocket, she picked up a small, black plastic cylinder. She stood and held it to the light. She fiddled with the bag and managed to get the small lid of the plastic tube to come off inside the bag.

‘A camera film,’ she said, smiling at him.

‘Used?’

‘I hope so. I saw his camera before he yanked out the film. He’d only taken one photo on it.’

‘You think he used a whole film when he was up in the tree, then changed it?’ said McGorry hopefully.

‘We’ll know for sure when we get it developed, and the tube tested for prints,’ said Erika.





Six





When Erika and McGorry arrived back at Coniston Road, the house-to-house was underway. Uniformed officers were moving up and down the street, knocking on doors, and several were talking to neighbours on their doorsteps. It had started to snow again, and despite the early hour, just before 3 p.m., the light was starting to fade. The police presence was at odds with the Christmas lights in the windows.

They stopped off at the support van, where Erika asked McGorry to get the roll of film fast-tracked through forensics and developed. She left him to work on it, and when she emerged from the van, a small black body bag was being wheeled through the narrow gate posts on the post-mortem trolley. There was a brief pause as everyone stopped and watched. Erika thought how small it looked. Isaac nodded to her as it was loaded into the van, and the doors closed. She felt a wave of exhaustion and depression approaching, but she forced herself to keep it at bay. She took a deep breath and welcomed the distraction of an officer with a short blonde bob of hair, wearing a long blue winter coat, who had just arrived on the scene.

‘I’m Detective Constable Tania Hill, I’m the family liaison officer,’ she said, offering her hand.

‘What do you know about the case so far?’ asked Erika.

‘I just saw the body of the young girl. I’ve never seen so much frozen blood,’ she said, pulling the lapels of her coat around her face. ‘The mother is, apparently, very vulnerable. Low income, serious health issues with alcohol.’

‘She’s with the neighbour; I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to talk to her,’ said Erika.

They crossed the road to a smart house with brand new UPVc windows and a small square of concreted-over front garden. Erika rang the bell. The door was opened by a small, middle-aged lady wearing a red velvet tracksuit and gold slippers. Her snow-white hair was neatly clipped in a pixie cut, which looked at odds with her lined face. In her left hand, she held a cigarette.

Erika made the introductions and they held up their warrant cards.

‘What’s your name?’