Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(14)

‘She said she charged her extra housekeeping.’

‘Doesn’t look like she sleeps in here.’

Erika saw that the plastic bags had a layer of dust.

‘She said she was in bed around 10 p.m.’

‘Did she mean she slept on the sofa?’ asked McGorry. They came back downstairs and went into the living room. The sofa under the bay window was covered in a creased duvet and a pillow. On the floor was an empty litre bottle of cheap own-brand vodka and two empty tubes of Pringles.

‘She didn’t say that she sleeps on the sofa,’ said Erika. She went to the window. It was grimy with dirt and condensation, and the spray of Marissa’s blood. There was a single pane of glass, and a freezing draft was blowing through the rotten window frame, and they could hear very clearly the noise from the road outside.

‘Maybe she was too pissed to remember,’ said McGorry, indicating the empty bottle of vodka.

Erika heard the door of the support van slam, and the crunch of snow as someone walked past on the road behind the hedge. She wondered if the killer had been lying in wait.

‘I wonder if Marissa had the chance to scream,’ said Erika, more to herself than to McGorry.





Eight





Erika and McGorry came back to the police support van, where a group of six officers were taking a quick break. They had been chatting away, but fell silent when they saw Erika.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said.

‘Refreshments have arrived, ma’am,’ said one of the officers, indicating the table in the corner with an urn and a cluster of pre-packaged sandwiches.

‘Thanks. What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘PC Rich Skevington, ma’am.’

Erika and McGorry grabbed a sandwich each and filled paper cups with steaming coffee. The sound of the coffee hitting the paper cup was loud in the silence. Erika looked around. She didn’t recognise any of them; they all seemed so young.

‘Who can give me an update on the house-to-house?’ she asked, ripping the plastic off her sandwich and taking a bite.

‘We haven’t been able to get an answer from Don Walpole and Ivan Stowalski. We’re waiting on their mobile phone numbers,’ said Kay, the young officer who’d lent Erika her shoes.

‘What about the rest of the street? Are people being helpful?’ asked Erika, washing down a mouthful of the dry sandwich with a gulp of coffee.

‘Half the houses are empty, but the locals who knew Marissa Lewis also knew about the affair she had with Don Walpole and that she was sleeping with Ivan Stowalski behind his wife’s back.’

‘The jury’s out as to whether or not Ivan Stowalski’s wife has left him,’ said Rich. ‘Their next-door neighbour, a beady-eyed old girl, says they’re both up north for Christmas visiting his family. We’ve also been on the lookout in gardens and dustbins for the victim’s mobile phone, in case it’s been dumped, but nothing so far.’

‘How are the team getting on over at the Estate?’

‘I’ve just come back,’ said another young male officer. ‘We spoke to the usual suspects. A couple of lads said they’d heard of Marissa Lewis.’

‘How do you mean, “heard of”?’ asked Erika.

‘They said she’s had a reputation in the past for being the local bike – their words, not mine. One of them has a record, did three years for rape. The other has a record for assault, GBH. Both of them say they have an alibi, they were out until 6 a.m. this morning at a club in New Cross Gate, H20. They told us to check the club’s CCTV.’

Erika rolled her eyes.

‘Haitch 20. I know it. I’ve lost count of the times we’ve requested CCTV from them. Okay, get someone on it…’ She took another bite of the sandwich. ‘What the hell is in these sandwiches?’ she said, through a mouthful.

‘“Festive Christmas dinner sandwiches”, that’s all they had at the petrol station,’ said Rich.

Erika spat a mouthful out into the packet. ‘I can see the appeal in turkey and cranberry, even some stuffing, but who puts roast potato in a bloody sandwich?’

Erika dumped the rest of the packet in the bin. She looked around at the team, who had averted their eyes, not wanting to risk her wrath. Every other officer her age had taken leave to be with their family or other halves. She missed the continuity of the officers she regularly worked with. Detective Inspectors Moss and Peterson, and Sergeant Crane. She wondered fleetingly if they were having a good Christmas. She was pleased that McGorry was with her, but he was still a relative newbie – and even he had volunteered to stay, risking the wrath of his girlfriend waiting at home.

Her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognise, so she came out of the van. It was now dark, and the cold air caught at the back of her throat.

‘Hey Erika, this is Lee Graham.’

‘Hi, Merry Christmas,’ she said.

‘Merry Christmas to you too. I’ve drawn the short straw today, and I’m in the lab.’

Erika liked Lee. He was a forensics and computer expert in the Met police, and they had worked together on a few cases. There had been a frisson of flirtation between them, but nothing more. She wondered now if he was single, and if that was the reason he had decided to work on Christmas Day.