Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(2)

She exhaled, and saw the last few passengers were coming down the stairs. At the top was a tall, handsome man in his early fifties, with his wife, who was very pale.

‘Shit,’ she said under her breath. She hurried over to the row of self-service ticket machines and busied herself looking at one of the screens.

‘Marissa! I see you!’ said the woman’s voice, thick with booze. ‘I see you, whore!’ There was a clatter on the stairs as the woman hurried towards her.

‘Jeanette!’ shouted the man.

‘You leave us alone,’ shouted the woman, reaching Marissa, but stopping short of making contact. She brandished a long finger, an inch from Marissa’s face. ‘You stay away from him!’

Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was red and puffy, and her scarlet lipstick had bled out into the smoker’s lines around her mouth.

‘Jeanette!’ hissed the man, catching up and pulling her away. Although the couple were about the same age, he had a rugged, handsome face. It was a reminder to Marissa that time can be kinder to men.

‘I do my best to keep out of your way, but we live on the same street. Our paths are bound to cross,’ said Marissa, smiling sweetly.

‘You’re a bitch!’

‘Been to the pub, Jeanette?’

‘Yes!’ she snarled. ‘With my husband.’

‘You look sober, Don. I would have thought you’re the one who needs the beer goggles.’

Jeanette raised a hand to slap Marissa around the face, but Don grabbed it.

‘That’s enough. Why can’t you keep your mouth shut, Marissa? You can see she’s not well,’ he said.

‘Don’t you fucking talk as if I’m not here,’ slurred Jeanette.

‘Come on, we’re going,’ he said. He led her away, almost like an invalid.

‘Fucking prostitute,’ muttered Jeanette.

‘No one’s ever paid me for sex!’ shouted Marissa. ‘Ask Don!’

He turned back with a look of sadness. She wasn’t sure if he was sad for his alcoholic wife, or himself. He helped Jeanette to a car by the kerb, easing her into the passenger seat. As they drove away, Marissa closed her eyes at the memory of him. The times when he knocked on her door late at night, when her mother was asleep, and they stole up to her bedroom. The feel of his warm body against her skin as they made love...

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the last of the passengers had dispersed into the surrounding streets, and she was alone. Snow was falling heavily, and it caught in the arcs of the bright lights around the station concourse. Marissa emerged onto the station approach, and took a right down Foxberry Road. Christmas trees glowed in the windows of the houses, and the crunch of her feet on snow broke the thick silence.

The end of the road turned sharply to the right, and became Howson Road. She hesitated. It stretched away in darkness. Several of the streetlights were out, leaving just two to illuminate a five-hundred-yard stretch lined on each side with terraced houses. She had wanted to walk this with the other commuters from the last train; there were always at least a couple of people who took the same route, and it made the walk feel safer. However, Jeanette and the two creeps at the station had put paid to that.

Marissa hurried past shadowy alleyways and dark empty windows, speeding up to each pool of light. She was relieved when the Coniston Road came out of the darkness, it was brightly lit thanks to the school at the end. She turned left, and walked past the playground, before crossing the road to her front gate. It creaked as she opened it. The windows were all dark, and the tiny front garden was bathed in shadows. She had her keys ready, and was about to put them in the lock, when she heard a soft thud behind her.

‘Jeez! You scared me, Beaker,’ she said, seeing the sleek, dark body of the cat sitting on top of the wheelie bin beside the gate. She went over and scooped him up. ‘Come on. It’s too cold for us both to be out roaming.’ Beaker purred and looked up at her with intense green eyes. She put her face against his warm fur. The cat seemed to give her a moment’s grace, then squirmed in her arms. ‘Alright, you little crap bag.’ He jumped down and darted off through the hedge to the next garden.

Marissa reached up to put her key in the lock, but the gate creaked behind her. She froze. There was a faint scrape, and then a crunch of feet on the snow. She slowly turned.

A figure in a long black trench coat stood behind her. Its face covered in a gas mask, with a hood made of shiny black leather, tightly enveloping the skull. Two large round glass eyeholes stared blankly, and the drum, or breathing apparatus, elongated the face down to where it hung just above the chest. The figure wore black gloves, and in its left hand was a long, thin knife.

Marissa scrabbled to get the key in the lock, but the figure rushed at her, grabbing her shoulder, and slamming her back against the front door. There was a flash of silver, and blood sprayed across the glass eyeholes of the mask.

Her vanity case fell to the ground, and she reached up to her neck, only then feeling the terrible pain of the deep slash across her throat. Marissa tried to scream but there was only a gurgling sound and her mouth filled with blood. She put her hands up as the figure staggered and swung the knife, slicing through two of her fingers and the material of her coat into her forearms. She was unable to breathe and gasped for air, gurgling and spraying blood. The figure grabbed the back of her head and dragged her along the path, slamming her face first into the brick gate post. Pain exploded in her face, and she heard a crack of bone.