Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(27)

‘Thank you, Erika!’ they both said.

‘You didn’t already get them for Christmas? My niece and nephew are around your age, and they said these were really good presents.’

‘No, we haven’t got them, and they are the best presents, EVER!’ cried Mia, giving her another hug.

The girls looked up at Marcie. ‘Mummy, get the thing,’ said Sophie. Marcie went to the kitchen counter and picked up a small gift-wrapped box. She handed it to Sophie, then Mia grabbed the corner and they both handed it to Erika.

‘We got this for you,’ said Mia.

Erika pulled the paper off a small jewellery box. When she opened it, inside there was a necklace with a small silver cross. Marcie took the box and undid the necklace, and Mia lifted the short hair at the back of Erika’s head so that they could put it on.

‘This is a beautiful gift,’ said Erika to the girls, then looking up at Marcie and Marsh. They smiled. The twins then pulled out two new iPhones from the pockets of their dresses, and with their tiny hands they expertly swiped through their screens.

‘These were presents from Mummy and Daddy,’ said Sophie. ‘They want us to be in contact with them, always, because of what happened.’

They held their phones up to Erika and showed her the picture they’d taken of her in the necklace. She looked gaunt and almost translucent; against the white fridge, she was so pale.

‘You look pretty,’ said Sophie.

‘But you look like you could do with some food,’ said Mia. Luckily, this broke the atmosphere and they all laughed.

‘Girls, go and wash your hands,’ said Marcie.

Erika waited until the girls had left the room. ‘How are they doing?’ she asked.

Marcie and Marsh looked at each other. ‘Surprisingly good, all things considering,’ said Marcie. ‘Sophie is much stronger. She’s been the one who looks after Mia.’

‘They keep disappearing off into corners to talk to each other in their own made-up language,’ said Marsh.

‘There’s no manual for what to do. I’m taking them to see a therapist in the new year,’ said Marcie.

‘How are you both doing?’ asked Erika. They looked at each other, as if seeing that they were a couple for the first time. They hesitated.

‘Taking each day as it comes,’ said Marsh, and he patted Marcie on the leg. She twisted out of his way.

‘Come on, let’s eat,’ she said.



* * *



Erika drove home later that evening. The gift from the girls brought her great comfort, and she kept reaching up to touch it on her neck. For once, she was relieved to come home to an empty flat. The atmosphere at Marsh’s had been so hostile, and despite the size of the house, it had seemed claustrophobic with all their guests.

Erika was just pouring herself a vodka over ice when her phone rang. It was Melanie.

‘I’ve been through everything to do with Joseph Pitkin, and at this stage, I can only say it was a tragic accident.’

‘Okay. Did you tell his parents?’

‘Yes. As expected, they were devastated.’

‘Do they blame me?’

Melanie sighed. ‘I’m not going to answer that. But they obviously see this whole situation very differently.’

‘Did you ask them about the photos and the note from the person called T?’

‘No, Erika. I didn’t…’ Melanie was silent on the end of the phone for a moment. ‘I do need you back at work tomorrow, though. I’m giving you a bigger team for the Marissa Lewis murder case. Get a good night’s sleep.’

When Melanie had hung up, Erika went to the living room window. The lights were out, and she stared at the dark snowy street. A fox moved into the glare of the orange streetlight, pausing with its feet in the snow, its sleek body rippling under the light. It was waiting, checking out her building and whether it could ransack the dustbins. Erika watched from the shadows.

‘Come on. It’s safe, make a dash for it,’ she said. The fox crept forward slowly into the car park, past the white humps of the snow-covered cars, towards the rubbish bins, which were no doubt groaning with leftover food. ‘That’s it.’

There was a creak from upstairs and a light went on in the window, illuminating a large square of the dark car park. The fox turned and dashed off, disappearing into the shadows.





Eighteen





Dark winter nights in the suburbs of London were always exciting for the man who liked to call himself ‘T’. He would leave the house under cover of darkness, dressed in black, with the leather gas mask stowed in one of the large pockets of his long coat.

The sprawl of South London stretched for miles, and every time he felt lucky to find an area he had never seen before amongst the rows upon rows of terraced houses, dark alleyways, small tucked-away parks and scrubland. The suburban areas of South London were mostly free of CCTV cameras. The train stations only had them in the lit areas.

He believed his face was the true mask. It was an ordinary face, not quite the guy next door, but acceptable enough. In all the months he had been doing this, the only mug shot the police had was of the gas mask.

It always struck him how little people noticed in plain sight. Commuters were experts at not seeing. They just wanted to get to work and were eager to return home. They rarely engaged. Eyes blinkered. Almost afraid that they might have to get involved with the world around them. The unemployed, the drunkards, and the homeless were the ones you had to watch out for. They were differently tuned to their surroundings, and not just passing through from A to B. They were stuck in plain sight, forced to conjure the tools for their survival from a barren landscape. They were the expert watchers, instantly aware of who they could squeeze some change or a spare cigarette out of, and who wanted drugs.