Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(28)

The good news for T was that no one took any notice of the homeless. No one who mattered. It would have been far easier to pick off a homeless person. Offer them a few quid to follow him into a dark corner. For a fiver, he could do almost anything he wanted, depending on how desperate they were.

But that would be no fun. It was fear that he enjoyed, finding someone clean and upwardly mobile. Finding a nice, well-dressed, tax-paying pillar of society and ripping them out of their nice little bubble. There was always a look in their faces when he cornered them, as if to say: This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me. It happens to other people. Bad people. I’m good.

The gas mask had its practical purpose, but it also added a sensory wow. The feel of the tight leather hood, the goaty smell of his own stale sweat, mixed with the smell of animal hide. The way the thick glass eyeholes distorted his vision, and slightly magnified the faces of his victims.

Tonight, he would just be a spectator. The snow added an extra layer of protection. Muffling sounds. He would watch and wait. He never knew their names, but he did like to crack their routines. That was another thrill. To work out when they left the house. What time they left for work, what time they came home. People could be such creatures of routine. Even at Christmas.

Learn their routine, and the rest was easy.





Nineteen





The next morning, Erika arrived early at Lewisham Row, and went down to the tiny kitchenette on the ground floor, next to the cloakrooms used by uniform officers. She was staring at an open cupboard full of mugs when two young officers came in still wearing their stab vests.

‘Morning, ma’am,’ they said in unison. They looked surprised to see her.

‘Morning. What’s the cup situation? Do these belong to anyone?’

The young man, who was shorter than Erika, reached up and took out two mugs, handing one to the young woman, who seemed embarrassed to make eye contact.

‘No one uses the flowery ones, ma’am,’ he said. Erika took one out of the cupboard, and there was an awkward silence as the kettle came to the boil then clicked off. No one moved.

‘Go on, go first; you’ve earned it,’ she said. The young man spooned coffee from a large catering tin and filled their mugs. ‘Was it a rough night?’

He nodded. ‘The usual nightmare around kicking-out time from the pubs. The young teenagers seem to get more drunk and abusive around holidays.’

‘And we were called out three times by people who thought they’d seen the gas mask attacker,’ said the woman.

‘Gas mask attacker?’ said Erika.

‘Yeah. It’s been in the local news in the past few weeks. You haven’t heard?’

‘No, I was pre-occupied with another case.’

A guy wearing a gas mask has been assaulting women and men. He likes to target train stations, early in the morning, or late, after the last train has gone.’

‘How many victims?’

‘Five, going back to the middle of November.’

‘Does he rape them?’

‘Not all of them. His first two victims were strangled until they passed out, and when they woke up he was gone. The local news put out an appeal for information yesterday morning, after a woman was attacked on Christmas Day, next to Sydenham train station.’

‘She was less than a minute from her front door,’ the man said.

‘So we’ve had call-outs all night from people who think they’ve seen or heard something. They were all false alarms,’ the woman added.

They took their tea and left. Detective Inspector Moss then came into the kitchen, wearing a huge winter coat. She was a short, solid woman. Her flame-red hair was dotted with melting snow, and her pale face was covered in a sea of freckles.

‘Morning, Boss. How was your Christmas?’ Moss undid the buttons on her coat and took out a mug.

‘It was…’

‘You worked, didn’t you?’

Erika nodded. ‘On the murder case I’m about to brief you about.’

‘Did you get a nice lunch?’

Erika shook her head. ‘I had my first, and last “Christmas dinner” sandwich.’

Moss pulled a face. ‘I had my first and last Christmas pudding smoothie. And my brother Gary came to stay with his wife and kids.’

‘How many?’

‘He’s just got the one wife.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Three kids.’

‘Do they get on with Jacob?’

Moss rubbed her eyes and filled her cup with boiling water.

‘Yeah, they just don’t get on with each other, and they’re at that age: seven, eight, and nine. It was pandemonium. Our house is too small. And during Christmas lunch, the kids asked about the L-word.’

‘Lapland?’ said Erika.

Moss grinned and stirred milk into her coffee. ‘Ha, ha. No. Lesbians. Namely, me and Celia, why we are married, how we are married, and how we managed to give birth to Jacob. Celia managed that of course, but there were a million questions. We didn’t even get around to telling the jokes inside the Christmas crackers. It was all fine, but not the conversation I expected to have.’

Erika went to say more, when a tall, handsome black officer came into the kitchen. He stopped when he saw Erika and Moss.