Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(3)

Marissa heaved and retched, no longer able to breathe air into her flooded lungs. She watched, almost detached, as this strange figure struggled to drag her across the ground, away from the gate post to the middle of the tiny garden. The figure tottered, and looked as if it was about to fall, but kept balance. With both hands, it brought the knife back down, slicing and stabbing at her throat and neck. As her blood pumped out over the blanket of snow, and the life left her body, Marissa thought she recognised the face through the large glass eye holes of the gas mask.





Two





Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster’s alarm went off at 7 a.m., and from the depths of her bedcovers and blankets, a thin pale arm emerged and switched it off. Her bedroom was dark and chilly, and the streetlights shone through the paper-thin blinds that she’d been meaning to change for three years, but had never got around to asking her landlord about. She rolled over and pulled the covers off, then padded through to the bathroom, where she took a shower and brushed her teeth.

It was only when she had pulled on her clothes, pocketed her phone, wallet and warrant card that she remembered it was Christmas Day, and she was invited for Christmas lunch at Commander Paul Marsh’s house.

‘Shit,’ she said, sitting down on the bed. She ran a hand through her short blonde hair. ‘Shit.’

Most police officers would have seen this as a coup, an invite to spend Christmas lunch with the borough commander and his family, but for Erika, her relationship with Marsh was… complicated.

Erika had just completed work on a harrowing case, involving a young couple who had committed a string of murders. As part of their sick game, they had abducted Commander Marsh’s two small girls, and Marsh’s wife, Marcie had been attacked during the abduction. It had led to a fully-fledged man-hunt. Erika had been responsible for rescuing the girls, and she understood that Marsh and Marcie had invited her to say thank you, but she just wanted to move on.

Erika got up and opened her wardrobe, staring at the sparse rack of clothes, of which almost all were for work. Rooting through the neatly hung black trousers, sweaters and white blouses, she dug out a blue sleeveless dress. Turning to the mirror above her dressing table, she held the hanger up under her chin. Erika stood six-feet tall in bare feet. She had strong, high cheekbones, large brown eyes, and short blond hair which stuck up in wet tufts. ‘Jeez, I’m scrawny,’ she said, moulding the dress to her body, where once she’d had curves. She looked at the photo of her late husband, Mark, on the dresser. ‘Who needs Lean Cuisine, eh? Being a widow does wonders for your waistline…’ The bleakness of her humour shocked her. ‘Sorry,’ she added.

Mark had also been a police officer. Erika, Marsh and Mark had all trained together, but Mark had been killed four years previously, during a drugs raid. The photo of Mark was taken in the living room of the house that he and Erika had shared for fifteen years in Manchester. The sun streamed through the window, catching in his close-cropped blond hair to create a halo of gold. His face was handsome, his smile warm and infectious.

‘I don’t know what to say to Marsh and Marcie… I just want to turn the page and move on, without any fuss.’

Mark grinned back.

‘Bah, humbug, eh? Is it too late to think up an excuse?’

Yes, his grin seemed to say. Come on Erika, play nice.

‘You’re right, I can’t cancel… Happy Christmas.’ She put a finger to her lips and pressed it against the glass.

Erika went through to the small kitchen/living room, sparsely furnished with a little sofa, a television, and a half-empty bookshelf. Perched on top of the microwave was a tiny plastic Christmas tree. It sat on top of the telly in years gone by, but since the advent of the flat screen, the top of the microwave was the only place it could go without looking ridiculous. She switched on the coffee machine, and opened the curtains. The car park and the road beyond were under a deep carpet of snow, glowing orange under the street lights. There were no people or cars, and she felt like the only person in the world. A gust of wind blew across the ground, skimming a dusting of snow across the surface to join the banked-up drift by the car park wall.

The landline rang as she poured her coffee, and she hurried through to the hallway and answered, hoping for a miracle and that lunch was cancelled. It was Mark’s father, Edward.

‘Did I wake you up, love?’ he said, in his warm Yorkshire accent.

‘No, I’m up. Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas to you, too. Is it cold down there in London?’

‘We’ve got snow,’ she said. ‘It’s ankle deep, admittedly, but it’ll be enough to make news headlines.’

‘We’ve got four feet here. And over in Beverley, it’s even deeper.’ His voice sounded frail and strained.

‘Are you keeping warm?’

‘Yes, love. I’ve got the fire on, and I’m feeling a bit rakish, so I’ll keep it on all day… It’s a pity I won’t be seeing you.’

Erika felt a twinge of guilt.

‘I’ll come up in the New Year. I’ve got holiday saved up.’

‘Have they got you working today?’

‘Not today. I’m invited for lunch at Paul Marsh’s place with his family… After everything that happened to them, I felt I couldn’t say no.’