Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(34)

‘Kitchen, at the back,’ said Erika. They took deep breaths and ran back inside, down the hallway, past the stairs, where the smell of gas intensified. A smart modern kitchen looked out over a garden. The oven door was open, and the gas hobs were all hissing. Moss turned everything off. There was a huge glass sliding door, but no key. Erika couldn’t see any scissors, but there was a large stone doorstop. She picked it up and flung it at the glass. It bounced off and she had to jump back.

They were now both coughing and choking. Erika picked the doorstop up again and lobbed it at the glass. A sea of cracks burst outwards, almost frosting the glass, but it still didn’t break. Erika’s lungs were bursting and Moss had now fallen to her knees. On the third attempt, the doorstop smashed through the huge pane of glass. They staggered out to the snow-covered back garden and took more deep breaths, loving the cold, clean air.

‘Upstairs; we need to check upstairs,’ coughed Erika. They took deep breaths and dived back inside, through the kitchen, feeling that the gas was dispersing.

They heard the sound of a siren as a fire engine pulled up outside. The house upstairs had the same layout as Marissa’s, with a bedroom front and back, and a bathroom on the opposite side to the staircase. The small back bedroom and bathroom doors were open. They got the windows open, then ran to the master bedroom door, which was locked. They could feel a breeze as the air was now being sucked out from downstairs, and the toxic air was clearing. They heard feet on the stairs, and voices.

‘Up here!’ shouted Erika. Three firefighters appeared at the top of the landing. ‘We need to get this door open.’

They took an axe to the door, and it splintered and then swung open. Gas flooded out, and the firefighters rushed in and got the curtains and windows open.

On the neatly made bed lay a tall, thin man. He was pale, with thin sandy hair. Erika recognised him as Ivan from the photos they had of him in the incident room. Two paramedics entered the bedroom, carrying medical gear. Erika and Moss stood back as they examined him.

‘He’s got a faint pulse,’ said the female paramedic. Together with the male paramedic, she got him strapped to the stretcher they had brought with them, and once he was on it, they lifted him down to the floor.

‘His name’s Ivan Stowalski,’ said Erika.

‘Ivan, can you hear me?’ asked the woman. She slapped his face, and he gave a low moan, his eyelids fluttering.

‘His blood is flooded with carbon monoxide. Let’s get an IV in and oxygenate him.’ She opened the first aid box.

Erika then saw what was on the bed. She’d thought, at first, it was a brightly patterned bedspread, but now she saw it was covered with photos of Marissa Lewis, all printed off on paper. There were photos of her performing in her burlesque shows, several of her naked in bed, and wet in the shower. There were scores of snapshots taken of Marissa and Ivan in parks and at famous London landmarks, smiling into the camera. Amongst the pictures, were also a couple of her burlesque outfits, a black corset and a red silk bra.

Erika looked back at the paramedics, who had now hooked up an IV to Ivan’s arm and were pumping in air through a large air bag and mask.

‘What’s that in his hand?’ asked one of the firefighters. Erika reached over and gently took it from him.

‘Underwear,’ she said, seeing it was a small pair of red knickers with a gold embroidered diamond in one corner. ‘They belong to Marissa. That’s her branding.’





Twenty-Three





Ivan Stowalski was stabilised by the paramedics. He was breathing, but hadn’t regained consciousness.

Erika and Moss watched from the pavement as the ambulance sped away to hospital.

‘There goes another suspect, dying on us,’ said Moss.

‘He’s not dead yet,’ replied Erika.

The firefighters then moved through the house, checking the gas connections, and searched the attic. When they gave the all-clear, a forensics team arrived to go through the contents of the house.

Erika ducked under the police tape to join Moss, who was sitting in the car, drinking from a bottle of water.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Bit of a sore throat.’

‘Me too, and I smoke twenty a day.’

‘They’ve taken Ivan Stowalski to University College Hospital. As soon as he gains consciousness, I’ve said we want to talk to him. We’ve got his car leaving the congestion zone and going northbound at 11.30 p.m. on Christmas Eve.’

‘Is that late to go and see relations?’

‘They would have arrived very late, if they were driving up north.’

‘Four or five a.m. Why would you leave so late? We need to find out what time Marissa got back from her burlesque gig. If it was earlier, he could have had time.’ Erika coughed, a little of the residue still in her lungs, and she squinted up at the sky, at the bright grey cloud. Several neighbours were looking out of their windows or had come to their front doorsteps, including the man with the glasses who still had his newspaper clutched in his hand. Erika looked back at the mess of glass over the front garden of Ivan’s house. Then she looked at Moss, who was downing more water.

‘You okay to keep going?’

‘You bet.’

‘I want to talk to Don Walpole and Marissa’s mother.’