Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(36)

‘The plot thickens,’ said Erika.





Twenty-Four





Don Walpole’s house was a few doors further down, six doors up from Marissa’s house. It was smart and nondescript. Erika realised just how many terraced houses there were in South London, and how they would all often blend into one. Back in her native Slovakia, there were very few, if any, terraces. Pre-fabricated blocks of flats were the equivalent, which were equally claustrophobic.

The Walpoles’s front garden was open, with just a low wall and no hedge. The red hats of a couple of garden gnomes poked up out of the snow, and there wasn’t a number on the house. Beside the door, on the brickwork, was a sign which said ‘Summerdown’ in curly black iron writing. There was a television on in the living room.

Erika rang the bell, and a moment later the door was opened by a large woman in a grubby red fleece. She had bloodshot eyes.

‘Yes?’ she said, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself.

‘Are you Jeanette Walpole?’

‘Who’s asking?’ she said, tottering a little on her feet. Erika could tell she was drunk.

They introduced themselves and showed their warrant cards.

‘Is your husband home?’

She threw back her head and shouted, ‘Don! The police want to talk to you about your whore!’

There was a clattering on the stairs and Don appeared, wearing jeans and a polo neck jumper. He looked so much younger and more vital than his wife. He was handsome, in a geeky sort of way.

His wife took pleasure in his embarrassment. ‘He’s shitting himself, can you see?’ She looked him up and down with a sneer. ‘He hasn’t got the balls to have killed that little bitch… He hasn’t got much in the way of balls.’ She reached out to grab his crotch, but Don caught her hand in his grip.

‘That’s enough, Jeanette,’ he said.

‘Ow! He’s hurting me,’ she whined. He let go instantly.

‘I wasn’t hurting her,’ he said, apologetically.

‘We’d like to talk to you, Mr Walpole,’ said Erika. ‘Maybe it would be better to meet you somewhere outside the house?’

‘It’s fine. Go through to the kitchen; I’ll join you in a second.’

They walked through the hallway, which was immaculate, past the stairs to the kitchen at the back. It was comfortable, with an ageing wooden fitted kitchen. A television mounted on the wall was on low, showing an old black-and-white film, and there was a mug of coffee on the kitchen table. A copy of the Guardian was spread out and opened at the sports page.

There were no photos on the fridge, just a small magnet from Barcelona. In one corner was a flat-screen PC computer on a stand. Erika went over to it and moved the mouse. A screensaver appeared of Don and Jeanette in the gardens at some stately home. He had his arm awkwardly around her shoulders, but she was standing apart from him. Neither of them were smiling.

Beside the fridge were boxes of Pinot Grigio piled high. Moss went to the window overlooking the garden.

‘Blimey, look at those empties,’ she said. Erika moved to join her and saw them piled up and spilling over a small recycling box.

‘You think that’s a week’s worth?’ asked Erika.

‘It’s just over a week’s worth,’ said a voice. They turned and saw Don in the doorway. He gently closed the door. ‘I managed to get her to lie down.’ He said this in the tone of someone who has just managed to get a baby down for its afternoon nap. ‘My wife has had problems with alcohol for many years… But I take it that’s not why you’re here?’

‘We’re here about your relationship with Marissa Lewis,’ said Erika.

Don nodded. He was a large, imposing man, very trim and fit with broad, muscular arms.

‘Would you like coffee?’

‘No, thank you.’

They sat down at the table and he cleared away the newspaper.

‘We’ve heard that you and Marissa were involved in a relationship?’ asked Erika.

‘Lots of people knew about it. About six years ago, she knocked on the door asking if we needed any cleaning done. She was going around the street trying to get work. Her mother had just had her benefits stopped, and they were short of money. I gave her work, as I was aware that her mother drank. Jeanette was getting worse with the booze. I thought, at least I’m an adult with a job, and I can deal with it better. She was only just sixteen.’

‘How did it start?’ asked Moss.

‘I don’t know, just having her around. She started giving me looks and then one day, we ended up in bed when Jeanette was asleep.’

‘How long did it go on for?’

‘A couple of years. Jeanette found Marissa’s hair in her brush one day, after she’d taken a shower here.’

‘And what happened?’

‘She went mad, threatened to divorce me. Slapped Marissa about, gave her a bloody nose. Marissa went home and then Mandy comes round, and there’s a huge fight between her and Jeanette. Out in the street, shouting, screaming. My nose got broken and I lost a tooth trying to break them up…’

‘And did it end then, you and Marissa?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, sitting back and folding his arms.

‘You didn’t see her again?’