Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(40)

‘And what’s her motive? The weekly housekeeping she received from Marissa was a lot of money for her. With Marissa dead, that’s stopped,’ said Moss.



* * *



Mrs Fryatt lived on the opposite side of the large Crofton Park cemetery, on Newton Avenue, in Hilly Fields – near where Marsh lived. The houses on the avenue were large and grand and set back from the road, with huge front gardens. The avenue was close to Coniston Road, but at the same time another world away from the grubby, tightly packed terraced houses.

‘She must be posh: she’s got a boot scraper,’ said Moss when they reached the front door, indicating the elaborate iron boot scraper embedded in the white marble step next to the front door. Erika pulled an iron handle, and a bell rang out deep in the house. A few minutes later, the door was opened by a tall, broad older man with thinning, wispy black hair. He eyed them beadily. They showed their ID and introduced themselves.

‘We understand that Elsa Fryatt, who lives here, was cared for by Marissa Lewis?’ asked Erika.

‘We heard the news,’ he said, his beady gaze running over Erika and Moss. Sweat glistened on the top of his head. ‘I’m Charles Fryatt, Elsa Fryatt’s son.’

‘Where did you hear the news?’ asked Moss.

‘Her mother phoned. Said she’d been brutally murdered, so she wouldn’t be coming to work any more.’

He seemed old, in his late sixties.

‘Could we talk to your mother?’

He stood to one side and invited them in. The hallway opened out to a grand staircase and double height ceiling.

‘She’s in the drawing room,’ he said. They passed a large grandfather clock by the base of the staircase, under a huge crystal chandelier. Charles Fryatt had an odd loping gait, and a hunched-over neck. They passed the front room, which was dominated by bookshelves, and contained a huge Christmas tree, tastefully decorated with white lights. At the back of the house was a large sitting room, which looked over the snow-covered garden. This room looked more lived-in, with a big television, lots of armchairs and a coffee table littered with magazines and books. On the largest sofa sat an old lady. Erika had been expecting a wizened invalid, but instead, a small woman with a strong jaw and steely eyes sat bolt upright on the edge of the sofa. She was dressed in a woollen skirt and a tweed jacket, and her only concession to the cold was a large pair of sheepskin-lined slippers. Her ash-blonde hair was short and fashionably styled. Her face, however, showed her years and was deeply lined.

‘Good morning, officers, I’m Elsa Fryatt,’ she said, standing and shaking their hands. ‘The hearing aid picks up everything,’ she added, indicating the two aids in her ears. She moved with fluidity, more so than her son. She also had a faint metallic crispness to her accent, which Erika couldn’t quite put her finger on. Erika and Moss introduced themselves again and showed their warrants.

‘Would you care for some coffee, and perhaps a mince pie?’ Elsa asked. ‘Charles, you know how to use the coffee machine?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Warm up the Marks and Spencer mince pies… And throw away the ones we bought at the Christmas Fayre.’

Charles nodded. Erika watched as he left the room and wondered if he was ill. He was sweating profusely.

‘I much prefer the bought ones to home-made, don’t you?’ Elsa said.

‘I’m happy with a mince pie, wherever it comes from,’ said Moss. There was a fire burning in the grate. They sat down on the sofa opposite the old lady. She clasped her hands in her lap and fixed them with startlingly blue eyes.

‘You’ve asked to speak to us regarding Marissa?’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘Terrible business. Who would do that, and to someone so young?’ She put one of her gnarled hands to her mouth and shook her head, but stopped herself from breaking down in tears.

‘Can I just confirm that Marissa was your carer?’ asked Erika.

Mrs Fryatt waved the word away.

‘She was more of a companion. She did my shopping, she would manage my diary. I trusted her to do the things that one wouldn’t ask of a general domestic servant.’

‘Can I ask… Do you have a large staff?’

She laughed. ‘No, I make myself sound more glamorous than I am. I have a cleaner who comes in every day for a few hours; she also cooks me a meal. There is a gardener who doubles as a handy man. Charles is in a lot. Marissa was in charge of washing my clothes and helping me with shopping and all the other personal things.’

‘How long did she work for you?’

‘Just over a year. I had advertised in the local café, as well as on the internet – well, Charles, he did all that. I wanted someone who lived locally.’

‘Were you aware that Marissa also worked as a burlesque dancer?’ asked Erika.

‘Of course. I went to see her perform on several occasions.’

‘In the strip clubs?’ asked Moss.

Mrs Fryatt turned her attention onto Moss, almost for the first time.

‘Strip clubs!? I have never been to a strip club. I saw Marissa perform at the Café De Paris just off Leicester Square, and she had a regular weekly show in Soho – I forget the name of the club, but it was smaller, and much more fun… Stripping it was not. Burlesque is an art form, and she was very good at it…’ She bit her lip and looked as if she was about to break down again. ‘I’m sorry. She was just so vital. She made things so much fun here.’