Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(41)

‘Can I ask how much Marissa earned in your employment?’

‘I don’t talk about money,’ she said, turning up her nose at the thought. ‘I paid her very well, and she worked three or four hours every day during the week.’

‘Mrs Fryatt, I’m trying to place your accent,’ said Erika.

‘Are you now…’

Erika paused, and when Mrs Fryatt wasn’t forthcoming, she went on, ‘Can I ask where you’re from?’

‘I’m originally from Austria. How is that relevant?’

Erika looked surprised.

‘It’s not. I just detected something there. I’m from Slovakia.’

‘Yes, I wondered about you, too, but you flatten your vowels. You say “ask” instead of “aaask”.’

‘I learnt English in Manchester, where I lived when I first came to the UK.’

‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Fryatt replied. She tipped her head to one side and gave Erika a chilly smile.

‘So where did you learn your… charm… with the English language?’ asked Erika icily.

‘My family came to England when the war broke out; my father was a diplomat.’

Charles came loping back into the room with a large tray covered in an elegant china tea set: cups, saucers and a milk jug and sugar bowl. Mrs Fryatt eyed him as he struggled with where to put the tray, balancing it on his knee, but she didn’t help him move the piles of books and magazines on the table. Then the cups and the cafetière of coffee started to slide. Luckily, Moss leapt up and took the tray from him.

‘Christ! Put the tray down first, and then move things,’ Mrs Fryatt snapped. ‘Men are incapable of thinking more than one step ahead…’

Charles eyed her murderously, scooping up a pile of books and magazines to make space for the tray.

‘Charles is an expert jeweller, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of gemstones, precious metals and antique jewellery, but he is hopeless at everyday tasks.’

Charles took the tray and set it down on the table.

‘There we are, mother.’ He sloped off out of the room and Mrs Fryatt sat forward and poured them coffee.

‘He doesn’t know what to do with himself when the shop is shut.’

‘Shop?’ asked Erika.

‘He’s a jeweller, in Hatton Garden,’ she said, proudly. ‘Married a lovely Jewish girl and they inherited the shop. Of course, he’s become the linchpin. His knowledge is so broad. He’s become accepted in that community, and it’s tough, if you know what I mean.’

They sat back and sipped their coffee.

‘Do you have any suspects?’ Mrs Fryatt asked.

‘We’ve found that Marissa lived quite a colourful life. Did she tell you much about her private life?’

‘Not a great deal. I got the impression she was professional. She seemed to be getting lots of acclaim for her burlesque work, and she wanted to go places. I met a few of the girls she danced with. They seemed to have great camaraderie. I wasn’t too impressed with this – what was her name? – dreadful, lumpen creature she was, with thick glasses. She had one of those situation comedy names…’

‘Sharon,’ said Moss.

‘Yes. That was her. Marissa said she was a bit of a pain, always hanging around. She said this Sharon was constantly pestering her to be the “face” of the hairdresser she runs on the high street…’ Mrs Fryatt pulled a face.

‘I take it you’re not a client?’ asked Erika.

‘No, I am not. I go to Charles and Charles in Chelsea and it’s worth every penny to travel that far.’

‘So you didn’t get the impression Marissa had any enemies?’ asked Moss.

‘Well, as much as I knew her. Don’t forget dear, she was… Well, I know it’s not a fashionable way of putting it any more, but she was the help. I thought she was a lovely girl, but the chasm of our age difference and our social difference meant we weren’t on intimate terms. Well, I wasn’t; she seemed to have no qualms in telling me all about her awful mother, however. Alcoholic, obese, and a nasty piece of work by all regards.’

Mrs Fryatt leant forward and offered them a top up, which Erika accepted.

‘Marissa did recount something to me, which was upsetting… This was a few weeks ago. She was coming home from a gig, and left the train at Crofton Park station. It was late and rather dark. When she passed the cemetery, she was approached by a very tall man wearing a gas mask.’

Erika put her cup down.

‘What?’

‘Yes, she was walking back late from the station on her own – which was madness in my mind – and he appeared out from the cemetery, and pulled her into the shadows by the tall iron gates. Luckily, she fought him off and got free.’

Erika and Moss exchanged a glance.

‘Did she tell the police?’

‘I don’t know. She was almost flippant about it, chalking it up as another crazy creep. But it seems more serious than that. I’ve seen the news reports. The man in a gas mask, attacking people late at night on their way home from the train stations. He attacked a woman and a young man a few weeks back, and then there was that poor woman on Christmas night. Have you any idea who it can be?’

Erika ignored the question. She thought back to the conversation that morning with the two officers at the station. The case suddenly moved from her peripheral vision, and it had her full attention.