Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(51)

He left the train at West Norwood. Again, he was the only one on the platform. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the warehouse, and there was a long industrial slip road leading up from the station, lined with derelict buildings and overgrown hedges. He put up his hood and trudged through the snow, his footsteps crunching through the silence. The streetlights couldn’t penetrate the fog, creating a tunnel of light. The sky in the far distance was only just starting to turn from black to a dark blue. As he passed the gates to an old office block, a dark shape bulged out from the shadows, and a tall figure stepped into the light. It was dressed in a long black coat, and stretched over its head was the dark shiny hood of a gas mask. Vapour streamed out from the large breathing drum which hung down to its chest, and there was a line of small white squares on the breathing drum, which gave the impression of wide smiling teeth.

Jason stopped, and at first he didn’t feel scared. It was so unexpected. He heard the clack of a train on the tracks as it sped past. The figure watched for a moment and then advanced towards him.

‘Hey, hey!’ he shouted as the figure steamed towards him, bearing down, then punched him hard in the face.



* * *



Jason came to a little while later. He could feel snow under his back. He could see the outline of the sky above, now a palette of light blues. His hands were fastened behind him, and he was lying painfully on his wrists. His legs were cold, and then he realised that he was naked from the waist down. There was something in his mouth, material or cloth. He looked around, moaning, hearing the sound coming out in a feeble murmur. A train whooshed past on the tracks behind a high wall to his left, to his right was the main entrance of the vast decaying edifice of the office block. Rows and rows of broken windows stared down at him, and in a few, birds fluttered. He felt sick when he saw that in the doorway of the building, about five metres away, the figure in the gas mask was watching him. His coat was open and he was masturbating, his black gloved hand working quickly back and forth. Streams of vapour pouring from the breathing drum of the mask.

It felt at once insane and terrifying. Jason could see a few shapes poking up out of the melting snow: a burnt-out car and some disused gas bottles. Suddenly, he heard voices on the slip road from the station, and he looked over to the tall hedges. The road was obscured.

People walking past. Commuters! he thought. He cried out, but it sounded nothing more than a muffled moan. The voices carried on past. The figure abruptly stopped, fastening his trousers, and started towards him. He picked up Jason’s feet, and dragged him through the melting snow. Jason tried to kick, but felt stones and sharp pain as he was dragged up three steps, and onto the bare concrete of the doorway. There wasn’t much space on the top step leading into the building. The figure stood directly over him, looking down through the blank eye holes. Then he knelt down.

Jason kicked out, and his foot connected with the gas mask, knocking it to the side. The man gave a muffled yell and fell back through the broken glass door. A shard of glass scraped across the side of his neck, and he tottered over, landing on his backside on the other side of the door. The gas mask almost came off, sliding up at a drunken angle to reveal his mouth and nose.

Jason panicked and stared. The figure’s loss of control was somehow more terrifying. Jason scrambled to get up, but his trousers were around his ankles, and his feet tangled. The figure slowly sat up and took off his glove, putting a hand to the scrape on the side of his neck, which was bleeding. He turned away and lifted the mask to inspect his hand. Apparently satisfied that it wasn’t a deep cut, he pulled the mask back down and turned, pulling on his gloves again.

Then he walked towards Jason, and dragged him back to the top of the steps.





Thirty-Four





Erika had switched on breakfast TV at six, after a sleepless night spent on the sofa. She prided herself on her stoicism, and even though the call had terrified her, she refused to let that terror overtake her. The sound of her neighbours stirring, and water running through the pipes, started to bring her back to normality. At seven-thirty she made coffee and took a shower, and then as it got light she opened the curtains and felt her fears fade with the pale blue dawn.

Just before she left the house, she plugged her phone back in and played back the message of the rasping voice. The person who’d called hadn’t withheld their number. It was a mobile number which she didn’t recognise, but which she made a note of. She wound up the cable and took the answering machine with her.

Once she was in her car, and driving amongst the busy morning traffic, she felt reality settle over her. There was still nothing from Colleen Scanlan, no voicemail or text on her phone.

She’d thought a lot about the case during her sleepless night, and the question about the diamond earrings kept coming back to her. Why hadn’t Mrs Fryatt mentioned them? She checked the time and saw it was just past 8 a.m. She took a detour from her usual route, and went through Honor Oak Park and down to Hilly Fields. As she approached Mrs Fryatt’s house, she peered through the window, and saw the old lady was rugged up against the cold, and waiting outside her house, leaning on a walking stick. When Erika pulled into the parking spot by the kerb, Mrs Fryatt started shouting and waving her stick in the air, shouting, ‘Go on, you can’t park there, I am reserving this space!’

Erika wound down her window,

‘Morning. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’ she asked.