Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(58)

‘Hey! That’s so rude. And there’s, like, expensive stuff in those bags. Can’t you see they’re from the Apple Shop!’ said the guy.

Erika sat down, tore into the wrapping on her sandwich and took a bite.

‘Excuse me,’ said the girl, attracting the attention of a barista carrying a plastic tub filled with used coffee cups. ‘This woman has just been rude and abusive and she’s damaged my shopping. She threw my bags on the floor!’

The young male barista seemed to be taken in by the girl’s doe-eyed stare, and he turned to Erika, who looked dishevelled in her coat and mucky shoes, cramming the sandwich into her mouth.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am. If that’s the case, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

Erika chewed her sandwich and looked up at the young barista, who was bearing down on her with a firm, condescending smile. She chewed the last mouthful and swallowed.

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘No. I’m not leaving.’

‘He just, like, told you to leave,’ said the girl indignantly. ‘You do realise that coffee shops invite you to be in them until they say otherwise? It’s, like, the law.’ The boyfriend nodded solemnly.

Erika took another bite of her sandwich and then a sip of her coffee.

‘Do I have to go and get my manager?’ asked the barista.

Erika reached in her pocket and pulled out her warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster. I suggest you go back to clearing cups. Have you seen what a mess it is in here? And you? You need to learn some bloody manners.’

‘What? You can’t talk to me like that!’ said the girl.

‘We can all talk to each other however we want. This is a democracy. Of course, as a police officer, I have the power to stop and search. I can detain you if it really takes my fancy. Now, you could’ve just given up the spare seat, but no, you’re part of this entitled young generation who think you can do exactly what you want. You reap what you sow. You were rude to me, and in turn I could make life very difficult for you. Or you can all fuck off, let me sit in this chair for ten minutes, and leave me to eat my sandwich in peace.’

The young girl and guy got up and picked up their shopping bags, watched by the surrounding tables. The barista eyed her, but he seemed unsure if she was in the right as a police officer. He went off to the cash desk.

Erika ate the rest of her sandwich quickly, under the gaze of the other customers, then grabbed her coffee cup and left, before anyone in charge came to talk to her.





Forty-One





Erika walked back to the NCP car park where she had left her car, her blood still pumping after the encounter in the coffee shop. She started the engine and put the heater on, rubbing her hands to warm up. The snow was whirling past outside the car park, and the warm air and the comfy seat made the tiredness wash over her even more. She sat back and closed her eyes.

It seemed like seconds later that her phone rang. She had fallen asleep, and was soaking with sweat under her coat. It was coming up to 8 p.m. She pulled out her phone and groggily answered.

‘Boss, you okay?’ asked Moss.

‘Yeah,’ she said clearing her throat.

‘We just got a call from UCL. Ivan Stowalski died half an hour ago.’

‘Shit… I was just there.’

‘Do you think he was a viable suspect? From everything we’ve heard he was a bit wet, and was dominated by Marissa.’

‘He was obsessed with her,’ said Erika. ‘And the quiet timid ones can flip out just as much as the hotheads.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘You still there?’ asked Moss.

‘Yeah. It’s just been a long day, and hearing one of our suspects has kicked the bucket is never good news.’

‘Yeah, it’s less satisfying when you have to prove the dead guy did it,’ said Moss.

Erika wound down the window and let some fresh air inside the stuffy car.

‘Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Let’s catch up tomorrow.’

Erika hung up, and was still staring at the phone in her hand when it rang again.

‘Hello, is this Erika Foster?’ asked a woman’s voice.

‘Yeah. Who is this?’

‘I’m calling from the NHS Health Centre at St. Thomas’s Hospital. For data protection, can I just take your date of birth?’

Erika’s head was still reeling from hearing that Ivan was dead. ‘Hang on, what are you calling about?’

‘I need your date of birth before I can talk any more about your medical records.’

‘Fourteenth of August, 1972.’

‘And your postcode?’

‘SE23 3PZ.’

‘Thank you. I’m calling with results of your blood tests. Dr Isaac Strong sent samples over yesterday, and asked us to contact you with the results…’

The tone of the nurse’s voice induced a mild panic in Erika. She thought back to when she had last had any kind of blood test. There had been an incident when she was working on the Andrea Douglas-Brown murder case, when a young boy had bitten her. She’d had blood tests three months later, which were thankfully negative for anything untoward. She turned off the heater.

‘Are you still there, Erika?’