Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(66)

‘I got them locally from a camera shop in Greenwich. Detectives, I’m not sure how relevant this line of questioning is, unless you are planning to start doing photography as a hobby?’

‘We are trying to establish where Joseph went in connection with his hobby.’

‘It’s wasn’t a hobby. He wanted to do it as a career.’

‘When did Joseph graduate to having his own camera, buying his own materials?’

‘I don’t know. As I said, a few years. I was still practising as a barrister back then and I rather neglected my home life. I wouldn’t see my family for days on end…’ David looked wistfully out of the window and sipped his tea. ‘Makes me think it wasn’t all worth it, my job. The law… It’s just a huge chess game.’

Moss didn’t press him.

‘Was Joseph a member of any camera or photography clubs?’

‘Again. I don’t know.’

‘Could we speak to your wife?’ asked Kay.

‘No, you may not. The doctor had to come early this morning to give her something to sleep.’

‘Did Joseph get paid for any of his photos?’

David gave a bemused smile.

‘No. He was signing on, for a long period. You must know this, officers.’

‘Did Marissa Lewis ever come to your house?’ said Moss. ‘I’m asking in particular about the past year?’

‘No. Not that I know of. We were always rather worried about him; he never seemed to have any interest in either sex.’

Moss looked at Kay. They had exhausted all of their questions, and there was just one other thing they had to ask about.

‘Mr Pitkin. I need to show you some photos we found on Joseph’s mobile phone. They may be upsetting, but I only ask you to look at them because they are vital to our investigation.’

David’s eyes narrowed as Moss pulled out a cardboard file. She opened it on the table and took out the photos of Joseph tied up in the restraints. She also took out the note with the gas mask drawing.

David looked through the photos, attempting to stop his emotions from showing. Finally, he looked up, and his eyes were full of anger.

‘Who the hell do you think you are, to come into my house and show me these?’

‘Mr Pitkin. Did Joseph ever mention a friend, or that he was scared for his life?’

‘Did anyone mention to you that Joseph looked at risk of taking his own life?’ he shot back.

‘No.’

‘But you must have seen that he was distressed when he was being interviewed? Did no one at your station think to call a doctor, or think that he shouldn’t have been put back in that cell, BY HIMSELF!?’ David swept the photos off the table. ‘NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!’

Kay hurriedly picked up the photos from the floor and stuffed them back in the file.

‘Mr Pitkin, please, do you have any idea who might have sent Joseph a note like this?’

‘DID YOU HEAR ME?’ he bellowed. He grabbed Moss by the back of her coat and dragged her up out of her chair and into the hallway.

‘Sir. Please, stop this,’ said Kay, moving after them as David dragged Moss to the front door.

David let go of Moss, leaned across, turned the handle and pulled it open. Moss put up her hand when he tried to grab her again.

‘That’s enough,’ she said, stepping outside. Kay was no sooner out of the door behind her than it was slammed shut. They walked out onto the pavement.

‘You okay, ma’am?’

‘Yes, and please don’t call me “ma’am”. I’m not a member of the royal family,’ said Moss. She straightened her jumper under her jacket. ‘What else were we expecting? I just thought it was worth a shot, in case he knew something.’

‘Do you think he knows anything?’ asked Kay.

‘No, I don’t. But I’m not much good with my gut instinct. That’s Erika’s speciality.’





Forty-Seven





McGorry had been tasked with following up on Ella Bartlett, the burlesque dancer who had been to the jeweller with Marissa. Earlier in the morning, he’d spoken to an extremely camp man called Martin, who had given him Ella’s number. She had agreed to meet him after her workout, but she was now late. He had been waiting for her outside the Gym Box in Farringdon for twenty minutes. It had stopped snowing, but the air was damp, and his feet were starting to go numb. The Gym Box was on a busy road on the edge of the Hatton Garden jewellery district in central London, and as he’d drunk his coffee next to an old-fashioned red phone box, he’d seen six security vans move past.

‘Hi, are you John?’ said a voice. He turned to see a petite blonde woman in her early twenties. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long honey-coloured hair, and big blue eyes.

‘Yes, I’m Detective Inspector John McGorry. I take it you’re Ms Bartlett?’ He realised how ridiculously formal he sounded.

‘Call me Ella. Can I call you John?’ she said. ‘And can I see your ID? You know you can’t be too sure, these days.’

He pulled out his warrant card and passed it to her.

‘You’re much cuter in real life,’ she said, handing it back.

‘Let’s get started,’ said McGorry.