Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(79)

The bottom shelf of the safe was empty.

‘Do you own any other princess-cut diamonds?’ asked Peterson.

‘No,’ said Mrs Fryatt. ‘You will see underneath the bond certificates on the top shelf that I have all the insurance paperwork for my jewellery. It was made up at the end of last August. You will find everything there, present and correct.’

Peterson spent several minutes checking through it all. Then he got up and went to Charles, who was watching from in front of the window. His grey skin glistened with sweat, despite the cool temperature.

‘Can you confirm that Marissa Lewis came to the jeweller where you work, with a pair of princess-cut diamond earrings, exactly the same as these?’ he asked, holding up the box.

‘Er. Yes… apparently, she did,’ Charles said. Mrs Fryatt stared at her son coldly.

‘Why didn’t you tell my colleagues this when they visited you before to talk about Marissa’s murder?’

‘Because I didn’t know she had been in to the shop, until one of your colleagues came in and spoke to my father-in-law. I’m one of four in the family who work there,’ said Charles. His eyes darting between Peterson and his mother’s steely gaze.

‘This is your wife’s family business?’

‘Yes, I work there along with two of her brothers.’

‘I need to take these earrings away for testing,’ said Peterson.

‘What do you propose you test for?’ asked Mrs Fryatt.

‘DNA.’

‘Well, you’ll find my DNA, and no doubt there might even be some from my daughter-in-law, who’s borrowed them on a couple of occasions. And of course, you’ll find Marissa’s DNA on them.’

Peterson stared at her. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I let her try them on, officer. If you care to wait, I could even dig out a picture of her wearing them. She did a photoshoot here for her burlesque portfolio. Her friend Sharon came and helped out.’ She held out her hand for the earrings.

‘I would still like to take these earrings for testing and analysis.’

‘Is that all you’d like to take? Do you want a blood or urine sample? Or perhaps you want to dust every surface for prints?’

‘Just the earrings,’ said Peterson, locking eyes with her, refusing to look away.

‘Fine. Test them, but you’re wasting your time, and I warn you, if there is any damage to them, however minor, I will sue you, and the police force. I have the money to do it.’



* * *



Peterson bagged up the earrings. He left the room, followed by the five officers. No one spoke until they came out onto the street to the waiting cars.

‘Shit,’ said Peterson, banging his fist on the bonnet. ‘Fuck!’





Fifty-Nine





Moss slowly regained consciousness, but everything was black. She could see nothing. She lay on her back, on a hard surface, and her head was throbbing. She breathed in. There was a strong goaty smell of body odour, and sour sweat. Strong feelings of nausea flooded over her; she thought she was going to throw up. Panic shot through her as she realised that her mouth was taped up. As she came fully awake, she felt that her hands were fastened tightly in front of her, bound at the wrists, and her ankles were bound too. She swallowed and tried to stay calm. She listened. There was a faint hiss, and then a whoomph and a tiny blue square appeared in the corner of her vision. It stayed on for a few seconds and then vanished.

Moss swallowed again. Her throat was so dry and sticky. She slid from side to side, feeling around on the floor. She moved her bound arms to the right and felt a metal grille, and the same on the left. She shuffled up and down, feeling bars above her head and below her feet. Her heart began to beat again and panic rose in her. It threatened to overwhelm her. She was in some kind of cage.

Keep calm, keep calm, calm, calm, came the voice in her head. She thought of the mindfulness techniques that Celia had started to do, to try and control her worry. She’d taken the piss out of Celia for carrying the mindfulness book around with her. Now she wished she’d read it. She tried to remember what it was about, what Celia had said. It was about concentrating on what was actually happening, and not letting your emotions get the better of you. She concentrated on the cold floor underneath her back. She felt around and was pretty sure it was wood.

What was that blue light? It was a flame; the little flame behind the square hole in a central heating boiler. She had to see if she could sit up, and see what it illuminated, if it came back on again.

Moss slowly breathed in and out. Her nose didn’t seem to pull in enough air. She started to sit up, but she had to stop halfway, because the blood beating through her veins seemed to push the pain up to her head, like it was going to explode. She felt nausea roll over her. If she threw up, she would choke.

She slowly lay back down, and took deep breaths, tilting her head to put her cheek against the cold floor. She thought back to what had happened. She thought of the gas mask drawing, the moment when it had all fallen into place – and of course, he’d seen it too.

Panic rose in her again. He was going to kill her. The flame was from a boiler, which probably meant she was in the basement. Tied up. Gagged. In a cage. Fear and hopelessness came over her again. Then Jacob’s face came into her mind. His beautiful eyes and his innocent smile. How good he smelt. How he loved to put his arms around her ever-expanding waist, and stand on her feet as she walked around the room, giving him a ride. And Celia, with her honey-blonde hair and her beautiful kind face. Why hadn’t she hugged them and told them she loved them before she’d left the house?