The Night Stalker (24 page)

‘
E
rika
, I’m sorry,’ said Marsh.

She was standing opposite him in his office. ‘I can’t believe that you told me in front of
my
team, without giving me the heads-up first.’

‘As I said, I had Oakley on the phone first thing. It was a done deal. I was merely informed of the decision.’

‘Oakley. That figures…’

‘It wasn’t personal. You heard me, down in the incident room.’

‘Do you think he did it, Isaac?’ she said, taking the seat opposite Marsh’s desk.

Marsh moved to his chair and sat down as well. ‘Don’t ask me. I barely knew him. He’s a fine forensic pathologist. You’ve been cosying up with him – what are your thoughts?’

‘I’ve not been
cosying up
. I’ve been for dinner with him a few times.’ Erika realised she was playing down their friendship and the realisation brought her up short.
Am I that much of a ruthless bitch?
she thought.
He’s one of my closest friends.
But she had to admit, the evidence she’d just heard against him had shocked her.

‘What about the boyfriend? What did you think when you saw them together?’ asked Marsh.

‘I knew that Isaac had a volatile relationship with Stephen Linley. Although he didn’t go into great detail, I knew that Stephen had cheated on him and they’d split up. And then out of the blue I went over for dinner and Stephen was there again. I don’t think Stephen liked me. Then again, I seem to be an acquired taste lately.’

‘Lately?’ grinned Marsh. Despite the situation, Erika grinned back.

‘Have you ever read any of Stephen Linley’s books?’ asked Marsh.

‘No,’ said Erika.

‘Marcie downloaded one of them,
Night Descending
, to read on our last holiday… She couldn’t get past the first four chapters
.
’

‘Why?’

‘He seems to enjoy torturing women.’

‘They
are
crime thrillers, sir.’

‘That’s what I said. I told her she should stick to romantic comedies… Anyway. I’ve had to arrange for everything pertaining to the Gregory Munro and Jack Hart murders to be transferred to DCI Sparks and his team. They’re going to have a new forensic pathologist go over everything.’

Erika got up and stared out at Lewisham, glowering under a dark bank of cloud. ‘How did that bastard Sparks end up taking over my case? That feels like the biggest kick in the teeth!’

‘This is the problem when you create enemies, Erika. They go off and plot, and often flourish in the shade. Sparks is doing very well.’

‘How well?’ Erika asked. ‘Cos he’s certainly been going the extra mile… He’s running his own team, he’s been called in to lend a hand with covert surveillance on Operation Hemslow.’

Marsh paused.

‘Sir, don’t tell me he’s in the running for the superintendent job too?’

‘There are plenty of other officers in the running. It’s not just the two of you.’

‘So where does that leave me?’

‘Off the case. And the only reason you are off it, in my eyes, is that you have a conflict of interest. You’ve socialised with the forensic pathologist who is now a suspect.’

‘If I’m off the case, use me somewhere else. I’d be happy to go and work on Operation Hemslow. Sparks is now off it. They could use another DCI rank.’

‘Superintendent Nickson wasn’t too impressed with you barging into the crime scene last night… Or with the way you dealt with his officers.’ Marsh saw the look on Erika’s face. ‘Yes, I did hear about that. So did Oakley.’

‘Sir, I’m sorry but, believe me, all I ever do is try and be the best police officer I can. I don’t set out to piss anyone off, but…’

‘You’re an acquired taste,’ finished Marsh. ‘Look. You’ve got three weeks’ holiday you haven’t taken. I suggest you get some sun. Sometimes it’s good to make yourself scarce.’

‘Sir, I’m not one for sunning myself by the beach.’

‘Well, try. Buy yourself some factor 50 and bugger off somewhere nice. You’ve dodged a bullet with this Night Stalker case, I promise.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh, and Erika, if I hear you’ve been poking your nose in, it will be the quickest way to end your dream of that superintendent promotion.’

‘It’s not a dream…’

‘Well, either way. Take a holiday.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Erika gave Marsh a nod and left his office.

T
he incident room was empty
. The fluorescent lights had been left on. Erika stood for a moment in the silence, looking over the whiteboards where all the evidence from the past three hectic weeks was pinned up. The hard work of her team.

A woman knocked and entered. It was one of the police support officers, Erika didn’t know her name. ‘Sorry, ma’am, are we okay to start processing the handover of evidence?’ the woman asked, looking around at the empty desks.

Erika nodded and left the room. She ran into Woolf coming towards her in the corridor.

‘Sorry about earlier, boss… Did you know Dr Strong well?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but now I think, no…’

‘Ah, well. It’ll all come out in the wash,’ Woolf grinned.

‘What does that mean, that saying?’

‘Blowed if I know. My mum always used to say it, God rest her soul. The miserable old bag. Anyway, I managed to get hold of this for you.’ He handed her an old Nokia handset. ‘It still works, no probs.’

‘You remembered,’ she said, taking it from him.

‘It was the first thing you ever said to me when you joined Lewisham Row. “Get me a phone with buttons, you fat bastard!”’

‘I never said “fat bastard”!’ grinned Erika.

‘Yeah, I made that up,’ he said. They looked through the glass partition at the support officers pulling down the crime scene photos from the whiteboard.

‘Where did everyone go?’ asked Erika.

‘Loads of them have been told to go home and wait to hear about being reassigned, and it’s a Sunday. I think they wanted to take advantage of an unexpected day off before another busy week begins.’

Erika felt disappointed, and a little bit abandoned. She shook these feelings off, realising how stupid she was being. This was work.

‘So what are you doing now, boss?’

‘I’m on holiday for the next three weeks.’

‘Oh, lovely. I would kill for three weeks off right now. Have fun!’ Woolf patted her on the shoulder and moved off towards reception.

Fun
… Erika couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fun. She looked back at the whiteboards through the glass; they were now almost empty. She hitched her bag over her shoulder and left the station, unsure of what to do next.

E
rika spent
the rest of the morning driving around aimlessly, feeling powerless and frustrated. She drove past Isaac’s house in Blackheath and saw that it was being searched. There was an officer stationed outside the front door and police tape over the entrance. It felt strange seeing his smart house, with the two yucca plants outside the shiny black front door, and the sash windows gleaming in the sun, yet knowing that he was being held in custody.

She then drove over to Shirley, past Penny Munro’s house. The road was quiet and in several of the houses the curtains were drawn against the heat. Penny’s house stood out with its lush, green front lawn. It looked as if Gary was still flouting the hosepipe ban. Erika wanted to know what else he was doing and was about to slow the car down when common sense took over. She turned the car round and drove back to Forest Hill.

It started to rain again when she arrived home. She crashed about, searching for something to drink, but the fridge was empty and so were most of the cupboards.

She stalked around her flat, feeling like a caged animal, then switched her computer on and left it on the counter top as she poured herself the last of the whisky. She stared around at the room, hating her life, hating her career, hating everything. It was now raining harder. She opened the patio door and sheltered in the door frame, lighting up a cigarette. From behind her was a squidgy plopping sound – her Skype had popped up. It started to ring, and she rushed back inside, thinking it might perhaps be the Night Stalker.

It was her sister Lenka, calling from Slovakia.

‘I’m going mad,’ muttered Erika, when she realised she was disappointed. ‘I’d rather get a call from a serial killer than my own sister.’ She took a deep breath and answered the call.

‘Ahoj zlatko!’
chirruped her sister. Lenka was sitting in her living room on a large leather sofa, covered in a sheepskin rug. The wall behind was a startling shade of orange and there were several photos of her kids, Karolina and Jakub, dotted about. Her long blonde hair was scraped up into a knot on the top of her head, and despite having a huge pregnancy bump she wore a hot pink strappy top.

‘Hi, Lenka,’ Erika smiled, speaking in Slovak. ‘You look like you’re about to pop!’

‘Yeah. Not long now,’ said her sister. ‘I had to phone you. I had my last scan and I’ve got news. It’s another boy!’

‘That’s great, congratulations,’ said Erika.

‘Marek is thrilled. He just took me to the jeweller in town – you remember, the posh one on the high street – and bought me an ankle bracelet.’

Marek was Lenka’s husband, and he had recently been jailed for receiving stolen goods.

‘How did Marek manage that?’ asked Erika.

‘He’s working again.’

‘Working? I thought he was in jail?’

‘He got parole a month ago.’

‘How did he get parole all of a sudden? He was sent down for four years.’

‘Erika, I knew you’d be like this…He remembered something that the police found useful, so they let him go… I’m also phoning to say you don’t need to send me any more money. Thank you.’

‘Lenka…’

‘No, I’m fine, Erika. Now Marek is back, things are good.’

‘Why don’t you start up another bank account? I’ll keep sending you the money and you put it to one side, keep it to yourself.’

‘You don’t need to look after me, Erika.’

‘I do. You know that people who work for the mafia always end up either being killed or banged up for life. Do you want to be a single mother with two kids – three, now you’re having another one with him?’

‘He’s worked hard at being good, and he got parole,’ said Lenka, putting her hands up angrily, as if this now gave him the edge on other fathers. ‘Life is different here, Erika.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s right.’

‘You don’t understand. Can’t you at least be pleased? Marek looks after us. The kids have nice clothes, they’ve got iPhones. This little boy won’t want for anything. We’ll be able to get them into nice schools…’

‘God forbid they have to spend all those tedious hours studying, when Marek can go and threaten to kneecap their teacher!’

‘Erika, I don’t want to talk about this any more. I didn’t call to row with you,’ said Lenka, adjusting the knot on top of her head with an air of finality. ‘Anyway. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to ring your Skype. I phoned four times on Mark’s anniversary.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You should put up some pictures,’ Lenka said, peering through the camera. ‘Looks like a prison cell.’

‘I’m keeping it like this for when you and Marek visit. So he feels at home.’

Despite this, they both began to laugh.

‘The kids say hi,’ said Lenka, when they’d calmed down. ‘They’re out at the lido with their friends.’

‘Give them a kiss from me,’ said Erika. ‘And let me know when you go into labour, okay?’

‘Okay… I’ll let you know. Love you.’ Lenka put her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss. Erika returned it and then the screen went black.

After the Skype call, the silence was deafening in the flat. Erika’s eyes moved around the bare walls and then came to rest on the bookshelf, piled high with assorted junk. Next to the copy of
Fifty Shades of Grey
was the signed book Stephen Linley had given her. She got up and pulled out the copy of
From My Cold Dead Hands
and started to read.

M
oss had taken
advantage of her unexpected free Sunday and was glad to be home for her son Jacob’s bath and bedtime. She had just finished reading him a story and saw that he was asleep. She kissed his sleeping face and wound up his night light so it would continue to play its twinkly lullaby for a little while longer.

When she came outside onto the landing, her wife, Celia, was holding the phone.

‘It’s Erika Foster,’ said Celia. Moss took the phone and went along the landing to the small bedroom they used as an office. She closed the door.

‘Sorry to call you at home, Moss,’ said Erika.

‘That’s okay, boss. What’s up?’

‘Everyone kind of scarpered today.’

There was an awkward pause from Moss. ‘We did. Sorry about that. I thought you would be busy with Marsh?’

‘Oh, I was. Did you have a good day off?’

‘Yeah, we’ve been to St James’s Park. It was lovely.’

‘Can you talk?’

‘Yes. I’ve just finished reading
The Hungry Caterpillar
to Jacob and I’m now craving salad – which I think is a first.’

‘I’ve been reading one of the DCI Bartholomew books, the ones Stephen Linley writes, wrote…’

‘And you want to start a book club?’ said Moss.

‘Very funny. No, I started reading
From My Cold Dead Hands
and I’m finding it pretty disturbing…’

‘In what way?’

‘I’m fine with gore, but this is deep, dark stuff. There’s this serial killer who abducts women at night and then he keeps them in his basement and tortures them.’

‘Like
The Silence of the Lambs
?’

‘No,
The Silence of the Lambs
has an elegance and restraint in its description of violence. This is just torture porn. I’ve just forced myself through pages and pages of a long, drawn-out series of graphic rapes, and in between the killer pours boiling water on their naked bodies.’

‘Jeez.’

‘It’s almost as if he’s getting off on writing this… This is a long shot, but what if the Night Stalker killed Stephen because of his attitude to women?’

‘I thought the new line of investigation was that Isaac Strong killed Stephen? And I thought you were off the case?’

‘Do you believe that Isaac could have done it, Moss?’

‘No. But then again, I didn’t know him that well.’

‘I was at the crime scene, Moss. Everything about it points to this being the same killer. I’ve just Googled Stephen Linley and he sells a shedload of books, but he’s often run into a lot of controversy at literary events. He’s had quite a few people come and question his treatment of violence towards women; there’s something about a boycott of his work. What if that’s the link? What if his book inspired someone to be violent towards the Night Stalker? During the phone call I had with her, she told me that her husband had tortured her, but he had dropped dead before she could kill him.’

‘It’s a good theory, boss. Or are you trying to work out whodunnit from a whodunnit?’ asked Moss.

‘I just think that we haven’t looked into the motive clearly. We wasted time thinking that it was a spurned gay lover with Gregory Munro, and the whole thing with Jack Hart being in the public eye sort of skewed it too.’

‘There’s only one problem, boss.
We’re off the case
. I’ve been temporarily reassigned to a CCTV steering group,’ said Moss.

‘What about Peterson?’

‘I don’t know. I heard he’s been reassigned too, but I’m not sure where.’

‘Well, I’m on holiday,’ said Erika, ironically.

‘Then you know what people normally do when they’re on holiday? They go and visit friends… Maybe you should go and see Isaac. If you can’t be a policewoman right now, be a friend.’