‘Do you have any leverage on Mariette Hoffman?’
‘Yes, there is an outstanding arrest warrant for cocaine possession, identity fraud, and benefit fraud. She used a lump sum to buy her flat in the right-to-buy scheme when she was signing on. Technically she should have declared it.’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a nice amount of leverage. You keep me in the loop. I’m on my mobile…’
‘Also. I’m sorry about the other day,’ said Erika, lowering her voice.
He nodded and looked at the floor. ‘I was the one who made the first move,’ he said, lowering his voice too.
‘What? I was talking about the meeting at Scotland Yard.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, blushing. There was an awkward silence. He looked around and went on. ‘Now I’ve broached this, erm, I just want to tell you that me and Marcie have this thing now, where we talk about everything. After the break-up, and her affair, we decided to be more open, to have a more open relationship.’
‘Okay…’
‘Do you see what I mean?’
‘Do you mean a “more open” relationship or an “open relationship”?’
Marsh hesitated, unsure of how to frame his next words. ‘This is embarrassing to talk about…’
‘You don’t need to,’ said Erika, holding up her hands.
‘I just want you to know that I told her about me and you, kissing, and I told her that I put my hands on you.’
Erika looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Are you fucking mad?’
‘It’s fine. She was… okay, about it… I told you, we’re talking to each other about this stuff. It turns out she’s had a couple of other affairs, ones that I didn’t know about…’ He looked at the floor. He was now crimson.
‘Paul, stop.’
‘Just thought you should know that it’s alright. It won’t happen again and you needn’t feel odd when you’re around her.’
‘I don’t see Marcie that often.’
‘I’d already told her when you bumped into each other the other day, in the car park. Marcie was fine with things.’
That was Marcie being fine with things, thought Erika.
‘Look, it was silly what happened and it…’ Erika went to say more, but one of the support staff, a young girl with huge glasses, came up to the vending machine.
‘Evening, sir, ma’am,’ she said, and she fed in some loose change.
‘Right, well, I’ll see you tomorrow and keep me posted with the suspect’s interview,’ said Marsh.
‘Yes,’ said Erika. He went off and she watched after him for a moment, still shocked, and then made her way down to the interview room.
Marsh stopped off at the supermarket on the way home, and scoured the buckets at the entrance displaying fresh flowers and found a lovely bunch of lilies for Marcie. At the self-serve till he saw a display of Haribo Gummi Bears and bought a couple of packets for the twins. He was back out at his car by quarter to seven, and he thought that if there wasn’t much traffic through Sydenham, he would make it home before the twins’ bath time.
The house looked dark when he parked outside. He’d expected to see lights on in the upstairs bathroom and the hall. He got out of the car with the flowers and sweets, and frowned as he approached the quiet house. It was gone bath time, and Marcie was always punctual. The water would usually be sloshing down the drainpipe; he had just missed it so many times before.
He put his key in the lock and opened the door. The hallway was very cold, and he switched on the light, calling out to Marcie and the girls. There was silence. He put the flowers and sweets down on the hall table and moved through the rooms, first the living room, then the kitchen, where two bottles of wine and a funnel had been left out on the counter. He ran upstairs, now starting to really panic. The rooms were all dark and empty. On the landing, he pulled out his phone and called Marcie’s number. After a moment, he heard it faintly ringing. He came back downstairs, through to the hallway and listened for it, moving from room to room until he realised it was coming from the cupboard under the stairs. When he reached the door it was locked, and there was no key in the lock.
‘Marcie! Marcie, what’s going on? Are you in there?’ he shouted, hammering on the door. Her phone had fallen silent, so he called it again, and the ringtone started up again. He went upstairs to his office, and scrabbled around in a drawer of spare keys, bringing a bunch down with him. He tried several in the door, and then he heard a thudding noise, and a moan.
‘Shit, shit. I’m here, honey. Dammit!’ he shouted, dropping the keys on the floor. He finally found the right one, turned it and got the door open. He looked in shock at Marcie lying sprawled out under the boiler, stripped naked, with her hands bound and a nylon stocking over her head. He rushed in to help her up, gently peeling away the stocking and pulling her bra out of her mouth.
‘The girls!’ she croaked and sputtered, panting and gagging. ‘Where are the girls!?’
Chapter Sixty-Six
Interview Room 1 at Lewisham Row Station was bare, with just a table and chairs. Erika and Moss sat opposite Mariette Hoffman and her solicitor. Mariette looked hideous under the bright lights of the interview room. Her long dark hair was a mess, and her skin pale and dry. She had a cold sore on her lip, and had a fading bruise on her left eye. A nasty whiff of bleach and stale sweat hung around her.
‘For the recording, it’s 6.57 p.m., on the 26th November. Present in Interview Room 1 is Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster; Detective Inspector Moss; duty solicitor, Donald Frobisher; and Mariette Hoffman.’
Mariette shifted and looked up at the camera mounted in the corner of the room.
‘Can I smoke?’ she said.
‘No, you can’t,’ said Erika. She opened a file.
‘Can I vape? I’ve got one of those electronic…’
‘You can’t do that either.’
‘Well, what can I do then?’
‘You can confirm that your real name is Janice Elise Kirkham and you were born in Little Dunshire, near Cambridge, in 1963.’
Mariette held up her head defiantly.
‘But Janice Kirkham died in a fire on the 29th November 1988…’ Erika opened a folder and pulled out two documents. ‘For the video, I’m showing the suspect items 1886 and 1887. These are the birth and death certificates for Janice Kirkham. Can you look at these, please?’
Mariette leaned forward and glanced at the documents in front of her. ‘Never heard of her, never met her, don’t know her.’
Erika nodded and took another document from the folder. ‘For the video, I’m now showing item 1888. This is your birth certificate?’
Mariette glanced at it. ‘Yep.’
‘You were born Mariette Elise McArdle on 1st of March 1963, and then died three days after being born, on the 4th of March 1963?’
‘What? Hang on.’
‘You just confirmed that this is your birth certificate,’ said Erika. ‘This is an original document from the records office.’
‘No, no, there’s some mistake.’
Erika then took out the fake certificate and placed it in front of Mariette.
‘So, who are you?’
Mariette leaned in to speak to her solicitor, who recoiled a little as they conversed in hushed tones.
‘I’m Janice, Janice Kirkham,’ she said.
‘Okay, we also know that Max Kirkham is your son,’ said Erika. ‘The same Max Kirkham who in conjunction with Nina Hargreaves is wanted for the murders of your ex-husband, Thomas Hoffman, Charlene Selby, Daniel de Souza, and a man whose body was found in a drainage ditch close to the M40. We are close to having an ID on that body…’
‘Is there a question in there?’ said Mariette.
‘Why did you lie to us when we interviewed you back in October? You said you didn’t know anything about your ex-husband’s death. Didn’t you try and find Max over the years?’
Mariette shook her head.
‘NO. I didn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d been raped. I didn’t want to keep a kid who’d been forced inside me by violence. I was raped by the devil and I spawned his child…’
A look passed between Erika and Moss.
Mariette leaned in close. ‘Oh, sorry. Am I not saying what you want to hear? It could happen to either one of you. They say that maternal instinct can overcome any hurdle, but no. I wanted rid of him. So I gave him up. That’s not a crime.’
Erika leaned forward so their faces were inches apart.
‘But cocaine possession is a crime, Janice. Benefit fraud is a crime. And so is sheltering known criminals. You were happy to take Max’s stolen money when he showed up.’
‘I did it to survive,’ spat Mariette, leaning across the table. ‘You would know nothing about that!’
‘Oh spare me the bloody violins!’ snapped Moss, talking for the first time.
There was a knock at the door, and McGorry opened it.
‘Sorry, boss. I need to talk to you urgently,’ he said.
‘I’m suspending this interview at 7.05 p.m.,’ said Erika. She and Moss got up.
‘Can I have a fag?’ asked Mariette.
‘No,’ said Moss and they left the interview room.
Outside in the corridor, McGorry outlined what had happened with Commander Marsh when he arrived home.
‘Is Marcie badly hurt?’ asked Erika.
‘She has a broken nose, and is badly concussed. Her clothes were removed but she doesn’t think that she was assaulted.’
‘She doesn’t think?’
‘She says it was a young man with a shaved head who asked to read the meter. He looked the part, he had Thames Water ID…’
‘Oh my God,’ said Moss.
McGorry went on. ‘It’s more serious, because their twins Mia and Sophie were collected from the nursery at lunchtime by a young woman with short blonde hair. The nursery manager says that Marcie phoned her shortly after ten this morning, to say her housekeeper would be picking up the girls. The call came from Marcie’s mobile phone, and the girl who came and collected Mia and Sophie knew the password that parents or guardians have to quote…’
Moss shook her head and had tears in her eyes.
‘Marcie said that they have the password pinned to the fridge in the kitchen, because she keeps forgetting it…’
‘That’s what me and Celia do with our nursery. When we pick up Jacob,’ said Moss, wiping her eyes.
It was the first time that Erika had seen Moss cry. She moved forward and gave her a hug.
‘Do the staff at the nursery know if the person who picked up the girls had a vehicle?’
‘No, they said she was on foot.’
‘And no one has any more information?’
McGorry shook his head.
Erika looked at her watch.
‘Shit, that was almost eight hours ago. Whoever took them has a hell of a head start. So we have a blond-haired man with a shaved head who attacked Marcie, and then a woman with short blonde hair who abducted the girls…’
‘They found two types of hair at Mariette Hoffman’s flat,’ said Moss. ‘They’ve changed their appearance.’
‘Find Superintendent Hudson. We need to start the procedure for calling in the Kidnap Unit,’ said Erika.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
It was ten thirty in the evening when Erika knocked on Marsh’s front door. She was with Colleen Scanlan, a young Family Liaison Officer, and Detective Superintendent Paris, a specialist officer from the Met Police Kidnap and Hostage Unit, who in turn had two of his officers, a man and a woman. In the dark street behind, a team of uniformed officers were moving between the houses, knocking on doors, and conducting a door-to-door with the neighbours.
DS Paris was in his late fifties with a head of thick white hair and a portly frame. He had a calm, authoritative presence; what he’d said during their first briefing still rang loud in Erika’s ears: We have to assume that a kidnap is a murder waiting to happen. Violence is used routinely – often extreme violence. The clock is ticking now, and it’s ticking fast. The longer it takes us to find the kidnap victims, the less likely the case is to have a successful outcome.
Marsh’s front door was opened by an overly tanned man in his seventies with immaculate grey hair. He was dressed a little rakishly, in tan slacks, a golfing jumper, and he sported a blue spotted cravat poking out from the neck of his open shirt.
‘Good evening, I’m Marcie’s father, Leonard Montague-Clarke,’ he said, introducing himself and stepping to one side to let them in.
He led them through to the living room. Marsh sat on the sofa beside Marcie, who had two black eyes and a plastic splint over her nose. She was weeping heavily. Beside her a young male paramedic was taking her blood pressure. A large elegant woman in her late sixties sat on the opposite sofa. She wore a smart, pale-blue trouser suit, lots of jewellery, and her short grey hair was immaculate.
‘Darling, you have to go to the hospital. Your nose is broken, and you could have other injuries,’ she was saying.
‘No, Mummy,’ said Marcie hoarsely. ‘I’m not leaving.’
They all looked up when the team of officers entered. Erika thought how devastated Marsh looked, a shell of the man she had seen just a few hours earlier.
‘NO!’ cried Marcie, looking up and seeing Erika. ‘NO! That bitch is not coming in here.’
The officers turned to look at Erika in surprise. Marsh put his head in his hands.
‘Marcie, this is Detective Superintendent Paris, a specialist officer from the Met Police Kidnap Unit—’ started Erika.
‘Get her OUT OF HERE!’ cried Marcie, pointing a finger at Erika. ‘Get her out of my house! She’s been fucking my husband!’
‘That’s not true,’ said Erika. Despite the situation, and the anger rising in her. ‘I am here to help with these officers to do my job, and—’
‘DO YOU HEAR ME?’ shouted Marcie, standing up and launching herself at Erika. The blood pressure cuff hung off her arm, and the rubber hose whipped back and forth as she beat Erika back into the corner of the room. Everyone froze, and looked on in shock.
‘Marcie, stop. STOP THIS!’ shouted Marsh, leaping up and dragging her off. The paramedic got her settled back on the sofa. Erika felt her nose to see if it was bleeding, and tried to compose herself.
Detective Superintendent Paris stepped forward. ‘I think you need to leave,’ he said softly.
‘It isn’t true what she’s saying.’
He put up his hands. ‘Okay, that is noted, but you need to leave; this is not conducive to our investigation.’
‘Okay, yes,’ said Erika, smoothing down her hair. She looked over at Marsh, but he was cradling Marcie in his arms. Marcie’s parents were now staring at her with a mix of curiosity and distaste, and even Superintendent Paris and the other officers regarded her coldly. Erika went to say something, but thought better of it and came out of the living room and into the hallway. She stopped at the front door and listened as Paris started to explain in his soft voice that his team had established an incident room working out of Lewisham Row, and they were ready to act.
‘How many times have you managed to save… save people who’ve been kidnapped?’ said Marsh, his voice thick with emotion.
‘I have a very high success rate,’ said Paris.
‘They’ve got my babies, please bring my babies back to me,’ cried Marcie, her voice hysterical.
Erika wiped tears from her eyes and quietly let herself out of the house.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Moss was back in Interview Room 1 at Lewisham Row, sitting opposite Mariette Hoffman and her solicitor. It was now late.
‘You need to start talking to me, Mariette…’ said Moss. Mariette remained stony-faced and impassive. ‘Who are you being loyal to? Your son, Max, who killed your ex-husband?’
‘Thomas owed him money. A lot of money.’
‘So that’s reason for Max to bump him off, and Charlene?’
‘It was Nina who killed Charlene.’
‘So you are talking now?’
‘What does it fucking look like? My mouth is moving, sound is coming out…’ She turned to her solicitor. ‘Aren’t you supposed to jump in here and stop her asking stupid questions?’ The solicitor sat back and folded his arms. ‘I’m talking to you, what’s yer name again?’
‘My name is Donald Frobisher.’
‘Well, Donald. I’m paying you to represent me, and you’re sitting there with a face on you.’
He sat back, unwilling to engage, but unable to hide his distaste for her.
‘The state is paying for your solicitor,’ said Moss.
‘Yeah, and I’ve paid my stamp. In the past,’ said Mariette, tapping a grubby fingernail on the edge of the table.
‘Is that stamp, or national insurance you’ve paid? As Janice, or Mariette?’
Mariette scowled and sat back.
‘Who do you lot think you are?’
‘I’m a detective inspector,’ said Moss.
‘And a lezzer, by the look of it.’
‘Yeah, I am,’ said Moss, leaning in close. ‘I’m a Big. Fat. Lezzer. But you’re not my type, Mariette. I’m not into low-rent low-lifes with poor personal hygiene.’
‘I clean my house every day!’ she shouted, showing emotion for the first time. ‘It’s spotless,’ she added, sitting back and trying to calm down.
‘You’ve been sheltering two multiple murderers, Mariette. You’ve withheld information from the police, accepted stolen goods; you faked your own death; you’re wanted under a different identity for possession of a class A drug. No wonder you haven’t had time to look after yourself. And push the hoover round. I remember your place when we first visited. It was a tip.’
‘It bloody wasn’t,’ she roared, slamming her hand down on the table. ‘It was immaculate! Tell her, Donald, stop her!’
The solicitor gave Moss a concerned look and shook his head. ‘Please keep your line of questioning to the facts of this case.’
‘Of course,’ said Moss, trying to hide her glee. She waited for Mariette to sit back and calm down. ‘Okay, as we’ve already gone over, we’ve found receipts in your flat for camping gear, tinned goods, parachute rocket distress flares, three pay-as-you-go mobile phones, spare batteries, and ammunition for a Glock handgun. We’ve confiscated £9,000 in cash. We’ve also found the registration details of a white Berlingo van in your name, and several fake number plates in a lock-up, also rented in your name. The van is missing. Where is it, Mariette? Where have they gone? And what are they intending to do with what you bought them?’
Cold Blood: A gripping serial killer thriller that will take your breath away Page 26