‘Why was it only the one time?’ asked Erika.
‘She told me afterwards that when we first slept together she was fifteen…’ He put his head in his hands.
‘And let me guess, she was going to report you?’
He nodded. ‘She told me that historical abuse cases get lots of press attention, and that she would be believed.’
‘Did you abuse her?’
‘NO! It was consensual, you have to believe me, and I thought she was sixteen. She was a woman. She had the body of a woman. I’m not into… I would never…’ He started to sob now; big fat tears rolled down his cheeks. Erika took out a packet of tissues and passed him one. He took it and wiped at his face, embarrassed. ‘She told me that she wanted five grand, or she would go to the police and report me.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How did you react?’ asked Moss.
‘She was clever about it. She asked me to meet her in central London, at a coffee place. It was busy and she told me how it was going to go down.’
‘Did you give her the money?’ asked Erika.
He nodded and rubbed at his face.
‘I thought it would be a one-off but she blackmailed me for another five grand.’
‘How did you give it to her?’
‘Bank transfer.’
‘Was she fifteen when you first had sex with her?’
‘Is this on record…’
‘Was she fifteen?’ repeated Erika, raising her voice.
‘Yes! Alright. YES! She was two days away from her sixteenth birthday. I didn’t know at the time, she told me in September, but it was just two days!’ he said, holding up two fingers. ‘If it had been after the weekend, it would have been legal. How does that work? On Friday I’m a paedophile, but the following Monday I’m not? If I’m done for sex offences, do you know what they would do? I’d lose my job. We have a mortgage. My wife can’t look after herself. You know what things are like right now. It would make headlines.’
Erika rubbed her face, and Moss shook her head.
‘When did you last see Marissa, Don?’ said Erika.
‘Christmas Eve. At the train station.’
‘What time?’
‘Around 9.45 p.m. Jeanette saw her by the ticket machines and had a few words to say to her.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing different to all the other times: “you bitch, you whore”.’
‘Does Jeanette know about the blackmail?’
‘No.’
‘And where were you for the rest of Christmas Eve?’ asked Erika.
‘I was here,’ he said, looking up at her, staring her directly in the eye. ‘Working.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a graphic designer. I work from home.’
‘Do you have a home office?’ asked Moss.
‘I use the kitchen table.’
‘You don’t use your spare room?’
He sighed. ‘No. That’s where I sleep.’
‘And Jeanette?’
‘She has the front bedroom. Is it necessary to ask these questions? I don’t know what it’s to do with?’
‘Your wife is your alibi for Christmas Eve, but you sleep in separate bedrooms, and she is often drunk in the evenings,’ said Erika.
‘I didn’t kill Marissa,’ he said, his hands starting to shake.
‘Why weren’t you here for the door-to-door to answer questions on Christmas Day?’
‘We drove over to see Jeanette’s sister on Christmas morning; she lives in Greenwich and she cooked lunch. She can confirm this.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘Around eight. We wanted to be there for when they opened presents. She’s got kids and grandkids.’
‘Do you have any kids?’
‘No. We tried, but Jeanette couldn’t. She carried two babies to full term, but they didn’t make it… I wish people knew that when they saw her. There’s a reason why she drinks. I suppose you’re going to arrest me?’
‘No. I would like to send an officer round to get all of this in an official statement. I also want you to provide us with a DNA sample. This is of course voluntary, but it will be taken into account if you decline.’
‘Can I think about it?’
Erika and Moss exchanged a glance.
‘You have twenty-four hours. I’d also like to search your house; I will apply for a warrant if needs be.’
‘Search it. I don’t have much dignity left. I’m honest about who I am. I don’t have anything to hide.’
Twenty-Five
‘Jesus, Marissa had guts to tap him for money like that,’ said Moss as they left Don Walpole’s house.
‘The police would have taken her accusation seriously,’ said Erika. ‘I’m also concerned that he doesn’t want to give us a DNA sample.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘We need to look into him a bit more. I don’t see how it would serve anyone to prosecute him for having underage sex with Marissa, now she’s dead, but we could use the threat of it for leverage if he doesn’t agree to give us a DNA sample in connection with our murder enquiry. I also want to check in with Marissa’s mother and see if she knew anything about America.’
Erika put in a quick call to Tania, the family liaison officer. ‘Mandy is still over at the neighbour’s house,’ she said when she came off the phone.
They crossed the road diagonally, and went to Joan’s front door. She answered the door wearing another brushed velvet tracksuit, this time in royal blue. She looked tired and harassed.
‘We’ve come to check in with Mandy,’ said Erika.
Joan made them remove their shoes, then took them through to the living room. Mandy sat in one of the high-backed armchairs, next to Tania, on the sofa. Tania muted the volume on the television, which was showing This Morning. There were cups on the vast polished coffee table, and a half-eaten packet of Mr Kipling’s French Fancies. Mandy looked up at them from craggy eyes with dark circles underneath.
‘Any news?’ she asked hopefully.
‘We’re still working on things,’ said Erika. ‘Can we sit down with you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Mandy wanted me to ask when she can arrange the funeral?’ asked Tania.
‘I can give you more news about that in the next day or so,’ said Erika, taking the seat by the window. Moss perched on the sofa beside Tania. ‘There are still things we need to do for Marissa.’
‘What things?’
‘We need to make sure we have all the information regarding cause of death – forensics. Your daughter’s remains are being cared for.’
There was a long silence. Joan hovered in the doorway, anxiously.
‘Are you finished with those teacups?’ she said.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Tania.
Joan started to stack the crockery onto the tray, and noticed a mark on the table. ‘What’s this?’ she said accusingly. They all peered at a tiny drop of tea which had landed on the polished table. She scrubbed at it with her finger and then pulled out a tissue, tutting, ‘It’s a tea stain! This table has only just had a French polish!’
Mandy looked up at Joan.
‘It wasn’t me. I used a coaster!’
‘Sorry, it must have been me,’ said Tania. Joan took the tray and stomped off to the kitchen. Moments later, there was a crashing, as it was loaded up in the dishwasher.
‘I think she’s getting sick of me being here,’ said Mandy in a low voice. ‘But I can’t face going back to the house. I keep seeing her lying out the front on her back. Her eyes wide open.’
‘Tania. Would you go and help Joan out in the kitchen?’ asked Erika, giving her a nod.
‘Of course,’ she said, giving Erika an amused look. She left, closing the door.
Mandy seemed to relax now that the angry sound of Joan crashing about in the kitchen was gone. ‘She’s a nice girl, that Tania,’ said Ma
ndy. She took her phone from the pocket of her hoodie. ‘I keep looking at the pictures I have of Marissa. I’m worried I’ll forget what she looks like.’ She scrolled through and found a picture of Marissa, dressed up in full burlesque gear but standing in the dull confines of the kitchen, in front of the pedal bin and a cupboard door where the carpet sweeper was propped up.
‘She was very beautiful,’ said Moss.
‘Yeah. I don’t know where she got her looks from. Look at me. I’m no oil painting, and her father, well, he could have eaten an apple through a picket fence.’ She laughed and then the laughter turned to tears. ‘We’ll never be a family again. We weren’t much of one in the first place.’
‘Mandy, there’s something crucial to our investigation. It’s the time when Marissa was attacked in the front garden. What time did you say you went to bed?’
‘I dunno, what did I say? Just before ten?’
‘Okay, well we’ve got two witnesses who saw Marissa get off the train at Brockley around quarter to ten, and another who saw her walk past his house on Coniston Road around 10 p.m.’
‘Who?’
‘Don Walpole and his wife Jeanette were on the same train; they saw her by the ticket machines at the station around 9.45, and a man at number 37 was outside having a cigarette when she went past around 10 p.m.’
Mandy half closed her eyes.
‘He’s not got the best eyesight.’
‘This timing would fit with Marissa getting off the train; the station is less than ten minutes’ walk away. If you were still up around ten, or getting ready for bed, you may have heard something?’
Mandy went to say something, but was cut off by Joan, who bustled in with a cloth and polish, followed by Tania.
‘Please, I’m trying to talk to Mandy,’ snapped Erika.
‘You need to get to water marks fast or they’re a bugger to shift!’
‘Joan, please can you do this later,’ said Tania.
‘This is my house! I can do whatever the bloody hell I like!’ shouted Joan. Her lip curled up in anger, reminding Erika of a small, mealy-mouthed dog.
‘Sorry, Joan,’ said Mandy. ‘I think I’m gonna to try and spend the night back over at my place. The officers only want a few minutes, then you can help me?’
Joan’s mood changed and she became overly sympathetic.
‘Oh, are you sure, dear? You can stay here as long as you like, it’s really no trouble…’
‘No. I’d best head home.’
‘Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll pack your sponge bag for you,’ said Joan, already half out of the living room and up the stairs. Tania left with her, closing the door.
‘Mandy, I was asking you about Christmas Eve. Did you hear anything when Marissa arrived home?’
‘Officers, you must know, I have a problem with alcohol,’ Mandy said, rubbing her hands together in her lap. ‘I was embarrassed to say before, but I had a blackout. I drank more than normal on Christmas Eve. It’s the time of year, when it’s cold and dark and…I can remember making myself some cheese on toast in the early evening, and then nothing until I woke up the next morning.’
‘What time?’
‘Early. I had to use the loo.’
‘And did you sleep downstairs on the sofa?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You said before that you didn’t…’
‘I was in a blackout; I think it was downstairs. I just remember being up on the loo, then I heard the cat.’
‘You have a cat?’
‘Beaker. Well, he was a stray who hit us up for food. I was up on the loo when he was scratching at the door, so I went down, and that’s when I found her.’ Mandy put a large pudgy hand to her face as she started to cry. ‘I’m sorry officers, I really can’t remember anything. I really can’t.’
‘Did you know that Marissa was planning to leave, and go and live in New York?’
‘On her own?’
‘No, with Ivan. He’d been asked to transfer there with work and he was going to take Marissa with him.’
‘Instead of his wife?’ asked Mandy.
‘Yes.’
Erika and Moss watched as her face creased with confusion.
‘She knew I needed her housekeeping money…’ She scrubbed at the table with a stubby finger, her eyes filling with tears. ‘That sounds about right. She was going to bugger off without telling me.’ She wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but she was a selfish little bitch.’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but we want to keep you up to date with all the information,’ said Erika.
‘I still want you to catch who did it, mind. Marissa might have been a bitch, but she was my flesh and blood,’ said Mandy, looking Erika straight in the eye, and fixing her with a cold stare.
Twenty-Six
Erika and Moss made their way over to Mrs Fryatt’s house.
‘Bloody hell. We’ve now spoken to three people who have completely different experiences of Marissa,’ said Erika. ‘Was she a different person to everyone in her life? Was she nice; was she a bitch? Was she honest; was she a liar? She gave plenty of people reason to want her dead.’
‘You think Mandy did it?’
‘I think everyone is a suspect. Although, there’s no evidence to back it up. No trace evidence of Marissa’s blood was found inside the house. Mandy would have had to get back inside, covered in blood, and clean herself off without leaving any trace evidence. And the house is a state, she hadn’t done some hurried clean up. It looks like the place hasn’t been cleaned in weeks.’
‘And what’s her motive? The weekly housekeeping she received from Marissa was a lot of money for her. With Marissa dead, that’s stopped,’ said Moss.
* * *
Mrs Fryatt lived on the opposite side of the large Crofton Park cemetery, on Newton Avenue, in Hilly Fields – near where Marsh lived. The houses on the avenue were large and grand and set back from the road, with huge front gardens. The avenue was close to Coniston Road, but at the same time another world away from the grubby, tightly packed terraced houses.
‘She must be posh: she’s got a boot scraper,’ said Moss when they reached the front door, indicating the elaborate iron boot scraper embedded in the white marble step next to the front door. Erika pulled an iron handle, and a bell rang out deep in the house. A few minutes later, the door was opened by a tall, broad older man with thinning, wispy black hair. He eyed them beadily. They showed their ID and introduced themselves.
‘We understand that Elsa Fryatt, who lives here, was cared for by Marissa Lewis?’ asked Erika.
‘We heard the news,’ he said, his beady gaze running over Erika and Moss. Sweat glistened on the top of his head. ‘I’m Charles Fryatt, Elsa Fryatt’s son.’
‘Where did you hear the news?’ asked Moss.
‘Her mother phoned. Said she’d been brutally murdered, so she wouldn’t be coming to work any more.’
He seemed old, in his late sixties.
‘Could we talk to your mother?’
He stood to one side and invited them in. The hallway opened out to a grand staircase and double height ceiling.
‘She’s in the drawing room,’ he said. They passed a large grandfather clock by the base of the staircase, under a huge crystal chandelier. Charles Fryatt had an odd loping gait, and a hunched-over neck. They passed the front room, which was dominated by bookshelves, and contained a huge Christmas tree, tastefully decorated with white lights. At the back of the house was a large sitting room, which looked over the snow-covered garden. This room looked more lived-in, with a big television, lots of armchairs and a coffee table littered with magazines and books. On the largest sofa sat an old lady. Erika had been expecting a wizened invalid, but instead, a small woman with a strong jaw and steely eyes sat bolt upright on the edge of the sofa. She was dressed in a woollen skirt and a tweed jacket, and her only concession to the cold was a large pair of sheepskin-lined slippers. Her ash-blonde h
air was short and fashionably styled. Her face, however, showed her years and was deeply lined.
‘Good morning, officers, I’m Elsa Fryatt,’ she said, standing and shaking their hands. ‘The hearing aid picks up everything,’ she added, indicating the two aids in her ears. She moved with fluidity, more so than her son. She also had a faint metallic crispness to her accent, which Erika couldn’t quite put her finger on. Erika and Moss introduced themselves again and showed their warrants.
‘Would you care for some coffee, and perhaps a mince pie?’ Elsa asked. ‘Charles, you know how to use the coffee machine?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Warm up the Marks and Spencer mince pies… And throw away the ones we bought at the Christmas Fayre.’
Charles nodded. Erika watched as he left the room and wondered if he was ill. He was sweating profusely.
‘I much prefer the bought ones to home-made, don’t you?’ Elsa said.
‘I’m happy with a mince pie, wherever it comes from,’ said Moss. There was a fire burning in the grate. They sat down on the sofa opposite the old lady. She clasped her hands in her lap and fixed them with startlingly blue eyes.
‘You’ve asked to speak to us regarding Marissa?’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘Terrible business. Who would do that, and to someone so young?’ She put one of her gnarled hands to her mouth and shook her head, but stopped herself from breaking down in tears.
‘Can I just confirm that Marissa was your carer?’ asked Erika.
Mrs Fryatt waved the word away.
‘She was more of a companion. She did my shopping, she would manage my diary. I trusted her to do the things that one wouldn’t ask of a general domestic servant.’
‘Can I ask… Do you have a large staff?’
Deadly Secrets: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 12