Deadly Secrets: An absolutely gripping crime thriller

by Robert Bryndza

  He left the train at West Norwood. Again, he was the only one on the platform. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the warehouse, and there was a long industrial slip road leading up from the station, lined with derelict buildings and overgrown hedges. He put up his hood and trudged through the snow, his footsteps crunching through the silence. The streetlights couldn’t penetrate the fog, creating a tunnel of light. The sky in the far distance was only just starting to turn from black to a dark blue. As he passed the gates to an old office block, a dark shape bulged out from the shadows, and a tall figure stepped into the light. It was dressed in a long black coat, and stretched over its head was the dark shiny hood of a gas mask. Vapour streamed out from the large breathing drum which hung down to its chest, and there was a line of small white squares on the breathing drum, which gave the impression of wide smiling teeth.

  Jason stopped, and at first he didn’t feel scared. It was so unexpected. He heard the clack of a train on the tracks as it sped past. The figure watched for a moment and then advanced towards him.

  ‘Hey, hey!’ he shouted as the figure steamed towards him, bearing down, then punched him hard in the face.

  * * *

  Jason came to a little while later. He could feel snow under his back. He could see the outline of the sky above, now a palette of light blues. His hands were fastened behind him, and he was lying painfully on his wrists. His legs were cold, and then he realised that he was naked from the waist down. There was something in his mouth, material or cloth. He looked around, moaning, hearing the sound coming out in a feeble murmur. A train whooshed past on the tracks behind a high wall to his left, to his right was the main entrance of the vast decaying edifice of the office block. Rows and rows of broken windows stared down at him, and in a few, birds fluttered. He felt sick when he saw that in the doorway of the building, about five metres away, the figure in the gas mask was watching him. His coat was open and he was masturbating, his black gloved hand working quickly back and forth. Streams of vapour pouring from the breathing drum of the mask.

  It felt at once insane and terrifying. Jason could see a few shapes poking up out of the melting snow: a burnt-out car and some disused gas bottles. Suddenly, he heard voices on the slip road from the station, and he looked over to the tall hedges. The road was obscured.

  People walking past. Commuters! he thought. He cried out, but it sounded nothing more than a muffled moan. The voices carried on past. The figure abruptly stopped, fastening his trousers, and started towards him. He picked up Jason’s feet, and dragged him through the melting snow. Jason tried to kick, but felt stones and sharp pain as he was dragged up three steps, and onto the bare concrete of the doorway. There wasn’t much space on the top step leading into the building. The figure stood directly over him, looking down through the blank eye holes. Then he knelt down.

  Jason kicked out, and his foot connected with the gas mask, knocking it to the side. The man gave a muffled yell and fell back through the broken glass door. A shard of glass scraped across the side of his neck, and he tottered over, landing on his backside on the other side of the door. The gas mask almost came off, sliding up at a drunken angle to reveal his mouth and nose.

  Jason panicked and stared. The figure’s loss of control was somehow more terrifying. Jason scrambled to get up, but his trousers were around his ankles, and his feet tangled. The figure slowly sat up and took off his glove, putting a hand to the scrape on the side of his neck, which was bleeding. He turned away and lifted the mask to inspect his hand. Apparently satisfied that it wasn’t a deep cut, he pulled the mask back down and turned, pulling on his gloves again.

  Then he walked towards Jason, and dragged him back to the top of the steps.

  Thirty-Four

  Erika had switched on breakfast TV at six, after a sleepless night spent on the sofa. She prided herself on her stoicism, and even though the call had terrified her, she refused to let that terror overtake her. The sound of her neighbours stirring, and water running through the pipes, started to bring her back to normality. At seven-thirty she made coffee and took a shower, and then as it got light she opened the curtains and felt her fears fade with the pale blue dawn.

  Just before she left the house, she plugged her phone back in and played back the message of the rasping voice. The person who’d called hadn’t withheld their number. It was a mobile number which she didn’t recognise, but which she made a note of. She wound up the cable and took the answering machine with her.

  Once she was in her car, and driving amongst the busy morning traffic, she felt reality settle over her. There was still nothing from Colleen Scanlan, no voicemail or text on her phone.

  She’d thought a lot about the case during her sleepless night, and the question about the diamond earrings kept coming back to her. Why hadn’t Mrs Fryatt mentioned them? She checked the time and saw it was just past 8 a.m. She took a detour from her usual route, and went through Honor Oak Park and down to Hilly Fields. As she approached Mrs Fryatt’s house, she peered through the window, and saw the old lady was rugged up against the cold, and waiting outside her house, leaning on a walking stick. When Erika pulled into the parking spot by the kerb, Mrs Fryatt started shouting and waving her stick in the air, shouting, ‘Go on, you can’t park there, I am reserving this space!’

  Erika wound down her window,

  ‘Morning. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m waiting for my son; he’s taking me to the doctor’s surgery. He said he’d be here…’ She looked past Erika and up the empty street, leaning painfully on the stick.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘It’s my leg. I’ve been waiting four days to see someone; you know what it’s like trying to get an appointment… Where is he? I’m going to miss my appointment! Please, move your car.’

  Her nose was dripping from the cold, and she juggled her stick to pull out a tissue and wipe it.

  ‘I have some more questions,’ said Erika.

  ‘More? You asked me a plethora of questions yesterday.’

  ‘Did Marissa steal a pair of diamond earrings from you?’

  ‘No.’

  Erika kept her eyes on Mrs Fryatt as she looked past her distractedly.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. I’m in perfect health, both physically and mentally.’

  ‘Yes, you said that yesterday, but now you’re off to the doctor.’

  ‘What is this? I’ve done nothing wrong. I will cooperate with you, but I don’t like your tone.’

  A car appeared at the top of the road, and Mrs Fryatt looked hopeful, until she saw it wasn’t her son and it sped past.

  ‘I spoke to a colleague of Marissa’s; he did the alterations for her costumes. He said that Marissa was showing off a pair of diamond earrings, and she boasted that she took them from you.’

  Mrs Fryatt turned to Erika. Her composure regained.

  ‘Really? How strange. That’s not true.’

  ‘I don’t know why he would make it up,’ said Erika, searching the old lady’s face, but she was still distracted by the top of the road.

  ‘Well, if you don’t know, how the heck should I? Did you find a pair of diamond earrings on Marissa’s person, or in her house?’

  ‘I can’t share that with you.’

  ‘That’s a “no” then,’ said Mrs Fryatt dismissively.

  ‘Marissa went with another of the girls and had them valued in a jeweller in Hatton Garden.’

  ‘Ah, here he is! About bloody time!’ she said, whirling her walking stick around her head. A sleek white car pulled up next to Erika’s. ‘Officer, is that all? I don’t know what Marissa could have been talking about. She was probably winding this person up. She was like that.’

  Mrs Fryatt’s son, Charles, got out of the car and came up to the pavement.

  ‘You’re late!’ she shouted. He looked flustered and he eyeballed Erika.

  ‘The traffic was bad,’ he said. ‘Hello, Officer
. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Marissa never said anything to you about stealing a pair of your mother’s earrings?’ Erika asked him.

  Mrs Fryatt rolled her eyes and started to make her way to the car. ‘He wouldn’t know. I’m the only one who opens my safe, and all my jewellery is accounted for! Now come on! I can’t miss this appointment!’

  Charles gave Erika an awkward smile. She noticed that he had a large sticking plaster on the side of his neck, and a little blood had soaked through.

  ‘How did you cut yourself?’

  ‘Shaving, the razor slipped… A symptom of not wanting to be late for my mother,’ he said, giving her a smile. It was an odd smile, showing wide crooked teeth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He hurried off to help his mother, who was now at the passenger door. Another car pulled up behind and honked its horn. Mrs Fryatt started to shake her stick at it.

  ‘Can you wait for ONE MINUTE!’ she cried. Charles helped her into the passenger seat and did up her belt. He nodded at Erika, the serious expression back on his face, and then he drove away.

  There was something that wasn’t quite right, but Erika couldn’t put her finger on it.

  ‘Well, I did ambush her,’ she said as she got back into her car. She took out her phone and dialled McGorry.

  ‘Alright, Boss,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in a sec, I just got off the DLR at Lewisham.’

  ‘It’s okay. Just a question. You’ve been going over everything in Marissa Lewis’s house, all her belongings. There weren’t any diamond earrings?’

  ‘Erm, there was jewellery… But I dunno. I don’t know if I would know the difference between a real diamond and costume jewellery. I can look back over the photos taken by forensics. Do you remember seeing anything when we looked round her bedroom?’

  ‘No. Can you have a look for me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Erika came off the phone. She thought of all the people who could have taken the earrings. Joseph Pitkin touched Marissa’s body before the police arrived… Mandy found her daughter’s body. Could Ivan have taken them? When had been the last time Don Walpole saw her alive?

  ‘He saw her on Christmas Eve, at the station!’ she said triumphantly. She started the engine and did a U-turn, driving over to Coniston Road.

  Thirty-Five

  Don Walpole opened his front door, and wasn’t pleased to see Erika again.

  ‘Is this a good time?’ she asked. He was wearing an apron, and Erika could smell bacon frying, which made her stomach rumble.

  ‘Does it matter if it is?’ he said.

  ‘I just need a few minutes of your time.’

  He stood to one side and she came indoors. He took her through to the kitchen, and she saw Jeanette staggering down the stairs, wrapped in a huge purple towelling robe with a towel over her wet hair. She looked dreadful.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Jeanette said, through half-closed eyes. Erika introduced herself, but Jeanette didn’t seem to remember her from the day before. They carried on through to the kitchen.

  ‘I need to ask you a question, about Marissa,’ said Erika in a low voice. Don rushed back to the hob and quickly flipped the eggs over in the pan. He wore dark jeans and a thick brown knitted polo neck, which came up to his chin. Jeanette shuffled in, oblivious of Erika, and took a large bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

  ‘Do you need me?’ she asked.

  ‘No. This is just…’ started Erika, but Jeanette was already shuffling off out of the room.

  ‘Do you want eggs?’ asked Don.

  ‘No!’ she said. Erika watched as she shuffled down the hall and into the living room. She closed the door, and moments later the television came on. Don sighed and stood over the eggs, pushing them around in the oil. Bread popped up in the toaster and he pulled it out, dropping it onto plates.

  ‘Do you want her eggs? I’ll only chuck them,’ he said.

  Erika hesitated. She was suddenly ravenous, but she stopped herself from accepting. ‘No, thank you. I just came to ask you a couple of questions…’

  ‘I try to get her to eat, but she gets most of her calories from alcohol. It’s given her this huge belly, and these two tiny stick legs.’

  ‘My mother was an alcoholic,’ said Erika.

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘No, was. She died, a long time ago. She was never violent, but she was belligerent and she made life difficult.’

  Don nodded. His eyes were sad and dark, and he had black circles under them. He started to butter the toast.

  ‘What do you want to ask me?’

  ‘You said you saw Marissa on Christmas Eve, at Brockley station?’

  ‘Yeah. When Jeanette… had words with her, shall we say.’

  ‘Do you remember if Marissa was wearing earrings? They would have stood out, they were real diamond earrings.’

  Don scooped the eggs out of the pan and placed two on his toast.

  ‘Real diamonds? Where would she get real diamond earrings from?’

  ‘I can’t go into details. Was she wearing earrings on Christmas Eve?’

  ‘She had no shortage of admirers. I’m sure she was able to convince some poor mug to buy her expensive jewellery.’

  ‘Don. Please, really think. What was she wearing when you saw her at the station? Break it down.’

  ‘All I can remember is that she wore a long black coat.’

  ‘What about her hair and make-up?’

  ‘She was done up. Er, she had those false eyelashes on… I can’t remember if she wore any earrings.’

  ‘Can I ask Jeanette?’

  ‘I doubt she’ll remember.’

  ‘It’s important to my case.’

  Don put the plate down on the table. Erika followed him into the living room. Jeanette was lying on the sofa. Her wet hair hung limply down, half over her face. She was watching morning TV, with the sound up high.

  ‘Jeanette. She wants to talk to you,’ said Don, raising his voice. He went back to the kitchen and left them alone.

  Jeanette eyeballed Erika from behind her wet hair. ‘What?’

  ‘I need to ask you a question?’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Can you turn down the TV?’ Jeanette made a sulky show of muting it. ‘Thank you. You and Don saw Marissa Lewis on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘That whore,’ she spat.

  ‘Can you remember if she wore any jewellery?’

  ‘I couldn’t see her tits – for once – she had a thick coat buttoned up over her cleavage. But she was wearing earrings.’

  ‘What kind?’

  She shrugged. ‘White gemstones, little studs.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Completely sure,’ she said, her eyes not leaving the TV.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Erika.

  Jeanette turned to her. ‘Cos I was thinking about ripping them out of her ears, and how much it would hurt,’ she said.

  Erika wished she had a photo of the diamond earrings to show her.

  ‘Would you say the earrings were real diamonds?’

  ‘I doubt they were real.’

  ‘But would you know real diamonds if you saw them?’

  ‘Do I look like the kind of woman who knows real diamonds?’ she said, bitterly.

  Erika didn’t need to answer. She looked around the room and noticed a long black coat spread over a clothes airer. It was in front of the lit gas fire, and steaming lightly.

  ‘Is that Don’s coat?’

  ‘Who else’s coat did you think it was?’

  ‘Has he been out today?’

  ‘I dunno. Probably went to get milk. Are you done with your questions?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Jeanette unmuted the TV, and the sound boomed out again.

  * * *

  When Erika left the house, she sat in her car for a few minutes, trying to organise the facts of the case. She drove back up the road and came to a stop outside Marissa’s house. The front garden was covered in a fresh la
yer of melting snow. There were two alleyways, one running alongside the house and one on the opposite side of the road. There was also a junction, just past the school, at the end of the road, which led off to a railway bridge, and a housing estate.

  The killer had used a car, according to the blood spatter analysis. Whoever did it would have been covered in blood, and carrying a dripping murder weapon, which left blood up the path and onto the pavement, but it stopped there. Erika inched her car up to the alleyway, and very slowly she turned it in and looked at the bonnet. The alleyway was too narrow for it to fit down.

  Her phone rang, making her jump. It was McGorry.

  ‘Boss, you need to get to the station fast, we’ve had a major breakthrough,’ he said.

  Thirty-Six

  Erika parked outside the station, grabbed her bag and the answering machine and hurried down to the incident room. Moss, Peterson, Kay and the rest of the team were gathered around McGorry’s desk.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Erika, seeing the excited faces looking at her.

  ‘I’ve been working on all the statements with regard to Marissa Lewis’s death, and I’ve been putting together a timeline of the events on Christmas Eve,’ said McGorry. ‘She was working at the Matrix Club until eight-thirty. They had an early Christmas Eve show. No one hung around afterwards for a drink, and they all headed off for home. She took the 9.10 p.m. train from Charing Cross…’ He maximised a window on his computer monitor. ‘Here she is, running for the train, and just making it before the doors close.’ He played the short clip of Marissa Lewis running along in towering heels, her long coat flowing behind her. ‘She was alone when she got on the train.’