‘What do you think we should do?’
‘Where does Edward live?’ asked Isaac, flicking on the windscreen wipers.
‘Slaithwaite; it’s a small town in Yorkshire, about an hour from Manchester.’
Isaac tapped in the details and waited as the GPS recalculated the route.
‘It’s saying we can get to Slaithwaite a little earlier than we would get to Manchester…’
‘But it’s close to the Dales, and Edward talked about snow,’ said Erika, peering out as the headlights lit up the whirling snow outside.
‘Do you want to stay near the hospital in a hotel, then?’
Erika thought of how close Manchester Royal Infirmary was to the house she owned – the house she’d lived in with Mark, which was now rented out. It was less than three miles away. She hadn’t been back there since the day Mark died. Friends of theirs still lived close by, people she hadn’t seen since then. The windscreen wipers dragged rhythmically across the windscreen and the leather heated seats in Isaac’s Jeep Cherokee made her feel sleepy.
‘No, let’s head for Slaithwaite,’ she said.
Isaac switched on the radio very low, and a news reporter started to murmur. Erika thought of their house. She’d left that morning, the morning of the raid on the drug den in outer Manchester. A mass shoot-out had killed Mark and four other officers in her team – officers she had called friends. She’d known their wives. One of their wives had been a civilian support officer on the same team.
The news report on the radio moved to a story about fighting in the Middle East, and faint gunshots could be heard. Isaac reached over and changed to a music station.
Erika had been shot during the raid: a bullet had passed through her neck, narrowly missing major arteries. She’d been airlifted to hospital, and had spent two weeks recovering in intensive care, only emerging to attend Mark’s funeral. She’d never gone back to their house. She’d arranged for a removal company to take out all their things and put them in storage.
It had shocked Erika, how easy it had been to pack up her former life. A few phone calls and a large chunk of cash had meant that she had never had to deal with any of it. The house was now rented to people she had never met.
The car ploughed on through the snow, lulling her into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
It had been early when she’d left the house on the day of the drug raid – before seven – but it had been summer, and the sun had been streaming through the windows in the kitchen. She’d grabbed her phone off the kitchen table. There had been fruit in the bowl, an apple and a banana, and there had been two tickets on the kitchen counter for them to go and see a Woody Allen film that night: Magic in the Moonlight.
Erika had had the opportunity to offload the case to another team, but she’d held onto it, like a dog with a bone. She had been tracking the drug dealer Jerome Goodman for the past two years, and she’d wanted to nail the bastard.
But where had that got her? She’d taken the risk and lost her husband, her four colleagues, and nearly lost her life. Although, the life she’d been left with wasn’t anything to write home about. And to top it all, Jerome Goodman had vanished. He was still at large. Still out there.
In her fitful sleep, her thoughts moved to Edward. Why hadn’t she been more vigilant? Why hadn’t she spent more time with him, or made more of an effort to see him? Why didn’t she know his mobile phone number? She saw him lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. A bone sticking out of his leg, pushing through the material of the old towelling pyjamas he wore… But in her dream, it was snowing inside… And behind the stairs there was no wall… She moved to help Edward, but he had changed. It was Marissa lying there, but there were no stairs, she was lying on the path outside the front of the house, half-covered in snow and frozen blood… Erika crouched down and Marissa opened her eyes; blood started to pour from her mouth and she reached up to grab at Erika…
* * *
‘Erika? Erika?’
Her eyes snapped open and the dark interior of the car came back. It was warm, and on the radio, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ was playing. Isaac was looking over at her. ‘You okay?’
‘How long was I asleep?’
‘A couple of minutes… You were shouting out names: Edward, Mark and Marissa.’
Erika rubbed her eyes.
‘Just a dream,’ she said.
‘Do you want to stay at Edward’s place? We’ll get some sleep, and then go over to the hospital for visiting?’
‘Yeah. Are you still okay to drive?’ She peered outside, but there was darkness all around. Only the snow-covered motorway was visible.
Isaac nodded. ‘We’ve got another couple of hours at least. Get some sleep, if you want.’
‘No. Let’s talk, about anything. Anything but work.’
Forty-Four
Moss and her wife, Celia, were eating their breakfast in the kitchen early the next morning when Moss’s phone rang. It was Erika, who started to explain that Edward had been in an accident, and that she would be taking a few days’ leave.
‘I’m in Manchester,’ said Erika. ‘Slaithwaite, the village where Edward lives. Isaac is with me.’
‘Isaac Strong?’ said Moss, swallowing a mouthful of cereal.
‘Yeah…’ Erika clearly didn’t want to elaborate, so Moss didn’t press her.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘What about Edward?’
‘He fell and broke his hip. They’ve operated, but he’s on a high-dependency ward.’
Moss and Celia’s son, Jacob, came crashing into the room with his toy electric guitar. He skidded across the floor on his knees, the guitar blaring out a tinny squealing. Moss waved her free hand at Celia, who jumped up from the table and grabbed Jacob, switching the guitar off.
‘Mummy’s on the phone,’ she whispered.
Jacob stopped and watched his other mother as her face creased, listening to the call.
‘What’s the snow like up there?’ Moss asked.
‘A foot or so,’ said Erika, on the end of the phone. ‘Luckily, the roads were cleared and we’re in Isaac’s four-wheel drive. I’m going to be here for at least a couple of days. I’ve just phoned Superintendent Hudson and made her aware of the situation.’
‘Okay, I can brief whoever covers for you…’
‘I’d like you to cover for me. I’ve already discussed it with Melanie, and she’s in agreement that you are acting Detective Chief Inspector and SIO on the case.’
For a second, Moss was lost for words. ‘But… It’s a complex case; we’ve got so many strands and now we’re taking over the assaults from the gas mask attacker…’
‘Don’t you want to take over?’
‘Yes! Of course I do,’ she said quickly. Celia was watching her, dying to know what was going on, and what had made Moss’s face flush with excitement. ‘So this is for a few days?’
‘It could be longer. I need some time to make sure that Edward’s okay. My life seems a little unbalanced; it has been for some time.’
‘Okay,’ said Moss, the enormity of the case starting to dawn on her.
‘This is now your investigation. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take this on. I’m here if you need me. Melanie is already working on giving you clearance as a DCI. You do know that overtime doesn’t exist for my rank. We’re always on duty.’
‘Sure,’ said Moss, looking over at Celia and Jacob.
‘Phone me if you need anything,’ said Erika, and then she was gone.
‘What is it? You look like someone just died!’ said Celia. Then, seeing Moss’s serious face: ‘Did someone die?’
‘No. Erika’s had a family emergency, her father-in-law is sick. She’s promoted me to acting DCI on this case.’ Moss sat down heavily. She pushed her bowl of cereal away, no longer hungry.
‘But that’s great, babe – not the father-in-law part, but that she trusts you,’ said Celia.
‘Stop the tickles; you know I detest the tickles!’
‘He detests the tickles. Good vocabulary for a five-year-old,’ said Celia, with a knowing smile. ‘I hope they’re paying you more?’ She put Jacob down.
‘Of course… There’s so much to sort out. I’ll have to do the briefing this morning. Perhaps I should get everyone on the team a coffee.’
‘You’ll be great. Everyone likes you,’ said Celia, gripping Moss’s shoulder and giving her a kiss. ‘Just don’t become as obsessed as Erika.’
‘She’s not obsessed; she’s bloody good at her job. And it’s not about being liked. I now have to lead everyone.’
‘I think the two things go hand-in-hand. Be yourself. How’s Peterson doing? I take it she didn’t put him in charge because of their history. Has he told her yet, about his long-lost son?’
Moss shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I told him to do it fast, but he chickened out.’
‘Do you think it’s a bit weird that this woman phones him suddenly, just before Christmas, and announces that he has a son?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think her motivation was?’ asked Celia.
‘She wanted him to be part of Kyle’s life… Maybe she wanted some security. He told me she’s been living in Germany, and she was made redundant.’
‘But she actively withheld the information from him for six years.’
‘He almost died earlier this year. And he’s wanted kids for so long.’
‘Do you think she wanted kids? Erika?’ asked Celia, smoothing a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear and starting to clear away the breakfast things.
‘She probably still wants them.’
‘I don’t mean to be horrible, but hasn’t that boat sailed for her?’
‘I don’t know, and I don’t like talking about this.’
‘What? She’s not here.’
‘It feels disloyal. She’s a private person, and a good friend.’
‘I know that, but you can talk to me. It’s not going to go any further.’
Moss leant in and gave her a kiss. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jacob staring up at them.
‘We have a little spy,’ she said. ‘It seems that he needs another good tickling.’
Jacob shrieked in delight and ran away as Moss and Celia chased him around the kitchen table and into the living room, where they collapsed on the sofa and tickled him until he shrieked again.
* * *
When Erika came off the phone with Moss, she looked around at the gloom in Edward’s upstairs bedroom. It was just getting light outside, and through the window, the view of the snowy Yorkshire Dales was just appearing in the blue haze of dawn. The room was a shocking mess, with filthy sheets on the bed. A cracked sash window was letting in freezing gusts of air. The floor was filthy with dirt, and there were tablets scattered over the carpet beside the bed. The power was also off. She came back out onto the landing, where Isaac was just coming out of the bathroom.
‘It’s a complete mess,’ he said. ‘Damp up the walls, black mould, and it hasn’t been cleaned in a long time.’ He held up a clear plastic bag filled with prescription pills. ‘He’s got a whole medicine cabinet filled with old antibiotics, heart pills, blood thinners, statins, and there are antidepressants. It looks like he’s not been finishing the course, or not taking them regularly, because there are several half-full bottles, all repeat prescriptions.’
Erika pulled her coat around her and tried to block out the musty smell. The cottage had always been so warm and cosy. What had happened?
They had arrived late, in the darkness. They had managed to get the wood-burning stove lit, and took a sofa each for a restless night’s sleep.
‘The heating is gas-powered,’ said Erika. ‘I need to find out if the bill hasn’t been paid, or if it’s the boiler.’ They came down the small flight of stairs to the living room. It was a little cleaner here, but there were still dirty dishes over the coffee table. There was a small Christmas tree in the living room, but it was only half-decorated. They went through to the kitchen and found that the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and the counter littered with crumbs and scraps of food. The fridge was almost empty, with half a mouldering white loaf, and some blackening carrots in the salad drawer. They jumped as a cockroach crawled out from underneath an upturned saucepan on the draining board and scuttled along the counter.
‘Christ almighty!’ Erika cried, grabbing an old newspaper and whacking the cockroach. They both stared at the squashed body.
‘If there’s one, there could be more,’ said Isaac softly. His thin eyebrows knitted together with concern. Erika threw the newspaper down, went to the phone on the wall, and lifted the receiver.
‘Disconnected,’ she said, looking down at the plug. She put her head down and wiped her eyes. ‘He phoned me over Christmas; he said he was with neighbours and I presumed they were here. I didn’t know he had a mobile phone. I just didn’t know. When I spoke to him on Christmas morning he was confused about a few things, but he seemed fine other than that. I should have asked if he was able to look after himself.’
Isaac reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re here now. We’re here now. Focus on that.’
She nodded. ‘Are you as cold as me?’
‘Colder,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some breakfast and a cup of hot tea. We’ll be able to make plans with some hot food inside us…’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s eight o’clock; visiting won’t start for a couple of hours. We can make plans.’
‘We need to get this place cleaned up, and I need to check his bills… and…’
‘Food, and hot tea,’ said Isaac. ‘Then we’ll make a plan.’
Forty-Five
Moss could see through the glass that the incident room was busy, and she took a deep breath before she went inside. Superintendent Hudson was with her, and when the officers saw Hudson enter with Moss, the room fell silent.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ said Melanie.
‘Morning, ma’am,’ the officers replied, almost in unison.
‘Erika – DCI Foster – has been called away on an urgent family matter. Her father-in-law is ill, and she has had to go to Manchester to be with him. Detective Inspector Moss will be taking over as the Senior Investigating Officer; she will be acting Detective Chief Inspector. I ask you to show her the same respect and courtesy that you show Erika. It’s very straightforward, but does anyone have any questions?’
The officers all looked at Moss standing beside Hudson, who looked a little uncomfortable, and no one said anything.
‘Good. Then I’ll let you take over, Moss.’
The moment Melanie left the room, and was out of earshot, everyone started to ask Moss questions about Erika, and when she would be back.
‘I know as much as the Superintendent,’ she said, putting her hands up to quiet them down. ‘Nothing has changed from yesterday. We are still hunting this bastard.’ She went to the whiteboard and pointed at the e-fit of the gas mask, and then moved to the line drawing of the gas mask that had been in the note sent to Joseph Pitkin. ‘We need to start finding links and unlocking information. We no longer have the luxury of questioning Joseph Pitkin, but I want to talk to his parents and see if we can find out more about this note. We also need to work on unlocking Marissa’s iPhone. She didn’t have a laptop or a PC, so all of her online activity on the iPhone could be crucial to this case.’
She moved along the whiteboard, to the photos of the other victims who had been attacked by the man in the gas mask.
‘We need to look for a link between the victims, if there is one. Something that the attacker zones in on. Now, the link has to be something deeper than just physical. The victims were different ages and sexes, ranging from twenties to late fifties, men and women. Of the two men who were attacked, on
e was straight and one was gay. There is only one murder. Marissa Lewis. She was also the victim who was targeted closest to home. All the victims were targeted either close to their homes or close to their place of work, near train stations. Marissa had arrived back on the late train and she got the furthest away from the train station of all the victims. Did the attacker slip up? In the most recent attack, the victim kicked out and dislodged the gas mask on the attacker’s face. Was Marissa killed because she saw the identity of the attacker? Or did she know the attacker?’
Moss moved along to the crime scene photos of Marissa. ‘In Isaac Strong’s post-mortem report, he says that the weapon was a long knife with a serrated edge. We still have no murder weapon, and time is moving fast. Perhaps now is the time for extreme measures. Perhaps we need to knock on every door in Coniston Road and check people’s cutlery drawers.’
There were a few smiles and laughter from the team. Moss held up her hand.
‘Okay, okay. I know I like a laugh, but I’m being serious here. What is it the boss says? There are no stupid questions. Well, I want to add to that: there are no stupid lines of enquiry.’
‘But you’re the boss now,’ said Kay.
‘Yes, I am.’
Moss went on, moving to the photos of the suspects and persons of interest.
‘Our list of suspects is dwindling. Joseph Pitkin, now dead – but there was a new gas mask attack yesterday, which seems to rule him out. The same applies to Ivan Stowalski, he died in hospital yesterday evening after being exposed to the gas leak at his house. It was self inflicted, and we are ruling it as suicide. We do, however, have Don Walpole: no record, cares for his alcoholic wife, but cheated on her with Marissa when Marissa was underage. Marissa then tried to blackmail him, saying she would go to the police about the underage sex. We attempted to get a voluntary DNA swab from him yesterday, but he wasn’t at home, and he wasn’t answering his phone. I am going to attempt this again today. Also, Marissa alleges that she stole a pair of diamond earrings from Mrs Fryatt. Another dancer from the Matrix Club states that she went to Hatton Garden with Marissa, and saw the earrings being valued, but Mrs Fryatt denies any jewellery was stolen from her, and no earrings have been found. Charles Fryatt runs a successful jeweller’s in Hatton Garden. There’s a bit of a question mark there.’
Deadly Secrets: An absolutely gripping crime thriller Page 19