Cold Blood: A gripping serial killer thriller that will take your breath away (Detective Erika Foster Book 5)

by Robert Bryndza

  ‘Who was the friend Charlene was staying with?’ asked Erika.

  ‘Another druggie, a woman and her boyfriend,’ said Crane. ‘Someone from uniform called around earlier today, but they were pretty out of it and barely remembered her. Some of Charlene’s stuff was there, and it’s being sent over to forensics before we release it to the family.’

  ‘OK. And Mariette Hoffman, who’s been looking her up?’

  DC Knight put up her hand. ‘Born in 1963 in Cambridge. No qualifications. She’s spent most of her life on benefits, with sporadic jobs in retail and a couple of factories. In fact, the DWP is where we got all of her information, going right back to when she was in her early twenties. She’s been arrested once for drunken and disorderly, that was in 2004 on New Year’s Eve, in King’s Cross. She and Thomas Hoffman had a fight at a bus stop and she smashed a shop window. Uniform picked her up, and she was let off with a caution. However, she owns her flat on the Pinkhurst Estate. She was a council tenant, but bought it for £18,000 with the right-to-buy scheme. She had a mortgage for half of that, but paid it off seven years ago. Although, she claims not to have worked full-time for the past twenty years, so I’m not sure how she got hold of a nine grand deposit and was able to pay off the mortgage. She should have declared it to the DWP. Could be a case for benefit fraud.’

  ‘OK, let’s keep that to one side in case we need to bring her in,’ said Erika. It was late and she could see her team was weary after another long day. ‘Okay. Let’s finish there, and we’ll meet back here at 9 a.m. tomorrow.’

  The team started to collect their coats and there was a burst of chatter as they left the incident room.

  ‘You fancy a drink?’ asked Moss as she pulled on her coat.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got a few things to follow up on,’ said Erika. ‘I need to chase up Nils Åkerman over at forensics. I’m still pinning our hopes on the superglue fuming tests.’

  ‘I’m going to carry on tonight, when I get that data through. Try and find where that Jaguar went.’

  ‘Good,’ said Erika, starting to sort through a pile of folders on one of the desks.

  ‘And I’m sorry I mentioned Peterson.’

  ‘Why? It was a valid point. You are the only officer on the team with the D.I. rank.’

  ‘Okay, well, don’t work too hard. We’ll be at the Wetherspoon’s if you change your mind,’ said Moss.

  ‘Okay, ’night,’ said Erika.

  As the last of the team cleared out of the incident room, she picked up the phone and called Nils. He answered immediately.

  ‘Hi, Nils. I’m just chasing up the superglue fuming test on the piece of concrete.’

  He sounded disappointed to hear her voice. ‘Oh, hello, Erika. I’m actually just about to set up the test. One of my lab assistants is prepping as we speak.’

  ‘Great. When do you think you’ll…?’

  ‘Erika, I’ve told you already, this takes several hours, and even then I don’t know if there will be enough fingerprint residue to give us anything!’ he shouted.

  She was surprised at the outburst. He always seemed so calm and collected.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Can I remind you that this is the first time I’m enquiring about this, and you did say—’

  ‘I know what I said,’ he snapped. There was silence on the end of the line. Erika resisted the urge to argue back.

  ‘Are you okay, Nils?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Fine. I’m just a little stressed. Budgets, workload. I’m sorry, Erika.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I hope the test goes well,’ she said.

  ‘I will contact you the second I have anything,’ he said, then hung up.

  Erika replaced the receiver and looked around at the incident room. Resources must be stretched if cool, calm, unflappable Nils is flipping out, she thought.

  She decided to go for that drink after all. She grabbed her coat, switched off the lights, and headed out of the station to join Moss and the team at the pub.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nils Åkerman stood in his office for several minutes after the phone call with Erika, taking deep breaths. He gripped the side of his desk as a wave of dizziness and nausea passed. He was shivering, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin. His nose began to run, and he moved to the sink in the corner of his office, yanking out a length of blue paper from the dispenser, blowing his nose and wincing at the pain. He was shocked at his reflection in the mirror. His skin was sallow and he had dark circles under his eyes. The small stainless steel soap dispenser glinted in the light, and he went to open it, but there was a knock at the door.

  One of the CSIs, Rebecca March, was waiting in the corridor. She was a small woman, with long mousy hair, plaited at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Everything is set up to start the superglue fingerprint fuming,’ she said and then frowned. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Allergies still bad?’ He nodded and retrieved his ID card from his desk. ‘It’s very strange you’re still getting symptoms; shouldn’t the pollen season be over now?’

  ‘I have a very high sensitivity. Pollution is also a problem for me. I’ve just taken another antihistamine,’ he said, pulling the lanyard over his head.

  They came out of the office and headed down the corridor, past a glass wall looking into one of the laboratories where members of his team worked. They came to a set of double doors at the end. Nils glanced across at Rebecca as she used her access card to open them, but she seemed focused on the upcoming job. They emerged into another corridor and Nils used his card to access a door on the left. It led into a small prep room, with a large sink, storage cupboards and a window looking out into a testing lab. In the centre was a large square Perspex chamber. They washed their hands at the sink and then pulled on fresh crime scene coveralls, face masks and latex gloves. When they were ready, Nils nodded from behind his mask, and Rebecca opened the door into the testing lab.

  Nils moved to a bench along the side wall and picked up the large evidence bag containing the piece of concrete. He checked the adhesive seals hadn’t been tampered with. Rebecca opened one of the Perspex panels of the chamber and prepared a tiny silver foil tray, adding several drops of superglue. She placed it on a trolley, along with a small plastic container of water. Nils joined her and stood the piece of concrete on a three-pronged frame beside the silver tray of superglue, so that all areas would be exposed to the fuming process. Several dark patches showed where blood had soaked into its porous surface.

  ‘Let’s hope we get something off it,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘It’s been in the water for a long time, but I always live in hope,’ agreed Nils.

  They backed out of the chamber and closed the Perspex panel. Nils bent down and set a timer on the side of the chamber to thirty minutes. When he straightened up and turned, he saw Rebecca was staring at him, her eyes narrowed above her mask.

  ‘I think you’re bleeding,’ she said, indicating the mask around his nose with a gloved finger. They left the lab and came back out into the small prep room. Rebecca removed her overalls, mask, and gloves and placed them in a plastic evidence bag. Nils pulled off his face mask and saw it was spotted with blood. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coveralls, and it left a smear of blood. Rebecca was now watching him with a concerned look on her face.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘The allergies, they make my nose bleed,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll have to write a note about this in the file when we submit our overalls in the evidence bags,’ she said.

  He moved to the sink and pulled out a paper towel, wiping his nose. Her eyes moved from the bloody spotted tissue to his face, watching him closely. ‘You look really ill.’

  ‘I told you, I’ll be okay!’ he snapped, binning the tissue.

  She held out a fresh plastic evidence bag and watched as he stripped off the coveralls and placed them inside with the gloves and bloodied face mask. She was about to seal it up when Nils said
: ‘I can finish off here.’

  ‘I’m supposed to record and bag these up…’

  He took the evidence bag from her.

  ‘Rebecca, I’m sorry to snap at you. We’re all working so hard. You didn’t get a full lunch break, did you? I can do this, go and grab twenty minutes.’ A flicker of concern passed over her face. ‘Please, help me be a good boss,’ he said, smiling and trying to remain calm.

  ‘Okay, thank you,’ she said, still a little unsure.

  He kept the smile on his face until she’d gone. When he heard the double doors outside buzz and click shut, Nils removed the bloodied face mask from the evidence bag and stuffed it in the pocket of his trousers. He grabbed a fresh mask from the packet, scrunched it up a little, and stuffed it in the evidence bag. He peeled off the plastic on both bags and sealed up the adhesive labels, signing Rebecca’s name across both seals.

  The corridor was empty as Nils hurried to his office, shaking and sweating. When he got inside he locked the door. He checked the blind was down covering the small strip of window in the door, locked it, and went to the soap dispenser above the small sink. He lifted off the metal housing, and in the cavity where the liquid sachet of soap usually sat, there was a small bottle of pills. He took the bottle and a sheet of paper from the printer and sat at the marble coffee table. His hands shook as he took the lid off the bottle, folded two tablets in the sheet of paper and crushed it with the Murano glass paperweight. He funnelled two bumps of powder onto the back of his right hand and snorted them with each nostril. He slumped in the chair, tipping his head back, allowing the familiar rush to come over him. Dizzying euphoria, threatening to overwhelm him, and make him black out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early the next morning, and Erika, Moss and McGorry were in one of the viewing suites at Lewisham Row, watching a tape from the CCTV cameras outside the showroom of Selby Autos. The black-and-white image on the screen showed a view from the main entrance. The camera was mounted high above the gates, and a chain-link fence entwined with bunting stretched away, lining a quiet road surrounded by trees.

  ‘So here we are, road is quiet, it’s 9.03 a.m. on the 15th of September,’ said McGorry. A moment later, a small Jaguar came weaving along, briefly mounted the grass verge before it passed the camera and came to a stop beside the chain-link fence. Charlene Selby emerged from the driver’s side, unsteady on her feet and scruffily dressed in a long skirt. She stopped to reach inside and pull out a large handbag. A figure emerged from the passenger side wearing shorts, trainers, and a hooded top with the hood up, but whoever it was kept their head down.

  ‘Shit, we can’t see the face. Is that Thomas Hoffman?’ asked Erika.

  ‘No, he gets out behind,’ said McGorry. On cue, a large lumbering man got out of the back seat, finding it difficult emerging from the small, low car. The wind blew his wispy hair, and he caught his foot in the seat belt and almost went flying, but managed to right himself. He turned and looked up and down the road.

  ‘Okay, that’s Thomas Hoffman,’ said Erika. He wore shorts, a dark T-shirt and he bent back down inside the door to get a carrier bag.

  ‘And who’s this?’ asked Moss as a third figure got out of the rear door. It was a woman in sleeveless top and sarong, with a baseball cap pulled down over her face. Long dark hair spilled from underneath. She also kept her head down, and under the baseball cap her face was in shadow. She moved round the car, and jogged a little way to catch up with the figure in the hoodie who was walking up the road. They put a hand on her backside as they walked away. Charlene hung back and waited for Thomas. She pointed the key fob at the Jaguar and the lights flashed twice. They moved off to join the woman in the baseball cap and figure in the hoodie who were now waiting up the road.

  ‘Okay, they all stand here for two minutes,’ said McGorry, and they watched the tape.

  ‘But no view of their faces,’ said Moss.

  He shook his head. ‘We can’t enhance; the tape is too blurred.’

  ‘Blurry CCTV seems to be a running theme on our investigations, doesn’t it, boss?’ said Moss.

  Erika nodded and rolled her eyes.

  On the screen, a minicab sped past the abandoned Jaguar, and came to a stop beside the four of them waiting. The figure in the hoodie leaned in to the car window, seeming to say a few words to the driver, and then got in the passenger side. Charlene hurried over to the back door and got in followed by the woman. Thomas was left to limp round to the back door on the other side of the minicab.

  ‘Can we run it back to when Thomas Hoffman gets out of the car, and show us a close-up on his face?’ asked Erika. McGorry quickly rewound the tape. ‘Yes, freeze it there, and zoom in.’

  The image was blurred, but they could see on the close-up Thomas Hoffman had bruising to his face.

  ‘Who are these other two people?’ asked Moss.

  ‘A young woman, and perhaps, well probably a young man,’ added McGorry.

  ‘It’s the first we’ve seen of them,’ said Erika. ‘And they look like they could be friends with Thomas and Charlene.’

  ‘And it adds weight to Temple’s theory that two people could have bumped them off,’ said Moss. Erika gave her a look. ‘Sorry, killed them.’

  ‘That minicab driver would have got a good look at them all,’ said Erika. ‘Check out minicab firms in the local area and see who was driving that car.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Nils Åkerman arrived at work late the next day, telling colleagues that he had been to the doctor about his allergy problems. They feigned concern, and some tilted their heads in sympathy, but no one questioned him further. Did they really buy it that his terrible appearance, trembling hands, and sweaty face were plant allergies, in central London, in October? There were no allergies. He had been a functioning drug addict for several years. It had started ten years ago, during his gap year in America when he’d hurt his back in a surfing accident and a doctor had prescribed the highly addictive painkiller Vicodin. This had been the beginning of a long and slippery slope to where he was today.

  He went straight to his office, locked the door and flipped up the silver soap dispenser. He shook out three pills into his hand and went to one of the easy chairs at the marble table. He crushed the pills and snorted two huge bumps of the white powder off the back of his hand. Nils slumped back in the chair in his office and wiped his nose. It felt red raw inside. He stood, swaying a little before chucking the scrunched up paper into the bin. He put the pill bottle back into the soap dispenser and saw it was almost empty. He grabbed his phone off the desk and called Jack, a young guy who had been his dealer for the past few years.

  ‘It’s Nils, can I come by later?’ he asked.

  ‘To pay me?’ said Jack.

  He hesitated. ‘Not today, I need more stuff. I have until the end of next week as per our arrangement—’

  ‘Things have changed. I need the money today,’ he said, his youthful voice full of disdain.

  ‘Jack, we go week by week, you know this.’

  ‘Yeah, well, my boss is withdrawing credit, and calling in what’s owed, after a couple of customers defaulted, well, defaulted is the wrong word. Overdosed. Dead junkies can’t pay their debts, so I’ll need you to pay up.’

  ‘I’m not a junkie,’ said Nils through gritted teeth.

  Jack laughed. It was a hollow, mocking laugh.

  ‘You owe me two grand.’

  ‘I’m good for it,’ said Nils.

  ‘You better be…’

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘No, you listen, Nils. You are a fucking junkie, and shit has got serious, so I need that money by the end of the day.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I know you earn good money, Nils. So it shouldn’t be a problem. Should it?’

  Jack hung up and Nils stood there shaking, staring at the phone. He felt a warmth flooding in his nose, and grabbed some of the blue tissue from the dispenser just in time to blot the blood trickling from his nostrils.
He tipped his head back to try and stem the flow, but after a few minutes he had to resort to packing his nostrils with tissue.

  Nils grabbed his ID pass and left the office. He walked out of the underground car park and into the cold air. The Thames was quiet and sparkled in the weak sun. It only took a few minutes to walk round to Vauxhall bus station, which was busy, and he lined up to use the cash machine. When he got to the front of the line, he tried to withdraw £500. The screen flashed up that he didn’t have available funds. He tried his other two credit cards, but they were also declined. He could hear tutting, and saw there were a couple of builders in mud-splattered overalls waiting behind.

  ‘Mate, you gonna be long?’ scowled one of them, his hands shoved deep in his pockets against the cold.

  ‘Sorry, just one more moment,’ said Nils. The builder rolled his eyes. Nils inserted his bank card, keyed in his PIN and requested £500. The cash machine seemed to mull it over for a long time. A cold wind blew around the wall of the station, and people hurried past. The machine beeped, and it flashed up on the screen that he didn’t have available funds.

  ‘What?’ he cried. He pressed the option to check his balance; £1,000 had been debited, on top of his mortgage payment and the minimum payments for his credit cards. How could he have forgotten his loan repayment was coming out? With shaking hands he took his card and staggered back to work, not noticing the looks on people’s faces as blood dripped down the front of his white shirt.