Erika left the crime scene, and moved further up the street, pacing up and down in the pool of orange cast by one of the streetlights. The snow was whirling in thick flurries, and she hunkered down, turning up the collar of her jacket, her hands thrust deep into the pockets. She felt powerless, watching from the sidelines as a black van belonging to the CSIs parked on the pavement directly in front of the police cordon. Despite the freezing temperature, she didn’t want to go back to her car. In the glove compartment was a packet of cigarettes she’d kept for emergencies. She’d given up some months ago, but in times of stress, still felt the gnawing of nicotine cravings. However, she refused to let Sparks be the reason for her caving in and lighting up. He emerged from the gates a few minutes later, and walked up to her.
‘Erika, why are you here?’ he said. Under the streetlight, she noticed his hair had streaks of grey, and he appeared gaunt.
‘I told you, I was made aware that DCI Hudson was delayed.’
‘Who made you aware?’
Erika hesitated, ‘I was with Peterson when he got the call, but I’d like to stress it’s not his fault. I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.’
‘You were with him?’
‘Yes…’
‘Enjoying a bit of strange were you?’ he said with a smirk. Despite the freezing air, Erika felt warmth flush her cheeks.
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘And my crime scene is none of your business. I’m in charge of the Murder Investigation Teams. You don’t work for me, and you’re not welcome. So why don’t you fuck off.’
Erika moved close and looked him in the eye. ‘What did you just say?’ His breath smelt stale and acidic.
‘You heard me, Erika. Fuck off. You’re not here to help, you’re just meddling. I know you’ve put in for a transfer back to one of the Murder Investigation Teams. The irony. Considering you made such a stand, quitting when I was promoted over you.’
Erika stared back at him. She knew that he hated her, but in the past a thin veil of politeness had covered their dealings.
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that again,’ she said.
‘Don’t speak to me like that again, sir.’
‘You know, Sparks, you might have been handed your superior rank by brown nosing, but you have to earn authority,’ said Erika, holding his gaze. The snow was coming down heavier, in large fibrous chunks, which stuck to his suit jacket. She refused to blink or look away. A uniformed officer approached them, and Sparks was forced to break his gaze.
‘What is it?’ he snapped.
‘Sir. The crime scene manager is here, and we’ve got the guy who runs the kitchen showroom coming down so we can run our lights off his grid.’
‘I want you off my crime scene,’ said Sparks. He strode back towards the police tape with the officer, their shoes leaving fresh prints in the snow.
* * *
Erika took a deep breath and composed herself, feeling tears prick her eyes.
‘Stop it, he’s just another arsehole at work,’ she scolded. ‘You could be the one lying in that dumpster.’
She wiped the tears from her face and started back to her car, passing a squad car with its interior lights on. The windows were starting to steam up, and inside she could just make out three young people: two girls in the back, and a young blond boy in the front. The boy was leaning through the seats, and they were deep in conversation. Erika slowed and came to a stop.
‘Oh fuck it,’ she said.
She turned and walked back up to the car. Checking there was no one else around, she knocked on the window and then opened the door, flashing her warrant card.
‘Are you the students who found the body?’ she asked. They looked up at her and nodded, their faces still in shock. They looked no older than eighteen. ‘Have you spoken to an officer yet?’ she added, leaning into the car.
‘No, we’ve been here for ages; just been told to wait, but we’re frozen,’ said the young guy.
‘My car’s on the other side of the road. Let’s have a chat with the heating on,’ said Erika.
Chapter Four
Erika adjusted the dials in her car, until warm air came blasting out of the vents. The young boy sat next to her, in the passenger seat, rubbing at his bare arms. He was blond and thin with bad skin, and wore a T-shirt and a thin jacket with jeans. The two girls were in the back. The first sat behind Erika, and she was beautiful with caramel-coloured skin. She wore jeans, a red jumper, and a purple hijab fastened at the left side of her neck with a silver butterfly pin. Next to her, the second girl was short and plump, with a bob of brown hair. Her two front teeth were prominent, which gave her face a rabbit-like appearance, and she wore a grubby peach-coloured towelling dressing gown.
‘Can I take your names?’ asked Erika, pulling a notebook from her bag, and resting it on the steering wheel.
‘I’m Josh McCaul,’ said the boy.
She scrubbed at the paper, her pen not working.
‘Can you see if there’s another one in the glove compartment?’ asked Erika.
He leaned forward to check and his T-shirt rode up at the back to show a tattoo of a cannabis leaf at the base of his spine. He raked through the old sweet packets and her emergency Marlboro lights, and handed her a biro. ‘Can I have one of these?’ he added, finding a half-full bag of mini Mars bars.
‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘Do you two want one?’
‘No,’ said the girl with the hijab, adding that her name was Aashirya Khan. The second girl also refused chocolate.
‘I’m Rachel Dawkes, spelt without the “a”…’
‘She means the Rachel is without the “a”, not Dawkes. She’s got a real thing about that,’ said Josh, unwrapping his second mini Mars.
Rachel pursed her lips in disapproval and rearranged the folds of her dressing gown.
‘Do you all rent the flat next to the kitchen showroom?’ asked Erika.
‘Yes, we’re students at Goldsmiths University,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m reading English, so is Aashirya. Josh is on the Art course.’
‘Did you hear or see anything suspicious in the last few days, anyone hanging around those dumpsters, or the kitchen showroom car park?’
Aashirya shifted in her seat, her arms crossed over her lap. Her large eyes watching the CSIs who were now filing past their house into the car park. ‘This is a rough area, there’s always shouts and screams at night,’ she said and started to cry.
Rachel leaned over to give her a hug. Josh chewed what was left of the chocolate and found it hard to swallow.
‘What do you mean, shouts and screams?’ asked Erika.
‘There’s four pubs, a big student population, and lots of these flats are housing association,’ said Rachel primly. ‘This is South London. There’s crime on every corner.’
The car windows were now steaming up. Erika let that go and adjusted the heater.
‘Who found the body?’
‘It was Josh,’ said Rachel. ‘He sent me a message to come outside.’
‘Sent you a message?’
‘A text message,’ said Josh as if she were being dim. Erika again was struck by the age gap. Her first instinct would have been to run inside and tell them, but Josh reached for his phone. ‘Our bin was full, and the ones at the showroom can’t have been used over Christmas, so I thought they would be empty.’
‘We all came outside,’ said Aashirya.
‘What time was this?’ asked Erika.
‘Seven thirty-ish,’ said Josh.
‘What time does the kitchen showroom close?’
‘It’s been closed ever since the new year. We heard that the bloke who owns it has gone bankrupt,’ replied Josh.
‘So it’s been very quiet over the last few days?’
They all nodded.
‘Do you recognise the victim? Another student, or a local girl?’ asked Erika.
They shook their heads, wincing at the memory of the dead girl.
&
nbsp; ‘We’ve only lived here since September, we’re first years,’ said Josh.
‘When can we go back to our flat?’ asked Rachel.
‘It’s part of the crime scene and these things take time,’ said Erika.
‘Can you be more specific, officer?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’
‘It was probably a prostitute, the girl in the dumpster,’ added Rachel primly, adjusting the lapels of her dressing gown. ‘It’s that kind of area.’
‘Do you know any prostitutes in the area?’ asked Erika.
‘No!’
‘So how do you know she was a prostitute?’
‘Well, how else would a girl find herself… How else could that happen?’
‘Rachel, being naive and judgemental won’t get you far in life,’ said Erika.
Rachel pressed her lips together and looked at the steamed-up window beside her.
‘Is there anything else that you can tell me. Anything you saw, however small? Despite the usual weirdos, there was no one hanging around. No one who drew suspicion?’ They shook their heads. ‘What about the neighbours opposite? What are they like?’ asked Erika, indicating the line of dark houses on the other side of the road.
‘We don’t really know them. A mix of students and there’s a couple of old ladies,’ said Josh.
‘Where are we going to stay?’ asked Aashirya in a small voice.
‘A friend of mine has given me the keys to his place, so I can feed his cat. We could go there?’ suggested Josh.
‘Where is it?’ asked Erika.
‘Near Ladywell.’
‘Officer, what happens now?’ asked Rachel. ‘Do we have to come to court or take part in a line-up?’
Erika felt sorry for them; they were only young, and just a few months ago had left home to come and live in one of the rougher areas of London.
‘You might be called to court, but that would be at a much later date,’ said Erika. ‘For now, we can offer counselling. I can see about emergency accommodation, but it will take time. If you can give me the address, I can see about you getting a lift over to this friend’s place? We will need to talk to you again, though, and get your official statements.’
Aashirya had herself more under control and was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Erika rummaged in her bag for a tissue.
‘Do any of you need to phone your parents?’
‘I’ve got my phone,’ said Rachel, patting the pocket of her dressing gown.
‘My mum works nights,’ said Josh.
‘My phone is still in the flat. I’d like to ring my father, please,’ said Aashirya, taking a tissue from Erika.
‘Use my phone, hun,’ said Josh, passing his phone between the seats.
Aashirya dialled in a number and waited, the phone pressed to the material of her hijab. Josh wiped the condensation from the window. The pathologist’s van had arrived, and they were wheeling a stretcher over the pavement and into the car park.
‘She was dumped like a piece of rubbish,’ he said. ‘Who would do that?’
Erika stared through the window, and wanted badly to know the answer to that same question. Sparks appeared at the gate, dressed in crime scene overalls, and she knew the only thing she could do right now was leave.
Chapter Five
Erika woke up alone the next morning. She had hoped Peterson might call with more information from the crime scene, but when she switched on her phone there were no missed calls or messages.
It took longer than usual to drive to work; the gritters had been out overnight, but it was slow going on the grimy slush-covered roads. When she finally reached Bromley, the town centre was grey, and the morning light was struggling through a bank of low clouds. Snow continued to fall, melting as it hit the gritted roads, but it was cold enough to lie on the pavements. Bromley Police Station sat at the bottom of the high street, opposite the train station and a large Waitrose supermarket. Pale-faced commuters were filing into the station, past an impatient line at the small coffee shop.
She parked in the underground car park, and took the lift up to the ground floor. Several of the uniformed officers were coming off the night shift, and they said hello in greeting as she made her way past the staff locker rooms to the tiny kitchen. She made a cup of tea, and took it upstairs to the corner office she’d been assigned, sighing when she saw a pile of fresh files waiting on her desk. She was picking through them when there was a tap on her door. She looked up to see Detective Constable John McGorry, a handsome, dark-haired officer in his mid-twenties.
‘Alright, boss?’
‘Morning, John. What can I do for you?’
‘Have you had a chance to look over my application?’
Late the previous year, John had been part of Erika’s team during a historical missing person case, and after its successful conclusion, John had started the process of applying for the rank of detective sergeant.
‘Sorry, John. I’ll look at it today… It’s been, well, Christmas and everything.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ he said with a grin.
Erika felt rotten. She’d had his application form since the week before Christmas. She sat down at her desk and logged into her mailbox to find the attachment, but was distracted by a new email:
ATTN: DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR FOSTER,
* * *
I WRITE IN RESPONSE TO YOUR APPLICATION TO TRANSFER TO THE MURDER INVESTIGATION TEAM. UNFORTUNATELY, YOUR APPLICATION HAS NOT BEEN SUCCESSFUL AT THIS TIME.
* * *
YOURS SINCERELY,
* * *
BARRY MCGOUGH.
MPS HUMAN RESOURCES DEPARTMENT
‘Sparks…’ she said, sitting back in her chair. She picked up the phone and dialled Peterson. He answered after several rings, sounding groggy. ‘Bugger. I’ve woken you up.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘We were there till two this morning.’
‘What else did you find out?’
‘Not much. Melanie Hudson had me and Moss doing a door-to-door. None of the neighbours on Tattersall Road saw anything.’
‘Listen. Sorry if I railroaded you last night.’
‘Why did you?’
‘I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d put in for a transfer to come back to one of the Murder Investigation Teams.’
‘And work for Sparks?’
‘No, to solve murders. I’ve been stuck behind a desk for the past couple of months, writing bloody reports. Anyway. It doesn’t matter now. I’ve been turned down.’
‘Sorry. Did they say why?’
‘No.’
‘Erika, when they judge this stuff your rank and pay grade goes against you.’
‘I think being me goes against me. And I’m sure Sparks had a hand in the decision… If only they judged the application on the number of cases I’ve solved. The number of murderers I’ve put away.’
‘Putting them away doesn’t save money. Did you know that banging someone up in prison costs the same as it would to stay a night at the Ritz?’
‘Is that what it comes down to?’
‘For someone so smart, you can be pretty naive, Erika.’
‘We can’t think in those terms. Too many people think that money comes first…’
Peterson sighed on the end of the phone.
‘Look. I’ve had three hours’ sleep, Erika. I agree with you but I need some zees before I get into a debate,’ he said.
‘Okay. And sorry again about last night.’
‘’S’okay. Sit tight, something will come up.’
‘I know. I’m just sick of being stuck here in the backwaters, trawling through endless paperwork for Ronald McDonald…’
Erika heard someone clearing their throat and looked up to see a man with a shock of red hair, standing in the doorway. It was Ronald McDonald himself: Superintendent Yale.
‘Look, I have to go…’ She hung up. ‘Morning, boss, what can I do for you?’ she asked, cringing.
‘Erika, can
I have a word?’ he said. Yale was a large man, tall and stocky, with a bushy red beard to match his hair. His face was red and blotchy, his large blue eyes watery. Erika thought he always looked on the verge of a nervous reaction to something he’d eaten.
‘Yes, sir. Is this about the knife crime statistics report?’
‘No.’ He closed the door and came in to sit down in front of her desk. ‘I’ve had Superintendent Sparks on the phone…’
Yale had a habit of leaving a sentence hanging, waiting for you to put your head through the noose and incriminate yourself.
‘How is he?’ asked Erika breezily.
‘He says last night you barged in on his crime scene.’
‘I arrived with DI Peterson; I was with him when he was called to the scene, and the weather was slowing down the other officers, so I decided to lend a hand and I went with him…’
‘Sparks says he had to order you to leave the crime scene.’
‘Can “fuck off” ever be interpreted as an order, sir? I’m quoting him directly.’
‘You then stayed at the scene, and took accounts from the three students who discovered the body of Lacey Greene.’
Erika raised her eyebrows. ‘He has an ID on the victim?’
Yale bit his lip, realising that he’d given away more than he intended.
‘For God’s sake, Erika. You keep banging on about being promoted, but you behave like a teenager!’
‘The three witnesses were left alone in an unheated police car. Tattersall Road is in a pretty rough area. It was late at night, and they weren’t dressed for minus temperatures. One of the girls was in her dressing gown, and the other was wearing a hijab…’ Erika let that hang in the air for a moment, then went on. ‘These were vulnerable young women, sir, and we’re having to deal with increased Islamophobia, especially around the more deprived areas…’
Yale raised a bushy eyebrow, and drummed his fingers on her desk for a moment. They were both aware she was going for the low option, but it was true.
Last Breath Page 2
