Sparks sat back; he was shaking with anger. His face was still white, but two small circles of scarlet adorned each cheek. He coughed and winced, downing a last dribble of lager and wincing again.
Erika got up and bought another round. When she came back he was having another coughing fit.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking a gulp of lager.
‘I want to say sorry,’ said Erika. He sat back and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, for everything that went down between us. I should have behaved better when I first came to London and took over the Andrea Douglas-Brown case. It was yours. I was a bitch.’
‘You were a bitch. I was a bastard.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘That’s how the world turns.’
‘I just want to catch this one, Andy. I have pride. Pride in bringing people to justice. It’s not about me. I’ll work in your team. We can have a trial period; I’ll work subordinate to Melanie on the enquiry, despite us being the same rank. I can’t stay working in the Projects Team, pushing paper.’
Sparks took another pull on his pint and watched two large guys engrossed in their darts match.
‘If I’m honest, I feel like I’ve fought my way to a prize that’s not worth it.’
‘The money’s good,’ said Erika.
‘And I’m about to see it all vanish. Divorce. Followed by custody battles…’ He downed the last of his pint.
‘Sorry.’
‘Not your fault. Look, I’ll sort something out with Melanie, Okay?’
Erika nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Now, I have to go home,’ he said.
* * *
When they came out onto the street, it had started to snow again. Sparks pulled up his collar against the wind.
‘Come to the morning briefing tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Although the ball is in your court. It’s up to her if she wants to work with you.’
‘I can make it work.’
A car drove slowly past, its mudguards thick with dirty snow. Sparks turned his head away, and didn’t turn back until it was far down the street.
‘What is it?’ asked Erika.
‘Did you see that car before?’
‘No.’
‘Earlier, just before we went to the pub?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
He squinted at the spot where the car had turned off the street. ‘I feel like… I’ve seen it three times now over the past few days.’
‘You think you’re being followed?’
He was even more pale and haggard than before they went into the pub. His eyes scanned the empty street. He saw she was watching him closely and changed the subject.
‘Can your nick spare you? I haven’t got time to go smoothing shit over with your superintendent.’
‘I don’t think my superintendent really cares either way,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Okay. West End Central tomorrow, nine a.m.’
‘Thanks, Andy.’
‘Steady on. I don’t want us to end up actually liking each other.’ He gave her a nod and walked away, towards his unhappy home. Erika watched him, feeling a mixture of anger and relief. She hadn’t got an apology in return from him, but she was pleased they were moving forward, and that she had a crack at working on the case.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, Erika took the train to Charing Cross and emerged with a throng of commuters into the cold air. The crowds thinned as she walked through Trafalgar Square, which had been cleared of snow, save for the giant bronze lions that wore little white toupees. By the time she reached Leicester Square, and then Chinatown, there was just a smattering of early bird tourists, blinking in the dull grey morning. She found West End Central Police Station. It was a post-war concrete square, tucked away in a side road at the edge of Soho amongst a street of offices under renovation. She showed her warrant card at the front desk, and then took a lift up to the fifth floor which came out opposite a set of doors marked: MURDER INVESTIGATION TEAM.
She took a deep breath and paused at the doors. Was she really going to do this? She had said last night that she didn’t care about rank, but was she putting too much on the line to work with Sparks on this case? The question had kept her awake for most of the night, but she kept coming back to Lacey Greene and Janelle Robinson, their bodies dumped like rubbish… And Janelle’s circumstances had affected her deeply. Here was a girl born with nothing, who went through life with nothing, and then in death was thought of as nothing. Another runaway turns up dead, terrible, awful, but shit happens, case closed.
It was a similar attitude which had rankled her when she first came to the UK on an au pair’s visa. She was paid a pittance, and the prevailing attitude was that Eastern Europeans weren’t worth quite as much as people from the West. ‘We’re disposable people,’ a Polish girl had told her on the long coach ride across Europe. This was why, in later years, Erika had striven to rise through the ranks in the police force, to show she was an asset. That she wasn’t disposable.
She was still unsure of her decision, but she pushed open the door and went inside. It was a vast open-plan office, and several groups of desks were partitioned off with glass. She moved past teams working: in one an officer was briefing his team about a case; pictures on a board behind him showed a row of burnt bodies laid out, and close images on each, features melted in a crisp mask of pain.
Erika approached a young uniformed officer by a photocopier.
‘I’m looking for Superintendent Sparks?’
‘Right down the end,’ she replied.
Erika thanked her and moved off, past commanding views of snow-covered rooftops and the sky hanging low over the buildings like a sheet of slate. When she reached the end of the office, Sparks was standing against a series of large whiteboards, surrounded by a team of ten officers. Piles of case files were stacked ominously beside him. Erika recognised the case he was briefing: a triple murder in a North London pub. He looked terrible, exhausted and washed out, and was leaning on the corner of a table, using his free hand to emphasise his point. He saw her at the back and gave her a curt nod, but carried on speaking.
‘As I say, the family is going to close ranks pretty fast, and they’ve got one hell of a history. I need their movements cross-checked before we split them up for questioning.’
As he moved off towards a row of glass doors at the end, chatter rose in the team. Erika hurried over to catch him up.
‘I got in contact with Melanie last night,’ he said. ‘I gave her everything we talked about. She’s now following up the death of… of…’
‘Janelle Robinson,’ finished Erika.
‘Yeah. She’s gone over to Croydon to look at where her body was discovered, and talk to the neighbours.’
‘Will you be briefing her team about my involvement in the case?’
‘Yeah. This afternoon. The info you gave had to be checked up on, so we rescheduled. Come back at four.’
He reached a frosted glass door, moved through and went to close it. She held out her hand, stopping him. ‘Andy, I meant what I said last night. I will work with you, but please, no games.’
He stopped to stare at her. His eyes were bloodshot.
‘And you heard me when I said that I’m deluged. You know the score, things change. It was a priority that Melanie and her team followed up on what you brought to me. Steven Pearson can only be held for another twenty-four hours before we have to charge him or let him go.’
‘And she couldn’t have picked up the phone before I came into London?’ snapped Erika.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Get me involved now. I don’t want to sit around all day.’
He stared at her again through those bloodshot eyes, and then indicated to her to come into his office.
‘Thank you,’ said Erika. She went through to his office and closed the door.
Sparks moved to a set of shelves behind the desk which was packed with files. He rubbed at his left arm, and scrabbled around for a packet of painkillers.
His skin seemed to drain of what little colour he had left, and a sheen of sweat appeared. Sparks popped a couple of tablets from the foil and swallowed them down without water, wincing. He went to the phone on his desk, but then hesitated, gritting his teeth in pain.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Erika, moving to the seat opposite his desk.
‘Jesus! Do I look bloody okay?’ He paused over the phone keypad, taking deep breaths. ‘What’s her number again?’
He started to move around the desk, but staggered. He grabbed for the edge, but his arm gave way and he crashed face down onto the carpet.
‘Shit!’ cried Erika, rushing around to him. She turned him over and he was making ragged gasping noises, sweat pouring from his grey face. He clutched at his left arm, and clawed at his shirt collar.
‘My chest… I can’t… breathe. My arm, the pains,’ he wheezed. His bloodshot eyes bulged hideously.
Erika quickly unfastened his shirt collar and loosened his tie. She gently pulled him up to a sitting position, propping him up against the edge of the desk.
‘I need you to keep calm, and breathe,’ she said.
He clutched at his left arm, pouring with sweat and shivering. She took off her long leather jacket and draped it over him. He started to groan and wheeze, flecks of spit building in the corners of his mouth.
‘Please, help me,’ he gasped.
Erika moved around the desk and picked up his phone, finding it strangely ironical that she was calling the emergency services from one of the largest police stations in Central London.
‘It’s a police officer,’ she said when she got through. ‘I think he’s having a heart attack.’ She gave all the details and then slammed the phone down, rushing back to Sparks. He was now a deathly grey, and frothing at the mouth. ‘Aspirin, Andy, do you have aspirin?’
He coughed and a fine spray of foam filled the air. She moved to the shelf where he kept the painkillers, but they were all paracetamol. She then started to rifle through the drawers of his desk. Sparks was now trying to stand; he got half up, but his legs flailed uselessly and he slid down again, hitting the back of his head on the corner of the desk.
‘Please, stay still, the ambulance is coming,’ said Erika, moving to crouch beside him. She draped the jacket over him again, and then ran to his office door and yanked it open, shouting: ‘I need help in here! He’s having a heart attack.’
Faces turned to see what was going on, merely curious.
‘Superintendent Sparks has collapsed. He’s having a heart attack. I need help!’ she shouted.
Suddenly people leapt to life, and two male officers dashed over, followed by one of the officers Sparks had addressed just minutes earlier.
Erika went back into the office, and felt her blood roar in her ears as she turned and saw Sparks had toppled over and lay on the carpet on his side. She moved to him, and gently turned him over onto his back. His lips were now starting to turn blue. He looked up at her with fear in his eyes.
‘My wife… Tell her… I love her… The money from our account… They’ll freeze it…’ he croaked.
‘Andy, you are going to be okay, do you hear me?’ she said.
The office was now filling up with officers who were milling around uselessly, watching. His hand came up and grabbed for hers, but it fell back down and hit the carpet.
‘No!’ said Erika, as what little colour Sparks had in his face began to rapidly drain away. ‘One of you! Find out where that ambulance is!’
She unfastened the next couple of buttons on Sparks’s shirt, exposing his chest. She tipped his head back, and began to perform CPR, working on chest compressions and then dipping down to breathe into Sparks’s mouth.
‘He said he’s been feeling ill for a while…’ said a voice behind Erika as she counted fifteen chest compressions.
‘I’ve known him for over a year, and he always looks ill,’ said another.
Erika leaned down and blew into his mouth again. Sparks’s chest rose, but his face stayed slack and white. The room was strangely silent as the officers watched her.
‘Come on, you’re a fighter… Fight! Don’t stop now!’ she said.
His eyes remained closed, and his head lolled slightly on the carpet as she counted chest compressions, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a picture on the desk; Andy Sparks with his wife. They were both crouched down on a sunny patch of grass with a small girl, grinning a gummy grin as she sat on a little pink toy scooter. She continued to work on his chest, alternating between artificial respiration. Sweat poured off her face from the exertion. It seemed to go on and on, the silent room watching her.
Finally, two paramedics in yellow jackets, carrying a first aid kit, entered the office, and took over, but it was too late.
They pronounced Superintendent Andy Sparks dead at 9:47 a.m. The irony wasn’t lost on Erika that this was Friday the thirteenth.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erika watched as Sparks was wheeled out of his office in a shiny black body bag. Her legs started to tremble with shock, and she had to sit when she gave her statement to the uniformed police who’d arrived on the scene. It was a strange situation, police interviewing police, and the confusion as to how to deal with the tragedy. Andy Sparks was only forty-one years old. He’d been her bitter enemy until the previous evening, and now he was dead.
She was unsure of what to do, and how to feel, when she emerged from the main entrance of West End Central. A freezing wind was blowing, and a large expanse of green mesh covering a scaffold opposite hummed and keened. She didn’t know any of the police officers at the nick. There was no one to talk to. She crossed her hands over her chest, feeling the icy wind pierce her thin jumper. Sparks had been wrapped in her jacket when he was loaded up into the body bag, and it didn’t seem appropriate to ask for it back. She pulled out her phone and called Peterson. He told her to get in a cab and come over.
* * *
When he ushered her into his warm flat, an hour later, she was shaking with cold, her teeth chattering almost comically. They stood in his living room, and he held her for a long time, just the sound of the water filling up the huge tub in the bathroom.
‘Jeez, Sparks dead… I assumed he was in it for the long run,’ said Peterson.
‘He’s got a small daughter, and a wife who needs him, and the last person he spoke to was me.’
‘You said you tried to save his life.’
‘I did. But I can’t imagine dying and the only person there to hold your hand is your worst enemy.’
Erika wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She’d stopped shivering.
‘You’re a good person, Erika. You are on the side of good,’ said Peterson, pulling back and looking in her eyes.
She was overwhelmed with tears again. ‘James. I’ve watched so many people die young, my husband, my colleagues, and… why them and not me?’
‘You shouldn’t feel guilty.’
‘I do.’
‘Look. The hot bath is ready, I’ll get us a drink,’ said Peterson.
* * *
She soaked in the hot water for a long time, cradling a large tumbler of whisky, and Peterson sat with her, perched on the lid of the toilet. Erika told him what had happened the previous evening.
‘Why do you think he changed his mind about working with you?’ he asked.
Erika shrugged. ‘Maybe I saw another side to him. I overheard the argument with him and his wife, and he still defended her to me… I made a snap decision about him, and it never changed. Maybe he was just…’
‘Erika. He was an arsehole.’
‘Yes. At work he was…’
‘But we had to work with him. We didn’t see this other side, so to us it didn’t exist.’
‘But it did.’
‘Okay it did, but if you’d started to work on this case with him, do you think he would have kept his word? And what would it have done for your reputation?’
‘I don�
�t care about my reputation.’
‘That’s a really stupid thing to say.’
Erika smiled weakly. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’
‘What’s going to happen with the case?’
‘I don’t know. They have to release Steven Pearson by tomorrow lunchtime. Melanie Hudson now has everything: the files on Janelle Robinson. And, of course, her incentive to work with me is now gone.’
‘Because Sparks ordered her to,’ finished Peterson. They were silent for a moment. She shivered, and he turned on the hot tap. ‘Erika, I know I’ll never replace Mark. And that’s cool. You take all the time you need.’
He leaned across her and turned off the water. She looked at his proud handsome face, his dark hair now clipper cut short. She leant up and placed her hand on his cheek.
‘I can’t replace someone who’s gone… Mark is gone, James. I have to live my life. He always said that if he died he would want me to…’ She hesitated.
‘He’d want you to live?’
She nodded. ‘But that’s the hardest thing. Just living. Knowing how to live on my own and then with someone else.’
Peterson took her hand, leaned over and planted a kiss on her wet hair.
* * *
It was dark outside when Erika emerged from the bath and sat on the sofa in a large squishy bathrobe. Peterson switched on the early evening news. The lead story on BBC London was that Steven Pearson, who’d been arrested in conjunction with the abduction and murder of Lacey Greene, had been released due to lack of evidence.
‘So they’re taking the info you gave them seriously?’ said Peterson, topping up her drink.
‘They have to,’ said Erika, watching as a news reporter spoke from outside the revolving sign of the New Scotland Yard building.
‘And they’re keeping Janelle Robinson’s murder quiet.’
‘Her abduction and murder. She was a missing person, James. Just because the poor girl had no one to miss her doesn’t mean she wasn’t missing.’
‘I know… You can chill out, I’m not against you,’ he said.
Erika Foster 04 - Last Breath Page 6
