The Girl in the Ice: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Erika Foster crime thriller novel Book 1) (20 page)

‘
S
he’s totally crazy
,’ said Giles Osborne. ‘To the point where she frightens me and many of my staff.’

Moss and Erika sat in Giles’s glass office, overlooking the back gardens of a row of terraced houses. A train clacked past behind the houses, and on an industrial estate to one side, four giant gas sumps rose up, slick with rain. It seemed absurd to build such an elegant state-of-the-art building with such a dismal view.

Giles looked as if he hadn’t slept, and the skin on his face was loose and haggard. Erika also noted that he’d lost weight in the two weeks since Andrea’s body was found.

‘The family is all aware of Linda,’ Giles went on. ‘Seems she’s been the black sheep for many years. She was thrown out of every school they put her in. When she was nine, she stabbed her teacher with a compass. The poor woman lost an eye.’

‘So you think Linda has psychological problems?’ asked Erika.

‘You make it sound far more mysterious and exotic than it is. She’s just mad. It's a sort of tedious madness. But throw cash and an influential family into the mix and it's all heightened. The problem is that Linda knows there’s no real consequences for her actions.’

‘Yet,’ said Moss.

Giles shrugged. ‘Sir Simon is always there to throw money at problems, or have a word in an influential ear . . . In the end, he bought the teacher a house, and she lives in the top half and rents out the bottom. Almost worth losing an eye, don’t you think?’

There was silence. Another train clacked past on the track and blared its siren.

‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be cruel. I’m arranging Andrea’s funeral. I thought I’d be arranging our wedding, I never dreamed . . . Linda is doing the flowers; she’s insisted on the church she attends in Chiswick. I’m sitting here staring at a blank screen, trying to write her eulogy.’

‘You have to know someone well to write their eulogy,’ said Moss.

‘Yes, you do,’ said Giles.

‘Was Andrea religious?’ asked Erika, steering the conversation away from choppy waters.

‘No.’

‘Is David?’

‘If all nuns had big tits and low-cut tops, I’m sure he’d be a Catholic,’ laughed Giles dryly.

‘What do mean by that?’

‘Oh Lord, do you have to take everything literally? It was a joke. David likes girls. He’s young. He’s remarkably normal. Takes after his mother more than . . .’

‘Linda,’ said Moss.

‘Yes, it’s just him and Linda,’ said Giles. He wiped a tear away.

‘And Linda attends church regularly?’

‘Yes. I’m sure God isn’t too overjoyed at having to listen to her warped little prayers each night,’ said Giles.

‘Has Linda been to your office on many occasions?’ asked Erika.

‘She came once with Andrea, to see the place. Then she showed up a couple of times alone.’

‘When was this?’ asked Moss.

‘July, August, last year.’

‘And why did she show up alone?’

‘She came to see me, and it very quickly became apparent that she wanted, wanted to . . . Well, she wanted to have sex.’

‘And how did she indicate this?’ asked Moss.

‘How do you bloody think!’ said Giles, growing red. He looked around, desperate to be somewhere else. ‘She lifted her sweater and exposed herself. Told me that no one would know.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I told her where to go. Even if she wasn’t Andrea’s sister, she’s not exactly . . .’

‘Not exactly?’

‘Well she’s not exactly a looker, is she?’

Moss and Erika remained silent.

Giles went on, ‘As far as I’m aware it’s not a crime to find someone . . .’

‘Repulsive?’ finished Erika.

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ said Giles.

‘And then things turned nasty. Linda vandalised your office and, according to the records, broke in and poisoned your cat.’

‘Yes, and I don’t know. You’ve read the case files, then?’

Erika and Moss nodded.

‘I found myself with an unfortunate dilemma with Linda. Sir Simon asked me to drop the charges. What could I do?’

‘I’m sorry to have to bring this up, Giles, but were you aware that Andrea was seeing other men when you were together?’ asked Erika.

Giles paused. ‘I am now.’

‘And how does that make you feel?’

‘How do you bloody think that makes me feel?! We were engaged. I thought she was the one. Sure, she liked to flirt and play, and I should have seen it, but I thought she might calm down once we were married, and then we’d get sprogged up.’

‘Sprogged up?’ asked Erika. ‘You mean, have children?’

‘Yes. I had no idea she had several men on the go. She was so stupid to get involved with that hateful creature Marco Frost. He scared Andrea with his
obsession.
Do you think you have enough evidence to secure a prison sentence?’

Erika looked at Moss. ‘Mr Osborne, can I please ask you to take a look at this photo?’ She placed the picture of Andrea with the dark-haired man on the table. He glanced at it.

‘No. I don’t know him.’

‘I didn’t ask if you knew him. Please take a good look; this was taken just four days before Andrea disappeared.’

Giles looked at the photo again. ‘Well, what am I looking at? He was probably one of the many men who make eyes at her.’

‘What about this? Or this . . . or this?’ asked Erika. She placed the series of photos in front of Giles: Andrea lying in bed with the dark-haired man, naked, her nipple drawn between his teeth, then Andrea with her lips spread wide and his penis in her mouth.

‘What are you people doing?’ cried Giles, pushing his chair back and getting up. There were tears in his eyes. ‘How dare you come in here and take advantage of my good will!’

‘Sir, these are from Andrea’s second mobile phone which we recently recovered. We showed these photos to you for a reason. They were taken just a few days before she vanished.’

Giles stood and went to the glass door. ‘Thank you, officers, but I came into my office today to remember Andrea, and write about her life. I have been asked to speak at her funeral, and you come here and sully my memories of her with hardcore pornographic photos!’ He opened the door and indicated that they leave.

‘Sir, we believe that the man pictured with Andrea is also involved in the killing of three Eastern European girls who worked as prostitutes, and the murder of an elderly lady. We also believe that Andrea was with this man on the night she died,’ explained Erika. She looked at Moss. Giles saw their exchange.

‘Hang on. What about Marco Frost? I thought he was your man? Chief Superintendent Marsh assured me, and Assistant Commissioner Oakley . . .’ said Giles.

‘This is another line of enquiry we are pursuing,’ said Erika.

‘So you really have no idea who killed Andrea? Yet you come over here hassling me, on a hunch? Andrea was a flawed human being, and she had secrets. But all she did was love, all she wanted was to love . . .’ Giles broke down, heaving and sobbing. He put his hand to his mouth. ‘I just can’t take this much longer. Please! Leave!’

Erika and Moss went back to the table, gathered up the photos and left, leaving Giles to sob.

‘
O
h fuck
,’ said Moss, when they came back to the car parked a few roads away.

‘I said it, not you,’ said Erika.

‘Boss, I have to go and report this all to DCI Sparks, and Marsh.’

‘I know. And that’s fine.’

Moss dropped Erika home and despite all that had happened, all the revelations, Erika felt no closer to the truth, and very far away from being reinstated and getting her badge back. When she came into her living room she switched on the light, seeing herself and the image of the room reflected back in the window. She went to the light and turned it off. She peered out of the window and down into the deserted street, but everything was still. Quiet.

O
ver the next two days
, Moss and Peterson had to appear in court and give evidence in the case involving an armed gunman at the supermarket in Sydenham. Much of the original investigative team into Andrea’s death had been reassigned, now that Marco Frost had been charged with her murder. Erika was stuck in limbo, awaiting her misconduct hearing. She’d had a call from Marsh that morning.

‘Did you and Moss visit Linda Douglas-Brown and Giles Osborne?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ve had complaints from them both, and Sir Simon is threatening to make a formal complaint.’

So you answer their calls, but not mine?
Erika wanted to say. She bit her lip. ‘Sir. I was there as an advisor to Moss; in both instances I wasn’t asked to produce identification.’

‘Leave it out, Erika.’

‘Sir, you are aware we recovered Andrea’s second mobile phone?’

‘Yes, I’m aware. Moss filed her report.’

‘And?’

‘
And
, you withheld evidence. The note you received.’

‘But the note, sir . . .’

‘The note could have come from several places. Think back to your colleagues in Manchester. There’s still a great deal of anger towards you . . .’ Marsh tailed off. ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair . . . I think, Erika, that you need to let this go.’

‘What? Sir, have you seen the pictures?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen the pictures, and I’ve read Moss’s report very carefully. Although I can hear your voice when I read it. It still proves nothing, you have no grounds whatsoever to prove that this . . . person, whoever he is, was involved in the deaths of Andrea or Ivy.’

‘Or Tatiana, or Karolina, or Mirka?’

‘What you have succeeded in doing is pissing off a lot of people and metaphorically pissing on the memory of Andrea Douglas-Brown.’

‘But sir, I didn’t take those pictures she . . .’

‘She had a secret phone for God’s sake! Everyone has secrets.’

‘I take it this conversation is off the record?’

‘Yes, it is, Erika. And I must remind you that
you
are off the record. You are suspended. Now, be sensible. Enjoy the full pay. I have it on good authority that if you lay low and keep your mouth shut, you’ll be reinstated next month.’

‘Lay low, until what? Marco Frost goes down for something he didn’t do?’

‘Your orders—’

‘Come from who?’ she said, cutting him off. ‘Do they come from you, or Assistant Commissioner Oakley, or Sir Simon Douglas-Brown?’

Marsh was silent for a moment.

‘It’s Andrea Douglas -Brown’s funeral tomorrow. I don’t want to see you there. And I don’t want to hear you’ve been poking your nose in anywhere else. And when this is over, and
if
you are reinstated, I’m going to make sure you’re transferred to nick a long, long way away. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Marsh hung up. Erika sat back on the sofa. Fuming. She cursed Marsh, and then herself. Had she lost the plot? Were her instincts off on this one?

No. They weren’t.

She had a cigarette and then went to pick out something suitable for a funeral.

E
rika woke
before it was light, and sat smoking and drinking coffee by the front window. The day stretched ahead in front of her, full of obstacles, and she had to navigate it as smoothly as possible. She took a shower, and when she emerged just after nine, the sky still had a grey-blue tinge. Erika felt it wasn’t right to be going to the funeral of someone so young. Perhaps the day was protesting, refusing to begin.

She’d searched through her suitcase for something suitable to wear to Andrea’s funeral, only to realise that most of her wardrobe was suitable for a funeral. At the bottom, she found the elegant black dress she’d worn over a year ago to a Christmas party organised by the Manchester Met Police. She remembered that night so clearly; the lazy afternoon beforehand when she and Mark had made love, and then he’d run her a bath, pouring her favourite sandalwood oil into the steaming water. He’d sat on the side of the bath and they’d chatted and drunk wine as she’d wallowed in the water. When it came to put on the dress, it had felt snug, and she’d protested she was fat. Mark had slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into him, telling her she was perfect. She’d gone to the party, proud to be on his arm, the warm feeling of being loved, of having someone special.

Now, as she pulled the dress on in front of the tiny mirror in the bare damp bedroom, it hung loose on her slender frame. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that feeling of Mark beside her, pulling her into him for a hug. She couldn’t conjure it up. She was alone. She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection.

‘I can’t do this without you. Life . . . Everything . . .’ she said. Then, in her head, she heard what Mark used to say when he thought she was being over-dramatic:
Get off the cross, someone needs the wood!

She laughed, despite her tears, saying, ‘I need to get a grip, don’t I?’

She wiped her eyes and reached for her make-up bag, untouched for months. She wasn’t a massive fan of make-up, but she applied a little foundation and lipstick and stared at her reflection. She’d been wondering why she was going today, defying her bosses again. She was doing it for Andrea, for Karolina, Mirka . . . Tatiana.

And for Mark. As with the girls, the person who’d killed him had never been caught.

T
he church
of Our Lady of Grace and St Edward on Chiswick High Road was a dreary, industrial-looking building. Its square red brick structure was more suited to being a Victorian water pumping station than a church. In its tall plain tower, a bell tolled, but the traffic moved past unceasingly. A hearse gleamed in the grey morning light, the back windows packed with a rainbow of flowers. Erika waited on the opposite side of Chiswick High Road, watching between the traffic as the mourners filed in.

She could just make out, amongst the gloom of the front doors, Simon, Giles, and David. They were dressed in black suits and giving out the order of service. The mourners were well dressed, and much older than Andrea. As Erika watched, three former members of Tony Blair’s cabinet climbed out of a sleek Mercedes and were greeted warmly by Simon when they entered the church. A small group of photographers had been permitted to attend the funeral, and they were stationed on the pavement at a distance, their shutters clicking almost respectfully.

It was a story that needed no prompting or staging. A girl had died, far too young, and people were here to grieve. Of course, this wasn’t the final chapter. Marco Frost was due to stand trial in the coming months, and no doubt the complex and sordid details of Andrea’s life and death would be replayed, rehashed, and debated anew. However, for now, this was a full stop, the closing of one part.

A smart BMW pulled up at the kerb. Marsh and Assistant Commander Oakley emerged in black suits. Marcie and the Assistant Commander’s smart middle-aged wife followed behind, also in black. They moved quickly to the church entrance, pausing to talk to Simon and Giles, and to hug David, who seemed vulnerable, despite being taller than both Giles and his father.

The last mourners to arrive were Andrea’s mother, Linda, and the elderly lady with the hooded eyes. A limousine pulled up at the pavement and Linda bustled out and round to the opposite door, where she helped Diana from the car. Both she and the old woman, whose name Erika still didn’t know, were painfully thin, chic and elegant in black. Linda was swathed in a shapeless black tent, a dark woollen jacket, and she had a large wooden crucifix hung around her neck. Her mousy hair was neat, but looked as if someone had placed a bowl on her head and cut round it. Her face was devoid of make-up and she looked, even in the chill, to be sweating. The photographers took a keen interest and clicked away. Diana and the old woman bowed their heads, but Linda stared up at the cameras defiantly. Erika waited a few more minutes until it looked like the last mourners were inside, crossed the road and slipped into the church.

S
he took
a seat at the end of a pew at the back of the packed church. A beautiful ornate wooden coffin rested on a plinth in front of the altar, decked in a spray of white flowers. The Douglas-Brown family sat on the front pew, and as the church organ petered out, Erika noticed Diana looking frantically around as the church hushed. The vicar, dressed in crisp white robes, moved to the front and seemed to look for a signal that it was appropriate to begin. However, Simon shook his head. He then leaned in under the brim of Diana’s huge hat, where they seemed to confer. Linda leaned in on the other side and joined the discussion. Erika realised what they were talking about: David was missing from the pew. Linda then got up, and standing at the front in full view of the congregation, just a few feet from Andrea’s coffin, placed a call on her phone. The vicar was now waiting awkwardly by the altar. Linda said a few words before being cut off. She tried the number again, and held the phone out to her father.

‘Linda . . .
Linda
,’ said Simon, beckoning her over. Linda huffed and stood her ground, before relenting and walking over. Her father took the phone and the conversation became quite heated. Erika couldn’t make out what was being said, but his angry tone reverberated around the church. The congregation was now shifting uneasily. The scene juxtaposed uncomfortably with the polished, flower-topped coffin. The murmur of Simon’s voice stopped abruptly, and Erika shifted in her pew to see what was happening.

It was then that she heard, from her seat by the door, the faint sound of a mobile phone ringtone. Simon stood and moved off to the side of the church, a phone to his ear. Erika rose from her seat and slipped out of the church.

H
ouses and shops
were heavily built up nearby, leaving the courtyard out front and a thin strip of flagstones along one side of the church, which backed onto a high wall. David stood by the high wall with an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He tucked his phone inside his suit jacket.

Erika moved over to him. ‘Need a light?’ she asked, pulling out her cigarettes and lighter.

He peered at her for a second and then leaned in to her lighter, cupping his hands around the flame, and puffing furiously as the end of the cigarette glowed red. Erika lit one herself and took a drag.

‘You okay?’ she asked, tucking her cigarettes back in her coat pocket. David was painfully thin, with sunken cheeks. His skin was honey-coloured, and there was a smattering of acne under his cheekbones. Despite this, his face was still handsome. He had the same brown eyes and full lips as Andrea. He squinted at Erika and shrugged.

‘Why aren’t you in there for the service?’ asked Erika.

‘It’s all bullshit . . . My parents have planned this pretentious tribute, which is
nothing
to do with who Andrea was. She was a slut, she was loud and crass, and she had the attention span of an insect. But she was so good, so much fun to have around. I hate that phrase, “she lit up a room”
.
It’s trotted out all the time, but it was true of her. God, why did it have to be Andrea and not Lin . . .’ His voice tailed off and he looked ashamed.

‘Linda?’

‘No. I didn’t mean that. Although I think Linda is so desperate for attention she’d quite like to be brutally murdered. It would be more interesting to write on her Facebook profile than, “I work as a florist and I like cats . . .”’ David began to cry. ‘Shit, shit, shit; I vowed I wouldn’t use these,’ he said, pulling a little pack of tissues from his pocket.

‘Look. David. You’ll regret it if you don’t go in there. Trust me, you need closure. Another overused phrase, I know.’

David blew his nose and pulled another tissue from the pack. ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

‘I’ve come to pay my respects.’

‘You know, my parents blame you for the media coverage.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I think Andrea was always honest about dating men, about loving sex.’

‘What about Giles?’

‘He wanted a trophy wife. A nice thoroughbred to mix up the gene pool. Too many cousins have married in his family. You must have noticed he’s a little carny.’

‘Carny?’

‘Little carnival circus folk . . .’

‘Right.’

‘Sorry, I’m being an arse.’

‘You’ve got the right to be one, today of all days,’ said Erika.

‘Yes, and you’ve caught the killer. Marco Frost.’

Erika took a drag of her cigarette.

‘You don’t think he is the killer, do you?’

‘How’s your mum coping?’ asked Erika.

‘If you want to change the subject, choose a less stupid question. You look far from stupid, though,’ said David, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

‘Okay,’ said Erika, pulling out a copy of the photo of Andrea in the bar with the dark-haired man. ‘Have you ever seen this man?’

‘Smooth segue,’ said David.

‘David. Please. It’s important,’ said Erika. She watched his face. He took the photo and chewed his lip.

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because Linda was there that night as well.’

‘Well, I wasn’t,’ said David.

‘I don’t believe this,’ said a voice. Erika turned and saw Simon was approaching across the courtyard. His head was tilted to one side and his brown eyes flashed with anger. Diana teetered behind on high heels, her hat and shades giving little away.

‘Do you have no respect?’ he said, squaring up to Erika, his face close to hers. She refused to be intimidated and stared back at him.

‘David, why are you out here?’ said Diana when she reached them, her voice breaking.

‘I’m asking David if he’s seen this man; a man I believe . . .’ started Erika. Simon snatched the photo, crushing it into a ball and throwing it down. He grabbed Erika’s arm and started to drag her across the courtyard.

‘I’m sick of you fucking around in my business,’ he shouted. Erika tried to pull away from his grip, but he held on fast and kept dragging her towards the road.

‘I’m doing this for you, for Andrea . . .’ said Erika.

‘No. You’re doing this to advance your grubby little career. If I catch you near my family again, there’ll be a restraining order. My lawyer says I have grounds!’

They reached the kerb just as a taxi was pulling past. Simon put up his arm and it dived into the space in front of them. He wrenched open the door and shoved Erika inside, cracking her head on the door as he did.

‘Take this cunt far away,’ he spat through the driver’s window, throwing down a fifty-pound note.

Erika stared at him through the door. His brown eyes were raging.

‘You all right, love?’ said the taxi driver, looking at her through the rear view mirror.

‘Yes, just go,’ she said.

The taxi pulled out into the traffic and Erika watched Simon Douglas-Brown glaring after her from the kerb. David was slowly walking back to the church entrance, his mother’s arm hooked through his.

Erika rubbed her arm through her leather jacket, throbbing from Simon’s powerful grip.