Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (11)

‘She never used those knives,’ said Tess, instantly.

‘Did you know a knife was missing from the set?’

‘No. No. Why would I know that?’

The mention of a knife seemed to take her back to what she’d seen. Erika watched Tess as she pulled the grubby wine-coloured fleece closed, and seemed to shrink in the seat. Had she intended to leave the house today? On closer scrutiny, she was very well-spoken, the co-owner of what she insisted was an upmarket restaurant, and yet she was dressed so scruffily.

‘Was tonight a planned visit? Was Vicky expecting you?’

‘As I told you, she was due to work the lunchtime shift today. I left messages on her mobile, but she hadn’t got back to me. That’s why I came over tonight… I was…’

‘Was?’

‘Was ready to shout at her… It’s not the first time she’s been a no-show.’ Tess dissolved into tears.

‘What’s been the reason before for her no-show?’

‘Any number of things. She’s hungover, she has an audition, although that one happens less frequently these days. And then sometimes she just can’t be bothered. She knows I’ll never fire her.’

‘Why wouldn’t you fire her?’ asked Erika.

‘I’m all she has, had… I can’t believe I have to use the past tense now when I talk about her. My husband always tells me we should keep work and family separate. And now… Vicky.’ She broke down again. Erika made some notes.

‘You’re doing very well, we’re almost done,’ said Moss, reaching out to touch Tess’s hand, but she pulled it away.

‘Where did Vicky sleep? Her bedroom seems to be an office or recording studio?’

‘On the sofa bed…’ Tess sighed, as if it embarrassed her. ‘Vicky’s an actress, and work is always, let’s say, sparse. She recently converted her bedroom into a recording studio so she could make money narrating audiobooks, but that never quite worked out. She’d been doing a podcast, and, working for us to make ends meet.’

‘What kind of podcast?’ asked Moss.

‘I can’t remember,’ said Tess. Erika could see she was starting to withdraw again, which was understandable.

‘You’ve kept your maiden name? You gave us your name as Tess Clarke?’ said Erika. Tess sat back and sighed.

‘Maiden. That’s such a quaint word… It’s a long time since I felt like a maiden…’ Her face crumpled and she looked exhausted and broken. She sighed and wiped her eyes. ‘My husband’s surname is also Clark, but without an “e”. It’s caused a lot of hassle, getting that “e” removed,’ she said ruefully. Erika wondered who the hassle came from, the authorities or her husband.

‘What’s your husband’s name?’

‘Jasper Clark… No “e”.’

‘Do you have other siblings?’

‘No. Our parents are in a nursing home on the south coast. Oh, God. How am I going to tell them? They both have dementia… I can’t believe what’s happened. I can’t believe she’s dead.’

Tess broke down completely, sobbing into her hands.





7





Erika and Moss watched from the steps of the van as Tess was driven home with her newly-assigned police Family Liaison Officer. Despite her scruffy clothes and unkempt hair, there was a certain nobility to how she held herself, staring straight ahead in the back of the car. Erika looked back to Moss, who was rubbing her shoulder.

‘You okay?’

‘I had to go hard on Charles Wakefield’s door when I broke it down,’ she said.

‘He gave us probable cause to enter…’ Erika mulled things over for a moment. Would it stand up in court, if a judge asked her to justify a search? She looked back at the busy crime scene, and thought of the brutality of the murder. ‘Come on, while we have the chance, let’s take a look inside his flat.’

They went back into the building, and pulled on fresh Tyvek suits. The bright forensic lamps shone out of Vicky’s front door as they passed, and Erika noted that lights had the same effect on the lobby, illuminating the grease spots on the fading parquet floor tiles and the chipped paintwork.

The front door to Charles’s flat was at the end of a short corridor leading off the lobby, next to a lift and staircase. Erika pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves and pushed the door open with her elbow. She found a light switch and flicked it on. The entrance had a small hallway carpeted in a faded orange and yellow diamond pattern. When Moss pulled the door closed, a heavy silence seemed to descend. A clock ticked.

The flat had that fusty smell of other people. Erika could never quite put her finger on exactly what that was… It was never entirely unpleasant, like the smell of earwax, mixed with skin, slightly unwashed hair, and an unfamiliar cleaning product that doesn’t quite win the battle for cleanliness.

The overhead light had a heavy shade, leaving the corners of the hallway in gloom. A rotary dial phone sat on top of the phone book and the Yellow Pages on a small shelf under a tall thin mirror.

‘Jeez. That made me jump,’ said Erika, feeling a surge of panic. She indicated a coat stand behind the door, which held a long black trench coat with a black trilby hat on the hook above.