‘Okay, I’ll get off the line,’ said Moss. ‘Let me know what’s happening.’
The doors were now closing. This was her last chance to get on the train and go up north. The doors closed. Erika answered her phone.
‘DCI Foster. How are you?’ asked Marsh, sounding insincere and panicky.
‘I now know how a chicken feels seconds before death,’ she quipped.
The train clicked and whirred and pulled away from the platform.
‘Sorry I didn’t get in contact, it’s been—’
‘Yes, I’ve heard you had to release Marco Frost.’
‘Would you be willing to come into the station? We need to talk,’ he said.
Erika paused and watched the train move into the distance, vanishing round a bend. ‘I can be there in fifteen minutes, sir,’ she said. She picked up her case, looked at the real world, which she had briefly felt she might join, and then hurried towards the station exit.
52
There was a fight going on in the reception area when Erika entered Lewisham Row Station. Two teenage boys hit the concrete floor with a hollow thud, and began to roll around, goaded on by assorted siblings and their equally young mothers. The larger boy clambered on top of the smaller and started to punch his face, the teeth of the smaller boy blurring pink with blood. Woolf waded into the fray, supported by a couple of uniformed officers. Erika ducked through the fighting and was buzzed in through the inside door by Moss.
‘Shit, it’s good to see you back here,’ she said, as they started down the corridor.
‘Steady on. I’ve just been summoned, not invited,’ said Erika, feeling nervous and excited.
‘Well, Marsh is freaking out,’ Moss explained.
‘That’s what happens when you let outside parties dictate an investigation,’ said Erika.
They reached the door to Marsh’s office. Moss knocked and they went straight in. Marsh was pale and standing over his computer, watching the breaking news running across the BBC News website announcing that Marco Frost had been released.
‘Thank you, Detective Moss. DCI Foster, please sit.’
‘I’d like Moss to stay, sir. She’s been working on this whilst I’ve been—’
‘I’m aware of your, investigations.’
There was a brisk knock at the door and Marsh’s secretary poked her head round. ‘I’ve got Sir Simon Douglas-Brown on the line, says it’s urgent.’
Marsh pushed his hand through his short hair and looked harassed.
‘I’m in an important meeting here, please relay that, and I’ll call him back asap, thanks.’
The secretary nodded and left, closing the door.
‘I’m your important meeting?’ asked Erika. Marsh came round to his desk and sat. Erika and Moss each pulled up a chair.
Marsh attempted a smile. ‘Look, DCI Foster – Erika. What has happened is unfortunate. I admit you may have been treated unfairly, and I will address this properly in due course. However, we find ourselves suddenly in the midst of a crisis. We’re on the back foot here. I need all the information and insights you have from your alternative investigation.’
‘Which, I hope, will now become your priority investigation?’
‘I will be the judge of that. Just tell me everything you’ve got,’ said Marsh.
‘No,’ said Erika.
‘No?’
‘Boss. I’ll tell you everything, and I’ll outline my theories, when you’ve returned my badge and reinstated me as SIO on this investigation.’ Erika sat back and stared at Marsh.
‘Who do you think you are, to come in here—’ he started.
‘Okay. I’ll leave you to your chat with Sir Simon. Say hi from me.’ Erika got up to leave.
‘What you’re asking is near impossible. You’ve got a serious allegation against you, DCI Foster!’
‘I call bullshit. Assistant Commissioner Oakley was acting on orders from Simon Douglas-Brown to remove me from this case. Little Matthew Norris has been in and out of youth detention for years. He’s assaulted several social workers and, I’ll repeat, at the time I hit him, his teeth were latched into the back of my hand. Now if that’s what this whole case swings on, then fine, but you’ll be waving goodbye to someone who can catch this guy. And of course, I’ll repeat this to the press, because I won’t go quietly.’
Marsh ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Sir, Marco Frost has just pulled together an alibi and made you all look like a bunch of bumbling comedy policemen. Didn’t DCI Sparks think to do a few background checks? I mean for God’s sake. CCTV from a newsagent! Oh, and I’ll also make sure that the press know there’s a killer still out there on the loose thanks to you, DCI Sparks, and of course the sleek fox himself, Assistant Commissioner Oakley.’
Marsh looked as if he were going to explode. Erika stared at him, not looking away.
‘Put me back on the case and I’ll catch this bastard,’ she said.
Marsh got up and went to the window, looking out at the bleak January landscape. He turned. ‘For fuck’s sake. Okay. But you are on a very short leash, do you understand, DCI Foster?’
Moss gave Erika a small, triumphant smile.
‘I understand. Thank you, sir.’
Marsh came and sat back down. ‘Well, go on, give me your insights.’
‘Okay. Let’s go public with this. Launch a fresh appeal, and if you can pull some strings, let’s get a television reconstruction going. We’re going to face flack for Marco Frost, sir, and you need to be ready to bombard the press with all the things we are doing, so they concentrate on that, not all the things that we didn’t do.’
Marsh looked at Erika. She went on, ‘We’ve already celebrated once that we caught the killer. We can’t do it again unless we really do catch him. So let’s get ahead of the news cycle. Make George Mitchell our main focus. Flood the press with the image of him with Andrea . . . We also need a scapegoat. The press will want to see that someone is paying for this fuck-up. And I know just the person.’
53
Erika took a deep breath and opened the door to the incident room. DCI Sparks stood talking at the front by the white boards, which were stripped bare. The rest of the team sat around the room despondently.
Sparks looked angry and haggard, his long dark hair pulled back from his face and spots of grease blooming where his hair touched his collar. ‘I’ll be talking to you one by one, and I’ll be asking tough questions. We’re going to go back to the beginning and root out exactly who failed to check the basic fucking timeline of Marco Frost’s journey from boarding the train at London Bridge to . . .’
Sparks’s voice tailed off as he saw Erika enter with Moss.
‘You here to pick up your P45, Foster?’ he sneered. The rest of the officers remained stony-faced.
‘No, my badge, actually,’ said Erika, flashing it to Sparks. He looked confused. ‘Do you take the title SIO seriously, DCI Sparks?’
‘Well, seeing as only one of us has it, yes,’ he said. ‘Can I help you? I’m in the middle of a briefing here.’
‘SIO means Senior Investigating Officer. The “senior” part doesn’t mean you’re older then everyone and entitled to bully them when the shit hits the fan. It means you take responsibility for your fuck-ups.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Sparks, losing a little of his resolve.
‘That’s been the problem. I’ve been reinstated as SIO. And my first order is that you need to piss off to Marsh’s office.’
DCI Sparks froze.
‘Now, DCI Sparks.’
He stared at Erika, along with the rest of the incident room, and then he went slowly to his desk, picked up his coat and walked out. Before he was out of the door, Crane started to applaud. Other officers joined in, and Peterson put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Erika was touched, and looked down as she blushed.
‘All right you lot,’ she said. ‘It’s much appreciated, but there’s still a murderer out there.’ The applause died down. Erika went to the whiteboard at the front. She pinned up the picture of Andrea and George Mitchell.