Erika left Isaac’s house just before nine o’clock. The air was clear but very cold and she sat inside her car for a few minutes, waiting for the heater to kick in. She had been intending to go home, had promised Isaac that she would go straight home and get a good night’s sleep, but the idea of speaking to Sparks came back to her. She’d heard him talking, once, about a new place he and his wife had bought in Greenwich, and Greenwich was close to Blackheath.
She looked back to Isaac’s house and saw him watching her from his window, making sure she got home safely. She started her engine and gave him a wave as she drove off. Once around the corner, she pulled over and made a call to control at Bromley Police Station. When she came off the phone, she eyed the clock on the dashboard.
‘Nothing to lose,’ she said as she started the engine and pulled away again.
* * *
Superintendent Sparks lived in a shabby house in an up-and-coming area. She parked at the end of his road and walked the hundred yards to his house. As she approached the front gate, she could see the front room was empty. A light was on, just a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a ladder resting against one wall, where a block of light blue had been painted over the beige wall, and a tray of paint with a roller sat at the base of the ladder. Erika walked up the small front path, past the glare spilling out from the bay window and into the shadows by the front door. The hall light was off, and as she raised her hand to ring the bell, she heard shouting from inside.
‘He’s long gone… He wasn’t going to stay around, was he?’ cried a female voice.
‘So you did it. You admit it?’ came a male voice. Sparks.
‘Yes! I DID IT, and it was GREAT!’
‘You are such a cliché,’ he shouted.
‘I’m a WHAT?’
‘A CLICHé! A painter and decorator!’
‘So what? He made me feel alive! Having a fancy degree in criminology doesn’t mean you know how to fuck! He fucked me like a proper man!’ The woman’s voice was cracking with hysteria.
Erika winced, but she was transfixed. The voices dropped to a murmur and she strained to hear.
‘How much have you had?’ said Sparks.
‘How much sex have I had?’ she shouted. ‘LOADS! In our bed. IN YOUR BED!’
‘Why is this bottle empty?’
‘What? I’m not suicidal. Far from it!’
‘You only got this new prescription last week,’ said Sparks. His voice sounded broken.
‘I’m not sorry. Do you HEAR ME! I’M NOT SORRY! I DON’T LOVE YOU ANY MORE, ANDY.’
There was silence. It was the first time that Erika had heard Sparks’s first name. She knew she had to go, but then there was a huge crash and a tinkling of glass. The front door opened.
‘Crazy bitch!’ Sparks shouted over his shoulder. He turned and stopped, staring at Erika. He wore jeans and a jumper, and a black leather jacket. The left shoulder was splashed with what looked like milk. A small dark-haired woman lurched up the hall behind him. Her eyes were unfocused and her hair in disarray. She held a bag of flour and threw it at him, but it missed and exploded against the wall.
‘Who the hell is that scrawny bitch?’ she said, pointing at Erika, who was backing away to the front gate. ‘Yeah, go on, you screw HER!’
The woman rushed at Sparks and gave him a shove outside, and the door was slammed shut behind him. There was a scrabbling as the locks were turned and the chain put on.
Sparks stalked past Erika, and out onto the street.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, following him, the sheen of milk on the back of his jacket glistening under the orange from the streetlights and dripping off the hem.
‘What the hell are you doing at my house?’ he said, still walking.
‘I came about the case, the case you’ve been working on.’
‘And you think this is a good time?’
‘No, I don’t. I didn’t know you were having…’
He stopped dead, and turned. Erika almost crashed into him.
‘This must be funny for you, Erika. Is it? Having a good laugh?’
‘No. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out some face wipes, indicating the milk as she handed them to him.
He took them and tried to wipe at his shoulder with his opposite hand, but he couldn’t reach. Erika took another out of the packet, and was surprised when he let her wipe the milk away.
‘She’s had problems for years… That was the alcohol. Not her,’ he said. Under the streetlights he looked like a ghoul. His eyes were etched with deep circles and his cheeks hollow. Erika kept on scrubbing at the base of his leather jacket. ‘Do you understand? She’s ill.’
His jacket was now clean. Erika bunched up the wet wipes and nodded. ‘I understand.’
Headlights appeared round the corner and a car moved slowly past. Sparks turned away from its glare. When it had passed, he turned back to her.
‘Why did you come to my house?’
‘It’s about the Lacey Greene murder case.’
‘What?’
‘The girl who was found in the dumpster, near New Cross.’
‘Melanie has arrested someone for that, a dosser off the street. Found with her wallet; we have two witnesses…’
‘Yes, but I’ve found another case, where there are similarities, well not just similarities. The method of killing is exactly the same…’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the file. ‘I’m serious. Look, can we do this somewhere else?’He looked at her for a long moment.
‘Please. I just want to give you the information so the case can be solved.’
‘There’s a pub at the end of the road. You’re buying,’ he said. He turned and walked away.
Erika followed, convinced he needed an excuse to have a drink more than he wanted to talk to her.
Chapter Thirteen
The pub was small and cosy, with tatty furniture, and horse brasses on the dark walls. They found a quiet corner, away from a darts match and the big screen showing sports. Erika bought them each a pint of lager, and she was surprised when Sparks listened to what she had to say.
When she’d finished, he sifted through the report in front of him on the polished table, taking care to mask the crime scene photos when a large bloke from the darts team lumbered past to the toilets.
‘The first thing we need to do is go back and confirm where Steven Pearson was when Janelle Robinson went missing,’ said Erika. ‘We need to rule him out, but as I said, I don’t think he was capable of a planned abduction. I’d like to see all of Lacey’s phone records, social media—’
‘Hang on, hang on. Melanie has been assigned as SIO on this. I won’t replace her. She’s worked hard, and she’s a bloody good copper. I agreed to have a drink and listen,’ he said, indicating the last few inches of his pint.
‘Okay. I’d like to assist. Be involved as an advisor. You know I have experience with cases like these.’