It was light when he and Grendel arrived back at the farmhouse, and as they turned the corner by the carport, Morris was sitting on the open boot of his car. He had on one wellington boot, and was just pulling on the second over a bare foot with long yellow toenails. Darryl tightened his grip on Grendel’s lead.
‘You keep that bloody dog on its lead,’ said Morris, flinching as Darryl squeezed past with Grendel, who was growling.
Darryl glanced inside the open boot and saw a coiled length of thin chain, and a leather hood with eyeholes.
Morris turned and swiftly slammed it shut.
‘Got a problem?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Darryl, moving quickly to the steps up to the back door.
‘Me and… er… the girlfriend, she likes it kinky,’ said Morris, tipping his head at the closed boot.
Darryl shrugged. ‘None of my business.’
‘No. It’s not… And it’s up to us what we do in the bedroom…’
Morris was shaking, almost a little afraid.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Darryl. He was now at the back door and he reached for the handle. Morris moved to the bottom of the steps, and Grendel’s growls went up a notch.
‘Good, you stick to that. Just remember your fucking mutt won’t always be there to protect you.’ He stared at Darryl for a long moment, then locked his car with the key fob, and limped off to the yard.
Darryl watched him, unease creeping into his stomach. Then he unclipped Grendel’s lead, and took her back into the warmth of the house.
Chapter Seventeen
When Erika arrived at the New Scotland Yard building on Monday morning, she was shown straight in to the Assistant Commissioner’s office. Instead of indicating the chair in front of her desk, Camilla Brace-Cosworthy led Erika to a couple of armchairs by the large floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Thames. Her assistant brought in a tray with a pot of coffee and biscuits as Erika sat down with her back to the glass. She thought how exhausted Camilla appeared; her blonde shoulder-length hair was as sleek as ever, but her pale face was haggard and devoid of make-up. The assistant, a smart young man with striking green eyes, gave her a nod and a smile, and left.
I’ve been summoned, but for coffee and biscuits; this could be interesting, thought Erika.
‘Shall I be mother?’ said Camilla, lifting the coffee pot. She was well spoken, with a fruity upper-class accent. It made Erika feel conscious that she flattened her vowels. ‘Childhood eczema flared up again for no rhyme or reason,’ she added, noting how Erika had studied her face. ‘I’ve had to retire the warpaint for a few days… Cream?’
‘No, thank you.’ They sat back and sipped at their coffee. Erika eyed the biscuits on the little three-tiered china stand; expensive-looking ginger thins half dipped in dark chocolate. She was starving, but felt that if she took one she’d somehow be buying into the bullshit that this was just a chat over coffee.
‘How are you, Erika?’
‘Fine, thank you, ma’am.’
‘Are you? One of your colleagues just died. You tried to revive him, and failed…’ She tilted her head in sympathy.
‘It was a terrible tragedy, ma’am, but my training kicked in. And I didn’t really know Superintendent Sparks. Nor did I fail. He had a colossal heart attack.’
‘Yes, of course… But you worked together on more than one case. When you were first assigned to Lewisham Row, you replaced him on the Andrea Douglas-Brown murder enquiry.’
The Andrea Douglas-Brown murder had been the highest profile case in Erika’s career; Andrea’s body was found under the ice in the boating lake of a South London park.
‘I had Sparks removed from that case.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s all on record, ma’am.’
‘Yes. You thought he was sloppy in his investigative style, and that he helped suppress evidence,’ said Camilla, sipping her coffee.
‘No. Andrea Douglas-Brown’s father was a high-profile member of the Establishment. And I thought Sparks had allowed himself to be star-struck by Simon Douglas-Brown. Sparks allowed him to influence our enquiries.’
‘Had you been in contact with him recently?’
‘Simon Douglas-Brown? No. He’s in prison.’
‘I’m talking about Superintendent Sparks, and in particular the meeting you had with him in Greenwich at the Crown pub the night before he died…’
Erika didn’t let her surprise show.
‘It seems odd you met him socially, Erika, if there was so much animosity between you?’
‘I’d been talking to him about joining one of his investigations. I’d doorstepped him to be honest, ma’am. He did say he thought he was being followed. I assumed he was being paranoid, but obviously not.’ Camilla tilted her head and kept her gaze even. ‘Ma’am. Is this a formal interview? The coffee and posh biscuits make me think not, but why am I here?’
‘Erika, I can confirm Superintendent Sparks was under covert investigation.’
‘By who?’
‘By whom? I can’t go into that. What I can tell you is that I have reason to believe we weren’t the only people paying his wages.’
‘Can I ask who else you think was paying his wages?’
‘No. You can’t.’
‘Me and Sparks were enemies. I don’t know the first thing about his work relationships, or his personal life. Well, I know him and his wife were having problems.’
‘What kind of problems?’
Erika briefly outlined what she had overheard when she went to Sparks’s home. When she had finished, Camilla rose, went over to the window and looked out at the view over the Thames. There was a long silence.
‘Erika, when you worked on the Andrea Douglas-Brown case, were you party to any meetings with Superintendent Sparks and Sir Simon Douglas-Brown?’
‘You mean Simon Douglas-Brown. He was stripped of his title. Let’s not forget that.’
‘Answer the question, please.’
‘From the beginning of the investigation, I was closed out of meetings with the family. Simon wanted to retain Sparks as SIO. His wife wasn’t keen on me either.’
‘Why not?’
‘Like me she’s Slovak. I think I reminded her of where she came from.’
‘And where is that?’
‘The wrong side of the tracks… A working-class family. Look, I’m the last person who can give you any information about potential corruption in the force. I focus on policing, not politics.’
Camilla turned from the window and laughed.
‘So you infer that you are squeaky clean?’
‘I’m squeakier than most, ma’am. I’m not afraid to speak my mind. It’s the reason I was passed over for promotion by your predecessor.’
She came back from the window and sat down.
‘Erika, are you aware of the Gadd family?’
‘Yes. They’re well known to the police in South London. They’ve been allowed to operate their import/export business a little too freely, in return for keeping order in the area.’
‘How are you aware of that?’