‘It doesn’t take much to pick up the phone, does it?’ she was saying. She looked a little like Ella, although not quite as pretty. The manager was handsome with floppy dark hair, and he was struggling to change the till roll. He muttered something non-committal as Cerys went on: ‘Ella’s not committed. Students live in a fantasy land of parties and booze. I even heard her talk about drugs.’
She had her hand on one hip, and was twirling a strand of her long blonde hair as she spoke. Her only priority is to get into the manager’s trousers, thought Darryl. He approached the checkout counter. The manager was now finished with the till roll.
‘I was recommended Ella by a friend of her mum and dad,’ he said. ‘She’s reliable. I don’t understand why she hasn’t called. I’m going to give them a buzz.’
Cerys turned to Darryl, but her eyes were on the manager as he retreated through a door at the back of the shop.
‘Can I have a small cappuccino?’ he said.
‘What’s the name?’ she asked, picking up a paper cup and a black marker.
‘Skank.’
She scribbled it down and then hesitated, looking up at him. ‘Sorry, what’s your name?’
‘Surname is Skank, first name Cerys…’ She looked confused, finally noticing him, the marker still poised above the cup. Darryl went on, ‘My mistake, that’s your name. Cerys Skank. Your manager is married, Cerys. With two small kids… Think about it.’
He left her with her mouth open, and went out onto Borough High Street. He knew what he’d just done was idiotic, but it was worth it to see the look on her face. All women were bitches, and you had to know how to treat them.
He thought of Ella back at the farm, and he knew tonight would be the night.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Erika had been assigned a small room at the end of the communal office at West End Central. It barely fitted a desk, chair and a filing cabinet, and it had a thin window looking out over the rear of the building. She hadn’t used it much, preferring to stay with the team in their glass-partitioned section, but this afternoon, with the press appeal looming, she needed some time and space to go through what she was going to say. She cared deeply about the victims, and like so many of the cases she had worked on over the years, it was not only the terrible circumstances of the victims’ deaths which haunted her, it was the lives that had been snuffed out prematurely. Young women with so much life left to live: careers, babies, holidays, and all those joys now denied them.
There was a knock at the door and Peterson came in. He saw her face, and the desk strewn with paperwork.
‘Hey, I’ve just had Colleen, the police media liaison, on the phone. There should be a good turnout from the press, so she wants to use the larger conference room at the Thistle Hotel in Marylebone.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. Peterson closed the door, moved behind her chair, and started to massage her neck.
‘That’s good, but not now,’ she said, pushing his hands away.
‘Erika. You’re tense.’
‘And you’re at work. We’re at work.’ She ducked out from under his hands, and twisted the chair to face him.
His soft brown eyes narrowed. ‘We’re in your office, with the door closed.’
He twisted her chair back round, and started to work on her shoulders again.
‘It’s your bed… I’m not used to sleeping on such a soft bed,’ she said, tipping her head back and enjoying the release on her tense shoulders.
‘Erika, that’s a really expensive memory foam mattress.’
There was a knock at the door and Moss entered, just as Erika said: ‘Well, it’s not hard enough for me…’
‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’ said Moss, looking between them. Peterson dropped his hands.
‘No, we were… It’s fine,’ said Erika, sifting through the papers in front of her.
‘And we were talking about my mattress, my mattress not being hard…’ said Peterson, moving back around the desk.
‘It’s memory foam. The mattress. Very soft,’ added Erika. There was an awkward pause.
‘Thank God for that,’ grinned Moss. ‘Although I do have a friend who’s tried Viagra, and he says it’s changed his life… Another friend thinks laughter is the best medicine, but I suppose that’s not very helpful when it’s things going soft.’
‘A soft mattress is very good for you,’ said Peterson, a little defensively. Erika and Moss started to laugh. ‘It is!’
‘Come on, I’m only teasing,’ said Moss, giving Peterson a nudge.
‘Idiot.’ He grinned. Erika was pleased they’d had the opportunity to laugh, even for a moment. It had broken the tension.
‘Okay, okay, we’re at work. Let’s act like it,’ she said.
‘Of course, sorry,’ said Moss. ‘Right. I came in here to ask if Sada Pence from the YMCA, Janelle Robinson’s friend, is taking part in the press appeal?’
‘When I spoke to her, I got the impression she was the closest thing Janelle had to family,’ said Peterson.
‘Colleen has just found out that Sada has another job, working as a lap dancer at one of the seedier clubs in Soho,’ said Moss.
‘Shit,’ said Erika.‘If we put her in front of the cameras, the press could dig around and use that as their angle…’
‘Seedy double life of murder victim’s best friend,’ agreed Peterson.
‘We’ve already got concerns about Lacey’s past relationship with Geraldine Corn,’ added Moss. ‘You know how it works. If she was a lesbian, then it wouldn’t matter as much, but the fact that she dated both men and women, well, that’s just too much for the press who suddenly find themselves all moral and judgemental.’
‘Okay. I can add something in, so I can appeal on behalf of Janelle,’ said Erika. ‘Tell Colleen that I can email something over to her in the next twenty minutes.’
‘Yes, boss,’ said Moss and she left the office.
Erika turned and stared out of the tiny window looking down to the small square of the concrete courtyard below.
‘She had no one, Janelle. No one in life and no one in death,’ said Erika. ‘How does that happen? Some people’s lives are so full of family and friends, and others walk through life alone.’
‘You’ve got me,’ said Peterson. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘I wasn’t talking about me…’
‘I know.’
‘Thanks, James… But I need to get on,’ she said, her face still turned to the window.
Peterson left, closing the door. It was only then that Erika turned back and wiped away a tear.
Chapter Forty
That afternoon, Erika went over to the Thistle Hotel where the media appeal was being set up in the large conference room. A line of huge windows looked out over the low grey sky and the traffic slowly churning around Marble Arch. She was taken through to see Lacey’s parents, Charlotte and Don, who were waiting in a smaller adjacent room. They looked as if they’d shrunk in stature, sitting at a table with Colleen, a sturdy woman with short dark hair. Colleen was excellent at her job, but part of this meant that she disconnected from the situation, taking out the human element.