‘Yes, we’re students at Goldsmiths University,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m reading English, so is Aashirya. Josh is on the Art course.’
‘Did you hear or see anything suspicious in the last few days, anyone hanging around those dumpsters, or the kitchen showroom car park?’
Aashirya shifted in her seat, her arms crossed over her lap. Her large eyes watching the CSIs who were now filing past their house into the car park. ‘This is a rough area, there’s always shouts and screams at night,’ she said and started to cry.
Rachel leaned over to give her a hug. Josh chewed what was left of the chocolate and found it hard to swallow.
‘What do you mean, shouts and screams?’ asked Erika.
‘There’s four pubs, a big student population, and lots of these flats are housing association,’ said Rachel primly. ‘This is South London. There’s crime on every corner.’
The car windows were now steaming up. Erika let that go and adjusted the heater.
‘Who found the body?’
‘It was Josh,’ said Rachel. ‘He sent me a message to come outside.’
‘Sent you a message?’
‘A text message,’ said Josh as if she were being dim. Erika again was struck by the age gap. Her first instinct would have been to run inside and tell them, but Josh reached for his phone. ‘Our bin was full, and the ones at the showroom can’t have been used over Christmas, so I thought they would be empty.’
‘We all came outside,’ said Aashirya.
‘What time was this?’ asked Erika.
‘Seven thirty-ish,’ said Josh.
‘What time does the kitchen showroom close?’
‘It’s been closed ever since the new year. We heard that the bloke who owns it has gone bankrupt,’ replied Josh.
‘So it’s been very quiet over the last few days?’
They all nodded.
‘Do you recognise the victim? Another student, or a local girl?’ asked Erika.
They shook their heads, wincing at the memory of the dead girl.
‘We’ve only lived here since September, we’re first years,’ said Josh.
‘When can we go back to our flat?’ asked Rachel.
‘It’s part of the crime scene and these things take time,’ said Erika.
‘Can you be more specific, officer?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’
‘It was probably a prostitute, the girl in the dumpster,’ added Rachel primly, adjusting the lapels of her dressing gown. ‘It’s that kind of area.’
‘Do you know any prostitutes in the area?’ asked Erika.
‘No!’
‘So how do you know she was a prostitute?’
‘Well, how else would a girl find herself… How else could that happen?’
‘Rachel, being naive and judgemental won’t get you far in life,’ said Erika.
Rachel pressed her lips together and looked at the steamed-up window beside her.
‘Is there anything else that you can tell me. Anything you saw, however small? Despite the usual weirdos, there was no one hanging around. No one who drew suspicion?’ They shook their heads. ‘What about the neighbours opposite? What are they like?’ asked Erika, indicating the line of dark houses on the other side of the road.
‘We don’t really know them. A mix of students and there’s a couple of old ladies,’ said Josh.
‘Where are we going to stay?’ asked Aashirya in a small voice.
‘A friend of mine has given me the keys to his place, so I can feed his cat. We could go there?’ suggested Josh.
‘Where is it?’ asked Erika.
‘Near Ladywell.’
‘Officer, what happens now?’ asked Rachel. ‘Do we have to come to court or take part in a line-up?’
Erika felt sorry for them; they were only young, and just a few months ago had left home to come and live in one of the rougher areas of London.
‘You might be called to court, but that would be at a much later date,’ said Erika. ‘For now, we can offer counselling. I can see about emergency accommodation, but it will take time. If you can give me the address, I can see about you getting a lift over to this friend’s place? We will need to talk to you again, though, and get your official statements.’
Aashirya had herself more under control and was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Erika rummaged in her bag for a tissue.
‘Do any of you need to phone your parents?’
‘I’ve got my phone,’ said Rachel, patting the pocket of her dressing gown.
‘My mum works nights,’ said Josh.
‘My phone is still in the flat. I’d like to ring my father, please,’ said Aashirya, taking a tissue from Erika.
‘Use my phone, hun,’ said Josh, passing his phone between the seats.
Aashirya dialled in a number and waited, the phone pressed to the material of her hijab. Josh wiped the condensation from the window. The pathologist’s van had arrived, and they were wheeling a stretcher over the pavement and into the car park.
‘She was dumped like a piece of rubbish,’ he said. ‘Who would do that?’
Erika stared through the window, and wanted badly to know the answer to that same question. Sparks appeared at the gate, dressed in crime scene overalls, and she knew the only thing she could do right now was leave.
Chapter Five
Erika woke up alone the next morning. She had hoped Peterson might call with more information from the crime scene, but when she switched on her phone there were no missed calls or messages.
It took longer than usual to drive to work; the gritters had been out overnight, but it was slow going on the grimy slush-covered roads. When she finally reached Bromley, the town centre was grey, and the morning light was struggling through a bank of low clouds. Snow continued to fall, melting as it hit the gritted roads, but it was cold enough to lie on the pavements. Bromley Police Station sat at the bottom of the high street, opposite the train station and a large Waitrose supermarket. Pale-faced commuters were filing into the station, past an impatient line at the small coffee shop.
She parked in the underground car park, and took the lift up to the ground floor. Several of the uniformed officers were coming off the night shift, and they said hello in greeting as she made her way past the staff locker rooms to the tiny kitchen. She made a cup of tea, and took it upstairs to the corner office she’d been assigned, sighing when she saw a pile of fresh files waiting on her desk. She was picking through them when there was a tap on her door. She looked up to see Detective Constable John McGorry, a handsome, dark-haired officer in his mid-twenties.
‘Alright, boss?’
‘Morning, John. What can I do for you?’
‘Have you had a chance to look over my application?’
Late the previous year, John had been part of Erika’s team during a historical missing person case, and after its successful conclusion, John had started the process of applying for the rank of detective sergeant.
‘Sorry, John. I’ll look at it today… It’s been, well, Christmas and everything.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ he said with a grin.
Erika felt rotten. She’d had his application form since the week before Christmas. She sat down at her desk and logged into her mailbox to find the attachment, but was distracted by a new email:
ATTN: DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR FOSTER,
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