Last Breath (Detective Erika Foster #4)

‘Crane, what is it? It’s five thirty in the morning,’ she said. She sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp and winced at its brightness. She saw she’d fallen asleep wearing her clothes.

‘Boss. The body of a young girl’s just been found in Beckenham… She’s got dark hair, and she’s been left in a dumpster.’

Erika sat up. ‘Is it Ella Wilkinson?’

‘We don’t know for sure, but everything points to it being her.’

Erika felt the floor under her feet fall away, and she had to steady herself on the edge of the mattress. ‘I’ll be there right away.’



* * *



It was just starting to get light as Erika pulled onto Copers Cope Road, in Beckenham, a long wide residential street dotted with large trees and a mixture of smart flats and older houses. She slowed past a couple of old houses, set back from the street with large polished bay windows, and then an apartment block came into view. Squad cars were lined up outside with their lights flashing, along with a large support vehicle, and the pathologist’s van. Erika parked at the end of the row and got out.

It was a modern red-brick building, set back from the road with a sweeping brickwork driveway. The pavement out front was cordoned off, and two large floodlights were accompanied by the whir of a petrol generator. To the right of the driveway was a small patch of lawn with some plants, and to the left a huge white crime scene tent had been erected, where lights glowed from inside. Glancing up, Erika could see that this building was overlooked on both sides. Lights were on in several of the windows, and the pale faces of residents could be seen peering down at the crime scene.

Erika showed her warrant card and pulled on a pair of pale blue crime scene coveralls. She ducked under the police tape, and was met by Crane, who looked just as rough as she felt. There was very little talking as they went over to the large white tent.

It was hot and cramped inside, and brightly lit by two large lights, where three large plastic dumpsters were housed under a small awning with a wooden roof.

Isaac Strong wore overalls and a face mask; he had two assistants working with him. The smell of the dumpsters under the hot lights made Erika’s stomach lurch.

‘Morning,’ he said softly. He indicated the middle dumpster, which was black. Its curved blue lid was pushed back.

Erika and Crane edged forward and looked over the edge and inside. A young girl lay on her back. She was filthy, and covered in dirt and dried blood. Her body was badly beaten, and her long dark hair was lank and greasy. As Lacey and Janelle had been, she was naked from the waist down. Her dark top was saturated with blood and it clung to her skin. Her forehead had a deep dent in it, and her left cheek had also collapsed. Crane looked away and put a hand to his mouth, but Erika forced herself to stare at the poor girl and take in what had been done.

‘That’s her,’ she said. ‘That’s Ella Wilkinson.’





Chapter Forty-Nine





Erika was glad of the cold air when they emerged from the tent and handed in their overalls.

‘We’ve got Martyn Lakersfield, the guy who found her,’ said Crane as they ducked back under the police tape.

An ambulance was parked further down the street, past the line of squad cars, with its back doors open. Martyn was sitting in the back dressed in jeans, a grubby Manchester United T-shirt, a denim jacket, and was wrapped in a red blanket. Erika thought how depressed he looked, with bags under his eyes and a bloated, unshaven face.

‘I understand that you found the body?’ said Erika, as she and Crane approached.

Martyn looked up at her and nodded. ‘I was just putting out the rubbish, when I saw him,’ he said.

‘Saw him?’ asked Erika, glancing at Crane.

‘I don’t sleep much. I always come out when it’s quiet and put it in the right bins. I don’t normally see anyone…’

‘Who did you see?’

‘A guy, I think, but he was wearing a baseball cap…’

‘Was he tall or short?’

‘Short. I think. A bit chubby. Although it happened so quickly. He had an odd stance.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Erika.

‘A stillness, a confidence. It was unnerving.’

‘And you’re sure you didn’t see his face?’

‘Positive. He ran off, but he looked like he was thinking whether he should stay and… I don’t know, deck me.’

‘Did he have a car?’ asked Crane.

‘He vanished around the corner. I think I heard an engine. He could have been parked round the hedge.’

‘Did you see a car?’

‘No.’

Erika ran her hands through her hair, not quite believing he’d managed to get away without being seen.

‘Which flat do you live in?’ she asked.

‘We’re the one there, third floor,’ he said, pointing to a window on the left-hand side of the building.

‘Is that window a bedroom or the kitchen?’ asked Erika.

‘Bathroom,’ he said. ‘All those windows at the front are bathrooms.’

Erika looked up and counted three floors with six windows.

‘Do you know if all the flats overlooking this front drive are occupied?’

‘There’s a woman downstairs; she’s old. I know they’re still trying to rent out the flat above. I know that because we had some noisy bastards in there who moved out last month… She looked like a young girl,’ he said, looking up at Erika and Crane. He started to heave and put a hand to his mouth.

‘Thank you. Let’s get you a cup of tea, and I’ll have someone take a formal statement,’ said Erika.

They moved away, back towards the crime scene.

‘I want everyone who has a view out front over this car park interviewed, and I want a door-to-door of the surrounding flats. This whole courtyard is overlooked and someone must have seen something,’ said Erika.

There were groups of people now filling up the pavement on the other side of the road, standing around and watching curiously.

‘There’s no CCTV cameras on the road,’ said Crane. ‘Further down, there’s a private CCTV camera mounted outside a Fitness First gym and about four hundred yards along there’s New Beckenham station, but the cameras don’t cover the road, just the station approach.’

‘If he drove off in that direction then they may have caught something,’ said Erika. ‘This guy either has incredible luck, or he’s choosing the places where he dumps the bodies.’





Chapter Fifty





When Darryl had finished with Ella Wilkinson, she was unrecognisable, badly beaten and screaming like an animal. He’d broken her jaw, which had made her screams sound like she was drunk, but she still had some fight left in her, which was remarkable.

Robert Bryndza's books