The Girl in the Ice

8

Erika, Moss, and Peterson arrived back at Lewisham Row just after seven pm. They went straight to the incident room, which was full, the police officers waiting expectantly to share the day’s findings. Erika sloughed off her long leather jacket and went to the huge bank of whiteboards lining the back of the room.

‘Okay, everyone. I know it’s been a long day, but what have we got?’

‘How did you get on when you met the family? How did Sir Simon take to you, DCI Foster?’ smirked Sparks, leaning back in his chair.

On cue, Chief Superintendent Marsh pulled open the door to the incident room. ‘Foster. A word.’

‘Sir, I’m just briefing everyone on the day’s events . . .’

‘Okay. But my office, the second you’re done,’ he barked, and slammed the door.

‘So it went well, I take it?’ needled Sparks, his nasty smile tinted with the white-blue of his computer screen. Erika ignored him and turned back to the white board. Beside Andrea’s photo were pictures of Linda and David. She noticed with interest that Andrea and her brother were very attractive, but Linda was overweight and matronly, with a pointed nose and a whiter complexion than her siblings.

‘Are the kids all from the same parents?’ asked Erika, tapping the board with her marker pen. This took the incident room off guard.

Sergeant Crane looked round in surprise. ‘We assumed yes . . .’

‘Why did you assume this?’ asked Erika.

‘Well, they seemed quite . . .’

‘Posh?’ asked Erika. ‘Never forget, we look at family first and foremost as suspects. Don’t let yourselves be blinded by the fact that they live in an expensive area of London and have influence and power. Crane, you can look into the children, but of course, be discrete. Now, we know that Andrea was due to meet David and Linda at the cinema last Thursday, the eighth, but she never showed up. Where did she go? Was she meeting a friend, a secret lover? Who was looking specifically into Andrea’s life?’

A small Indian woman in her twenties stood up. ‘PC Singh,’ she said. She came to the front and Erika handed her the marker pen.

‘Andrea’s been in a relationship with twenty-seven-year-old Giles Osborne for the past eight months; they’d recently got engaged. He owns Yakka Events, an upmarket events and party planning company, based in Kensington.’

‘Yakka Events. What does Yakka mean?’ asked Erika.

‘It’s the aboriginal word for work. It says on the company website that he spent his gap year in Australia.’

‘Learning how to serve canapés and champagne from the aborigines?’ asked Erika. A flicker of a smile passed through the incident room.

‘He’s privately educated. Comes from a wealthy family. He has an alibi for the night Andrea went missing.’

‘I’ve already interviewed him; we found this out last week,’ interrupted Sparks.

‘What about the records for Andrea’s phone, and social media? I take it those have been requested?’

‘Yes,’ said Singh.

‘Where are they?’

‘I’m on it. I requested them this morning, so we’re hoping to get them in the next twenty-four hours,’ said Crane.

‘Why weren’t they requested before, when she became a missing person?’ asked Erika.

There was silence.

‘Worried you were prying into the lives of the influential rich people?’

‘I made the call not to go ahead and request those,’ said Sparks. ‘The family were still under the impression that Andrea had taken off somewhere; they were monitoring her social media accounts and sharing information with us.’

Erika rolled her eyes. ‘I want those records the second we have them, and anything that gets pulled off the phone hard drive,’ she said to Crane. ‘Now, Sparks, you seem full of the joys of late winter. What did you manage to find with the CCTV?’

DCI Sparks leaned back in his chair with a creak. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid. Until a couple of days ago, three of the CCTV cameras on the London Road were down. So we’ve got nothing around the train station forecourt, or leading up the high street to the Horniman Museum. Course, the back roads aren’t covered either, so we’re blind to the events on the night of the eighth.’

‘Shit,’ said Erika.

‘We have got her coming off the train at Forest Hill Station at—’ Sparks flicked through his notes ‘—9.06pm. She comes off the train, goes along the platform and leaves past the ticket office. It was unmanned, and only a couple of other people got off at the same time.’

‘Can we find out who they are? Maybe they walked up with her.’

‘I’m already on it,’ Sparks finished.

‘What about the door-to-door?’

Sergeant Crane leaned forward in his chair, saying: ‘Not a great deal, boss. Most people were either still away after their Christmas break, or asleep.’

‘What about any pubs?’

‘The Wetherspoon’s and The Pig and Whistle have CCTV; she didn’t go into either of those. There’s another four pubs on the high street.’

‘Grace Kinney mentioned two: The Glue Pot and The Stag.’

‘We’ve been to them all. Pretty rough shit-holes they are too, boss, and no one who works there remembers seeing her.’

‘Look at staff rotas, find out who the locals are. Check again. She was dressed for a night out. There’s a high chance she did go into one of those pubs.’

‘What if she was going to a house party?’ asked Singh.

‘Okay, then what about off-licences? Did she go into any to buy fags or booze?’

‘Again, the off-licences do have CCTV, tends to be patchy, but none of them saw her,’ said Crane.

‘What about outside the house where her bag was found?’

‘Yes, number forty-nine, and unfortunately, nothing again. Homeowner is a gaga old lady with a live-in carer; neither of them saw or heard anything.’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Perhaps you should let your team get some rest. It’s been a long day,’ said Sparks.

‘Yeah. Okay. Let’s meet back here at nine tomorrow. We should have the autopsy results by then, and the phone and social media records.’

Erika said goodnight to her officers, and when she was the last in the incident room, she looked over the whiteboards in silence, lingering over Andrea’s picture.

‘Look at you; just twenty-three. You had your whole life ahead of you.’ Andrea stared back at her, defiantly, almost mocking her.

Erika jumped as her phone rang,

‘Do you want to keep me waiting any longer?’ barked Marsh.

‘Shit, sir, sorry. I’m on my way up.’