The Girl in the Ice

23

Erika was called to Chief Superintendent Marsh’s office when she arrived the next morning. She carried with her a cheque for the rent and the signed contract for the flat. She was surprised, when she entered the office, to see DCI Sparks sat opposite Marsh. Sparks had a smug look on his face.

‘Sir?’

‘What the hell were you playing at, going into The Crown last night?’ demanded Marsh.

Erika looked between Sparks and Marsh. ‘I stuck to orange juice . . .’

‘This isn’t funny! You crashed the wake for Pearl Gadd, and caused no end of chaos. Do you know the Gadd family?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘They’re a bunch of low-life scum who own a massive lorry transportation network in the south of England. However, they’ve been working with us.’

‘Working with us, sir? Do you want me to allocate one of them a desk in the incident room?’

‘Don’t get smart.’

Sparks was trying not to enjoy this, watching their exchange with his chin resting on the heel of his hand. Erika noticed how he’d let the nail grow long on each index finger.

‘Sir. If you've called me in here for a bollocking, I’d rather be bollocked in private.’

‘You don’t outrank DCI Sparks, and he’s here as part of the investigation. You’re supposed to be working together. I take it your visit to The Crown was part of your enquiries?’

Erika paused, and took the seat next to Sparks.

‘Okay. If this is a meeting, fine. Tell me all about our colleagues in the South London underworld.’

Sparks removed the hand from under his chin. ‘The Gadd family has been feeding us information for the past eight months. Information that will hopefully lead to the seizure of millions of pounds’ worth of counterfeit cigarettes and alcohol.’

‘In return for what?’ asked Erika.

Marsh interrupted, ‘I don’t have to spell it out, DCI Foster. We’re stretched to the fucking limit with what we can and can’t do. Do you know what a delicate eco-system it is here in South London? In return for this information we’ve been turning a blind eye to . . . well, lock-ins and things. Then you barrel in there last night with your ID and your attitude.’

‘They said it was a wake, sir.’

‘It was a fucking wake!’

‘Okay, I’m sorry. It seems you do things a little bit differently here than when we were in Manchester.’

‘We don’t do things differently,’ said Sparks, with an annoying calm. ‘Although we do thoroughly check our intelligence before we move in.’

‘What did you just say?’ said Erika.

‘I’m talking about last night.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘That’s enough!’ shouted Marsh, slamming his fist on the table.

Erika swallowed down her anger, and her hatred for Sparks. ‘Sir. My visit to The Crown had a purpose. It helped me secure new information about Andrea’s killer.’

Marsh sat down. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘I now have a second witness who saw Andrea on the night she died in The Glue Pot, talking to a tall dark man and a blonde woman. This new witness went so far as to hint that Andrea could have been in a relationship with the man.’

‘Who is this new witness?’

‘Ivy Norris.’

Sparks rolled his eyes and looked at Marsh, ‘Do me a favour – Ivy Norris? Also goes by the names Jean McArdle, Beth Crosby, Paulette O’Brien?’

‘Sir, she—’

‘She’s a known time-waster,’ said Marsh.

‘But sir, I got the feeling she was scared when I pressed her about this man. It was genuine fear. I also believe, especially now we’ve found the phone packaging under Andrea’s bed, that Andrea had a second mobile phone, a phone she didn’t tell anyone about. I think she had friends that she didn’t want her fiancé, Giles Osborne, to know about . . .’

‘The records from Andrea’s old phone, the one she lost last year, came in last night,’ said Sparks.

‘No, I think Andrea had another phone. One she was still using. She bought a top-up voucher four months ago, we found it under her bed with the box,’ explained Erika.

‘It means nothing. It could’ve been for a friend,’ said Sparks. ‘Anyway, back to the records for the old phone that actually exist. I took the opportunity to go through them last night, and some interesting information has come to light.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Erika.

‘Several names come up in her call log, which I’ve cross-checked with Andrea’s Facebook messenger account. One of them is a bloke called Marco Frost . . . Ring any bells?’

Marsh looked at Erika.

‘Yes. He’s a barista who Andrea was, I dunno, dating a while back. An Italian guy, works at a coffee place in Soho?’

Sparks nodded and went on, ‘He made hundreds of calls to Andrea’s old phone. The calls were over a period of ten months, between May 2013 and March 2014.’

‘Why wasn’t I told that the phone records had come through?’ demanded Erika.

‘It was late last night. I thought you might have wanted to get your beauty sleep,’ said Sparks.

‘Sparks, get on with it,’ said Marsh.

‘Okay. So I went back through the interview I did with the Douglas-Browns, when Andrea had first gone missing. And they mentioned this Marco Frost. Andrea did date him briefly for a month at the beginning of 2013. Then she ditched him, and the phone calls started. He turned up at the house several times. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sir Simon actually had a police officer visit Marco Frost and speak to him about his unhealthy interest in Andrea.’

‘Why wasn’t this mentioned to me before?’ asked Erika.

‘My notes were available in the file.’

‘I never got them.’

‘Well, they were available.’

‘All right, all right, all right. Let’s act like adults,’ said Marsh, impatiently. ‘Go on, DCI Sparks.’

‘Okay. So I went back to Andrea’s new phone, where, as we know, there’s not much to go on. She checked her emails on that phone too, and there was a load of e-invites to parties and events—’

‘Yes, the team has been through them, there are hundreds. She had memberships with lots of private clubs,’ said Erika.

Sparks continued, ‘There was an e-invite for an event at the Rivoli Ballroom on Thursday 8th January, the night she vanished. It was a fancy burlesque show organised by one of the clubs where she was a member.’

‘Yes, and on that same night Andrea had invites to several other parties in London. As I say, she was on loads of mailing lists . . . And she had already arranged to meet her brother and sister at the cinema.’

‘But the whole family have said she was a flake; she changed her mind with the wind. It wouldn’t be out of character for her to just decide to do something else,’ said Sparks.

Erika reluctantly had to agree with this.

Sparks went on, ‘The Rivoli Ballroom is actually bang opposite Crofton Park train station, which on the map looks fairly close to Forest Hill station – to be precise, it’s just under two miles away. To get to Forest Hill or Crofton Park you need to take a train from London Bridge, but the two train stations are on completely different lines. What if Andrea got on the wrong train? She rarely used public transport. That could be why she was all dolled-up in Forest Hill.’

There was a silence from Erika and Marsh.

‘And I saved the best bit until last,’ said Sparks. ‘Last night, I got onto the organiser of this burlesque party at the Rivoli Ballroom, and he sent me though their mailing list. Marco Frost was also on that list and was sent the same e-invitation. This gives us an opportunity…’

There was a silence. Erika could see Marsh rolling it over in his brain.

‘This is very promising,’ he said, getting up and starting to pace. ‘My next question is, where is this Marco Frost?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve been up all night putting this together,’ said Sparks.

‘Look, Sparks, we’ve had our differences, and I’d like nothing more than this to be a strong lead. But it’s hardly a motive. How many people were on that mailing list of invites?’ said Erika.

‘Three thousand.’

‘Three thousand. And what makes you think Andrea went anywhere near this Rivoli Ballroom? Her body was found within half a mile of Forest Hill train station, where she got off the train.’

Marsh continued to pace up and down, thinking.

Erika continued. ‘I now have two witnesses who saw Andrea in The Glue Pot the night she vanished.’

‘One of whom has vanished into thin air, and the other a known drug-addicted, alcoholic prostitute,’ said Marsh.

‘But sir, I think Ivy Norris is—’

‘Ivy Norris is scum,’ said Sparks. ‘One of her specialities is to shit on the bonnets of the squad cars in the car park.’

‘Sir, at least acknowledge that we have two lines of enquiry,’ said Erika. ‘If you think mine is unreliable, then you must admit that Sparks’s is purely circumstantial! I think that we could use this press appeal this afternoon for information about Andrea being seen with the man and the woman in The Glue Pot.’

Marsh shook his head. ‘DCI Foster, we’re dealing with people here who the media are itching to hang out to dry. Lord Douglas-Brown, his wife and family, and of course Andrea, who isn’t lucky enough to still be here to defend her character from these accusations.’

‘Sir, it’s not an accusation!’

‘Sir, The Glue Pot is a known hangout for prostitutes,’ said Sparks. ‘It’s been raided repeatedly. A bloke got sent down for making kiddie porn in the flat upstairs.’

‘I agree with Sparks,’ said Marsh. ‘Anything we put out there about Andrea Douglas-Brown will instantly be twisted and shredded by the press. We have to be sure it’s fact.’

‘What if I can get Ivy Norris in here to make a statement?’

‘She’s unreliable. She’s made false statements before,’ said Marsh.

‘But, sir!’

‘That’s enough, DCI Foster. You will work with DCI Sparks to pursue the line of enquiry relating to Marco Frost and Andrea both receiving an invitation to this party at the Rivoli Ballroom. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ grinned Sparks.

Erika nodded.

‘Right, you can go Sparks. And don’t be too happy. There’s still a dead girl; that hasn’t changed.’ Sparks looked chastised and left the office.

Marsh eyed Erika for a moment. ‘Erika, try and cultivate some semblance of a private life. I’m all for my officers taking initiative, but you need to do things by the book and keep me informed of what you are doing. Take a night off, and perhaps do your laundry.’

Erika realised she still had a sticky layer of beer on her leather jacket from the previous night.

‘Did you visit the doctor yet?’ Marsh added.

‘No.’

‘When you finish tonight, I want you to see our duty doctor. That’s an order.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Erika. ‘Here’s the contract for the flat.’

‘Okay, good. How did you find it, all okay?’

‘Yes.’

When Erika emerged from Marsh’s office, Woolf was waiting for her in the corridor.

‘I didn’t grass you; he got a call from the landlord at The Crown. Then he demanded the logbook from the front desk.’

‘It’s okay. Thank you.’

As Woolf went off to get changed and go home after a long night shift, Erika wondered who else from London’s criminal underworld was able to pick up the phone and call Chief Superintendent Marsh.