The Girl in the Ice

Epilogue

Erika breathed deeply, feeling the clean air fill her lungs. Next to her, on the wooden bench, Edward did the same. It was a comfortable silence, as they stared out at the moors, which spread away in greens and browns. Clouds hung heavy in the distance, twirling into a knot of blue-black, which was heading their way.

‘There’s a storm brewing,’ said Edward.

‘Just a minute longer . . . I love it here. Even the grass is greener up north,’ said Erika.

Edward laughed beside her. ‘Is that a metaphor, lass?’

‘No. It really is greener.’ She grinned. She pulled her eyes away from the beautiful view to Edward, who sat next to her, swaddled in his thick winter coat. A thin gravel path separated Mark’s headstone from the bench where they sat.

‘I’m finding it easier to come here now,’ said Edward. ‘Once you get over being confronted with those letters in gold, his date of birth and the date when he, you know . . . I come here a lot and I talk to him.’

Erika started to cry again. ‘I don’t know where to start; what to say to him,’ she sobbed, searching her coat for a tissue.

‘Just start,’ said Edward, handing her a little pack of tissues. He tilted her face up to his. Her hair was starting to grow back at the patch on the side where she’d had a long row of stitches.

‘Okay,’ she said, pulling out a tissue and wiping her face.

‘Tell you what, I’ll nip back, put the kettle on. You just talk. Course, you’ll feel like a lunatic at first, but there’s no one about . . .’

He patted Erika on the shoulder and started off down the path. She watched as he walked away. He turned and smiled, before picking his way cautiously through the graves and down to the village. She noticed how similar his gait and his movements were to Mark’s. She turned back to the grave.

‘So, I solved five murders . . . And I narrowly escaped the murderer, twice,’ she said. ‘But, that’s not what I came up here to tell you . . .’

Her phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was Moss.

‘Hello, boss. I thought, it’s been a couple of months, and I’d give you a call . . .’

‘Hello,’ said Erika.

‘Is it a bad time?’

‘No, well, I’m . . . I’m just at Mark’s grave.’

‘Oh, bugger, I’ll call back.’

‘No. I’ve been trying to talk to him. My father-in-law says I should talk to him. He says it helps. I just don’t know what to say . . .’

‘You could tell him that your murderer is going to trial in May. Did you see today’s news? David Douglas-Brown was declared fit to stand trial. They’ve also expelled Sir Simon from the Lords . . . And it looks like Igor Kucerov will be retried for the murder of Nadia Greco. We’re just waiting on the CPS about Giles Osborne. I’m confident he’ll be done for perverting the course of justice . . . You there, boss?’

‘Yes. And I did see. And Mark doesn’t want to hear all that.’

‘If I were stuck laying six feet under, I’d want my loved ones to keep me up-to-date on current events . . .’

There was a silence. The wind rippled across the grass. The knot of black cloud was almost above her now.

‘Sorry, I’m being crass,’ said Moss.

‘No, you’re being honest, which is far better. Did Peterson get my card?’

‘Yes. But you know him. The strong, silent type. He came to see you after, in the hospital, but you were out of it.’

‘I know he did.’

There was another silence.

‘So. When you back, boss?’

‘I don’t know. Soon. Marsh has told me to take as long as I need. I’m going to stay up here with Edward for a bit.’

‘Well, we’re looking forward to you coming back, boss. You are coming back, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, I’m coming back,’ said Erika. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘Good. Well enjoy yourself up there, and when you . . . you know . . . talk, to Mark, say hi from me.’

‘That’s the weirdest request for passing on a hello,’ said Erika, wryly.

‘I just wish I could have met him,’ said Moss.

Erika came off the phone as thunder began to rumble overhead. She turned back to the grave and stared at the gold letters on the black granite.

IN MEMORY OF

MARK FOSTER

1ST AUGUST 1970 - 8TH JULY 2014

^{LOVED AND REMEMBERED ALWAYS}

‘That’s the toughest word, Mark,’ said Erika. ‘Always. I’ll always be without you. I don’t know how I can live without you, but I have to. To move on, I have to let you go at some point. I have to keep going, Mark. Keep working. Keep living my life. Most days I don’t think I can go on without you, but I have to. There’s so much bad stuff out there that the only way I think I can cope with it all is to keep working. To try and make some kind of difference to the world.’

Water splashed on to Erika’s cheek, and for once, it wasn’t a tear. The rain began to fall, spattering on the gravel and Mark’s gravestone.

‘Your Dad’s making me a cuppa . . . So I’ll be off. But I’ll be back, I promise,’ said Erika. She got up, put her fingers to her lips and pressed them against the cold stone, just under Mark’s name.

Erika hitched her bag over her shoulder and set off across the graveyard, back towards tea and cake, and the warmth of Edward’s kitchen.