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  ‘It’s like it’s been dropped from above,’ said McGorry.

  Erika put her hands in her pockets and hunched down against the cold, as they started back down the alleyway towards Coniston Road.

  ‘I’m going to have to write all this up,’ she said.

  ‘What about the chokehold?’

  ‘They haven’t said they’re going to complain, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. You’re a bloody idiot, John. Why the hell did you let it go that far?’

  ‘He was lashing out, I was trying to… calm him down, stop being hit. It was instinctive. And you said all about that freedom of information request, that I can justify a choke hold.’

  ‘He could still complain, and cause problems. You need to be on the ball. You have to always think about the consequences of your actions.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Of course it’s bloody impossible, but that’s part of being a police officer. You can’t let yourself get into a situation where you are using unnecessary force.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said McGorry, his face flushing.

  ‘It’s okay. We live in a shitty time, John. Everyone takes offence at everything, and you’re presumed guilty, at all times. Be smart. Think. I’ll do my best to steer my report away from it…’

  They were now back in the alleyway and level with the high wall leading back over to the Pitkins’s garden. Erika spied something behind the wheelie bin and stopped.

  ‘What?’ asked McGorry.

  She crouched down, and using a small, clear plastic evidence bag from her pocket, she picked up a small, black plastic cylinder. She stood and held it to the light. She fiddled with the bag and managed to get the small lid of the plastic tube to come off inside the bag.

  ‘A camera film,’ she said, smiling at him.

  ‘Used?’

  ‘I hope so. I saw his camera before he yanked out the film. He’d only taken one photo on it.’

  ‘You think he used a whole film when he was up in the tree, then changed it?’ said McGorry hopefully.

  ‘We’ll know for sure when we get it developed, and the tube tested for prints,’ said Erika.

  Six

  When Erika and McGorry arrived back at Coniston Road, the house-to-house was underway. Uniformed officers were moving up and down the street, knocking on doors, and several were talking to neighbours on their doorsteps. It had started to snow again, and despite the early hour, just before 3 p.m., the light was starting to fade. The police presence was at odds with the Christmas lights in the windows.

  They stopped off at the support van, where Erika asked McGorry to get the roll of film fast-tracked through forensics and developed. She left him to work on it, and when she emerged from the van, a small black body bag was being wheeled through the narrow gate posts on the post-mortem trolley. There was a brief pause as everyone stopped and watched. Erika thought how small it looked. Isaac nodded to her as it was loaded into the van, and the doors closed. She felt a wave of exhaustion and depression approaching, but she forced herself to keep it at bay. She took a deep breath and welcomed the distraction of an officer with a short blonde bob of hair, wearing a long blue winter coat, who had just arrived on the scene.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Tania Hill, I’m the family liaison officer,’ she said, offering her hand.

  ‘What do you know about the case so far?’ asked Erika.

  ‘I just saw the body of the young girl. I’ve never seen so much frozen blood,’ she said, pulling the lapels of her coat around her face. ‘The mother is, apparently, very vulnerable. Low income, serious health issues with alcohol.’

  ‘She’s with the neighbour; I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to talk to her,’ said Erika.

  They crossed the road to a smart house with brand new UPVc windows and a small square of concreted-over front garden. Erika rang the bell. The door was opened by a small, middle-aged lady wearing a red velvet tracksuit and gold slippers. Her snow-white hair was neatly clipped in a pixie cut, which looked at odds with her lined face. In her left hand, she held a cigarette.

  Erika made the introductions and they held up their warrant cards.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’ said the woman, with almost comedic defensiveness. Her voice had a deep smoker’s growl.

  ‘I am,’ said Erika.

  ‘The name’s Joan Field.’

  ‘Can we please come in?’

  Joan stood to one side. The dark blue carpet in the hallway was immaculate. ‘Shoes off,’ she added.

  ‘Can I call you Joan?’ asked Tania.

  ‘No, I’d prefer Mrs Field.’

  ‘I’m the family liaison officer,’ said Tania, placing her shoes by the bannister. ‘I’m here in a support capacity, to bridge the gap between Mandy and the police investigation.’

  Joan looked her up and down. ‘Bridge the gap? Isn’t that fancy talk for answering the phone?’

  Tania ignored the dig.

  ‘Where is Mandy?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  They followed her, passing a living room which contained a heavy red velvet three-piece suite and a small silver Christmas tree, but which was otherwise devoid of any ornaments or photographs and didn’t looked lived-in. At the back of the house was a small kitchen, looking out over the snowy garden. It was clean, but cramped. The ceiling and the walls were yellow from nicotine. A frozen turkey, still wrapped in plastic, floated in the sink.

  Marissa Lewis’s mother, Mandy, was a huge woman, her vast frame swathed in a grubby pink tracksuit. She sat at the table, her enormous buttocks spilling over either side of a wooden chair. Erika’s eyes strayed to the old trainers Mandy was wearing, which had been cut up the middle to accommodate her swollen feet. Her face was pale, and her eyes bloodshot and watery.

  ‘Mandy Trent?’ she asked.

  ‘Marissa weren’t adopted. We’re blood,’ said Mandy, seeing Erika’s surprise at her appearance. ‘She got her father’s name, and I changed mine back when he fucked off… Marissa got the slim genes from him.’ Her voice was loaded with bitterness.

  ‘I take it you both want tea?’ said Joan, moving to the kettle.

  ‘Please,’ said Erika. Tania nodded and they each pulled up a chair.

  ‘Mandy. I’m here as your family liaison officer,’ said Tania, placing a hand on her arm. ‘This will be a very hard time for you, and I’m here to help, and to explain what happens next.’

  Mandy lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in Tania’s face.

  ‘What happens next? You want to take me to see her body? It was her.’

  ‘Are you up to answering some questions?’ asked Erika.

  ‘I found her outside the front door, this morning, when I took out the rubbish. Just lying there, quiet and still, but the blood. There was so much of it.’

  ‘Can you remember what time?’

  ‘Eight-ish.’

  ‘Marissa lived with you?’ asked Erika.

  ‘Yeah. She’s paid me housekeeping since she was sixteen.’

  ‘Do you know where Marissa had been last night?’

  ‘She had a dancing gig, don’t ask me where. She has – had – a lot of them. She was a burlesque dancer, worked in clubs all around the West End. A few nights a week.’

  ‘And you heard nothing last night; you didn’t hear her return home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you expect her home at a certain time?’

  Mandy shook her head. ‘I’ve done my job rearing her, she’s an adult…’

  ‘What time did you go to bed?’

  ‘I nodded off about ten-ish, I think.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anything?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Screaming, sounds from the front garden. A vehicle?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Marissa’s front door key was still in the lock outside when you found her?’

  ‘Yeah. I told the police that.’

  ‘Were you in the liv
ing room until 10 p.m.?’

  ‘Yeah, I was watching telly. It was shit. They used to show decent stuff on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘How long had Marissa been working as a burlesque dancer?’ asked Tania.

  ‘Three or four years. She’s been doing well for herself, always had bookings. Though she don’t make much money from it – didn’t. She’d pay me housekeeping and then borrow it back three days later.’

  ‘The gear costs a packet,’ said Joan, as she took cups from the cupboard. ‘Props, costumes she used for dancing. Big feather fans, head dresses. Mandy even moved to the back bedroom, so she’d have more room to store it all, didn’t you?’

  ‘The back bedroom’s nearer the loo, and I put her housekeeping up,’ clarified Mandy, as if she didn’t want it on record that it was a nice gesture. Erika couldn’t work out what was going on. Mandy seemed so matter-of-fact about Marissa’s death. Joan came over with mugs of tea.

  ‘Did Marissa have a serious boyfriend?’ Erika asked.

  Mandy exhaled cigarette smoke with a long, silent chuckle.

  ‘They never seemed to hang around long enough to get serious. A lot of the local lads used to sniff around, and she had a few admirers who’d watch her dance, buy her presents…’ Erika and Tania exchanged a look. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but my daughter was a right slag. She slept with two blokes on this road, both married. And there were all sorts of lads coming and going, and those were the ones I knew of.’

  ‘Who were the married men?’ asked Erika.

  ‘Don Walpole, lives at number 46 with his wife. Marissa was shagging him a few years back, when she was sixteen…’

  ‘The rumour is, he was sleeping with her before her sixteenth birthday,’ interjected Joan, with a knowing nod.

  ‘Don Walpole ain’t no kiddy fiddler, Joan. He just did what any bloke would do when it’s offered up on a plate. Marissa was an early developer, by the time she was fourteen she looked twenty,’ said Mandy, lighting another cigarette with the stub of the old one.

  ‘And the other married man?’

  ‘Ivan… Whatsisface…’

  ‘Stowalski,’ said Joan.

  ‘Yeah. He’s Polish. Got a few quid in the bank, so I think that’s why she liked him. He’s certainly not good looking. Pale and washed-out as anything, he is. He’s been around for a few months.’

  ‘Do you know when she last saw him?’

  ‘No. He rang the bell a few weeks ago, but he didn’t come in.’

  ‘Marissa worked full-time as a burlesque dancer?’

  Mandy shook her head. ‘No. She also did a few hours a week as a carer for an old lady, in Hilly Fields over the way.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Elsa Fryatt,’ said Joan. ‘She’s ninety-seven. Very posh, despite the name Elsa. Lives in one of the big houses overlooking the fields.’

  ‘Marissa was onto a nice number there,’ said Mandy. ‘All she did was took her shopping; she got herself insured on the old girl’s car. It wasn’t proper caring work. I think she liked having Marissa around, much like a woman likes a bit of rough in a bloke. I think she finds common people quite entertaining.’

  ‘What about her friends?’ asked Erika.

  ‘I would think most of her friends are dead, didn’t you hear? She’s ninety-seven.’

  ‘No, I meant Marissa,’ said Erika.

  Mandy exhaled smoke and took a big gulp of tea. ‘The girls she works with on the burlesque circuit are a bunch of bitches, that’s what Marissa used to say, but she’s got a friend she’s had since school. Works up the hairdresser, Sharon-Louise Braithwaite.’

  ‘The Goldilocks Hair Studio?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it.’

  ‘Could I ask you to make a list of the clubs where Marissa worked?’

  Mandy’s bottom lip trembled and she wiped at her eyes.

  ‘Bloody hell, I can’t think straight to make lists, and all this talking in the past tense: worked, lived…’

  ‘We can get to that later,’ said Tania, touching Mandy’s arm.

  ‘When can I go back to my house?’ she said, pulling it away.

  ‘The forensics officers are inside to make sure there isn’t any other evidence that can help. We will let you know as soon as we’ve completed our investigation,’ said Erika. ‘Would you like Tania to find you somewhere to stay?’

  ‘No, I’ll stay here, with Joan,’ said Mandy. Joan nodded, but she didn’t look too thrilled.

  Seven

  ‘What did you make of that?’ asked Erika, pulling up the collar of her coat, as she and Tania left Joan’s house.

  ‘Grief displays itself in different ways,’ said Tania.

  Erika frowned.

  ‘Leave it out, don’t give me hot air. You see a lot of grieving relatives. There was real hostility there.’

  ‘From both of them, although I think Joan was being led by Mandy. Mandy wears the trousers, and had the most dislike for her daughter.’

  ‘Not everyone that gets murdered is loved by their relatives.’

  ‘You think the mother is a suspect?’

  ‘Everyone is a suspect. I want forensics to take a look at her clothes, and I’d like swabs taken from under her fingernails…’ Erika beckoned to a young uniformed officer, who looked worried as she crossed the street to the front gate. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Kay Hornby, PC Kay Hornby, ma’am,’ she said.

  ‘I need you to grab one of the CSIs and bag up the clothes and get fingernail swabs from the victim’s mother, Mandy Trent.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am... Erm, I have a spare pair of trainers in my car,’ she said, noticing Erika’s heels, which were soaked and on the verge of disintegrating. Erika looked down at the young woman’s feet, clad in black shoes.

  ‘What size shoe are you?’

  ‘A six. They’re not stinking gym shoes. I use them for driving. It was just a thought, ma’am.’ She looked worried, as if she’d overstepped the mark.

  ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that,’ said Erika.

  ‘Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll just run and get them.’

  Erika’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and moved off along the street.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ said Marsh. ‘It’s almost four o’clock!’

  ‘Sorry. I was called to a crime scene. A young woman killed on her doorstep on Coniston Road, near Crofton Park.’

  ‘You weren’t on call today.’

  ‘I’m helping out, loads of officers have taken leave over Christmas…’

  ‘I know that!’

  ‘I’m just explaining to you why I’m here.’

  ‘I was expecting you for lunch.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I won’t be coming. I’ve got presents for the girls, so I’ll arrange to drop them round later…’

  ‘I said: I was expecting you for lunch.’

  ‘That’s an order, is it?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to see you; Marcie and the girls wanted to see you…’

  Marsh paused. The silence went on, and then Erika realised he had hung up on her. She put the phone back in her pocket, feeling guilty. She crossed the road to the support van, where Kay was waiting with a pair of pink and white running shoes.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Erika.

  ‘There’s socks too, in the shoes.’

  Erika took off her ruined high heels and Kay held onto her arm as she pulled on the socks and trainers. ‘Ahh, that’s so much better. Thank you.’

  McGorry came out of the van. He noticed Kay and smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I’ll get the shoes back to you later today,’ said Erika.

  ‘That’s okay, take as long as you need with them,’ said Kay, and she went off to the forensics van, giving McGorry a curt nod.

  ‘Haven’t you got a girlfriend?’ asked Erika, seeing McGorry glance after her.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, seeming a little annoyed.

  ‘You know, not every young female officer has t
o fall for your charms.’

  ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’

  Erika rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, let’s get to it.’

  * * *

  A police officer was stationed at the front door. The body of Marissa Lewis had now been removed from the front garden, leaving a vast pool of frozen blood. Snow had been cleared from the path, and the course of the blood spatter was marked with small yellow numbers.

  The house was messy inside, with dated furniture and overpowering smells of damp and fried food. There was a tiny Christmas tree in the living room, and the kitchen was overflowing with dishes and grime. Stairs led up to a dingy landing, where the ceiling sagged. Doors led off to a bathroom and two bedrooms. Erika and John pulled on latex gloves. The bedroom at the front had a bay window looking out over the road, busy with police activity. The room looked freshly painted, and was neat and tidy with new furniture and a beautiful flowered bedspread. Three tailor’s mannequins lined one of the walls, and they were dressed in feathered costumes, one with a black corset. A set of shelves on the opposite wall contained seven wigs on polystyrene heads, and a dressing table under the window was covered in make-up. A row of high-heeled shoes in different colours were neatly lined up in front of a fitted wardrobe.

  ‘Does she toast marshmallows on the gas fire?’ asked McGorry, moving to a small fireplace and picking up one of several thin metal rods with blackened marshmallow shapes on the end, which were leaning up against the grate.

  ‘I think they are used for fire eating,’ said Erika, peering at them. There were a couple of framed photos on the wall. In the first, Marissa lay in a huge champagne glass, wearing see-through pink lingerie. In another she wore black stockings, suspenders and nipple tassels, and held one of the flaming rods close to her mouth. The final framed photo was a publicity poster, where Marissa lay on a chaise in a silver bodice, surrounded by muscled young men in underwear. A huge header read:

  A NIGHT WITH MISS HONEY DIAMOND

  JULY 14TH 2017