The Night Stalker

‘Nothing. We’ve known each other a long time, and I didn’t want to discuss it over the phone,’ said Erika.

Marsh came back through the kitchen door. He looked at the scene in front of him: Marcie standing over Erika with her finger pointing, about to say something.

‘Marcie, could you excuse us?’

‘Of course. Anything for one of your officers. I’ll see you in the morning,’ she snapped.

A look passed over Marsh’s face. Are they sleeping in separate bedrooms? thought Erika.

Marsh closed the door and quickly recovered his composure. ‘They’re holding Isaac overnight. They’re waiting for the DNA results.’

‘Of what?’

‘It seems that Stephen Linley is quite… promiscuous. He had a lot of leather and bondage gear, and some rather extreme pornography they found in the flat.’

‘What kind?’

‘Nothing illegal, but fetish stuff, some of it to do with suffocation… They’ve listened to the messages on Linley’s phone, and it sounds like he and Isaac were going through a rough patch. Isaac left several messages saying he wanted to, and I quote, “fucking kill” him.’

‘I’ve left messages like that, sir.’

‘Erika…’

‘No, you know the drill. If you try hard enough, anyone’s private correspondence becomes incriminating. Isaac didn’t do it.’

‘And what do you want me to say, Erika? Okay, let’s interrupt procedure because you think he’s innocent?’

‘We both know how stuff like this sticks! Has he got a lawyer?’

‘I believe so, yes.’

‘Could you get me access? If anyone is going to question him, I would like it to be me.’

‘We both know that’s not going to happen…’

Erika reached into her bag and took out the card.

‘You should see this,’ she said and pushed it, flattened open inside its plastic bag, across the table. Marsh went and grabbed his reading glasses from the kitchen counter, came back to the table and stared at it for a long moment. He turned it over, reading what was written inside.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘I fell asleep late this afternoon. When I woke up the door was open onto the patio and I found this on my pillow.’

‘Your pillow! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m telling you now! I woke up, found the note – I haven’t touched it, I wore latex gloves to handle it – then I got the call from Isaac. I drove straight over to Stephen Linley’s flat and after that I came here.’

‘This is all getting out of hand,’ Marsh said. ‘Call a briefing for first thing in the morning. I’ll make a call, we need forensics to go over your flat.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Do you want to sleep on the sofa?’

’No, sir. It’s coming up to four in the morning. I’ll get a hotel, grab a few hours’ sleep.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you at the station at 9 a.m. sharp.’

59

It was pouring with rain again when Erika dashed from her car to the main entrance of Lewisham Row station. Woolf was on duty and the reception area was filled with a group of sullen-faced young women sitting on a row of plastic chairs. Two of them were rocking crying babies in pushchairs. Three toddlers stood on the chairs at the end: two boys and a girl. They stamped their little bare feet on the green plastic chairs, laughing and drawing shapes in the condensation on the window. Above their heads, out of reach, someone had written with the ghost of a greasy finger: ALL PIGS SHUD DIE. The children were scruffy and rowdy, but it touched Erika that behind them, on the concrete floor, were three little pairs of flip-flops, lined up neatly.

‘Morning. Marsh has asked for everyone to meet in the incident room,’ said Woolf, looking up at her from behind the front desk.

‘Did he say why? I’m supposed to be briefing everyone at nine.’

Woolf leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘It’s to do with them arresting Dr Strong for killing his boyfriend with an ashtray… I didn’t even know he smoked, let alone took it up the arse!’

‘Have you got nothing better to do, sergeant, than gossip? And are you ever off duty?’ said Erika, giving him a hard stare. She swiped open the door, slamming it behind her.

Woolf watched her on the closed circuit TV screen as she marched down the corridor.

‘Oi! How much longer do I have to wait?’ shouted one of the women.

‘You’ll be reunited with the love of your life very soon,’ said Woolf. ‘And the rest of you, too. They’re just being fingerprinted and charged with GBH.’