The Night Stalker (23 page)

M
uch as when
high-level doctors are forced to become patients, DCI Foster didn’t take kindly to being questioned by uniformed officers in one of the police support vans. The rain continued hammering down outside, hitting the metal roof of the van with a roar.

Two male officers, DI Wilkinson and DI Roberts, sat across from her at a table, whilst a female uniformed officer with chestnut brown hair scraped back off her youthful face watched from the open door.

‘So what made Isaac Strong call you before he had even placed a call to 999?’ asked DI Wilkinson. He had a thin, ratty face and teeth to match.

‘He was frightened. He was in shock,’ replied Erika.

‘So you’re close? Are you in a relationship with Isaac Strong?’ asked DI Roberts. He was blond and handsome in comparison to his colleague.

‘No, he’s just a friend,’ said Erika.

‘Just good friends?’ said DI Roberts, raising an eyebrow. ‘Nothing more?’

‘Is this the extent of your detective work, sussing out who's shagging who?’

‘Answer the question, Ms Foster,’ demanded DI Wilkinson.

‘I’ve told you twice already, it’s DCI Foster,’ she said, pulling out her ID and slapping it on the table in front of them. ‘I’ve been investigating a double murder where an intruder broke in and asphyxiated both victims by placing a plastic bag over their heads. Both victims were male. You’ve probably heard about it: the victims were Dr Gregory Munro and Jack Hart. I am the SIO on the case and Dr Isaac Strong is the forensic pathologist. I also know Dr Strong outside work. We occasionally socialise, as friends, and I know him to be gay. Now, it seems, our personal and professional lives have intertwined in that Isaac’s partner, Stephen Linley, is the man lying upstairs with his head caved in. Dr Strong was understandably distressed when he found him and he phoned me. When you listen back to the transcript of that call, you will hear me clearly state that he must call 999. I then ended the call and came to the scene. I can tell you that the bag used in the previous murders is a very specific item, and I believe this same bag was used to kill Stephen Linley. Now, you’d better start listening to me, and being more respectful, because in a few hours, if you’re still on this case, you’ll be taking orders from me.’

She sat back and eyeballed the two officers. An uneasy look passed between them.

‘Very good, ma’am,’ said Wilkinson, who looked embarrassed.

‘Now, do you have any more questions you would like to ask me?’

‘I think that’s all good for now,’ said Roberts.

‘Thank you. I’d like to talk to Dr Strong, please. Where is he?’ asked Erika.

The officer on the door looked up from speaking into her radio.

‘That was Control,’ she said. I’ve just been told DCI Sparks has left Superintendent Nickson at the scene and has taken Dr Isaac Strong to Charing Cross nick.’

‘Taken him?’ asked Erika. ‘Has he been arrested? Or did he go voluntarily?’

The officer repeated the question into her radio, and there was a pause, some clicks and beeps, then the voice came back confirming that Isaac had been arrested for the suspected murder of Stephen Linley.

E
rika hesitated
before she reached out and banged the large brass door knocker. She stood back and looked up at the dark house. The rain had been replaced by a cold wind, and even though she was still soaking wet, the chill was a welcome change after the heatwave. She pulled her denim jacket closed and was about to knock again when the small window by the front door lit up.

‘Who is it?’ asked Marsh, brusquely.

‘Boss, it’s Erika, DCI Foster.’

‘What the bloody hell?’ she heard him mutter as several bolts shot home, two locks were turned and he finally pulled the front door open. He was wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

‘I have a very good reason for this,’ she said, putting up her hands.

T
wenty minutes later
, Erika’s denim jacket was steaming lightly by the Aga and she was sitting with Marsh at the long, scrubbed-oak kitchen table. He’d pulled on a tracksuit, and his wife, Marcie, with her long dark hair on end and no make-up, was spooning tea leaves into a pot as the kettle boiled.

‘Jesus,’ said Marsh, after Erika had told him about Stephen Linley.

‘I’m sorry to have intruded on you both, but I’m just concerned about making calls to you from my mobile,’ said Erika.

‘Don’t you have a private mobile phone?’ asked Marsh.

‘No.’

‘What do you do when you want to make a private call?’

‘I don’t make many,’ said Erika. This hung in the air for a moment. The kettle came to the boil and Marcie poured water into the pot. ‘My point is,’ Erika continued, ‘that my phone call with Isaac will be evidence in our case, now he’s a suspect. But sir, he didn’t do this. I saw the crime scene. It was the Night Stalker, I’m sure of it.’

‘You said Stephen Linley had been bludgeoned over the head with an ashtray?’

‘It was the same type of plastic bag, a suicide bag; he was naked in bed. Something could have gone wrong, the killer could have panicked. He most likely fought back at her.’

‘You really think this is a woman?’ asked Marcie, incredulously.

‘Yes, we do,’ said Erika. Marcie came over and placed cups of tea down in front of them. Marsh’s phone rang on the table.

‘It’s Superintendent Nickson,’ said Marsh, looking at the screen before he answered.

‘He was at the scene with DCI Sparks,’ said Erika.

‘Hello? John, it’s Paul Marsh…’ He left the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Erika listened as his voice receded down the hallway. Marcie came and sat down opposite.

‘Would you like one?’ she asked, opening a tin of biscuits and placing it between them. ‘You look a bit pale.’

‘Thanks,’ said Erika. They each took one and chewed in silence.

‘I know what today is – the anniversary,’ said Marcie. ‘And I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry. It can’t be easy.’

‘Thanks,’ said Erika, taking another biscuit. ‘But I think tonight I sort of accepted it. Do you know what I mean? I still think about him all the time, but I sort of accepted that he’s never coming back.’

Marcie nodded. Erika thought how pretty she was without all the make-up she usually wore. It softened her.

‘Are you thinking of staying down south?’ asked Marcie, taking another biscuit and daintily dipping it in her tea.

‘I don’t know. The past two years have been like the first two years of my life again. First it was a day since Mark died, then it was a week, a month, a year…’

‘Planning anything is impossible,’ finished Marcie.

‘Yeah.’

‘Have you still got the house up north, in Ruskin Road?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s such a nice house, so cosy.’

‘I’ve never been back, since. I had a load of professional packers go in and put everything in storage. It’s rented out now,’ said Erika, ruefully taking another bite out of her biscuit.

‘You should sell up, Erika. You remember our house in Mountview Terrace? I saw online that it’s just been sold for five hundred thousand pounds! I knew the prices had gone up in Manchester, but that’s crazy. We sold it for three hundred thousand six years ago, when we moved down here. You could buy something in London. There are some lovely houses around Hilly Fields… And I saw a beautiful fixer-upper in Forest Hill…’

Erika strained to hear what Marsh was saying in the corridor.

‘Marcie, I didn’t come to talk about the price of houses,’ said Erika.

Marcie noticeably stiffened. ‘But you did come banging on our door at three o’clock in the morning. The least you can do is act politely.’

‘It’s been a long, horrible day, Marcie.’

‘Is every day a long day for you, Erika?’ Marcie said, standing and flinging the rest of her tea into the sink. It splattered up the tiles.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No one else from Paul’s department thinks it's okay to come round and make inappropriate house calls in the middle of the night.’

‘This isn’t…’

‘What’s so special about you?’

‘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.’

I
t 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.’

The women scowled at him and turned back to their conversation.

‘No one seems to have a sense of humour this morning,’ muttered Woolf, opening his newspaper and biting into a Danish pastry.

W
hen Erika arrived
in the incident room, everyone was present, sitting in silence. Marsh was waiting at the front, drinking a cup of coffee.

‘Ah, Erika, please take a seat.’

‘I thought I was briefing the team this morning, sir?’

‘So did I, but things have changed. Please, sit down.’

Erika perched on the long row of tables at the back, where the row of printers was unusually silent.

Marsh began, ‘Last night, Dr Isaac Strong, who has worked on this and several other investigations with us as our forensic pathologist, was charged with the murder of his partner, the author Stephen Linley.’

Marsh paused as the officers absorbed this.

‘This has put us in rather a complicated situation. Much of the forensic evidence from our investigation into the deaths of Gregory Munro and Jack Hart has been processed by Dr Strong, and in two cases, his findings helped us to profile the killer. The way that Stephen Linley was murdered shares many of the same traits as the murders of Gregory Munro and Jack Hart. Stephen Linley was found with high levels of flunitrazepam in his blood. He was also suffocated using the same type of “suicide” bag, but in this instance he appears to have fought with his attacker. The post-mortem and toxicology have shown that Linley was a regular user of recreational drugs – benzodiazepines and Rohypnol, the brand name for flunitrazepam – and had a higher tolerance of such substances. The only forensic DNA evidence found at the scene is male.’

Marsh paused again to let the officers in the incident room take this in, then he went on. ‘Stephen appears to have enjoyed many sexual partners, and last night he’d been to a gay sauna. CCTV shows he was at the Chariots gay sauna in Waterloo from 6 p.m. until leaving at 10 p.m. In addition to this evidence, the murder of Stephen Linley was on the Bowery Lane Estate, EC1, which puts this firmly in the jurisdiction of the City of London Police. So, not only was it not on our patch but it is outside the jurisdiction of the Met.’

‘Sir, surely they don’t think that Isaac Strong is the serial killer?’ asked Erika.

‘Can I finish, please?’

‘I would have appreciated you briefing me beforehand, sir. I am the SIO on this case and now I’m hearing all of this information for the first time.’

The officers in the incident room shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

‘Erika, I have only been briefed about this by the Assistant Commissioner in the past twenty minutes,’ said Marsh. ‘May I please continue?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Erika.

‘Dr Strong was found at the scene. He was initially held for routine questioning – he says he discovered Stephen’s body. Then results started coming back from the crime scene. There were a large number of photos on Stephen Linley’s laptop, and a positive identification was found for a JordiLevi.’

‘He was the rent boy we interviewed. He was at Gregory Munro’s house a few days before the murder,’ said Crane.

‘Yes, several of the photos on the laptop showed JordiLevi with Stephen Linley and Isaac Strong: photos of them having sex. Police searched Dr Strong’s house, and they found a small quantity of Ecstasy, marijuana and flunitrazepam, the drug used in all three murders. They also discovered several items of fetish gear: hoods and bags, the type of stuff used in erotic asphyxiation or breath control play – the semi-suffocation of yourself or your partner for sexual pleasure…’

Erika sat at the back of the room and her blood ran cold. Her mind began to race, thinking through the times she’d been to Isaac’s house. Could it be true?

‘Now, as always,’ continued Marsh, ‘a person is innocent until proven guilty, and there is added sensitivity in this case in that Dr Strong is one of our own, a fine forensic pathologist with an unblemished record. But the evidence against him has stacked up quite alarmingly, and so City Police had no choice but to arrest him for the murder of Stephen Linley. Isaac Strong is also now being looked at as a suspect for the murders of Gregory Munro and Jack Hart.’

‘So where does that leave us, the team?’ asked Erika.

Marsh paused. ‘As you all know, we need to maintain transparency. You have all done fine work on this case, and thank you to every one of you. DCI Foster, you have also been working alongside Dr Strong, and we must now look into his reports and see if he could have influenced the investigation. Dr Strong also phoned you from the crime scene, before he alerted the police…’

All eyes in the incident room turned to Erika.

‘I know Isaac – Dr Strong – socially,’ said Erika. ‘He’d just walked in on his boyfriend who had been murdered.’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything, Erika. But he crossed a line when he called you. We can’t have the SIO of a murder case receiving phone calls from the murder suspect at the scene of the crime. One of our former colleagues, DCI Sparks, attended the murder scene last night, and this coupled with the fact he now heads an experienced Murder Investigation Team means he will be taking over this case as SIO.’

Several officers in the incident room turned to look at Erika, and she tried to remain composed.

Marsh carried on speaking. ‘I’m here to thank you all for your hard work, but I will need you to conduct a handover this morning as quickly as possible. DCI Sparks may retain some of you to join his team.’

Erika got up. ‘Sir, can I speak to you, please?’

‘Erika…’

‘I’d like to speak to you in your office, sir. Now.’