The Night Stalker (Detective Erika Foster 2)

DUKE: You’re lying. You’ve had your lips done for when we go on our trip together! Collagen. LOL.

NIGHT OWL: It’s just the bottom lip.

DUKE: Very sensible. So you’re saving up for the top lip.

Simone giggled and touched her hands to her face. It still felt tender. She’d missed talking to Duke. There was a beep and she saw text moving across the screen.

DUKE: So, Night Owl. Are we going?

NIGHT OWL: Going where?

DUKE: On our trip. We’ve talked about it so much. Let’s make it happen!

DUKE: You do still want to go, don’t you?

DUKE: Night Owl?

NIGHT OWL: I’m here.

DUKE: So?

NIGHT OWL: I have one more name on my list.

DUKE: I’ve waited through three of those names. One more will be okay. But I want to know when.

NIGHT OWL: A day.

DUKE: A day!

NIGHT OWL: No, a week, a month. A year… I don’t know! Don’t rush me, Duke, do you hear?

DUKE: I’m sorry. I just need to know…

DUKE: … but it will be quicker than a year?

NIGHT OWL: Yes.

DUKE: Phew! *** Wipes sweaty brow***

NIGHT OWL: I’ll let you know soon. I promise. And then we can go and be together.

DUKE: OK. I love you.

Simone stared at the screen for a long time. In all the years they had talked, Duke had told her many things – his deepest, darkest secrets – and she had reciprocated. But this was the first time he’d said he loved her. It made her feel powerful.

She logged off the chat room and went up to bed. She felt much better. She’d go back to work. Then she’d start to make preparations for number four. The fourth, and final.

67

‘All right, boss, so where are we going, exactly?’ asked Peterson when he climbed into the passenger seat. He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, and carrying a small backpack. It was almost 9 a.m. and Erika had picked him up outside his flat, a smart, squat building on a quiet leafy street in Beckenham. A sign on the neat lawn out front announced that the building was called Tavistock House.

‘Worthing,’ said Erika, handing him a folded-up map. A curtain twitched in the front ground-floor window and a slight, pretty, blonde girl peered round, showing just her face and a bare shoulder. She waved at Peterson whilst giving Erika the once-over. He gave her a small wave in return and pulled a sunglasses case from his backpack.

‘Is that your girlfriend?’ asked Erika, as Peterson polished a pair of Ray Bans with a small grey square of cloth and slipped them on. The girl was still watching.

He shrugged. ‘Go on, boss. Let’s go,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. They pulled away, driving in silence for a minute, the reflection from the canopy of leaves above playing across the windscreen.

‘We need the M23, then the A23,’ said Erika, realising that Peterson didn’t want to elaborate on his house guest.

‘Why did you ask me today?’ he said, unfolding the map and peering at her over the top of his shades.

‘Moss has been reassigned, and when I called you, you said you were free… Why did you say yes?’

‘You’ve intrigued me,’ he grinned.

She grinned back.

‘I’ve been reassigned, too,’ he said.

‘Where?’

‘Operation Hemslow.’

Erika turned to face him and the car swerved towards the right lane. Peterson leaned over and straightened the wheel.

‘Don’t get excited. I’ve just been working in Control. It’s pretty dull stuff, mostly watching Penny Munro and Peter.’

‘And?’

‘They’re safe… The kid goes to school, comes home, goes swimming once a week, likes to feed the ducks…’ Peterson blew his cheeks out. ‘They’re very close to nailing Gary Wilmslow. The focus is now on a lock-up in Crystal Palace. They just need to get Wilmslow inside the lock-up. Simple as that, but very complicated. He’s managing to place at least three people between him and the production of the videos, the procuring of kids… It’s a case of how long we can wait it out before we move in and shut it down.’

‘You have to get Wilmslow,’ said Erika.

‘No one wants to see him brought down more than me… You know I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, boss.’

‘I know. Thanks.’

‘Did you know Sparks is close to charging Isaac with the deaths of Gregory Munro and Jack Hart, in addition to Stephen Linley?’

‘Shit.’

‘Why haven’t you told them about this? What we’re doing today?’ asked Peterson.