The Girl in the Ice (Detective Erika Foster 1)

‘Of course . . . Not that he was thrilled, but they were Eastern European girls; they all think they can suck and fuck their way to greatness.’

‘What about Andrea? She was your sister! Your father’s favourite!’

‘She was threatening to tell Mother; she said she was going to go to the fucking press! Stupid girl. First lesson of life in the establishment: keep your mouth shut. Or someone will shut it for you, permanently.’

‘I can’t believe your father was willing to cover even that up; to let it go that you killed his beloved daughter.’

‘Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He fears a fall from grace more than anything else. He fears that the other wolves will descend and tear him apart . . . Fear is more powerful than love. He found himself with the choice to save Linda or me. Linda’s halfway to being off her fucking rocker anyway, and she hated Andrea so much, she probably would have done it herself.’

‘Linda wouldn’t have killed Andrea,’ said Erika.

‘You’re sticking up for her now? Jesus. Well, I suppose most people feel pity for her when they’ve paid a visit to her bedroom . . . You know, when my friends used to come for sleepovers we’d find her little cat and lock it in one of the huge petty cash tins from my fathers’ office . . . We’d make her do all sorts to get the key back.’

Erika forced herself to keep eye contact with David. ‘Boots. That was her cat.’

‘Yes, dear old Boots . . . Linda used to go into terrible rages when she didn’t get her way. I used one of these to dispose of Boots . . . Strangulation, in case you were curious. Have you ever tried to strangle a cat?’

‘No.’

‘Kill a rabbit? You Slovaks like a bit of bunny, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s the claws with cats. They go ballistic. They put up an admirable fight for survival.’

‘Your parents are intelligent people. They must have known it was you who killed the cat?’ said Erika.

‘That’s the problem when you delegate your child’s upbringing. Hiring nannies, you just play a walk-on role. You see the children before bath time, an hour here and there. Don’t come too close, darling; I’m dressed up for the evening out . . . You child becomes a bunch of statistics: he got an A in Maths, he can play Für Elise on the piano . . . Let’s get him a polo pony so we can mix with the polo set . . .’

David seemed to drift off for a moment, and then came back to the room. ‘Anyway. I take it your questioning of all concerned has been fruitless? My father has made their silence very lucrative. And Linda will take the rap for killing Andrea; I made her promise.’

‘Why would she promise?’

‘I said that if she did, she could have another cat and not have to live in fear of me disposing of it.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ said Erika.

‘I am. She’ll plead insanity; end up in some expensive clinical facility for a few years. My father will probably bung some orderly a few quid to poke her in that aching place between her thighs . . . They might even let her have a cat. She’ll give a little pussy to get a little pussy . . .’ David started to laugh. It was high-pitched, unhinged.

Erika took the opportunity and made a dash for the bedroom door, but David was quicker. He grabbed her, his hands encircled her neck and he slammed her into the bookcase, knocking the air from her lungs. But this time she was ready for him; she brought her arm up and punched him in the nose with the heel of her hand. There was a satisfying crack as the cartilage snapped, and his grip loosened. Erika managed to push him away and made for the door, but he caught her arm just before she was through, and wheeled her back round. She slammed into the desk, and he was on her again. Blood was now gushing down his chin, and a look of pure rage contorted his face. Erika kicked and flailed, all the while gasping and trying to force air back into her winded lungs. She thrashed under his grip but he held on, trying to control her arms, climbing on top of her. He successfully pinned one of her arms down using his knee.

With her free hand, she scrabbled around on the desk and grabbed a smooth paperweight, and smashed it against his ear. He lost grip on her and she managed to scramble from under him, again making for the door, but he recovered quickly, throwing out one of his long legs and tripping her up. She fell, and he loomed over her, his face now a mess of blood, coating his teeth as he gave a manic grin. She fought, scratching and kicking, fighting like an animal to get out from under him, but he pinned her down. Lifting his arm, he punched her in the face: once, twice. When he struck her the third time, Erika felt one of her teeth hit the back of her throat, and then everything went black.