The Girl in the Ice (Detective Erika Foster 1)

‘I know the details of my own case, sir!’

They finished an hour later, with Erika having reluctantly agreed to the content of the press conference, which made no mention of Andrea being anywhere near The Glue Pot, and played down the fact she could have been on the London Road.

Erika came out to the vending machine and saw Sergeant Crane feeding in coins and selecting a cappuccino.

‘All right, boss? We got the bus footage through from TFL, and some stuff from a couple of black cabs who went along London Road,’ he said. The machine beeped and he bent down and pulled out the plastic cup, blowing on the froth.

‘Let me guess, nothing?’

Crane took a gulp of coffee and shook his head. ‘But this Marco Frost seems tough to track down. The last place of work we have is the Caffè Nero on Old Compton Street, and he doesn’t work there anymore. His mobile number’s been disconnected too.’

‘Keep trying. Perhaps he went off with Barbora Kardosova.’

‘Ha! That’s another theory, boss.’

‘Well, add it to the list,’ said Erika darkly, as she fed coins into the machine and selected a large espresso.

25

The incident room at Lewisham Row had been set up as the response centre for the appeal, which would be going out live on the BBC, Sky and other rolling news channels. Six uniformed officers had been drafted in to man the phones.

Erika, Sparks, Marsh and Colleen had left Lewisham Row an hour before, to go over to the Thistle Hotel near Marble Arch, where the appeal would be taking place.

Moss and Peterson were using the time before the appeal to work on the whereabouts of their prime suspect, Marco Frost. They had been working off address and payroll information from the Caffè Nero where he had worked in Old Compton Street. This had proved to be a dead end; Marco had quit working for them a year ago. They had tried his parents’ address, but Marco’s parents had died within six months of each other the previous year. Marco had been living with them in a rented flat, but had now moved. Moss had just been given a phone number from the landlord. Marco was now living with his aunt and uncle. Moss dialled the phone number, and the uncle answered after only a couple of rings.

The conference room at the Thistle Hotel in Marble Arch was huge and windowless. An endless patterned carpet covered the floor, and the rows of chairs in front of a small platform were almost full. Members of the press waited with their cameras. Lights were being set up, and already a couple of TV journalists were standing practising their pieces to camera. Two large flat-screen televisions were on stands at the side of the room, and they showed live feeds from the BBC News Channel and Sky News. The sound was muted, but across both screens was a banner, trailing that there would shortly be a live press conference and police appeal about the murder of Andrea Douglas-Brown.

On the platform was a long table, dotted at intervals with small microphones. A woman from the hotel staff moved along with a tray, placing a glass and a small carafe of water at each chair. Behind were three video screens showing the blue Met Police logo against a white background.

It never failed to make Erika feel uncomfortable, the relationship the police had with the media; one day pushing them away, accusing them of intruding and twisting the facts, and the next inviting them to a press conference which had all the hallmarks of a theatrical performance.

On cue, Colleen appeared at Erika’s side and asked her to come to the staging area for make-up.

‘Just a little powder to take the shine off your face,’ she added. But the way she looked at her watch indicated it might take a lot longer to get Erika to look half-decent on live television.

The hotel had set aside a smaller conference room next door for police and family. A group of sofas had been pushed together and there was a table with water and orange juice.

Marsh sat wearing his Chief Superintendent uniform. A young girl was working on his face with a tube of foundation and a triangular-shaped sponge. Beside him, another young girl was making up DCI Sparks. They were deep in conversation with Simon and Diana, who sat opposite. Again, Andrea’s parents were both clad in black, and whilst Simon did most of the talking, Diana held on to his hand, nodding and dabbing at her eyes. They looked across and Erika nodded respectfully. Diana nodded back, but Simon ignored her and turned back to Marsh and Sparks.

‘They shouldn’t be a moment, then it’s your turn,’ said Colleen. Erika went over to get a glass of water from the table, which was under a window looking out over the traffic grinding its way around Marble Arch. Linda and David appeared through the door at the back of the room, and approached the table.