The Night Stalker (Detective Erika Foster 2)

Although, whereas Mark had died tragically in the line of duty during a police raid, Stephen had broken Isaac’s heart, leaving him for another man.

This was why it had been such a surprise to Erika to see Stephen when she’d arrived earlier that evening. In fact, not so much a surprise – it had felt more like an ambush.

Even though she had lived in the UK for more than twenty-five years, Erika had found herself wishing this dinner were happening back in her native Slovakia. In Slovakia, people were direct.

What’s going on? You could have warned me! Why didn’t you tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend would be here? Are you insane to let him back into your life after what he did to you?

She’d wanted to shout when she’d come through to the kitchen, and had seen Stephen sitting languidly in shorts and a T-shirt. But she’d felt awkward, and polite British convention dictated that they all gloss over it, and pretend things were normal.

‘Would anyone like coffee?’ asked Isaac, closing the dishwasher and turning to face them. He was a tall, handsome man, with a head of thick dark hair swept back from a high forehead. His large brown eyes were framed by thinly shaped eyebrows, which could be arched or drawn together to communicate all manner of wry emotions. Tonight, however, he just looked embarrassed.

Stephen swirled the white wine in his glass and looked between Erika and Isaac. ‘Coffee already? It’s barely eight o’clock, Isaac, and it’s bloody hot. Open more wine.’

‘No, coffee would be great, thank you,’ said Erika.

‘If you must have coffee, at least use the machine,’ said Stephen. He added, territorially, ‘Did he tell you? I bought him the Nespresso. Cost a fortune. From my last book advance.’

Erika smiled blandly and took a roasted almond from a dish in the centre of the table. As she chewed, it seemed to crackle through the silence. During the awkward meal, Stephen had done most of the talking, telling them in great detail about the new crime novel he was writing. He’d also taken it upon himself to tell them all about forensic profiling, which Erika had thought was a bit rich, considering that Isaac was one of the leading forensic pathologists in the country, and that Erika herself, as a detective chief inspector with the London Metropolitan Police, had successfully solved a string of murder cases in the real world.

Isaac started to make coffee and switched on the radio. ‘Like a Prayer’ by Madonna cut through the silence.

‘Turn it up! I love a bit of Madge,’ said Stephen.

‘Let’s have something a bit more mellow,’ said Isaac, scrolling through the radio stations until the sweet mournful strings of a violin replaced Madonna’s squeaky voice.

‘Allegedly, he’s a gay man,’ said Stephen, rolling his eyes.

‘I just think something more mellow would suit right now, Stevie,’ said Isaac.

‘Christ. We’re not eighty! Let’s have some fun. What do you want to do, Erika? What do you do for fun?’

Stephen, to Erika’s eyes, was a host of contradictions. He dressed very straight, like an American Ivy League athlete, but his movements had a camp lightness to them. He crossed his legs now and pursed his lips, waiting for her answer.

‘I think… I’m going to go and have a cigarette,’ she said, reaching for her bag.

‘The door’s unlocked upstairs,’ said Isaac, looking at her with apologetic eyes. She pulled her face into a smile and left the kitchen.

Isaac lived in a townhouse in Blackheath, near Greenwich. The spare bedroom upstairs had a small balcony. Erika opened the glass door, went outside and lit up a cigarette. She exhaled smoke into the dark sky, feeling the intensity of the evening heat. The summer night was clear, but the stars were faint against the haze of light pollution floating up from the city stretching out in front of her. She followed the path of the laser from the Greenwich Observatory, craning her head to where it vanished amongst the stars high above. She took another deep drag on her cigarette and heard the crickets singing in the dark back garden below, mixed in with the hum of traffic from the busy road behind.

Was she being too harsh in her assessment of Isaac allowing Stephen back into his life? Was it just that she was jealous that her single friend was no longer single? No – she wanted the best for Isaac, and Stephen Linley was a toxic individual. She reflected, sadly, that there might not be room in Isaac’s life for both herself and Stephen.

She thought of the small, sparsely furnished flat she struggled to call home, and of the lonely nights she spent in bed staring into the darkness. Erika and Mark had shared their lives in more ways than just as man and wife. They had been colleagues, joining the Greater Manchester Police in their early twenties. Erika had been a rising star in the force and was rapidly promoted to detective chief inspector, senior in rank to Mark. Mark had loved her all the more for it.