The Night Stalker (Detective Erika Foster 2)

‘Yes?’

‘I saw you talking about me on the television… You know nothing about me,’ the voice said, calmly.

Erika stiffened where she sat. Her mind started to whir. She jumped up, turned off the lights and went to her patio window. The garden was dark, the branches of the apple tree moved in the breeze.

‘You can calm down. I’m nowhere near you,’ the voice said.

‘Okay. Then where are you?’ asked Erika, her heart racing.

‘Somewhere you won’t find me,’ said the voice. There was another pause and Erika tried to think what she could do. She looked at her phone, but had no idea how to record calls.

‘It’s not over,’ said the voice.

‘What do you mean?’ said Erika.

‘Come on, DCI Foster. I just looked you up. You were a rising star in the force. You have a degree in criminal psychology. You have a commendation. And lastly, you have something in common with me.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My husband died too – although, sadly, unlike you, I wasn’t responsible for his death.’

Erika closed her eyes and gripped the receiver.

‘You were responsible, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, I was,’ said Erika.

‘Thank you for being honest,’ said the voice. ‘My husband was a brutal, sadistic pig. He enjoyed torturing me. I have the scars to prove it.’

‘What happened to your husband?’

‘I’d planned to kill him. And if I’d had the opportunity, none of this would have followed. But he dropped dead, quite by chance. And then I became the merry widow.’

‘What do you mean when you say it’s not over?’

‘What I mean is there will be more men who will die.’

‘This won’t end well, I’m telling you,’ Erika said. ‘You are going to slip up. We’ve got witnesses who’ve seen you. We are so close to finding out what you look like…’

‘I think that’s enough for now, Erika. All I ask is that you leave me alone,’ said the voice.

There was a click and the line went dead.

Erika quickly dialled 1471, but the recorded voice told her that the number was not available. She checked the sliding glass door was locked and took the key out, pushing it into her pocket. She then went to the front door and checked the deadbolt was on. She moved through the flat, shutting and locking the remaining windows.

It quickly began to warm up inside, with all the windows closed. She was starting to sweat when she called the number for Lewisham Row station.

Woolf answered. ‘Oh, it’s the new face of the Met Police. You did well on the telly,’ he said.

‘Woolf, have there been any phone calls for me?’ asked Erika.

‘Yes, we’ve had Playboy on the line; they want you to do a centrefold. I told them only if they do a good job. I don’t want your naughty bits getting lost where they crease the paper…’

‘Woolf, I’m serious!’

‘Sorry, boss, I was only kidding. Hang on…’ She heard him turning through the call log.

‘There was only that producer, the one from Crimewatch. Did she get your handbag back to you?’

‘I’ve got my bag,’ Erika said, seeing where she’d dumped it on the coffee table.

‘She rang saying that you’d left your bag in the studio, and asked if she could have your number… So, you didn’t leave your bag?’

’No, I didn’t. And you’re going to tell me that the call was a withheld number?’

‘Uh, yes, it was…’ started Woolf. ‘If it wasn’t the producer, then who was it?’

‘I just had a call from the Night Stalker,’ said Erika.

46

When Simone arrived back home, after her phone call to Erika Foster, a nasty smell hit her nose. She saw the macaroni cheese sauce smeared over the mirror in the hallway, over her computer in the hall. She went through to the living room and it was splattered everywhere: up the wall, over the TV.

As she cleaned, she turned things over in her mind. How did the police know it was her? How did they know it was a woman?

She’d been so clever, so careful.

She’d been nothing more than a shadow.

She was scrubbing at the living room carpet when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. She stopped scrubbing. There was a pat, pat, pattering coming from behind her. She gripped the wooden brush and turned.

Stan stood in the living room doorway, naked, the water running off his pasty skin, raining down on her clean carpet. His mouth fell open, showing a row of black teeth. Simone was surprised that she didn’t feel scared. She slowly stood up, her knees cracking.