Amanda had always enjoyed the research, solving puzzles and reading people. Without the pressure of answering to top brass, or even the pressure to leave her house she felt in control.
She’d re-read through the case files, checking through witness statements, and she was now watching Trevor Marksman’s video featuring Marianne and Laura Collins together in the park. She lifted her wine glass and saw that it was empty. She paused the image on the screen. It was the part where Marianne had just slapped Laura across the face. She heaved herself up and hurried through to the kitchen to get another glass of wine. When she opened the fridge she saw she’d drunk the last bottle of wine. She went to the small pantry and felt around in the Jacobs creek box, which had a hole in the top. It was empty. She searched through the boxes on the floor in the darkness and was horrified to see that she’d run out of wine. She pulled the door open, and using her smartphone as a light, she scanned the shelves looking for something to drink. She was sure she had a bottle of taboo or baileys, which she didn’t like, but it would have to do. The rain was lashing against the window and thunder was rumbling far off. She really didn’t fancy setting out in that kind of weather.
She dragged a chair from the kitchen table and kicked the wine boxed out of the cupboard, and stood on it, she scanned the shelves of tins, bags of old pasta, out of date stocks cubes, and her phone came to rest on a box behind a small pile of OXO cubes. It was a very old Terry’s Chocolate Orange. The small square box was covered in dust and she could see through the little plastic sphere that the chocolate inside had broken down and seeped through the foil. She didn’t notice this, because it was what was written on the box that made her stop in her tracks.
‘It’s not Terry’s, it’s mine.” She repeated, reading the old tagline. She stepped down off the chair and walked through to the living room holding the box. “It’s not Terry’s it’s mine.” She repeated, almost in a trance. She suddenly rushed back to the computer, all thought of a drink of wine had gone. She played back the video a couple of times.
She then reached for the phone and called DI Crawford.
‘I think I’ve worked it out,’ she said. ‘I need you to check something though…’
* * *
A hundred yards down the street, Gerry sat in his car listening to the conversation as it unfolded between Amanda Baker and DI Crawford. When it was over, he called his boss.
‘She knows. Amanda Baker knows. What should I do?’
‘Make it look like an accident.’
48
Peterson stood in the tiny kitchen of his flat, wearing only a tiny hand towel around his waist. His fridge was empty. All he had were a can of spaghetti hoops and some mouldy bread. This was the first night he’d been able to get home early in several weeks, and he had realised he needed to do his laundry, just as much as he needed to buy food.
His flat was a small ground floor rental in a decent area of Sydenham. His neighbours were mostly made up of office workers, who left early and arrived home late, and a couple of old ladies, who always became a little twinkly eyed when they saw him. They’d discovered he was a policeman a few weeks after he’d moved in, and they were comforted by the fact they had a man of the law in their midst, and as his mate Dwayne had remarked, she probably fancied him too.
As he sighed and closed the fridge, his buzzer went. He thought it might be the old lady in question. She had pushed a note through his front door about coming to a neighbourhood watch meeting.
However, when he opened the door, it was Erika stood dripping wet.
‘Boss, hi,’ he said. He turned and picked up the underwear and a t-shirt, which was on the floor by the bathroom door.
‘Sorry, have you got company?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m just a slob,’ he grinned standing and trying to untangle the t-shirt. Erika’s eyes flicked down to where a silver St Christopher necklace hung between his smooth pectorals, and the dusting of hair on his washboard stomach.
‘Sorry, I was just out of the shower,’ he said pulling on the white t-shirt and nearly losing the tiny towel in the process. ‘Come in.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come,’ she said turning to leave.
‘Boss, you’re soaked and it’s freezing. Let me at least give you a towel… I’ve got another one,’ he added looking at the one wrapped around his waist.
He showed her through to the living room as he went off to the bedroom. She looked around and saw it was very much a bachelor pad. There was a huge TV on a low table with a PlayStation and two controllers hooked up to it. Two of the walls were lined with bookshelves and crammed with a mixture of books and DVD’s. The furniture was black leather, and on the wall was a Pirelli 2016 calendar, still showing October. Peterson came back in wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms. He smelt delicious.
‘What’s with the calendar?’ asked Erika pointing to the black and white picture of Yoko Ono sat on a stool wearing tights a jacket and a top hat.
‘Yeah, my mates usually get me the Pirelli every year… This year it’s gone all arty and conceptual.’
‘No birds with their tits out,’ grinned Erika.
‘Sadly, no,’ he grinned. His eyes flicked down to the front of her blouse and followed his gaze, mortified to see that she was drenched and her bra was showing through.
‘Shit,’ she said lifting the towel to cover herself.
‘It’s cool,’ he said. ‘You want a t-shirt? I can stick your blouse on the radiator?’
He left and came back with a dry t-shirt and went through to the kitchen. She went to a corner and quickly changed. He returned with two small tumblers of whisky, as she was hanging her wet blouse over the small radiator under the window. Lightning flashed in the sky and the rain was blown in sheets against the window.
‘Here it will warm you up. It’s just a single so you won’t be over the limit,’ he said. She took a glass and they sipped. They came and sat down on the sofa.
‘Is everything okay with the case? I know it was a bit of a shit day,’ he said.
‘It’s fine, well not fine but…’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know why I’m here. I had a terrible argument with my sister.’