‘Hello,’ said Erika, pouring herself some water.
‘Hi,’ said David. He held out his glass and let Erika fill it. He was dressed in jeans and a royal blue jumper and looked very white. Linda wore a long black skirt and a bright red sweater with a plastic moulded panel on the front, depicting a row of thin white cats standing on their hind legs, wearing can-can dresses. Above them was written, ‘WE’RE DOING THE CAT-CAT!’ It seemed garish and inappropriate.
Colleen came back and told Erika they were almost ready.
‘I hate wearing make-up, too,’ said Linda, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
‘You're not going to be on telly,’ said David, sipping his water.
‘Did you know Jimmy Savile always refused to wear make-up on television? He said he wanted people to see the real him . . . A horrible irony, don’t you think?’ said Linda, flicking her fringe away from her eyes with a twitch. Erika didn’t know what to say, and just nodded.
‘I wrote to his show when I was seven,’ Linda continued. ‘I wanted him to fix it for me to visit the Disney studios and draw a cat for an animation film. You know, they make animations with loads of pictures drawn with tiny differences . . .’
‘I’m sure DCI Foster knows how animation works,’ said David, rolling his eyes at Erika conspiratorially.
‘Of course, I never got a reply . . . Even Jimmy Savile rejected me.’ Linda laughed dryly.
‘Jesus. Can you just try and be normal for once? You come wearing that stupid jumper, making sick jokes!’ snapped David. Linda jumped as he slammed his empty glass on the table and walked away.
‘It wasn’t a joke. I really did want to visit the Disney studios,’ said Linda, blushing and twitching her hair off her forehead. Erika was glad when Colleen appeared and took her to the make-up girl.
Marsh and Sparks were now standing near the door to the larger conference room with Simon and Diana. The make-up girl worked fast on Erika, and just as she finished, a young guy wearing earphones approached and said there were two minutes to go. Erika’s phone rang.
‘Sorry, I need your phone off, it interferes with the sound,’ he said.
‘I’ll just take this quickly,’ said Erika, seeing Moss’s name flash. She moved over to the window and answered the call.
‘Boss, it’s me,’ Moss said. ‘Are you there with the Super and Sparks? I’ve been trying their phones . . .’
‘They’ve switched them off; something to do with the microphones and sound,’ said Erika, realising she’d been third on Moss’s list.
‘We’ve tracked down Marco Frost. He lives with his uncle in North London.’
Erika could see the press conference was about to start. Moss went on, ‘Marco Frost was in Puglia in Italy until two days ago. He went with his uncle and aunt for an extended Christmas break to visit relatives. They drove in the uncle’s car. The uncle owns a convenience store near Angel, and they brought back a shedload of olive oil and meats, etcetera, etcetera.’
‘So Marco Frost has an alibi,’ said Erika, the excitement rising in her.
‘Yup. He even used his credit card when he was abroad. He can’t have killed Andrea.’
Colleen appeared at Erika’s elbow. ‘We have to go, DCI Foster, and that has to be turned off,’ she said.
‘Good work, Moss.’
‘Is it? This means we’re none the wiser about who killed Andrea . . . Well, there’s your theory.’
‘I’ve got to go Moss, I’ll talk to you later,’ said Erika, and hung up. She switched off her phone as she saw the others move towards the conference room. Simon went first, followed by Marsh, then Sparks.
So Marco Frost didn’t kill Andrea, thought Erika. Sparks’s theory has just fallen apart. The conversations she’d had with The Glue Pot barmaid and Ivy needled at her brain. Andrea had been seen with a dark-haired man and a blonde woman . . . They were still out there. Whoever did this was still out there.
Marsh, Sparks and Simon had now disappeared into the press conference. Diana remained on the sofa. She was crying again and was being comforted by Linda and David.
‘We need you in there, now,’ hissed Colleen to Erika.
Giles Osborne burst through the door at the back. He was rugged up in a huge winter coat. He rushed over to Diana, unwinding his scarf and apologising for being late.
‘Have I missed the appeal?’ he said. Diana shook her head through her tears.
‘Now, DCI Foster!’ said Colleen.
Erika made a decision – a decision which would have far reaching consequences . . . She took a deep breath, smoothed down her hair, and went into the press conference.