‘You believe it’s murder?’ said David.
‘Murder?’ said Elspeth.
‘It was Marissa Lewis; someone stabbed her to death on her doorstep,’ said Joseph.
‘That’s speculating…’ started Erika.
‘No. I was there when her body was discovered.’ Joseph pulled the camera into his lap protectively.
‘Did you call the police?’ asked Erika.
‘I didn’t have my phone.’
‘But you took photos of the crime scene, before the police arrived?’
‘You don’t have to answer that, Joseph. We bought him a new lens for his camera, as a Christmas gift.’ said David.
‘If anyone round here was going to come a cropper, it would be Marissa Lewis,’ said Elspeth, shaking her head.
‘My wife is also speculating,’ said David. ‘Which is legal, is it not?’ He was infuriatingly calm, and Erika took a deep breath.
‘Of course it’s legal, but could she – could you – explain?’
Elspeth draped the towel over the back of a free chair, crossed herself, and turned to Erika.
‘Marissa Lewis has – had – a certain reputation, if you get my drift. A promiscuous reputation. She worked as a stripper.’
‘You’ve seen her at work?’ asked McGorry.
‘Of course I haven’t seen her at work! None of us have!’ She glanced at David and Joseph, who shook their heads and looked at the floor. ‘My hairdresser told me.’
Erika’s eyes strayed to the loose, greasy grey hair hanging around Elspeth’s shoulders, and wondered exactly what a hairdresser did for her.
‘Who is your hairdresser?’
‘Marissa Lewis’s best friend, Sharon-Louise Braithwaite, is my hairdresser. At the Goldilocks Hair Studio by Crofton Park station. Marissa asked Sharon to put up a poster for one of her… performances, in the salon. It was a picture of her wearing nothing but stockings, suspenders and a bra!’ Elspeth shook her head at the memory. ‘I also heard from Sharon that Marissa had an affair with a married man who lived a few doors down, and she had several other blokes on the go.’
‘Do you have the name of the married man?’
‘Don Walpole. He has a wife, Jeanette. They’re still together, despite it all.’
Erika turned her focus back to Joseph.
‘So, you were in the tree opposite Marissa Lewis’s house early this morning, and you took photos? What did you take photos of?’
‘The sunrise,’ he said, with a smarmy smile.
‘You were up in the tree to capture the sunrise, but you remained in the tree after you saw there was a dead body in the garden opposite, and the road was closed off by police officers?’
‘I only saw the body when I heard Marissa’s mother scream.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I dunno.’
‘We opened our Christmas presents at ten to seven,’ said David. ‘We had breakfast, and Joseph left around seven-twenty. Sunrise today was at 8.05 a.m.’
‘It had just got light, so it was around that time when Marissa’s mum came out of their house,’ said Joseph. ‘I don’t wear a watch.’
‘Do you know why Marissa’s mother came to the front door?’
‘No.’
‘She probably had more bottles to put in the recycling bin; she’s a drinker,’ said Elspeth. ‘It’s not the nicest street.’
‘There’s been snow and thick cloud for the past few days. How would you expect to see the sun rise?’ asked McGorry.
‘If all photographers thought like that, they wouldn’t take any photos,’ said Joseph.
‘You’re a professional photographer?’
‘The word professional is rather redundant. Would you say you are a professional police officer? Did you act professionally when you pinned me down in a chokehold?’
‘Listen, you little sh…’ started McGorry, taking a step towards him. Erika held up her hand.
‘Joseph, stop wasting time, and answer our questions.’
‘He doesn’t have to answer any of your questions!’ cried Elspeth.
‘A young woman has been brutally attacked and murdered on her doorstep. She should be with her family this morning, but instead she’s lying in the snow with her throat hacked open. The bones are broken in her face, and she may or may not have been sexually assaulted,’ said Erika. ‘Joseph doesn’t have to answer any of my questions, but he could have information that helps our investigation.’
Joseph looked uncomfortable for the first time, and shifted in his seat.
‘Okay, I did watch stuff for a bit, then the police arrived really fast. Then they closed off the road. I didn’t know what to do. When I climbed up that tree, it wasn’t a crime scene, but by the time I stepped back down, it was.’
‘Did you photograph the body?’
‘No.’
‘Can I look through the photos on your camera?’
‘No. It’s a film camera,’ he said, holding it up. Erika moved over to him and saw that it was a vintage model, and had no digital screen. She went to take it, but before she could, Joseph flipped it over, opened the back and whipped out the roll of film. He pulled out the negative, and dumped it on the table.
‘There. No photos to process. All gone.’
Erika stared at him. He had an odd face, both vulnerable and hard. He stared at her, defiantly.
‘I think we’ve been more than cooperative, officers,’ said David. ‘Now if that is all, we’d like to get on with celebrating Christmas.’
* * *
Erika and McGorry left through the front door. It had stopped snowing and the road was busy with cars. When they turned and looked back, the house looked oddly out of place: a crumbling, sagging structure, sandwiched in a gap between the smart, upright row of terraces.
‘It’s like it’s been dropped from above,’ said McGorry.
Erika put her hands in her pockets and hunched down against the cold, as they started back down the alleyway towards Coniston Road.
‘I’m going to have to write all this up,’ she said.
‘What about the chokehold?’
‘They haven’t said they’re going to complain, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. You’re a bloody idiot, John. Why the hell did you let it go that far?’
‘He was lashing out, I was trying to… calm him down, stop being hit. It was instinctive. And you said all about that freedom of information request, that I can justify a choke hold.’
‘He could still complain, and cause problems. You need to be on the ball. You have to always think about the consequences of your actions.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Of course it’s bloody impossible, but that’s part of being a police officer. You can’t let yourself get into a situation where you are using unnecessary force.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said McGorry, his face flushing.
‘It’s okay. We live in a shitty time, John. Everyone takes offence at everything, and you’re presumed guilty, at all times. Be smart. Think. I’ll do my best to steer my report away from it…’