They were now back in the alleyway and level with the high wall leading back over to the Pitkins’s garden. Erika spied something behind the wheelie bin and stopped.
‘What?’ asked McGorry.
She crouched down, and using a small, clear plastic evidence bag from her pocket, she picked up a small, black plastic cylinder. She stood and held it to the light. She fiddled with the bag and managed to get the small lid of the plastic tube to come off inside the bag.
‘A camera film,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Used?’
‘I hope so. I saw his camera before he yanked out the film. He’d only taken one photo on it.’
‘You think he used a whole film when he was up in the tree, then changed it?’ said McGorry hopefully.
‘We’ll know for sure when we get it developed, and the tube tested for prints,’ said Erika.
Six
When Erika and McGorry arrived back at Coniston Road, the house-to-house was underway. Uniformed officers were moving up and down the street, knocking on doors, and several were talking to neighbours on their doorsteps. It had started to snow again, and despite the early hour, just before 3 p.m., the light was starting to fade. The police presence was at odds with the Christmas lights in the windows.
They stopped off at the support van, where Erika asked McGorry to get the roll of film fast-tracked through forensics and developed. She left him to work on it, and when she emerged from the van, a small black body bag was being wheeled through the narrow gate posts on the post-mortem trolley. There was a brief pause as everyone stopped and watched. Erika thought how small it looked. Isaac nodded to her as it was loaded into the van, and the doors closed. She felt a wave of exhaustion and depression approaching, but she forced herself to keep it at bay. She took a deep breath and welcomed the distraction of an officer with a short blonde bob of hair, wearing a long blue winter coat, who had just arrived on the scene.
‘I’m Detective Constable Tania Hill, I’m the family liaison officer,’ she said, offering her hand.
‘What do you know about the case so far?’ asked Erika.
‘I just saw the body of the young girl. I’ve never seen so much frozen blood,’ she said, pulling the lapels of her coat around her face. ‘The mother is, apparently, very vulnerable. Low income, serious health issues with alcohol.’
‘She’s with the neighbour; I’m glad you’re here. I’d like to talk to her,’ said Erika.
They crossed the road to a smart house with brand new UPVc windows and a small square of concreted-over front garden. Erika rang the bell. The door was opened by a small, middle-aged lady wearing a red velvet tracksuit and gold slippers. Her snow-white hair was neatly clipped in a pixie cut, which looked at odds with her lined face. In her left hand, she held a cigarette.
Erika made the introductions and they held up their warrant cards.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Who’s asking?’ said the woman, with almost comedic defensiveness. Her voice had a deep smoker’s growl.
‘I am,’ said Erika.
‘The name’s Joan Field.’
‘Can we please come in?’
Joan stood to one side. The dark blue carpet in the hallway was immaculate. ‘Shoes off,’ she added.
‘Can I call you Joan?’ asked Tania.
‘No, I’d prefer Mrs Field.’
‘I’m the family liaison officer,’ said Tania, placing her shoes by the bannister. ‘I’m here in a support capacity, to bridge the gap between Mandy and the police investigation.’
Joan looked her up and down. ‘Bridge the gap? Isn’t that fancy talk for answering the phone?’
Tania ignored the dig.
‘Where is Mandy?’
‘In the kitchen.’
They followed her, passing a living room which contained a heavy red velvet three-piece suite and a small silver Christmas tree, but which was otherwise devoid of any ornaments or photographs and didn’t looked lived-in. At the back of the house was a small kitchen, looking out over the snowy garden. It was clean, but cramped. The ceiling and the walls were yellow from nicotine. A frozen turkey, still wrapped in plastic, floated in the sink.
Marissa Lewis’s mother, Mandy, was a huge woman, her vast frame swathed in a grubby pink tracksuit. She sat at the table, her enormous buttocks spilling over either side of a wooden chair. Erika’s eyes strayed to the old trainers Mandy was wearing, which had been cut up the middle to accommodate her swollen feet. Her face was pale, and her eyes bloodshot and watery.
‘Mandy Trent?’ she asked.
‘Marissa weren’t adopted. We’re blood,’ said Mandy, seeing Erika’s surprise at her appearance. ‘She got her father’s name, and I changed mine back when he fucked off… Marissa got the slim genes from him.’ Her voice was loaded with bitterness.
‘I take it you both want tea?’ said Joan, moving to the kettle.
‘Please,’ said Erika. Tania nodded and they each pulled up a chair.
‘Mandy. I’m here as your family liaison officer,’ said Tania, placing a hand on her arm. ‘This will be a very hard time for you, and I’m here to help, and to explain what happens next.’
Mandy lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in Tania’s face.
‘What happens next? You want to take me to see her body? It was her.’
‘Are you up to answering some questions?’ asked Erika.
‘I found her outside the front door, this morning, when I took out the rubbish. Just lying there, quiet and still, but the blood. There was so much of it.’
‘Can you remember what time?’
‘Eight-ish.’
‘Marissa lived with you?’ asked Erika.
‘Yeah. She’s paid me housekeeping since she was sixteen.’
‘Do you know where Marissa had been last night?’
‘She had a dancing gig, don’t ask me where. She has – had – a lot of them. She was a burlesque dancer, worked in clubs all around the West End. A few nights a week.’
‘And you heard nothing last night; you didn’t hear her return home?’
‘No.’
‘Did you expect her home at a certain time?’
Mandy shook her head. ‘I’ve done my job rearing her, she’s an adult…’
‘What time did you go to bed?’
‘I nodded off about ten-ish, I think.’
‘You didn’t hear anything?’
‘Like what?’
‘Screaming, sounds from the front garden. A vehicle?’
‘No.’
‘Marissa’s front door key was still in the lock outside when you found her?’
‘Yeah. I told the police that.’
‘Were you in the living room until 10 p.m.?’
‘Yeah, I was watching telly. It was shit. They used to show decent stuff on Christmas Eve.’
‘How long had Marissa been working as a burlesque dancer?’ asked Tania.
‘Three or four years. She’s been doing well for herself, always had bookings. Though she don’t make much money from it – didn’t. She’d pay me housekeeping and then borrow it back three days later.’