‘What about his solicitor?’ asked Erika.
‘We’ve just called him. He should be here in an hour,’ said the desk sergeant.
‘Thanks,’ said Erika. She took out her car keys. ‘And could you arrange someone to bring my car from outside my house to the station.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said the desk sergeant.
‘Whose solicitor?’ asked Moss.
‘Charles Wakefield is downstairs in a cell.’
‘Bloody hell. Good work. When do you want to have a crack at him?’
‘As soon as his solicitor gets here,’ said Erika.
Moss moved to the door and buzzed them inside the station. Erika limped in after her, with Peterson shadowing her.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, boss?’ asked Moss. ‘You look a bit green around the gills.’
‘I’m fine,’ snapped Erika, hating how people treated you differently if you were injured. ‘Sorry. You go on, you go ahead,’ she added. They both nodded and went off along the corridor towards the incident room while Erika limped along after them.
She’d had to wait for three hours in A&E with Igor before her foot was stitched up, and she’d been glad of his company during the wait. It had made her feel like someone cared. When they reached the incident room, Moss and Peterson looked back and she waved that she was okay.
‘Do you want coffee?’ called Moss down the corridor.
‘Please, a strong one you can stand your spoon up in,’ said Erika. She saw she was next to the toilets and she hobbled inside. She stopped at the row of sinks and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look too bad, but her night with Igor and then their adventure in hospital had taken her head out of the case. She hadn’t expected to be questioning suspects today, let alone Charles Wakefield, and she didn’t feel ready.
She balanced her metal crutches on the edge of the sink and leant over to splash her face with cold water. Just shifting her weight forward onto the front of her foot unleashed a new explosion of pain in her stitches. She’d been given a week’s prescription of co-codamol, a strong painkiller, but she could already feel the tablet she’d taken four hours ago wearing off. Her next dose shouldn’t be for another two hours, but she knew she needed to be on top of her game for Charles Wakefield. Erika pulled the packet out of her pocket, and took another of the tablets with a mouthful of water from the tap. She then smoothed down her hair with a little water and dug in her bag for the small amount of make-up she kept in there. With a bit of base and a subtle lipstick she looked more in control. She licked her finger and rubbed at a small chocolate stain on the sleeve of her black jacket. Satisfied that it would do, she grabbed her metal crutches and made her way slowly to the incident room, looking forward to a shot of caffeine to supplement the super-strength painkillers.
58
‘Are you ready, boss?’ asked Moss an hour later, when they were about to go into the interview room. Erika took a deep breath. She suddenly wished she could wind back the clock and still smoke in the police station. She remembered all those long-gone overflowing ashtrays in interview rooms.
She smoothed down her hair and nodded.
Charles Wakefield was sitting in the same suit he’d worn for the funeral. His hands were neatly folded in his lap, and he was staring at the wall. His solicitor was a swarthy-looking man in a suit that was a size too small, with a thick circle of hair surrounding a shiny bald spot.
‘Ah, detectives, there you are,’ said Charles calmly, sounding as if he’d been saving their seats at the opera, and the show was about to start. ‘Oh, deary me…’ he added when he saw Erika leaning on the metal crutches. ‘What did we do to ourselves?’
Erika ignored him and took a seat next to Moss opposite him.
‘Mr Wakefield, good morning.’
‘Good morning to you too,’ he said, peering at their ID badges. ‘Just memorising your names and numbers.’ He flashed them a nasty smile, and Erika noticed he had a couple of black teeth towards the back of his mouth. He also had terrible breath.
‘Were you the caretaker for Goldsmith’s Drama Academy between 2007 and 2012?’ asked Erika.
‘Yes, I was,’ he said.
‘We found it rather difficult to get this information from GDA. It seems their records are rather patchy.’
‘Oh, are they? That’s unfortunate. But yes, I can confirm that I was caretaker.’
‘Can I ask why you left?’
‘Of course. I retired.’