The podcast episode moved on to an interview with a man with a CCTV camera, who found the body of a cat hacked to pieces on his back step. He had a blurred image of a thick-set stocky figure in his back garden. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire in the small box room, caused Erika’s mind to drift and as she dozed off, she saw Charles as the stocky figure on the back porch. His sleeves rolled up, gripping something limp and furry, his eyes wide as specks of blood clung to his smooth hairless face.
Erika woke with a start. She was freezing cold, and a gruel-like grey light was filtering through the thin curtains. She shifted, and felt the hard floor pressing into her hip bones. When she sat up, her breath was coming out in a stream of vapour. It was 7am.
Erika arrived at Lewisham Row station just before nine. It was a bright grey day, with a wintery chill in the air. Two cups of coffee later, she was still shivering from her first shower in the new bathroom. A frigid plunge under a freezing trickle of water. It hadn’t helped that her car had iced up overnight. And the can of anti-freeze she kept in the car was empty. As she pulled into the car park, Peterson drove up beside her and parked in the next spot.
She also had a crick in her neck from where she’d slept badly on the deflated mattress. When she got out of the car, she tried to straighten up and winced.
‘Morning. You all right?’ asked Peterson. ‘How’s the new gaff?’
Erika was about to tell him the new house was fabulous and spacious and everything she’d ever dreamed of, but then thought, why do I have to lie? ‘My airbed popped, so I ended up on the bare floorboards. And I have no hot water.’ Peterson smiled as he took out his backpack and locked his car.
‘I slept on the sofa, so I feel your pain.’
‘That sofa is uncomfortable, but I would have given anything to sleep on something softer than floorboards.’
‘I didn’t get chucked out. It’s Kyle. He has night terrors… That’s why I was on the sofa,’ added Peterson quickly.
‘My mother used to have night terrors, she used to be half awake, half asleep, screaming like she was possessed by something.’
‘I know! Kyle screams and thrashes around. His eyes wide open. Scary stuff, and it takes ages to get him awake and calm him down,’ said Peterson, holding the door open for her. ‘The only way he can calm down is if he sleeps in our bed with Fran. And our bed is so small…’ They stepped through into the warmth of the reception area. It was small and run-down, and always seemed to stink of a mixture of sick and pine disinfectant. ‘There’s a big offer on at Bed World and it’s just over the road, next to the DLR.’
‘Okay. Thanks for the tip…’As they reached the front desk, Erika’s thoughts moved to Charles Wakefield. ‘I’ll see you at the briefing. I’m just going to check on Mr Wakefield, and see how he enjoyed his night in the cells.’ Peterson nodded and put his card key on the sensor next to the door. It buzzed and clicked open, letting him into the main station. ‘Morning. Can I have a look at the last night’s log, please?’ she added to the Duty Officer on the desk. He handed her a printout.
Erika scanned down the list. It detailed all the arrests and incidents that had happened during the night, and she froze when she saw the last log entry.
‘What the…’ she said under her breath. ‘Is this correct?’ she asked, pointing to the entry at the bottom.
‘Yeah. He went off first thing,’ said the Duty Officer. ‘Turns out that Charles Wakefield’s brother is Julian Wakefield, the Assistant Commissioner of Police!’
10
Erika went to the door and buzzed herself into the station. She hurried down a long, low corridor which led past the central staircase and lifts towards the custody suite. Phones rang, and officers in uniform and support staff streamed by in the opposite direction, their weary faces tense and urgent.
Erika’s mind was whirring. Jesus. Why didn’t Charles say that his brother was third in command of the whole bloody Met police? She thought back to the photos in his living room, of the two brothers. She thought that the brother looked familiar.
She bumped into Moss coming out of the staff canteen with a coffee.
‘Morning, boss. The Super wants to see you urgently in her office,’ she said, swallowing a gulp of coffee.
‘I thought she might,’ said Erika. She turned on her heel and went back to the stairs, feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety growing in her chest.
Superintendent Melanie Hudson’s office was on the top floor, at the end of the corridor. Erika knocked and waited.