addition of his wife, Diana, small and fine-boned beside him in an elegant white dress. She had long dark hair, and looked like an older, more pinched version of Andrea.
‘Where is Hunstanton?’ asked Erika.
‘Norfolk coast. It’s got a very nice Sea Life Centre,’ said Moss, leaning into the photo with a deadpan face.
‘So his wife became Lady Diana ,’ said Peterson.
‘Yeah,’ said Moss. ‘And it doesn’t seem the title has brought her much luck, either!’
‘Is this just a laugh for you two?’ snapped Erika. ‘Because I don’t remember anything funny about Andrea’s body when it was pulled out of the ice.’
Moss and Peterson apologised hastily. The three of them looked at the last of the photos in an awkward silence. Lord and Lady Douglas-Brown with President Barack Obama and his wife, Michelle. The Obamas towered over the Douglas-Browns, who had pulled their faces into smiles verging on mania. No doubt, out of shot there was a long line of lords, ladies, diplomats, captains of industry and their skinny wives waiting to step into the frame for an identical picture. A meeting of mere seconds, preserved for eternity on the ego wall.
They were roused from the photo wall by a cough, and turned to see Simon and Diana Douglas-Brown in the study doorway. Erika felt immediate guilt for passing judgement, for the two people standing expectantly in front of them were nothing more than terrified parents.
‘Please, just tell us what’s going on. Is it Andrea?’ asked Diana. Erika detected an accent under Diana’s well-spoken English, one much like Erika’s own.
‘Please sit down,’ said Erika.
Diana saw their expressions, and put her hands over her face. ‘No, no, no, no, no! It’s not her. Not my baby. Please, not my baby!’
Simon put an arm around his wife.
‘I’m very sorry to inform you that your daughter’s body was found this morning in the grounds of the Horniman Museum in South London,’ said Erika.
‘And you’re sure it’s her?’ asked Simon.
‘Yes. We found Andrea’s driving licence on her – on her person, and a mobile phone registered to Andrea was at the scene,’ said Erika. ‘We’re doing everything we can to establish her cause of death, but I need to tell you that we believe it was suspicious. We believe that Andrea was murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ Diana pulled away and sank down into a sofa by the bookcase, her hands still over her face. Simon’s olive skin had drained of colour, giving him a green pallor. ‘Andrea, murdered?’ Diana repeated. ‘Who would murder her?’
Erika paused and then said, ‘I’m afraid we’ll need you to come and formally identify Andrea’s body.’
There was another silence. A clock chimed in the depths of the building. Diana took her hands from her face and looked up at Erika, studying her. ‘Odkial ste?’ she said.
‘Narodila som sa v Nitre,’ replied Erika.
‘No Slovak, not now. Let’s speak English,’ said Simon.
‘What’s a woman from Nitra doing telling me that my daughter is dead?’ said Diana, fixing Erika with a stare. It was challenging.
‘Like you, I’ve lived in England for longer than I lived in Slovakia,’ explained Erika.
‘You’re nothing like me! Where’s the other officer, the one who was here before . . . Sparks? I don’t want the fate of our daughter resting on the skills of some Slovakian.’
‘Mrs Douglas -Brown,’ said Erika, feeling anger rise in her.
‘It’s Lady Douglas-Brown.’
Erika snapped. ‘I’ve been a police officer for twenty-five years. A Detective Chief Inspector for—’
‘I can assure you, we’re doing everything we can to find the person who did this,’ said Peterson, stepping in and shooting Erika a look.
Erika composed herself and pulled out her notebook, flicking through to a blank page. ‘If I may, Lady Diana, I would like to ask you a few questions?’
‘No. No, you may not,’ said Simon, his dark eyes hardening. ‘Can’t you see my wife is
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley