‘These areas of the soil are saturated,’ said Nils. He took an evidence bag which was full of soil and handed it to Erika. She put her nose to it and even behind her mask she knew what it was.

‘That’s petrol,’ she said handing it to Peterson. A look passed between the three of them. ‘You think he had a generator down here?’

‘Could be, but the junkies have been lighting fires too, could be lighter fluid,’ said Nils. Peterson passed the bag of soil to Moss.

‘I think I’ve got something here,’ said one of the CSI’s his voice muffled by his face mask. He turned to them with a small hard object held in a pair of tweezers, ‘It was embedded in the soil here.’

Nils was ready with a small plastic bag, and he held it out as it was dropped in. He held the bag up to the light and they all craned to look at the contents

It was a small tooth. There was a moments silence and Erika looked over at Moss and Peterson.

‘When we recovered Jessica Collins remains, one of her front teeth was missing… I want this fast tracked with toxicology,’ she said trying to keep her voice even.

Nils nodded. They looked around the dank cellar and shuddered at the thought of being trapped down there.

‘If we can match that tooth to Jessica’s skeleton, then we’re close to solving this,’ said Erika.

 

 

33

 

 

At 7.30pm it was dark and cold, and the team had been down by Hayes Quarry for over thirteen hours. After finding the tooth, they had come back up and joined in the search with DI Crawford for the septic tank. The area around the house was overgrown and over the years soil and all kinds of rubbish had been dumped there, on top of which trees and years of vegetation had grown.

Officers had been to Rosemary Hooley’s house three times to ask if her brother had used a petrol generator whilst he was squatting in the cottage, but there was no one in. The house was dark. Erika decided they should call it a day, and made a call to her team back at the station to contact Thames Water and see if they could get the location of the tank.

After the CSI’s had left, taking with them the tooth they’d found in the cellar, Erika felt they were so close and yet so far. The tooth could be a major breakthrough; it also could be from one of the junkies and squatters who had been in the house over the last twenty-six years.

Erika’s phone rang again, the withheld number, as they rode back in the police van to Bromley. She sat in the back with Moss, Peterson, John, DI Crawford and two other CID officers whose names she had forgotten. She was exhausted and rested her head against the window, listening as Moss and Peterson were talking with John about going for a drink after work.

‘Bromley is not full of townies,’ cried John.

‘Come on! Bromley ticks every townie box,’ said Moss.

‘How?’

‘Okay, off the top of my head. You’ve got a theatre in the town that’s hosting panto this year?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you usually have an ex-soap star or reality TV star headlining?’

‘Yes,’ said John sheepishly.

‘Does it have a large shopping centre with a maze like car park and a whimsical name?’ asked Peterson.

‘Yes, The Glades.’

‘And what’s this pub called everyone is going to?’ asked Moss.

John paused and with a grin said, ‘It’s called Shenanigans at O’hannigans.’

‘I knew it!’ said Moss. ‘Totally townie.’

‘And does Shenanigans at O’hannigans have a special dress code on a weekend for the guys?’ asked Peterson.

John rolled his eyes, ’Guys have to wear shirts black trousers and shoes, no trainers… Okay it’s a bit townie.’

‘Don’t you worry kiddo,’ said Moss. ‘We’re only teasing.’

‘But do you fancy coming for a drink at Shenans?’ said John. Erika realised he was talking to her.

‘Yeah. I think we could all do with a drink. Does it do a good curry?’ she replied, thinking of her empty flat at home, and the case files lying on her coffee table, taunting her.

‘Boss you’re actually going to come out for a drink?’ asked Moss turning to her surprised.

‘Yes. Is that odd?’

‘You’ve never come for a drink before,’ said Peterson.

‘I haven’t? Well, maybe it’s about time I did.’

‘There’s a four ninety-nine menu at Shenans, they do a good Indian,’ said John.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in years, Erika went for a drink. They commandeered a large booth in Shenanigans at O’hannigans, up on the top level, which looked down at the huge interior of the bar. The music was loud and just after eight thirty it was heaving with people who’d only popped in for a drink after work, but were well on the way to staying till closing. Erika bought drinks for all her team and along with Moss ordered a Tikka Masala,

‘We’ve been freezing our arses off all day, I needed two of those,’ said Moss sopping up the last of the browny yellow sauce from the sliver dish with a piece of Nan bread.

‘Celia’s not going to think so when you get in bed with her tonight,’ said Peterson. ‘You’ve had two curries, and two pints of lager.’

‘The portions are tiny. What have you had to eat, anyway? The cod and chorizo platter…’

‘Yeah, I’d like to live to see my retirement,’ said Peterson.

‘Piss off, what do you want? It’s my round,’ said Moss getting up.

‘Look at the arse print you’ve left on the cushion. That arse print predicts you’ll be dead at fifty,’ said Peterson.

‘Who do you think you are, Jackie Stallone?’ said Moss shuffling past them out of the booth and moving over to the bar.

‘Why does she think you’re Jackie Stallone?’ asked Erika finishing her lager. She felt light and relaxed. It was a feeling she hadn’t had for so long. Peterson went on to explain that years ago Jackie Stallone had been on TV, and said that she could predict people’s futures from looking at their arses.

‘Imagine if that were true? What kind of future would she predict from my arse!’ laughed Erika.

‘I’m sure it’s great,’ said Peterson. He looked embarrassed, ‘I meant that your future looks great, I’m sure. Not that your arse isn’t great… Not that I’ve been looking.’