Blind Fury

Chapter Eight

Anna spent the first part of Saturday cleaning her flat, going to the laundry, and buying more wine and groceries. She had a hair appointment in the afternoon and used the free time to check through cinema listings and a few stage plays she thought might be of interest.

Ken arrived at six, bearing a large bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. He wasn’t wearing his leathers and explained that he’d left his bike at his sister’s so he could shower there before coming across town to see Anna. He was wearing a casual leather jacket, jeans and a T-shirt, and tough black leather boots. He made her laugh as she put the flowers in a vase, saying that he thought he’d been so well organized to arrange to visit his sister and get changed, but had forgotten to bring shoes.

He was impressed with her flat, admiring the stunning view as he stood on her small balcony overlooking the river. Anna smiled, appreciating what the now-familiar skyline must look like to someone seeing it for the first time. She came to stand beside him, and they discussed how they would both like to spend the evening. He had seen most of the latest films, as there was little else to do on his evenings off from the prison. They checked out the Evening Standard’s Friday theater listings, narrowing the choices down to Hamlet at the National Theatre or a new play that had rave reviews at the Royal Court. They decided on the latter, as Ken was keen to go to an Italian restaurant on the King’s Road called La Famiglia, which served Tuscan food. He’d eaten there before and loved it.

“It’s very popular.” He grinned.

“In that case, we’d better book a table.” She grinned back, adding, “I’d hate to come between you and your food.”

As Anna drove west through the early-evening traffic, Ken remarked that his sister had also asked if Anna would like to have lunch with her family the next day. “I’m sorry if I sound like I’m crowding you, but I’ll be staying over there tonight. I’ve got a friendly game on tomorrow morning over in Twickenham, which is partly why I came down this weekend.”

Anna found a parking spot quickly, and yet again he made her laugh as he at first said she’d never get into the small space. He closed his eyes as she reversed in one, inched forward and it was done.

“That was impressive — not that I wasn’t confident, of course! It would have taken me a few attempts, but the classic would have been to watch my mother — well, she’d never have even attempted it. My old man checks his bumpers every time she comes back from the grocery store.”

They were in plenty of time for curtains up, and Ken wouldn’t hear of her going dutch on the tickets.

“About tomorrow — you won’t have to watch the game, but I’ll need to call Lizzie, as she’ll be cooking up a storm, roast chicken and all the trimmings.”

They went into the theater and sat in their seats.

“I’d like to watch you play, and yes, I’d love to come for lunch,” Anna told him, filled with a mixture of excitement at being asked and trepidation at meeting his sister so soon.

Ken rang his sister on his mobile and then remembered to turn it off. Anna did the same.

“I was at the Royal Shakespeare Company, and in the middle of Julius Caesar, this bloke’s phone starts pinging out Beethoven’s Fifth,” Ken told her. “I hate the things. It was so distracting not just for the audience but for the actors.”

It was at this point that the loudspeakers asked for all mobile phones to be turned off, and they grinned at the shared joke before settling back as the play began.

Anna could not remember the last time she had been to the theater, and she found Ken’s closeness to her comforting. He couldn’t help but touch her shoulder, as he was so big, but she hoped that wasn’t the only reason that his arm was pressed against hers.

During the intermission, they stood outside the theater rather than join the crush in the bar, enjoying the sight of the crowds around Sloane Square. He was gently protective of her, making sure she didn’t get jostled by the other audience members as they made their way back to their seats for the second half.

After the final curtain fell, they walked down the King’s Road, and she liked the way they stopped together, looking at many of the stores still open. She also liked the friendly atmosphere once they reached the restaurant. They were at ease with each other, discussing the pros and cons of the production. Ken was obviously a keen theatergoer and was surprised how few shows she had been to, living in London.

“I suppose it’s down to work. There never seems to be much time off, and when I do have free nights, I am usually going over the case files,” Anna said, beginning to wonder what she’d been missing out on.

The dinner was delicious, and once again, Ken refused to let her pay. As they strolled along the King’s Road — and it was quite a walk back to her car — she felt completely natural when he caught her hand. They’d stopped to look into the big Harley-Davidson franchise, where Ken pointed out the model that was his, remarking that he often came by there to buy extra parts to customize his bike.

By the time they returned to her car, it was almost midnight. Ken suggested he catch the tube from Sloane Square to Richmond, but Anna insisted she drive him to his sister’s.

It was actually a longer drive than Anna had thought, but she hardly noticed, she was having such a good time. She eventually drew up outside a small terraced house not far from Richmond High Street. They sat for a moment. Ken didn’t ask her to come in but made sure she knew about the arrangement for the next day. If she wanted to see the game the following morning, his sister would be going, and Anna could meet up with her and her children at the house. He opened the passenger door and then looked back, smiling.

“I’ve really enjoyed tonight,” Anna said.

He leaned across to kiss her. It was fleeting and not in any way sexual, and the next moment he was standing on the pavement watching her drive away. Anna realized she would have liked him to come back to her flat, but at the same time she was glad that she hadn’t jumped into having sex with him, as she had done in a couple of previous relationships — if such they could be called. But this felt altogether different.

After a night of intermittent sleep, she was eager to see him the following morning. She drove back to Richmond, aware that she was falling for him, and the drive seemed to take forever. Eventually, she parked outside his sister’s house.

Lizzie was a good few years older than Ken and had the same blond hair, worn in a loose knot. She was wearing a long skirt and boots with a fringed shawl, giving her a rather hippie look. Welcoming Anna, she explained that Ken had already gone to the rugby grounds. She then introduced her husband, Ian, who was sitting in the family kitchen surrounded by Sunday newspapers. He said he was on duty watching the chicken.

“He won’t be coming with us,” Lizzie said. “He’s not a rugby fan — well, nor am I, but our boys play.”

Anna then met her two sons. Ollie was dark-haired and angelic-looking, and the other, Oscar, looked like Ken, with thick blond hair and blue eyes. They were scruffy and loud, and no sooner had Anna been introduced than they piled into Lizzie’s old Range Rover to get to the match.

Lizzie was an appalling driver, constantly turning around to tell the boys to behave. She was very funny, saying she had been up early to peel the potatoes and prepare the vegetables, but she knew when she got back, she’d still have to take over the cooking.

“Ken said you are a detective,” she went on.

“Yes.”

“The boys will be pestering you later for some grisly details. They are at the age when anything dead fascinates them.”

“Do you work?”

“Good God, no, they take up all my time. I used to be a costume designer, mostly for TV commercials, and I might go back to it when they’re a bit older, but right now I like to take them to school and pick them up — you know, be at home for them.”

“What does your husband do?”

“Ian? He’s got his own IT company, makes a fortune, and we just like to spend it for him.” Lizzie laughed.

Anna had not spent a morning like this ever. She found she liked Lizzie, and she also liked the two boys who, although boisterous, were also well spoken. Their excitement was contagious. The game was rough, and Ken was cheered on by his nephews as they stood on the sidelines; even Anna joined in cheering and shouting encouragement to his team, although she was not sure of the rules.

By the time the game was over and they had returned to the house, the two women were chatting and laughing together like old friends.

Lunch was as Lizzie had expected, in need of her attention, as Ian had not put in the roast potatoes. Anna helped in the kitchen, setting the table, and, under instructions, made the big jug of gravy. By the time lunch was ready to be served, Ken had arrived, showered and sporting a bruise over one eye. He played around with the boys and then helped Ian carve and serve the big roast chicken.

They all ate in the kitchen. Anna said little, enjoying the robust fooling around and the meal, which was delicious. There was apple pie and ice cream to follow. Finally, when Ian asked who would have coffee, Ken said with regret that it was time he left, as he would have to return to the prison. This took a lot longer than he intended, as he had to give both his nephews a ride around the block on the back of his motorbike. It was obviously a regular event, as they produced their own helmets. The boys were tremendously excited; Anna could see that they adored their uncle.

She was unsure whether to leave at the same time as Ken, but he said that he would love a cup of coffee at her flat, if that was okay. Anna realized that apart from that once, at no time had Lizzie or Ian mentioned her work. It felt as if it all belonged to another world. Lizzie had asked how long she had known Ken, but before Anna had been able to answer, one of the boys had dropped a hot plate. She liked the way Lizzie said it was just an accident and not to worry, but she made him clean up the floor all the same.

Anna got back to her flat at the same time Ken arrived on his motorbike. She brewed up coffee as he perched on one of the stools in her kitchen. “So that’s my sister,” he said.

“I really liked her. In fact, your whole family is lovely.”

“Wait till you meet my brother, Robin, the one in Australia. He’s a real ladykiller and raking in the money selling properties. My mum says he’s got all the best features from both of them, as my dad used to be a handsome man when he was young.”

“What work did your father do?”

“He was a quantity surveyor, but he always hated it; it was a job to pay for our education and keep Mum happy. Now that he’s retired, I think he’s happier than he ever was. Loves just pottering around.” Ken accepted a freshly ground cup of black coffee and asked about Anna’s family. She told him and realized how empty it sounded: both parents dead, no close relatives, herself an only child.

The time flew past, and it was almost six when Ken said he really would have to be on his way. He put on a big studded leather jacket and carried his helmet and his rugby kit in a small leather holdall.

“Maybe we could do this again?” he suggested as she walked him to the front door.

“Yes, I would like that very much. I sometimes don’t have the weekends off, though, it depends on the workload,” Anna said, conscious that this had never bothered her before.

“Well, I’ll call you. I doubt you’d want to come all the way back to Leeds. Do you think you’ll be seeing Welsh again?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

They looked at each other, slightly embarrassed, and then he tipped her chin up and kissed her lips. “I’ve wanted to do that all afternoon.”

She couldn’t think what to say, and the next moment he’d gone. She went outside to the balcony to watch his bike roaring off; all she could think was that she hoped he would call again soon. They had not discussed if either of them was involved with someone. In fact, it had been a totally relaxed weekend. And for her, it was almost unheard of not to have studied the case file or even spent a moment thinking about the investigation.

On Monday morning, back at the incident room, Mike asked Anna to work on the blue-blanket case files. Reading through the statements, pathology, and forensic reports, she could see there was little to go on, but she decided to focus on the small lizard tattoo. They had numerous pictures of it, and it didn’t look to be professional; it was rather blurred and dark in color, almost navy blue. They had no details of where the victim had lived, so it could have been done at any one of thousands of tattoo parlors, that is, if it had been inked in the UK. Even though the photographs had been shown on television and in the newspapers, nobody had come forward to identify the tattoo.

Anna decided to pay a visit to the tattoo parlor nearest the station in Hounslow. She had to wait while the tattooist finished working on a customer before she was able to sit with him and ask if he could give her any indication whether the little lizard was a popular design.

Ron of Ron’s Tattoos had so many studs in his nose, his lips, and his ears that it was hard for her to concentrate. His forearms and even his hands were covered in tattoos, and he had bitten fingernails, but he was very pleasant and brought numerous books to sift through to see if the design was one that had been printed up. They found a few that looked close to the photograph, but they were either larger or more snakelike.

“It’s very dark ink.” Ron pondered, looking at the photo.

“That’s what I thought. Do customers usually ask for it to be a certain color?”

“Yes. I would have thought it’d be better more greenish, but that would be just my personal choice.”

He turned the photograph this way and that; then he got an Anglepoise lamp out to have an even better and closer look. “It’s not very good,” he told Anna. “I wouldn’t say it’s exactly an amateur’s work, but you wouldn’t get a pro satisfied. It’s also upside down.”

Anna peered closer; she hadn’t really thought about it, but when he pointed to one of the books with a lizard-type design, the animal had its feet down. On their victim’s hip, it was facing up.

“Unless he fancied looking at it himself, or it was a dead one,” Ron joked.

“It was actually on a woman, a murder victim.”

“Bloody hell! Well, it’s unusual for a woman, but then it takes all sorts. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been asked to ink on some women’s bodies.” He suddenly leaned back and wagged his finger. “You know what it could be? And I couldn’t tell from the photographs, I’d have to see it on the skin to be sure, but... it could be something that was inked over another tattoo. To get them lasered off is quite painful, and we do quite a lot of covering up — you know, the guys get a girlfriend’s name done, then they get ditched, so they want it changed.”

“Could you tell, if you saw it on the body, whether it had been covering another tattoo?”

“Maybe, or you could ask someone with more experience. That might be a better way to check it out.”

Anna thanked Ron, who handed her his card, saying that if she ever wanted a tat, he would give her a good price.

The victim had been held at a mortuary close to where the body had been discovered. When Anna returned to the incident room, she tried without success to speak to the previous murder team’s DCI. Ron’s suggestion had made her wonder if the team had gone to any lengths to ascertain whether this was ever tested. Just as she was leaving him a message, Barolli signaled to her. The van driver who had discovered Estelle Dubcek’s body was in interview room two. As Langton wasn’t at the station, Barolli was to conduct the interview.

Brian Collingwood was twitchy, picking at his awful acne spots. In front of him lay his statement. Barolli tapped it with his finger.

“The reason you have been called in, Mr. Collingwood, is because there seems to be some doubt over your original statement.”

“I don’t believe this! I should have just driven on,” the man complained in a Birmingham accent. “I’m taking time out from my work again, you know.”

“Well, let’s make this as short as possible,” Barolli said. “Mr. Collingwood, you stated that you parked on the hard shoulder, as you needed to relieve yourself.” Anna didn’t even look at him but concentrated on her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Can you tell us exactly what happened?”

Collingwood sighed. “I should have stopped at the service station, but I didn’t, and then it was too late to go back, right? So I pulled over onto the hard shoulder and went to the hedge. I did what was needed, and as I was turning to walk back to me van, I saw the girl’s legs.”

“From the hedge?”

“Yeah, and I called the police. I was there for three hours, telling everyone what I just told you again.”

“The problem is, Mr. Collingwood, the hedge is next to a wide ditch. It must have been difficult to see the body from there unless you already knew about it.”

The young man went pale behind his blotches. “I am just telling you what I saw,” he muttered. “I did my duty and called the police on my mobile phone.”

“Why are you lying?” Barolli was relentless.

Anna looked up and could see that Collingwood was sweating.

“I am telling you the truth,” he said obstinately.

“No, you are not. Now, you may have a totally innocent reason for not wishing to tell us the truth, but now is the opportunity to do so before this goes any further, do you understand? You could be charged for withholding evidence.”

“I never did anything wrong! I swear, I never done anything wrong.”

“But you admit you have lied?”

Collingwood chewed at his nails, looking down, and the sweat glistened on his forehead.

“As I said, I am sure you have a very good reason, and you are here just helping our inquiries. You are not under arrest. All we need from you is the truth about what exactly happened...”

Collingwood still wouldn’t look up.

“Did you see something, anything suspicious — a vehicle, a car, a person? Come on, lad — let’s have the truth now.”

Collingwood took a deep breath. “All right, this is what happened. I did drive into the London Gateway Services. I was looking for someone I’d seen around there, but I’d not been that way for months, maybe even longer.”

“Who were you looking for?”

“A— a friend.”

Anna opened an envelope and took out Margaret Potts’s photograph. “Is this your friend?” she asked gently.

Collingwood bit at what remained of his thumbnail. “Yeah, that’s her. I’d met up with her a few times over the years.”

Anna laid the photograph faceup on the table. Barolli shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Mr. Collingwood, you could be getting into real hot water here. Maybe we need to get you a solicitor.”

“I never saw her, I don’t need no solicitor, I’ve done nothing.”

“This woman was murdered, Mr. Collingwood!”

“No, she wasn’t the girl that was lying there.”

“We know that. So if you also know that, then you had to have got close to the victim in the field, a lot bloody closer than standing pissing behind a hedge.”

Collingwood at last gave it up. He said that he just felt like seeing Maggie, that he had on various occasions paid her to give him oral sex, and on a few other occasions he had driven up the back lane and they had full sex. He knew she worked the service station and would often be behind in the lane waiting for customers, so he had driven there. When he had been unable to find her, he had reversed and driven back the way he had come, but he’d started becoming bogged down in the mud and grew concerned that if he kept on the back road, he’d be in trouble.

“So I was doin’ a U-turn to head back to the London Gateway service station and drive in via the dirt-track road onto the M1 when I saw the girl. I could see her across the field. She was lying there, half in and half out of the ditch. At first I thought it was Maggie, you know, so I got out of me van and walked up the track. I got a few yards from her and could see it was this young girl. I didn’t get any closer. It was the way she was lying, see? I knew she was a goner.”

He went on to explain that he returned to the motorway but felt so bad about what he had seen that he parked up on the hard shoulder and called the police.

“I swear before God that’s all I done. I got a seventeen-year-old daughter meself, and I kept on thinking about that poor kid dumped in the field, so I done my duty.”

They went over his new statement time and time again, but Collingwood swore that he had not seen any other vehicle, nor had he seen anyone near the body or in the lane. He added that on other occasions there had been a bunch of travelers hanging out by the barns. He also admitted that when he had full sex with Margaret Potts, she had used an old caravan parked by the barns. She would often take her customers there. He didn’t think it belonged to anyone, and it was never locked. He also said that he had not seen Margaret in a long time because he had been driving a different route.

“How long, Mr. Collingwood?”

“Two years, maybe even more. She mostly worked nights, that’s what she told me, but I just chanced that she’d be working.”

“How much did she charge you?” Anna asked.

Collingwood said that for a blow job, it was ten pounds, but if it was full sex, she charged twenty-five. Barolli glanced at Anna, unsure why she was so interested in the money.

“Have you any idea how many clients Margaret would have in a day or night’s work?” Anna asked.

“Not really, but she had a lot of regulars. Well, she told me she had, but I wouldn’t know.”

“You ever see anyone else she went with?”

“No, and I wasn’t what you’d call a regular. It was months in between times, and like I told you, I’d not seen her in years.”

“Did she ever tell you she’d been beaten up?”

“No. She was well turned out, kept herself clean.” Collingwood sighed. “She was a good sort.”

“‘She was a good sort,’” Barolli mimicked later, when the van driver had been allowed to go home. “Dear God, having that spotty twat crawl all over you — what a wretched way to make a living.”

Anna sat at her desk working up the report of the interview, tapping her teeth with a pencil. “You know, if she was working most nights, she had to have hoarded some cash. Otherwise, what did she do with it all? She didn’t pay rent, she dossed down in hostels. We found no savings accounts in her name. I think I should have another meeting with Emerald Turk, only this time I want her brought in for questioning.”

Barolli said he’d organize it.

“She had Margaret’s suitcase,” Anna reminded him, and he nodded.

“Probably be another waste of time, though. Same with that Collingwood; we gained nothing new, apart from Maggie sometimes worked the day shift as well, but she might have changed to only nights, who knows. I bet you won’t get anything from the blue-blanket victim, either.”

“True, there’s nothing as yet, but I’m waiting for the DCI who led the inquiry to get back to me in connection with her tattoo.”

Barolli laughed. “You got a big break on that previous case with the actress — the killer had her face tattooed on his back, right?”

“Yep, but this is different. I think the lizard tattoo may have been inked over a previous one. I’ll just have to wait to find out.”

“Be good if it was her name and address.” Barolli sniggered.

“We should be so lucky.”

Anna hoped that Ken would call her, but he didn’t, and she spent the evening at home looking over all her notes from the previous Emerald Turk interviews. She was at her desk early the following morning.

When she got in, Mike Lewis was at Barbara’s desk, making a call to Mr. Rodgers, who was beginning to think he was being investigated for fraud. He had insisted that all his tax and VAT payments were in order, then contradicted this by saying that it would be difficult for him to go back five years to present them with all his receipts and orders. He was growing agitated, saying that when the firm moved from London to Manchester, he didn’t have the space to retain all the old order files.

Mike Lewis tried to explain to him, as diplomatically as possible, that they were not investigating any taxation or VAT fraud, they were simply attempting to trace someone who might be of interest to their inquiry and who might have purchased some Swell Blinds.

Mike was trying to be patient but became alarmed when Mr. Rodgers asked if this was all connected to John Smiley.

“You know, he’s a trusted employee. If you are trying to find out whether he has acted in any way that is detrimental to Swell Blinds, then I will have to let him go. Is that what this is all about?”

“Please, Mr. Rodgers, we have no intention of damaging Mr. Smiley’s exemplary work record. All we are basically interested in is tracing a possible witness who may have ordered a set of blinds from your company during the few years you were based in London; this would be before you moved to Manchester.”

It took a while longer before Mr. Rodgers promised to do what he could. After he hung up, Mike tapped the phone and said to the others, “I hope we don’t get that poor bastard fired and then have nothing on him. Rodgers says they don’t have that many records from London, as they don’t have the storage space.”

Barbara had a thought. “Mike, remember that old lady called Wendy Dunn who worked for the company for many years? She ran the reception at the Hounslow office: she might be able to help.”

“Well, get on it, then. We seem to be getting our thumbs right up our arses. If Langton keeps putting the pressure on me, I’ll have to tell him to back off. We’re going up one blind alley after another.”

“Blind! Swish ones! Haw haw.” Barolli ducked the empty coffee cup thrown by Mike.

DCI Vince Mathews, who had led the inquiry into the murder of the Jane Doe wrapped in the blue blanket, finally rang Anna back. He had a strong northern accent and spoke loudly.

“Her body was released after the second postmortem, and the coroner gave the go-ahead for burial. The local undertakers and our local council arranged a pauper’s grave.”

“Was her body embalmed?”

“No, love, cremated, and to be honest, after all this time, if we’d have embalmed her, the skin would be like leather, too shriveled for any light-source examination of the tattoo.”

Disappointed, Anna thanked him and was about to hang up when he said, “Have you got all the photographs? We took the tattoo from every side and angle.”

“I believe so,” Anna said.

“Thing is, love, the human eye doesn’t pick up anything that might be beneath the tattoo.”

“Did anyone use the light-source tech units? Only I know they use infrared lighting.”

“No, and we were discussing taking the tattoo — you know, cutting it out — but as we’d had no one come forward after the news coverage, we didn’t think it would be worth it.”

“Thank you for getting back to me.”

Before he could say anything else or call her “love” again, Anna replaced the receiver. Frustrated but not giving up, she called Pete Jenkins at the forensic lab. He agreed to see her in the early evening and asked her to bring as many photographs as possible.

Anna grabbed a late lunch before the interview with Emerald Turk. Barolli warned her that the woman was a foul-mouthed bitch today, but Anna pointed out that was nothing new.

Emerald was sitting in the interview room swinging one leg over the other. She looked smart, as her hair had been styled and bleached very blond. She wore thick false eyelashes and had on oyster-pink lip gloss that matched her pink tracksuit top.

“You got a lot of nerve bringing me in. I presume it’s down to you, right?” She jerked her head toward Anna as she sat down in front of Emerald at the interview table. “I told you everything — this is harassment. I had to get someone to mind me kids and make their tea so I could get over here. If you keep on wasting my time, I’m gonna write to the newspapers.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come in,” Anna said quietly.

“I didn’t. I was told that if I didn’t get in the fucking patrol car, I’d be fucking arrested, and the two blokes wouldn’t tell me what it was all about, just that I was wanted for questioning, and now, seeing you, I know it’s bloody Margaret Potts again, isn’t it? I wish to God I’d never met her.”

Anna let the tirade go on until Emerald went quiet. “Would you like a glass of water?”

“No.”

Barolli remained silent, sitting beside Anna, feeling rather queasy, as Emerald’s perfume was very strong. He waited. Anna thumbed through her notebook, then checked her written report, in no hurry to question Emerald.

“Well — is it about the bloody suitcase?”

Anna didn’t answer, so Emerald turned to Barolli. “I told her I tossed it out. It just had some old clothes in it, and the ones I didn’t keep, I chucked with the case. You can’t get me for doing that. She left it in my house.” Emerald’s foot swung up and down, and she picked at one of her false nails. “That fucking notebook, right?” She pointed at Anna. “Is that what this is about? Because I told you, I never saw it. I dunno where it is, and you said you didn’t have no handbag from her, so I said it was probably in that, right? So what you want me here for? And sending a fucking patrol car... I got to live in that block of flats, you know.”

“You look very pretty today,” Anna said, smiling.

It took Emerald by surprise. Her lip-glossed mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. “I wish I could say the same to you.”

“Let’s not get into silly slanging matches. You are here because I am not satisfied that you told me the truth.”

“I fucking did.”

Barolli leaned over and wagged his finger. “Just stop the swearing and show some respect.”

“You show me some. I done everything I could — I told this one everything I knew about Maggie. I don’t know any more, all right? The poor cow is dead, and you should be trying to find out who killed her, never mind bringing me in.”

“I think you found more than clothes in Margaret Potts’s suitcase, Emerald, because I know she was earning quite a lot of money.”

“What’s quite a lot to you? I know what she earned, and it was fucking rubbish. How much do you think she could make, givin’ sex to down-and-out lorry drivers?”

“You maybe earn more from your massage parlor, but—”

“You mind your own business about what I earn.”

“What else did you find in Margaret Potts’s suitcase, Miss Turk?”

Emerald sighed, staring up at the ceiling. There was a long pause, her leg still swinging up and down.

Anna checked her notes. “You said there was a tracksuit, the one you were wearing when I first met you, a few other garments, and you brought up the notebook that Margaret kept with the car license numbers she recorded for her protection.”

“Yeah, and I never had it, I also told you that.”

“Her brother-in-law mentioned a family diamond ring, and her husband also mentioned some jewelry that he knew Margaret had. Added to these items of value was possibly her savings.”

“Savings?”

“Yes, money.”

“She never had any, and I never saw no jewelry. If you want to get another search warrant, you can rip my flat apart again.”

The interview was going nowhere, and without firmed-up evidence, it was wasting time.

“Did you ever use a company called Swell Blinds?”

“What?”

“It’s a company that makes wooden slatted window blinds to order.”

“Did I know them? You must be joking. I never had no made-to-order blinds.”

Anna closed her notebook and said, “Thank you, Miss Turk, and if you want, we can arrange for you to be taken home.”

“That’s very big of you, but I’ll get a taxi.”

Anna watched Emerald walking out of the station. Barbara joined her.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Nope. How about you?”

“Well, I’ve contacted my little lady Wendy Dunn. She lives on my way home and I’m going to drop in to see her again.”

Anna shook her head. “I think this interviewing everyone over again is not only time-consuming but unproductive. It’s not telling us anything that we didn’t already know.”

“Ah, but Mrs. Dunn says she’s retained a lot of old files from Swell Blinds — not payment receipts but old orders from good customers in case they ever wanted new ones.”

Anna gave Barbara a high five. “Let’s hope she can give us a new lead, then. We sure as hell need one.”

Pete Jenkins was his usual friendly self, asking if Anna wanted to look at the blue blanket brought to them from the earlier investigation. As she hadn’t seen it, she agreed and drove over to the labs in Lambeth, South London. The blanket was pinned out on a long brown-paper-covered trestle table. It was filthy, covered with stains that had markings attached to them, ready for further DNA testing.

“It had long dog hairs all over it,” Pete told Anna. “The original lab examination showed they could be from an Alsatian or similar breed; find the animal in question, and we can match them by DNA. There were also a few carpet fibers and what looks like vomit. The corner where you might have had a laundry mark has been hacked off.”

“It looks like a big child’s blanket to me. It’s not a full-size one, is it?”

“No. It could be from a large single bed, we’ve not a lot to go on,” Pete continued. “We’re running further chemical tests on the color and hoping to run it by manufacturers. It is also worn in some places, almost bald.”

They went over to his cleared desk, and Anna took out all the photographs of the tattoo. Some were in color and others black and white.

“Pity we don’t have the actual body,” he said. “We’d use infrared to illuminate the tattoo and then a filter to take out the blue, so we’d be able to see what colors are behind it. Different inks react to different wavelengths of infrared. So if the tattoo beneath the dark blue one had red or green or even a mixture, they would stand out. However, if there was blue in the original tattoo, it wouldn’t.”

“To be honest, Pete, it’s just a thought. I don’t know if it really does cover something else; it’s just the dark color that’s sort of odd, and also the lizard is upside down.”

Pete laid out the photographs, placing the color ones to one side. “There is a process I am going to try. With these original digital photographs, I’m going to use Adobe Photoshop. What I’ll be doing is taking the original image — we call it the RAW file — removing the blue channel and seeing if there are any colors beneath it or if an image shows up.”

“How long will it take?”

“I’ll work on it tonight for you and should get a result or not by morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Fancy a bite to eat? We’ve got a great Greek restaurant, just opened a two-minute walk away.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. It’s been a long day — I’ll take a rain check.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“You get a result, and I’ll take you for dinner.”

“Deal,” he said, and shook her hand.