Blind Fury

Chapter Ten

Where the fuck have you been all weekend?” Barolli greeted her angrily.

“I was with friends. I didn’t expect to be needed, and if you ever speak to me like that again, as your superior officer, I will place you on a disciplinary report.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you’d have your mobile with you. It came in late Saturday night.”

“Have we an identity? Mike said something about you’d got the bride.”

“He was being diplomatic, since you did all the tattoo business, but as no one could get hold of you and your landline is screwed...”

“I had to get a new number, unlisted. I’ll give it to the office manager. So — have we got the girl identified?”

Barolli got out two sheets and said they had two girls who fit the description; both had been married on the same day, both were dark-haired and in their early twenties. “Mike is checking them out now. He’s in with the interpreter, who, I’ve got to say, worked her shriveled butt off all weekend.”

Anna took off her coat, wanting to hear more details, but Barbara signaled that there was a call for Barolli on line two.

“You look very refreshed,” Barbara remarked to Anna.

“Thank you.”

“Have a nice weekend?”

“Yes, I did, actually.”

“Joan and me have square eyes, but we’ve finished the entire load of Swell Blinds contacts and—”

Barolli gave a yell as he placed down the receiver. “The anonymous caller just rang the TV station — she has agreed to come in to see us. Bloody marvelous! It’s all happening this morning!”

He went off whistling as Anna checked her voice mail and opened up her computer. She jumped when Mike Lewis’s office door banged open and he strode over to the incident board, prodded the picture of the victim from the blue-blanket case, and began to write: Bibiana Nowak married Marek Ryszard in Krakow and number two is Dorota, who married Stanislav Pelagia in Warsaw. Both girls were aged twenty-two in 2002, both were dark-haired and around the same height, five feet five, again matching our victim, and neither has been seen for some time.

Anna joined him and asked if both girls were still married. It was more likely their victim was either divorced or separated, since the wedding date on the tattoo had been covered up.

“We’re just running checks, but because we’ve got blurred e-mail pictures, it could be either one of them.”

Fifteen minutes later, they received information that they could delete Bibiana Ryszard. She had been traced so was still alive and still married.

Half an hour went by before they received the news that Dorota Pelagia had still not been traced, but they had tracked down her husband. He was in prison and had been for seven years, charged with armed robbery.

The officials in Poland were trying to locate Dorota’s family. Coming in via e-mail were two pictures of the young woman on her wedding day. She was wearing a short white dress and white shoes and stood holding a small bouquet. She looked shy and had a sweet soft smile. Her husband, Stanislav, towered above her, very broad-shouldered, with dark brooding looks. E-mails were crisscrossing back and forth as the team waited for further results.

“It’s her,” Anna said firmly. She picked up the photo of the victim taken at the mortuary, pinned it beside the wedding picture, and then did the same with the murder-site photographs. “They should get on to Customs, Passport Control, run the name to see if and when she might have entered the UK.”

But Passport Control had no record of a Dorota Pelagia entering the UK, and they had gone as far back as 2003.

Further details were fed back to the incident room. Stanislav Pelagia had been arrested in March 2003, accused of domestic violence; he was released when his wife dropped the charges. Two further incidents had been recorded, and in each case no charges were brought.

“If Stanislav went to prison in 2003, we’ve got all the years since then in which she could have left him and arrived in England,” Anna said to Barolli; she was standing by his desk.

“We’re waiting to see if they can get any DNA for us to double-check that we’ve got the right girl. We can’t go ahead and ask people to come forward with information if we’re not one hundred percent sure she’s our victim.”

Barbara joined them. Now they had further details. Dorota had a sister living in Warsaw who claimed not to have seen her for between six or seven years. She knew Dorota had left her husband after his arrest. The family had been very much against the marriage, as Stanislav had a history of drug abuse, and they virtually cut off Dorota when she defied them and went ahead.

With the new evidence coming in, the team’s low spirits lifted, but they would still have to wait for confirmation that their victim was Dorota Pelagia. Due to the assault charges brought against her husband, it was a strong possibility that she would have loathed the tattoo of their wedding day, even more so since he was held in prison.

They were disappointed to learn that no DNA samples were taken from Dorota when she had been attacked by her husband. By late afternoon there were still no known whereabouts, yet Anna was certain they had the right girl. It was pointless thinking about bringing over her sister to identify her, as they had no body, thanks to the cremation. They were dependent on matching photographs, so her sister had agreed to send over more.

At six-thirty the woman who had called the television program regarding Anika Waleska arrived in reception. She was accompanied by a lawyer who made it clear that his client wished to remain anonymous. Mike Lewis explained the importance of his client’s telephone call, as it had led them to identify their victim, and he stressed that they needed further assistance. However, due to the severity of the case, and fully aware that she was assisting their inquiry and agreeing to be questioned, she would have to disclose her name.

So Anna and Mike Lewis were introduced to Olga but were given no surname. She was led into the interview room with her lawyer. It was hard to determine which of them carried the overpowering smell of mothballs. She was wearing a camel-hair coat, a silk head scarf tied beneath her chin, and large dark glasses. She was middle-aged and heavily built. Before they could ask anything, her lawyer again stated that it was imperative that nothing his client said would have legal repercussions. It was difficult to promise this, Mike said, because if Olga did have information that could implicate her in the murder, then they would have no option but to take action.

“I have nothing to do with hurting Anika.” Her voice was a guttural rasp.

“How did you know her?” Anna asked softly.

“She work for me, not regular, but when I first meet with her.”

Anna showed Anika’s photograph, asking, “Is this Anika Waleska?”

“Yes.”

“What work did she do for you?”

“I have a small company, housecleaning.”

“How long did she work for you?”

“When I first meet with her, it was three years ago and she work full-time, but then she get other work, so it was not regular.”

“How many girls do you employ?”

“I have maybe six or seven; it depends on what work I have coming in, and I send the girls out.”

“Do your clients pay you directly?”

“Yes, then I pay the girls.”

“Were you aware that Anika wasn’t registered to work — had no National Insurance number?”

“I not ask questions.”

“Can you tell us how she came to be working for you?”

“One of my girls bring her to me. They knew each other from Poland, and she was very nice girl.”

Anna took out the picture of Estelle Dubcek. “Does this girl work for you?”

Olga looked at the photograph for quite a while and then nodded.

“Do you know this girl’s name?”

“Yes. That is Estelle Dubcek, but she was trouble; only work for me six or seven months.”

“When did you last see her?”

Olga shrugged. “Long time ago. As I said, she was not a good worker, not like Anika.”

“Where did the girls stay when they worked for you?”

“I have a flat they use. I charge rent out of their earnings; they come and they go. Anika work for me and also restaurants at night.”

“Did you know that Estelle wasn’t registered to work, either?”

“I don’t ask questions.”

“Both these girls were working illegally.”

“I say I not ask questions.”

“But you must have known when they did not produce a National Insurance number.”

“No.”

“How did these girls know to contact you?”

“I have advertisements in Poland. Students, colleges, if they want work, they contact me or they introduce me to their friends.”

“Olga, Estelle Dubcek was also murdered.”

It was hard to see what the woman was thinking; her scarf covered most of her face, and the dark glasses made it impossible to see any reaction in her eyes.

“Two girls who worked for you have been murdered,” Anna repeated.

“Listen to me, please. I call the television, I give them information that I knew Anika was working in a restaurant, but she was not living in my flat and not housecleaning. I wanted to help, but at the same time I did not want to become involved in any way. I have nothing to do with what the girls did after they leave me.”

“Have you ever used a company called Swell Blinds?”

Olga looked confused. “No.”

“Have you ever met someone called John Smiley?”

“No.”

“Would you be prepared to give us the address of the people both Anika and Estelle worked for?”

“No, I don’t want to do that. I have a very good reputation, I have built up clients over twenty years. They are good people, I have no people that are bad. My girls, I make sure are honest and well dressed and hardworking.”

“And you take a big slice of their earnings, don’t you?”

Olga gestured to her lawyer and then pushed back her chair. “I go now, that is enough. Thank you.”

“And it’s just housecleaning, is it?” Anna said, trying to keep control. She wanted to snatch the dark glasses away from the woman’s face.

“I am honest woman, I have honest business.”

“Two girls who worked for you are dead. You may be an honest woman, but you—”

She was interrupted as Olga stood up with her hands clenched at her sides and burst out: “I have pressure to come here, and I do so out of wanting to be a good citizen. You are trying to make things bad for me. I go now.”

“Please sit down. We have not finished.”

Olga’s lawyer whispered to her, and she sat down again, taking a crumpled tissue from her coat pocket. “I answer everything and tell you all I know.”

“Not quite. You see, it’s possible that you are withholding evidence. We will have no option but to continue questioning you. I would now like you to look at this third photograph.”

Anna took out the photograph of the blue-blanket victim, who they were certain was Dorota Pelagia, and laid it down in front of Olga. She at last removed her dark glasses and stared at the photograph. Anna got out two more pictures, watching her closely. The woman had puffy bags beneath her eyes, and the rims of her glasses were imprinted on her cheeks.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she murmured.

Olga then turned to have a whispered conversation with her lawyer, holding the hand with the tissue across her chin so it was hard to determine what she was saying, apart from that she was speaking in English. Eventually, her lawyer requested a private conversation with Anna and Mike before he would agree to continue the interview.

Olga returned to the interview room half an hour later. She was wearing her dark glasses and was very subdued. Her lawyer had once more made it clear that for his client to continue, the police would have to agree that no charges could be brought with reference to her illegally employing the girls. In return, she would hand over a list of her clients that dated back five years, and allow them to visit the girls living in her flat. She would also submit tax and VAT receipts for her cleaning company and a list of girls she previously employed.

It was eleven-thirty by the time Olga left the station. Anna and Mike were privy to information that had opened up their case. Dorota Pelagia had worked for the cleaning company, so they had three victims linked together. All three girls had worked for Olga over the past five years. None was full-time, and in all cases, they worked only short periods when they arrived in the UK. The work entailed housecleaning for not just private clients but hotels and offices. It would mean yet another extensive round of questioning and checking out all the names and addresses. So far, the police had uncovered no connection to Swell Blinds but hoped that they would discover a link.

The following morning, Barbara and Joan began cross-referencing all the data that they had from Swell Blinds to see if they had delivered to any of the new companies and private addresses Olga had listed. On the board were the details of the recruitment adverts placed in Poland. It appeared that the girls would answer, and Olga’s contacts in Poland would subsequently arrange for them to come to England. They were given fake identity documents owned by a female Polish immigrant who was legally registered to reside and work in the UK. The same documents were sent back and forth, and the photographs were not even changed, since the girls were all about the same age, with dark hair or hair dyed to match the photograph as closely as possible.

The new arrivals were charged for this helping hand and were then moved into the flat owned by Olga to start working. She took 50 percent of their earnings, plus rent. It was obvious that the girls ignored the contract to work for Olga for a minimum of two years, since as soon as they had managed to save enough, they left. Olga said resentfully that it was always difficult to keep tabs on her workers; often the girls proved to be work-shy, belligerent, and to her mind, ungrateful.

Margaret Potts was the only one with no link. The time gaps between the murders were also of concern. Had the killer been active during the years between? Dorota Pelagia was the first victim, her body found four years ago. Next was Margaret Potts, two years ago, and then Anika and Estelle, a year apart. It did, however, link more or less to the same time that John Smiley had left London to work in Manchester. Swell Blinds had moved five years ago.

Langton sat with Anna, drinking a cup of coffee, having been present for the morning briefing when the team learned of the latest developments. He was astonished that Olga had employed all three young girls and yet felt obliged to call the television company with regard only to Anika Waleska.

“I doubt she watches much TV.” Anna snorted. “She’s a horrible woman, and I’d really like to get her for tax evasion and her treatment of these girls. Just think how much she must be pocketing from all her scams. A lot of her so-called housecleaning is in cash payments; plus, she’s got contracts for cleaning schools and hotels. Her full name is Olga Pavlova, but I can promise you there is nothing balletic about her.”

“Eh?”

“It was sarcastic. There was a famous ballerina called... Oh, never mind.”

“Yeah, she must be stashing it away. We can deal with her later, but right now we have to keep her sweet, as we need all the help we can get from her.”

“She’s got a flat in the Boltons in Chelsea, she drives a Mercedes, and she owns a big flat in Earl’s Court that she rents out to her workers.”

“Have you checked with Estelle’s flatmate, Katia, and her boyfriend, Mikhail, to see if they were part of Olga’s dirty business?”

“Barolli’s on to that. I’ll be going to talk to the present occupants of the flat.”

Langton sighed and drained his coffee. “What about going to see Cameron Welsh again?” he asked.

“I’ve said I’ll do it.”

“That’s very big of you.” He gave her a quizzical look. “I didn’t think you wanted to go again.”

“I don’t, but I think as I have been privy to all his previous interviews, I might be able to cut through the dross,” Anna said, looking him in the eye.

“Fine, run the Polish connection by him.”

“I think I might get the train, save that long drive. Maybe stay overnight and come back the following morning.”

He stared at her for a moment and then shrugged. “Mrs. Hudson cooks up a good breakfast.”

She gave a small laugh, agreeing, as he moved off. The conversation prompted her to confirm her travel arrangements. She’d leave early Wednesday morning and return on Thursday. She decided to call Ken at once to tell him. She was so eager to meet him again that it overshadowed any distaste at having to talk to Cameron Welsh, but if the prisoner acted up, she would just walk away.

Ken was thrilled and said he would meet her at the train station, drive her to his flat so she could leave her overnight bag there, and then take her to the prison. She would not be having his mother’s cooked breakfast after all.

Anna stood on the wide steps of the house in Finborough Road, ringing the doorbell of flat three. Eventually, the big door with glass panels was buzzed open, and she entered a large hall with a mosaic tiled floor. These old houses around Earl’s Court were all huge, four stories and with high ceilings, and at one time had been the family residences of wealthy people. Now most of them were subdivided and rented out.

Anna walked up the wide staircase; a pretty, dark-haired girl was waiting for her on the third floor. The flat was made up of one huge sitting room, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a communal bathroom. There were four single beds in the main room, and the bedrooms held three beds each. It looked like a dormitory from an old-fashioned boarding school, with bags and suitcases littering every available surface.

Anna met with four girls and sat on one of the beds as they drank coffee from chipped mugs. Two could not speak any English, one was virtually acting as interpreter for the others, and the fourth girl had a terrible cold and was constantly sniffling and sneezing. Anna explained that she was not there for any immigration purpose but to ask them about three other girls. When shown the photographs, however, no one there recognized any of the victims. They had all been in London for six to nine months only, and it was obvious that they hated working for Olga. They complained about how mean she was and how they were putting in a sixty-hour week. No one could wait to leave, as it was not pleasant having to share such a crowded flat.

It took some time for them to explain how they had paid in advance for their paperwork, jobs, and accommodation in London, and how they were met at Gatwick airport by Olga’s husband, who drove them to the flat. They said he was surly and rude to them and very much under Olga’s domination. He helped in her company and organized the painting and decorating of other properties she owned and rented out.

Anna was quickly on to Olga’s husband, asking them to describe him, as she wondered if he could be a suspect. He was Polish and, they said, much younger than she, but he had something wrong with him. He had asthma and was always coughing and wheezing so was more or less her full-time chauffeur.

“Does he drive a van for the painting and decorating?”

They were unsure, as he always drove them in Olga’s Mercedes. If they had work a long way out of London, he would take them and collect them.

It seemed more and more obvious that Olga was coining it in, and by the time Anna left, she had called the incident room to get them to check out the husband.

It was disappointing, but by late afternoon, after lengthy interviews, they had no new information. Neither Barbara nor Joan, after cross-referencing Swell Blinds contracts, had found any match with any of the clients for whom Olga’s cleaners worked. Depression was threatening once more.

Anna left early for an evening’s grooming and to pack for the trip to Leeds. Only Barolli had looked at her with some suspicion, as he knew how much she hated Cameron Welsh.

Barolli had by this time interviewed Olga’s husband, who, although unpleasant, was obviously a sick man, as he was gasping for breath during the entire interview. He did not own a white Transit van but drove a small ex — Royal Mail van carrying three workers used for decorating and all the various cleaning equipment and materials. His English was not too bad, but he constantly had to use a puffer to help his breathing. Barolli discounted him, doubting that he would have the strength to strangle or rape a young woman, let alone give his own wife a seeing-to.

As the train came into Leeds station, Anna was standing by the door, ready to jump out. Her heart was racing, and when she saw Ken waiting behind the barrier, she ran to him. She dropped her overnight bag as he scooped her up into his arms. She had never experienced such a strong feeling. It was like being a teenager, and she wanted nothing more than to stay close to him and not have to go to the secure unit.

Ken’s flat was part of a complex used by officers working at the prison. A small building with ten modern flats, it had little to endear it, as it was like a square cinder block. His flat was spotless but sparse, with one bedroom, a lounge, a kitchen, and a bathroom. He had made no effort to personalize it, admitting that he intended to stay there only until he could afford to put a deposit down on his own place. He had, however, stocked the fridge with steaks and salad and smoked salmon. There was also a bottle of pinot grigio chilling for Anna, among the cartons of fruit drinks and health foods.

He brewed up fresh coffee, and they had some croissants with his mother’s homemade jam, and then he led her into the bedroom. It, too, was devoid of anything personal. However, the bed was covered with a cheerful yellow duvet and matching pillowcases. There were no pictures, but Anna could see a stack of Harley-Davidson magazines, and in a small bookcase were his books on psychology and numerous autobiographies. The one thing he had spent money on was a large plasma-screen television; beneath it was a stack of DVDs.

Anna placed her toiletries in his white-tiled bathroom, where there was a pile of white bath towels and matching hand towels, a laundry basket, and a pair of rope sandals with a big white terry-cloth dressing gown. She liked putting her toothbrush in the holder beside his. Out of curiosity, she opened the small glass-fronted bathroom cabinet. It contained some aftershave, an electric shaver, and two fresh tubes of toothpaste. Anna didn’t know the name of the aftershave she liked on Ken; she picked up an orange glass bottle with a wide silver top and couldn’t help smiling: it was Clinique Happy for men.

When she came out of the bathroom, Ken was lying on top of the duvet, waiting for her.

“I’m on duty at two,” he said, “off again at five. You can use the car I collected you in to come back here when you are through with Welsh, and I’ll walk — it’s not that far.”

Anna flopped down beside him, and he immediately hooked his arm around her, drawing her close. “I don’t know if I can get the next weekend off, so this is a bonus,” he said.

They kissed, and she didn’t want to move out of his arms. “I missed you,” she said softly.

He rolled away from her and then leaned up on his elbow, looking down into her face. “I don’t know whether it is the right time to tell you this...”

She felt her heart thud. What was he going to tell her? That he was with someone else, engaged, had a girlfriend — that this was just a passing thing and not to get too serious?

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he said instead. “It’s probably too soon, and I’m no good at this kind of stuff, but you are suddenly the most important thing in my life.”

She wanted to burst into tears; it was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to her. She cupped his face in her hands, telling him, “I feel the same way. I can’t stop smiling, and I chose not to drive so I’d have more time to spend with you.”

They kissed passionately and then made love, and they would have gone on loving each other, but Anna knew she had to get to the secure unit in the time allocated. They showered together, and he would have taken her again, but she yelled that she had wet her hair and had to get it dried before she left.

She had never felt so unselfconscious and free. He plugged in his hair dryer for her and watched as she attempted to coax her hair into some semblance of a style, but she’d forgotten to bring her big roller brush. He sat on the edge of the bath as she reapplied her makeup.

“You look even more beautiful,” he said as she dropped the bath towel, ready to get dressed. He couldn’t resist taking her in his arms and smothering her with kisses.

By the time they had driven into the prison compound and Anna had passed over her ID, he had to hurry to the secure unit, while she went to pay a cordial visit to the prison governor. She was so happy that she didn’t mind sitting in his office and even accepted coffee and biscuits.

Hardwick was as long-winded as ever, and she was surprised only when he brought up Langton’s name, saying that he felt Langton would make an excellent commander, as his interest in prison reform was on a par with his own. She nodded her agreement, suddenly understanding why Langton had spent so much time with the governor. As with everything in his life, there was a hidden agenda. Then she recalled Barolli’s comment that Langton was in the running for deputy commissioner.

Anna had requested that Welsh remain in his cell with the door closed as she felt safer that way.

Entering the unit, Anna glanced over at Ken, who gave her a small formal nod and a secret wink as the other officers went down the aisle to tell Cameron that his visitor was ready to see him. Anna waited, aware of Ken and aware of the other inmates walking around the unit. Two went out into the exercise yard, but they kept their eyes on Anna. She was relieved when she was told that she could proceed down the aisle to Cameron’s cell. A chair had been placed outside. Cameron was sitting, as usual, facing out. He was wearing his hair drawn back in a ponytail, a white collarless shirt, and jeans.

“Good afternoon, Detective Travis,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his brooding eyes.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Welsh. Thank you for agreeing to see me again.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it. I think about you all the time. You occupy my dreams, my every waking hour.”

“I thought I might give you an update on our case and see if you have any insights that may assist our inquiry.”

“How very kind of you. What have you done to your hair?”

Anna touched her hair, a little unnerved. “I just washed it.”

“How could you have done that if you drove here?”

“I came on the train.”

“So when did you wash your hair?”

She pursed her lips. “Can we discuss the reason I am here rather than anything personal, please?”

“Are you staying at a hotel?”

“No. I am returning to London.”

“You seem different.”

“Mr. Welsh, I will walk away in one minute.”

“Very well, Detective Travis, you may begin.”

Anna took a deep breath and outlined the Polish connection; she informed him that they now knew all their victim’s identities, which included the new case of the girl found wrapped in a blue blanket. He listened intently and without interruption, as she said that although they had paid close attention to his suggestions, they still had no connection between the three Polish victims and Margaret Potts, and that they had interviewed everyone who knew her again, but without any result. She also explained that the Polish girls were working for a domestic cleaning agency but at different times. It was possible that they might have known each other, but the main problem for the police was that they could not discover where the girls had moved on to, so they couldn’t question anyone who would have information.

Welsh nodded and then turned to his computer table and picked up a notebook. “This woman who hired them brought them into England. Did she also use them as whores?”

“No. They might have gone on to earn money that way, but we have no details. The only prostitute was Margaret Potts.”

“Did this woman have contacts anywhere else in England — you know, to pass the girls on to work for them?”

“No, she did not.”

“So you have three girls who were here, all about the same age, not sexually permissive, but were murdered by the same man? It doesn’t make sense. Your killer had to have access to them; if he didn’t know them, then it is too much of a coincidence that all three went with him of their own free will. He had to know them or know about their situation. So take me through what you know about each girl.”

Anna did so, finding this interview far easier to deal with, as Welsh appeared to be paying close attention to every word she said without any snide references or sexual undercurrent.

“The gaps in between the dead girls — have you reviewed any further cases that might be connected?”

“To be honest, we haven’t. The four cases we have are taking up a great deal of time, not to mention financial resources. If we continue to look for other unsolved cases, it would make it difficult to continue holding on to the entire team allocated to the cases we already have, since we’re under pressure to get a result.”

“There will be more, but I understand that everything in this world today has a price. Justice doesn’t have the finances — very sad, isn’t it? Now, the girl in the blue blanket: tell me how you got to identify her.”

Anna went into detail about the tattoo and what they knew about Dorota’s life. She skirted giving any surnames or naming Olga at all, trying to keep her account as informative as possible without revealing too many undisclosed facts. Welsh jotted down notes and sometimes asked pertinent questions, but always, when he interrupted her, he did it politely.

“The girl who was joining her uncle in Manchester to work in his bakery: did she know either of the other victims?”

“We don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“If these girls were trying to find work apart from turning into whores, maybe that was the reason they were heading for Manchester. But no! I would rule out the possibility that they were all going to Manchester or up north for any reason. They were picked up in London. Whoever picked them up was, as I have said numerous times, someone they trusted. Now, what if they didn’t know him personally? What if he was a police officer or someone wearing a uniform? He would be seen as trustworthy. What if you go back to what I have suggested — that Margaret Potts knew him?”

“We have considered that, but we cannot find the connection to the girls.”

“She didn’t know them, she knew him. Your victim in the blue blanket, her body was found closer to the M6 than the M1. Go back over the press releases at the time of her murder and find out how many photographs were in the papers. I know you said the tattoo was described as a dark blue lizard, but there was one beneath it, correct?”

“I think we are going around in circles. We have considered the possibility of the killer wearing a police uniform that would not make his victims wary of getting into the van or truck he drives. So if they were thumbing a lift or—”

“He kills them in his vehicle, he has his fun with them, and then he dumps the bodies — but only your blue-blanket girl was naked. Why? Was she his first? What did he do with her clothes?”

By the way he was moving his body, shifting his weight, Anna suspected he was becoming aroused as soon as he started talking about the killer, and she was tempted to call the interview off. “She was his first.”

“You have Margaret Potts as his second two years later. I think she picked him up at the service station, she recognized him, and so he had to kill her. The blue blanket was number one, and he got away with it. Next he’s threatened by this disgusting piece of humanity, and he has to kill her. This would have started the excitement building because he’s gotten away with it again.”

He leaned back, and she could see that he had an erection beneath his jeans.

“You have no idea what it does to your sex drive,” he told Anna. “You can’t think straight, you can’t eat, you are permanently in a semi-orgasmic state. Just recalling what you have done, thinking about your victims mewing and pleading with you not to hurt them as you squeeze the living breath out of them, and you come into them with the greatest orgasm imaginable; your own howls as the rush spreads over your body and screams inside your head.” He swallowed. “No, this killer didn’t pick them up and screw them in a field; he spent hours with them, wrapping the cord tighter and tighter—”

“I think that’s enough now, Mr. Welsh.”

“What?”

“My time is up, and I don’t want to miss my train back. You have been very informative, thank you.”

“You can’t leave now — I haven’t finished.”

“Well, I have. Thank you, Mr. Welsh.”

Anna almost knocked the chair to the ground in her haste as she stood up and walked past the cell gate.

“You will have to come back. Do you hear me? You will have to come back!”

She didn’t reply. Hearing Welsh shouting, Ken appeared at the end of the aisle. “You all right?”

“Yes, but I’d like to leave now, Officer Hudson.”

Welsh used his mirror to try and catch a glimpse of Anna as she walked away. He saw Hudson saying something to her; he also caught his hand touching Anna’s back in an overfamiliar way; and he caught the look she gave him. It was so obvious that Hudson was fucking her — he knew it, he could smell it. That was why she’d come to Leeds alone. It wasn’t to see him, it was to see that blond beefcake of a thickheaded officer, and he fought to keep his rage under control.

Anna was desperate for some fresh air, so she walked back to Ken’s flat. She debated calling the incident room but decided against it. Opening the fridge, she took out the steaks and prepared a salad, making up some dressing, and then opened the bottle of pinot grigio and poured herself a glass. Welsh still made her feel violated: she loathed him, and knowing that he was sexually aroused while he was talking to her, sickened her.

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The team had obviously discussed the possibility that the killer could pick up the girls wearing a police uniform, but they had no witness; nor did they have any idea where he had picked them up. Going over everything that had been said today, she knew there had been nothing new. Welsh had thought she would never come back.

She lay there thinking about Margaret Potts and whether she had recognized the killer, but as they knew so little about her daily routines, apart from at the service station, they had no idea how she could have known or recognized him — unless she had, as Welsh had implied, deduced something from the newspaper reports.

Anna sat up and sipped some more wine. It was not five yet, so she drained the glass and snuggled under the duvet to have a nap. She woke with a start an hour later when Ken closed the front door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he walked in.

“I’ve been fast asleep,” she said guiltily. “I meant to get the steaks marinated and...”

He came over and kissed her, drawing her to her feet. “I need a shower, then we’ll cook dinner together. How did it go with Welsh?”

She told him it had not been of much use, and while Ken showered, she went into the kitchen to finish tossing the salad and start work on the steaks. She used a wooden spatula to whack and soften the meat. She found some microwave french fries and then set the table.

“How do you like your steak?” she shouted to the bathroom.

“Medium, and there are some chips in the freezer.”

“Already got them. How long will you be?”

“Five minutes.”

Anna set the horrible Formica table in the kitchen and then found plates and napkins. By the time Ken came into the kitchen wearing the dressing gown, the steaks were frying.

He leaned forward to kiss her neck, and she sniffed and murmured, “Mmmm — you smell nice. Let me guess, is it Clinique Happy for men?”

He stepped back and flushed.

“I saw it in your bathroom,” Anna explained. “What — did you think I’m an expert on men’s aftershave because I have sex with so many?”

“It was given to me by my sister,” Ken said. “She’d probably bought it for her old man but gave it to me.”

“I like it.”

“Well, that’s okay, then. I’ll splash it all over my body.”

They didn’t waste time clearing away the debris of dinner but went straight to bed. Around midnight, Anna woke up and spent a long time looking at Ken’s sleeping face, leaning up on her elbow. It had all happened so fast, and it was hard to believe that she was so besotted. He slowly opened his eyes as if he had felt her looking at him. She hadn’t touched him because she didn’t want to wake him.

“What?” he murmured.

“I love you,” she said shyly.

He reached out and drew her close to him. “What are we going to do about that?”

She laughed as he slowly moved to lie on top of her.

Anna was still sleeping when Ken’s alarm went off. It was seven-thirty, but he was not beside her. She got up and wrapped his dressing gown around her. There was coffee in the kitchen, but he wasn’t in the shower, so she went into the lounge. He was doing push-ups on a blanket, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he panted. “Coffee is nearly ready, and there are bagels and smoked salmon, as I know you like them. I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to leave. I’m on early duty.”

By the time she had drunk her coffee, he was dressed and ready to go to work.

“I’ve left a number by the phone of a local taxi firm. Sorry I can’t take you to the station myself, but I have to be on duty due to having strong-armed the other lads to get off early last night. I don’t know if I can swing it for the weekend, but if I can’t, would you be prepared to come here again?”

“Yes, but not to see Welsh!”

Grabbing a quick swig of coffee, he kissed her neck and started to leave. Then he paused and turned toward her, saying, “Last night, did you mean what you said?”

She blushed and pretended not to understand. He came to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, too, Anna Travis.”

Then he was gone and she wanted to cry. She wanted to run after him and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she finished her coffee and ate too much, but because he’d bought the bagels and salmon especially for her, she felt that she should.

She did all the washing up and cleaned the kitchen, took a shower and washed her hair again, then packed. Taxi arranged, she went into the lounge, finding it strange being in his flat alone. He had left a set of dumbbells and the blanket he’d been using on the bricked wood floor. She bent down as if to pick it up, fold it, and put it away when she froze. It was a blue blanket — newer, cleaner, and with a prison laundry mark in the right-hand corner, but she was certain it was identical to the blue blanket found wrapped around the victim Dorota Pelagia.