Blind Fury

Chapter Two

Days later and the team had still not been able to identify their latest victim. It was immensely frustrating. Even with the extensive press coverage and television broadcasts, no one had come forward. Interpol had also been unable to assist, and neither had Mispers. It was beginning to look as if, along with their brunette victim, the police had another Jane Doe.

Mike held a briefing, but it was disappointing news: officers at the service station and viewing CCTV had so far come up with nothing. It seemed no one had seen the girl, and even though they were still making inquiries, it was looking as if they had reached a dead end. They also gained nothing from the clothing of either of the young women except for a few seat-cover fibers, but they were of a common variety used in a number of vehicles. The disturbing element was the consensus that all three victims had been killed by the same person, due to the MOs being virtually identical.

Mike concluded the briefing by saying that they had distributed appeals for information and warning leaflets at the service stations.

Anna wrote up the report of her visit to Emerald, detailing the fact that Margaret Potts had kept a notebook of the license plates of men who picked her up. But as Emerald had said she no longer had the suitcase or knew where the notebook could be, it was not much use.

Barolli went over to Anna’s desk. “The bitch is lying,” he said. “She never told me she had Potts’s suitcase.”

“I think she was scared it might get her into trouble. She was wearing the dead woman’s tracksuit.”

“You don’t think she’s still got the case, do you?”

“I might have, but she got quite agitated when I asked to see it, and said she’d thrown it out.”

“You think it’d be worth getting a warrant to search her place?”

“From the way she reacted, I’d say as soon as I left, she would have got rid of it, if she still had it.”

“Shit.”

Anna declined to add that he had missed the opportunity when he first interviewed Emerald. She was annoyed that the woman had lied to her, claiming that the suitcase had been checked over when she had been interviewed previously.

“We never found Potts’s handbag, and we didn’t even have a description of it.” Barolli grunted. “Maybe this notebook would have been in it.”

“Probably. She must have kept it on her if she was jotting down reg plates. Strange that she would—” Anna broke off as a new thought occurred to her.

“Would what?”

“Well, Emerald said she was a wily old girl, tough, very streetwise, and yet she gets into a car or a truck with the killer. So, he’s got to be someone she trusted enough or maybe had been with before.”

“Fuck! If only we had the bloody notebook,” Barolli said angrily.

“Well, we don’t, but there’s something else,” Anna said, then hesitated. “Again, this came from Emerald. She said that Margaret had contact with some heavy guys — ex-cops, she said — and they looked out for her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, when she was roughed up, she never reported it to the police, but would use the heavy guys to get the addresses from the plates and leave it to them to deal out their own rough justice.”

Barolli pulled at his tie. “We’d better go back to Emerald Turk, search her place again, and see if she can give us some names.”

Anna agreed and suggested the men might work for bailiff companies if Emerald couldn’t or refused to help. Privately, she doubted that the woman would cooperate, but without much else to work on, they had to do something.

Barolli turned. Passing through the incident room was Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton. He waved at them both before entering Mike Lewis’s office.

“I wondered when he would show up,” Barolli murmured. “He won’t like this. Word is he’s up for the commander’s position, heading up Murder and Serious Crime.”

Anna said nothing, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, she hadn’t felt disturbed at seeing Langton.

“You didn’t get your promotion,” Barolli said suddenly.

“That’s a bit obvious.”

“Well, I’m in the same boat. I’ve been before the powers that be twice, and I just don’t seem able to crack it. It’s all the fucking diversity stuff that gets me.”

“Got me, too,” she said, smiling. This wasn’t actually the truth, since it had been Langton who had vetoed her promotion, but she no longer harbored any ill feelings toward him. On the contrary, she now realized he had been right, and she was not yet ready for promotion to detective chief inspector. But she fully intended to prove herself when the time came around again.

“This case isn’t going to do any of us any favors,” Barolli grumbled.

Anna wished he’d move off, but instead, he perched on the edge of her desk, his heel kicking against it.

“You going to see about getting a search warrant and interviewing Emerald Turk again?” she asked.

He sighed and then, thankfully, moved back to his own desk. “I’ll run it by Mike,” he said.

Anna turned as Barbara joined her, signaling to her that she was wanted in Mike’s office.

“You don’t think these Jane Does are maybe illegal immigrants, do you?” Barbara asked with concern. “If that’s the case, we’ll never get them identified. Maybe we should check around the embassies and clubs — churches, even.”

Anna picked up her notebook, saying, “I think that’s already in hand, Barbara. Did Mike say what he wanted?”

“No. I’d have put it through to your desk, but you were having a confab with Barolli.”

Anna sat beside Langton, who gave her a warm smile and asked how she was. He seemed relaxed, while Mike was edgy, flicking a Biro pen. Then there was a pause.

“I’m very well, thanks,” Anna replied, thankful that this was true and that Langton’s sudden appearance had not affected her.

“You want me to tell her?” Mike began.

“No. It’s this letter, Anna, from the prisoner Cameron Welsh. I had a look over it. I’m not that impressed because it could just be a load of bull, but considering the case is flatlining all round, we shouldn’t just dismiss it, in case he does have information for us or you.”

“I really doubt that he has,” Anna said, somewhat surprised.

Langton nodded. “Yeah, I hear you, but he’s been banged up for some considerable time and would have had a lot of opportunity to talk to any number of inmates — so you never know. I suggest you pay the bastard a visit, see what he’s got or hasn’t. I can’t really recall if you had much interaction with him when we arrested him.”

“I met him, obviously, and was in on a couple of interviews, but that was it.”

“Well, you obviously made a big impression on him.”

Anna made no reply as Langton continued: “From what I’ve read up on the case files, Welsh doesn’t fit the profile of this sicko we’re looking for, but then as I recall, he didn’t fit the profile we worked on while hunting for him. Both his victims were held captive.”

“He’s gained a child psychology degree while he’s been in prison,” Anna said.

“Yes, I know, and he’s also been in a pack of trouble while he’s been at Barfield. Anyways, go and see him and take Barolli with you. Might as well see if he’s bullshitting, but maybe he’ll surprise us.”

Anna stood up as Mike told her to talk to the prison governor to arrange the meeting. Privately far from happy, she left his office and returned to inform Barolli about Langton’s suggestion.

“Shit, that’s a schlepp and a half up there, isn’t it? It’s around Leeds — right?”

“Correct.” Anna wasn’t sure if the distance made it better or not. “I’ll contact the governor and type up a letter of introduction.”

It took three calls before she was able to speak to Jeremy Hardwick, the governor of Barfield. Hardwick was pleasant and listened as she explained, then he agreed that she should be allowed into the secure unit to talk to Welsh. So she made an appointment for the following afternoon and asked Barbara to work out how long the trip would take. Langton passed by her desk as he was leaving and paused.

“I’ve made contact with the prison,” Anna told him.

“Good. Make them keep him in his cage, get what you can, and report back. I think it’ll be a wasted journey, but right now we’ve nothing else.”

She watched him look over the incident board and have a talk with Barolli before he left. But she felt nothing.

Before long, Barbara came over to Anna with a route map and the details she would need.

“Are you driving, or should I get a train timetable?” Barbara asked.

“No, this is fine. I’ll drive, and Paul’s with me.”

“Remember, you’ll need the fax from the prison and an introduction letter; plus, do keep your petrol receipts.”

“Thank you, Barbara.” At least she would be well prepared, Anna thought.

“So tell me about this geezer Welsh,” Barolli said, slurping his coffee as he settled himself in Anna’s passenger seat. She had picked him up from his flat in Notting Hill, and they were heading for the M1.

“Highly intelligent;” just got a degree in child psychology. He was well educated, went to public school and I can’t remember which university, but he was reading law and dropped out. Anyway, he represented himself at his trial,” Anna told Barolli, wishing he wouldn’t slurp so loudly.

“So did Ted Bundy.”

“What?”

“That American serial killer, killed Christ knows how many women.”

“Yes, yes, I know who he is.”

“Well, he represented himself at his trial. The judge apparently said what a waste it was that such a brilliant mind should be so deviant, as he could have been a successful man.”

“Maybe Welsh could have been, but he just gave me the shivers,” said Anna, remembering.

“Why?”

“Because of his manner — everything about it. He was so well spoken and so arrogant, treating us as if we were beneath him. He never showed any emotion whatsoever, even when it was obvious we had enough evidence to arrest him, not even when he was charged. During his trial, he used to doodle on a notepad all the time and was constantly interrupting the prosecution. Judge Oldfield laid into him after one session, and he was quite unapologetic, simply drawling that as he was the man on trial for his life, he had every right to question the prosecution’s long-winded summing-up.”

“How long did he get?”

“Oldfield gave him two life sentences without bail, so thankfully, he will die in prison. The judge said he was one of the most despicable men he had ever encountered, that his crimes were sadistic and violent, and that he had never at any time shown a fragment of compassion for his victims.”

“How did he kill them?” Barolli seemed grimly intrigued.

“Held them captive, tortured and raped them over a period of four or five months. The first girl was only seventeen, and the second girl was snatched eight months after he disposed of victim one’s body. He buried her in the garden of his basement flat. It was a hideous place. Part of it was still like a cellar, with chains and bare brick walls, but the section he lived in was luxurious, and he owned the large walled garden. The area of the basement he occupied had every piece of high-tech equipment conceivable, with plasma TV, stereo, and an amazing kitchen extension with culinary devices a professional chef would die for. He actually owned the whole house but leased off the other flats.”

“What work did he do?”

“He ran a very successful IT company with offices in Canary Wharf, and he employed four people, or he used to. By the time we got on to him, he’d closed it down. I think he was ready to move abroad.”

Barolli tapped her arm and pointed as they headed toward the roundabout that led to the start of the M1. He asked if she ever used the big Brent Cross shopping center, as he had been there a few times. She shook her head, and he began telling her how much he had saved on the sale price of some fitted wardrobes for his mother. As they approached the motorway, there were numerous young guys holding up cardboard notices with various locations on them, from Manchester to Liverpool.

“London Gateway service station is the first up, isn’t it?” Barolli asked.

“Yes,” Anna replied.

“Used to be called Scratchwood Services,” he said as he slurped more coffee. After a long pause, he returned to their previous conversation. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That he was so successful and yet still committed murder. I mean, was he a freaky-looking bloke?” Barolli wanted to know, finishing the dregs of his coffee.

“No. On the contrary, he was very handsome — tall, well dressed.”

“Fuck. I dunno. Hannibal Lecter — right? I mean, don’t tell me in his fab kitchen he cooked his victims?”

“No, but he entertained lots of women. He honestly didn’t fit any profile we had ever come across, and it took months of surveillance and more months compiling the evidence against him. Langton headed up the inquiry, and he was like a dog with a bone: he wouldn’t back off him.”

“He’s something else.”

Anna hesitated and asked if he meant Langton. Barolli nodded.

“Yeah. I wish I’d started my career under his wing, like you. I could have learned a lot from him. Now he basically just swings in, passes out orders, and swings out again, but I’d have really liked the opportunity of working alongside him in his earlier days.”

Anna agreed, which led them to discuss how many cases Barolli and Langton had subsequently worked on together, from the serial-killer movie star to the Red Dahlia case. Where Barolli had not been as fortunate as Anna was in the many cases between.

“He sort of specializes in serial murders, doesn’t he?”

Anna nodded and then recalled the horrendous case when Langton had almost been killed. She didn’t want to think about the details even now.

“You had a scene with him, didn’t you?” Barolli asked, and Anna gripped the steering wheel.

“Yes, but it was over a long time ago, and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Barolli, unperturbed. “So let’s go back to this animal Cameron Welsh. You said that Langton was on to him — dog with a bone, you said, right?”

“Yes. We got the lead from an ex-girlfriend of Welsh’s,” Anna recalled. “We’d been on the investigation for about two months when she walked in, wanting to speak to whoever was in charge of the inquiry. She was very attractive and had worked for him in the city, but he had recently fired everyone, and at first we thought it was maybe a case of sour grapes. There had been a lot of press about the discovery of the second victim, but at that stage, we didn’t even know he’d killed before.”

Anna recounted how, after a lengthy talk to Langton, the girl had said she was certain the victim had been a temp in Welsh’s office a year or so previously. Langton had checked back and discovered that their victim had indeed been working for Welsh and had been sent to him by an agency. They then brought Welsh in for an interview. He was, Anna explained, polished and cool, and had an answer for everything. All they had was the girl’s statement. Welsh had dismissed the accusations as ridiculous and maintained that, as he had recently closed his company, she was simply trying to implicate him in a crime with which he had absolutely no connection.

“So old Langton reckoned he was going to jump the country?”

“Yes and no. It wasn’t that — he kept on saying that it was a gut reaction and we now had to delve into Welsh’s life for clues.”

“What did the girl say he’d done, apart from fire her?” Barolli stuffed the coffee cup down beside his seat.

“She said he had come on to her and she had been smitten with him. He had invited her to a couple of dinner parties, and she was really a bit overawed by him, but when he asked her to stay over after one of these dinners, she refused. Her reason was that she’d had a lot of wine. He was polite, saying he would drive her home, which he did. Then, for a long time afterward, he was cool toward her. She said he hardly acknowledged her at work, and it was very distressing.”

They were driving in the middle lane, Anna not going over the speed limit. Barolli complained about the speeding vehicles passing them, and then he patted the dashboard, asking how long she had owned the Mini, how much she’d paid for it, and did she find the automatic easier than the gearshift. He had an annoying habit of asking her a question and then answering it himself. He felt that with a car that could go over a hundred, it was better to have a shift gear than automatic, and if he was given the choice, he would go for a shift, but then he wouldn’t consider buying a Mini, as he liked something more substantial.

“Did you choose this color?”

“Yes.”

“What color would you call it?”

“Navy blue, Paul, and the upholstery is leather.”

“I like two-tone cars, white and black.” He waved his hand at the signpost indicating the mileage to the service station and suggested that she pull into the London Gateway Services so he could get her a coffee. Anna said she didn’t want one but agreed to drive in and wait when Barolli said he needed to use the toilet. She parked and watched him entering the service station, irritated as she saw him pause to buy a newspaper and a chocolate bar.

Over on the far side was the large lorry parking section. Strange to think that this was where Margaret Potts came night after night to pick up johns, Anna thought. Eventually, Barolli returned with a packet of crisps as well as the chocolate bar. As they drove past the garage forecourt and headed onto the slip road back to the motorway, Anna exclaimed, “Look! Can you believe it?”

Standing hitching a ride was a teenage girl. She wore boots, a miniskirt, and a fur-hooded anorak. Anna drew up beside her and lowered the passenger window, leaning across Barolli to say, “You shouldn’t be doing this. Haven’t you seen the warning posters?”

The girl gave her the finger and moved away as Anna inched the car forward. Barolli glared at the girl, who glared back at him as he shouted, “You know, two girls have been found murdered not far from here. You’re taking a big risk, love.”

“I’m waitin’ for me dad.”

Barolli muttered under his breath, then said, “Just you be careful.”

The girl stalked away, and there was nothing they could do. They both remained silent as they headed onto the motorway. Barolli opened his bag of crisps. He shook the bag toward Anna, seeing if she wanted one, but she didn’t. It made her grit her teeth as he crunched one crisp after another, letting crumbs fly everywhere. She was amazed at how much noise he could make eating as he delved into the pack. At the same time, he was looking over the newspaper he had on his knee.

A short time later, they spotted the flapping yellow scene of crime ribbons.

“You know the van driver? This is only a short distance from the service station, so why didn’t he take a piss there?” Barolli wondered as Anna saw a fragment of crisp fly out of his mouth and land on the dashboard.

“Maybe we should bring him in again,” she suggested.

Barolli, leaning back on the headrest, closed his eyes.

“Maybe.” He yawned. “Right, carry on about this Cameron Welsh guy.”

But Anna remained silent as she concentrated on driving, hoping he would fall asleep.

“What else did the girl tell Langton about him?” Barolli prompted her.

“Just that he had been cool toward her and it got to her. I think she also claimed that she was infatuated, and because he was totally ignoring her, she said she sort of became a bit obsessed by him. She admitted it all, and according to Langton, since she was honest about herself, she didn’t come across as someone determined to cause trouble for Cameron Welsh.”

Barolli yawned again. “So what was it?”

Anna described that at the lengthy interview, the girl said that one evening a few weeks after the cooling-off incident, she was waiting for a bus after work and Cameron drew up to offer her a lift. She got into his car. He asked if she’d like a drink, and feeling euphoric, she went with him to a wine bar. When they left, she asked if he could drive her home, and he suddenly became angry and told her to get out and find her own way. The next minute, he was slapping her around the face, hurting her, and then he banged her head against the dashboard and her nose started to bleed. She began screaming, and a passerby stopped and rapped on the driver’s side window. Apparently, Cameron got out and told the man that it was all a misunderstanding and it was over. The passerby looked toward her and asked if she was all right; she had a handkerchief pressed to her bleeding nose. At the same time Cameron was apologizing to her, saying over and over that he hadn’t meant to slap her and he was very sorry.

They drove off, and Cameron was like a different person, very apologetic, and when they drew up outside her flat, he opened her door for her and helped her get out of his car. He kept on saying that he didn’t know what had come over him, and that he had never hit a girl before, and asked if she could forgive him. He also said she could take a few days off work. And then he drove off.

Anna suddenly remembered the girl’s name: Hannah Lyle. Hannah had gone on to tell them that she had taken a couple of days off work, and when she returned, there was extra money in her paycheck. Cameron was not in the office, and Hannah had taken the opportunity to ask one of the other girls what she knew about him. It was then that she learned about a couple of other young women who had worked for him, and it was known that he had slapped them around, too. That was probably the reason why the new young temp had never returned, the girl said, although she’d been working there only a couple of weeks. The pair had discussed the temp; although Hannah had not known her well, she had liked her, and had wondered why she left so suddenly. Hannah subsequently left the company, and almost a year later, she’d been watching a television program requesting information about a murder victim when she became certain it was the girl she remembered from the office.

“What happened then — Langton brought him in?”

“Yes, and at first let him go — but you know him. He had this gut feeling we’d found the right guy, but we had nothing to go on apart from the statement from Hannah Lyle. He started to dig around, finding out as much as possible about Cameron Welsh’s background.”

Barolli leaned forward with eyes closed to lower the air-conditioning, which annoyed Anna, as it was a perfect temperature for her.

“Go on,” he prompted.

Anna continued, relating that there were no police records of Welsh and not so much as an outstanding parking ticket. The man was a model citizen who paid his taxes, and his company was in good shape, as were his personal accounts, in which there was over a quarter of a million pounds. They went on searching his background details but found nothing incriminating. Without any evidence to back up his hunch, Langton decided to interview anyone who could give them an insight into Cameron’s character. Anna took a deep breath, remembering how frustrating it had felt.

“To be honest, the team began to feel they were wasting valuable time, but then some of the interviews started to add up, especially from—”

Barolli interrupted her. “His family?”

“No. Both parents were deceased. It was a couple of fellow students and employers from before he opened his own company. One man in particular said he had never liked him and felt that Cameron was complicated and a compulsive liar, with a disturbing attitude toward women. This was also implied by everyone questioned. Apparently, he was brought up in South Africa, and his father was violent toward their servants. He was ex-military and strict with Cameron. His mother, however, was a beautiful ex-debutante type who married beneath her; we got all this from a student Cameron had been at university with. The other guy said he had liked Cameron at first but then got put off him as, when drinking, Cameron would become belligerent and often morose. From their conversations, it sounded as if Cameron’s mother had protected him from his father’s abuse, but when he was twelve, she ran off with a close friend of her husband, and this had a traumatic effect on the boy.”

“Some friend,” Barolli commented.

“Which one?”

“His university pal. Why did he do that to Cameron? Just dump him because he had problems.”

“Oh, right. In fact, it was nothing to do with that. They fell out due to Cameron making a pass at his girlfriend. She had become afraid of him, so the two boys argued about it — and Cameron ignored him from that time on.”

Anna recalled the interview when she had watched in amazement as Langton used the information he had gleaned about the mother-son relationship, embroidering on the facts, implying that the relationship had been an incestuous one. The suggestion had enraged Cameron, who, up until that point, had been controlled. For a moment he had looked as if he would explode, but then he had fought to control his anger. He did swear at Langton, insisting that the detective had no right to bring up his mother in connection with why he was being questioned. His face had distorted with rage, but yet again he managed to retain control, although his hands had been clenched the whole time. He maintained that he had no relationship whatsoever with his mother, and that he had not had any contact with her, even when she had begged to see him; nor had he gone to her funeral.

“It was a real lesson, watching Langton open Cameron up, because he switched from asking about his relationship with his mother to implying that he had subsequently become close to his father... which released more vitriol. He seemed unable to stop spewing out how much he had detested him, how he’d spent his formative years living in fear of him, in a country he hated, and it wasn’t until he had watched him dying of cancer that he felt free of his father’s domination, returning to live in England with his mother’s parents.”

However, although the grandparents had taken him in, Cameron’s trials were not over, for they showed him little or no affection. His grandmother had always been against her daughter’s marriage, and being forced into caring for the grandson she had never previously met had created difficulties.

During the interview, as Cameron went into lengthy detail about his background, he required hardly any prodding from Langton. What emerged was the supremely overconfident, egotistical side of the man’s character; he claimed that he had learned to hide his feelings and to portray himself as whatever his grandparents needed to form an attachment to him. They were never aware that he hated them as much as he hated his parents. When they died, Cameron had inherited a considerable amount of money, investments, and properties, and so careless was he in boasting about his wealth that it led to Langton gaining search warrants for two properties that, until Cameron had mentioned them, they had not been privy to his owning. As a result, they discovered the crucial evidence to eventually charge him with the murders.

Barolli was fast asleep, and Anna drove on in silence through the changing landscape, waking him only when they approached the Barfield prison boundary. They had to show their warrant cards and the fax from the prison to the officers at the gates and were instructed to park in the staff section of the car park.

Barfield was one of the few privately owned prisons. A modern build, it was a massive, sprawling place. They were met by an officer and led to the administration section and then through to the governor, who was waiting in his office to offer them tea or coffee. Both Anna and Barolli refused, saying they were eager to meet with Welsh as soon as possible. The governor, Jeremy Hardwick, turned out to be a tall, balding man with disconcertingly large ears, which he was overly fond of pulling at the lobes. He also had a fresh feel to him, as if he were athletic, rising to his feet and shaking their hands vigorously.

He read Anna’s letter of introduction and asked for more details, as to meet with Prisoner 6678905 would entail them crossing out of the main prison into the high-security smaller prison.

Anna outlined the reason why they were there, even though she had already given the details over the phone. However, it gave her the opportunity to ask about Cameron and his present behavior. The governor was not exactly evasive, but before saying anything, he suggested that Cameron remain in his cell throughout the interview and that they talk to him through the bars, as the cells in the secure unit did not have the usual cell doors.

“It’s just a precaution,” he added.

“Do you think he could be dangerous if the cell remained open?” Anna asked.

“I doubt it, but it is necessary we take every precaution. And as you are a very attractive woman, I want you protected.” Hardwick gave her a kindly smile.

“So you think he is dangerous?” Anna wanted to be clear about this.

“No. It is, as I said, just a precaution — and I will also have to request that the other inmates in the secure unit are locked in their cells. Usually, they have free access to their open spaces, and we do have some problematic inmates in there. There are four officers on duty at all times, and the security level is tight.”

“But you don’t think Mr. Welsh could be physically dangerous?” Anna repeated.

The governor hesitated and then shrugged. “To be honest, I wouldn’t put anything past him, and as he has written to you personally, Detective Travis, he may have some kind of ulterior motive in requesting you to be here in person. I sincerely doubt that he could have any information regarding your inquiry, and I feel this could simply be a ploy to have you meet with him. You have to understand the lengths inmates go to to relieve the day-to-day boredom.”

He tugged at his right earlobe. “It’s rather like working with children at school, but the prisoners have no lessons, just twenty-four hours of every day to think up schemes and ways to create problems of every possible kind to aggravate the officers, themselves, and other inmates.”

“Because they have nothing else to do?” Barolli asked.

“That is partly the reason, or one could call it bloody-mindedness. We try at Barfield to lessen that aggravation in any way we can, because obviously, these are not children, and their ‘games’ can have severe repercussions. The prisoners held in the inner secure prison are specifically the ones we have found difficult to control, or who refuse to take any of the many productive courses we have on offer.”

“Does Welsh have any other visitors?” Barolli asked.

“No, he has never requested a visitor’s order.”

“In five years?” Anna asked, surprised.

“He has had no visitors,” the governor said quietly.

“What about other prison agencies? I know many people working in that capacity often become friendly with an inmate.”

“No, there is no one. He has made no friends with anyone from Social Services, male or female. He has obviously had the opportunity but has always refused to join in any of the interactive out-of-cell activities, even in the secure unit, which is a controlled environment.”

Anna asked if they could be given a list of inmates with whom Cameron Welsh had been locked up or had shared a cell.

“He has never shared a cell. He refused to ever be placed with another inmate, and he created major problems when placed on the sex offenders’ wing.”

“I know he’s earned a degree while he’s been here. Did he have a tutor or work within the educational department?”

“No. He earned his degree with the Open University.”

“But surely he would have had to be interviewed?”

“Apparently not.”

“So during his sentence, he has never been close to any other prisoner?” Anna needed a precise answer.

“He worked out in the gym, so he could have made contact with another prisoner, but that would have been some time ago. They do have a small gym in the secure unit that he uses daily.”

“What about the other inmates in the secure unit?”

“Well, obviously, he has to be in contact with them, and I can give you their names — they are a drug dealer, a Mafia-connected prisoner, and a terrorist. Although we have facilities in there for eight inmates, we currently have only four, which will enable you to interview him with the cells on either side unoccupied.”

Barolli asked for the other inmates’ records to ascertain if any of them could have contacts involving their case. It took some time before both he and Anna were able to determine that all three had been held at Barfield before the women in question were murdered. This meant that whatever “information” Welsh claimed he had could not have been passed to him recently.

“How do the prison officers get along with him?” Anna asked next.

“Their job is to basically monitor rather than befriend, so they keep their distance, but at the same time they are trained to have awareness of their inmates. It is much harder in such close proximity, as you will see in the secure unit, which is small in comparison with all the amenities we have in the main prison compound. The officers selected have already proved to be dedicated and have spent time on the main prison wings beforehand.”

Hardwick stood up abruptly and gestured to the door, saying, “Right. As I have a busy schedule, I have arranged for two officers to walk you over to the secure unit. So you will see for yourselves how Mr. Welsh is today.”

Anna and Barolli were led into the main prison yard, passing the high-wired fences surrounding the exercise yard. There were numerous prisoners playing handball, while others smoked and chatted in groups, but all of them stopped what they were doing as the newcomers passed. There were a lot of wolf whistles and catcalls, especially at Anna, referring to her red hair.

“’Ere, Red, show us a smile!”

There were more abusive sexual shouts, but Anna kept facing front, not for a moment acknowledging the catcalls. Eventually, they approached a barred-gated walkway some distance from the exercise yard. The security cameras were positioned high up on the fence corridor as they came to a second barred gate, and after that was unlocked, they arrived at the prison within a prison.

The secure unit was a large square building with cameras trained on the main entrance. The two officers gave their names and the names of Anna and Barolli before it clicked open. One officer walked in front of them, the other behind as he relocked the gate. They strode along a narrow windowless corridor before they entered the main area. This was surprisingly light, with large glass doors opening onto a small walled exercise yard. There was a room with high windows almost at ceiling level, and they were told that this was the inmates’ workroom. The open space contained a Ping-Pong table and a snooker table. Here the four guards sat around a small table reading the morning papers with mugs of tea, while a large television set attached to the wall was turned to Sky Sports. All stood to be introduced. Anna noticed that they were young, fit, and all about six feet tall.

The two accompanying officers left Anna and Barolli with the four guards, with instructions that as soon as the visitors were ready to go, they should contact the main gate. A fresh-faced blond officer who introduced himself as Ken Hudson offered tea or coffee and gestured toward a small, well-equipped kitchen. It amused Anna that he directed his conversation toward Barolli rather than to her, as he had confused the rank and was unaware that she was actually Paul’s superior.

“That’s where they can cook their meals if they want,” he was telling Barolli.

“If you don’t mind, we’d just like to talk with Cameron Welsh and not take up any more of your time than necessary,” Anna interrupted. She was keen to get started.

Hudson realized he had misjudged the situation and blushed. He told them that all the inmates were in their cells. “They’re not happy about it, but we felt it better that you have no interruptions. They’re all nosy sods and would have pestered the pair of you. Especially you.” He smiled at Anna, and it was her turn to blush.

“So the sooner we get through, the better,” she said stiffly.

“Okay — follow me. We have two aisles with the cells off them, and Cameron’s off the first one. We were instructed to keep the cells on either side empty, so there’s no other prisoner in aisle one.” The young man was protective of her, explaining that she would have no cause for concern, as he would be watching from the monitors.

“Thank you.” Anna smiled and then paused. “Can I just ask you about Welsh for a moment?”

“Sure.”

“How do you find him?”

Hudson shrugged. “He’s no trouble if he’s left alone; he doesn’t mix with the other blokes, and we hardly ever get a word out of him unless he’s complaining about something or other. He’s a fussy eater, and due to having cash sent in by his solicitor, he’s allowed to order his own food from the prison shop; mostly, it’s vegetarian. He even gets that sushi sent in, and he likes a lot of fruit drinks, but we have to always make sure the kitchen is clear, as he won’t cook in there unless it’s empty. The other blokes didn’t like it. To begin with, you know, they tried to start up conversations with him, play cards, whatever, but he wasn’t having any of it. He even works out in the yard alone; anyone else goes out there, he walks back in. If it’s sunny, he gets a chair and places it with his back to us and sits sunbathing for hours.”

“Does he watch television?”

“Yeah. Not in the main area, though; he’s got his own portable one, and he’s also got his computer, and gets sent in books every month. His cell is wall-to-wall books, but he won’t let any other guys read them, none of us, either. They’re mostly hardbacks. He’s got quite a selection.”

“What does he do all day — when he’s not sunbathing, that is?” Barolli asked, and Anna wished he didn’t sound so sarcastic.

“Reads or writes. He’s also particular about his laundry. They’re allowed to use their own sheets and bedlinen in here, and his are pristine Egyptian cotton. He also never uses the barber, but we sit and watch him cut his own hair; he’s particular about that, and it takes him forever. We also have his cell searched frequently. That includes checking his computer hard drive and making sure he’s not abusing the fact that he’s allowed to use one.”

“Does he get a lot of letters?” Anna asked.

“Yes. There’s lots of mail for him, mostly to do with his writing. He’s doing various courses and Open University stuff, as he’s intelligent, but...”

“But?” Anna prompted.

“He’s a weirdo — you know, his obsession with everything being perfect. I think he’s got that obsessive-compulsive thing, as everything has to be lined up exactly to his liking in his cell, and he’s fussy about hygiene. He’d be in the showers five times a day if we allowed him, washing his hands all the time, scrubbing his nails, washing his hair twice a week, and he’s got God knows how many expensive shampoos and creams. If any of the inmates or us get a cold, he’s paranoid about coming anywhere near and has this face mask and uses Vicks up his nose to ward off catching germs.”

Hudson stopped at that point and asked them to wait. Again he directed his gaze to Anna and hesitated, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. He bent down to speak softly. “I’d button your blouse to the neck, if I were you,” he advised her. “If he’s got some perverted reason for wanting you to visit, don’t allow him a second of satisfaction.”

She put her hand up to her blouse immediately. It wasn’t unbuttoned to reveal any hint of cleavage, but it was nevertheless showing off her slender neck. “Thank you,” she said.

“Let me go and tell him you’re here.”

Anna and Barolli were midway along aisle one. She quickly buttoned her blouse to the neck. Hudson walked past an empty cell and then stopped.

“Cameron, you’ve got two visitors.”

They heard a murmur but could not detect what was said.

“No, two. Detective Sergeant Paul Barolli and a Detective Inspector Anna Travis are here.”

Again they heard a murmur, and Hudson looked back at them and then back at the cell.

“Well, you’ve got two. If you refuse to see them, then you’d better tell me now, as I’ll have to take them back to the main prison.”

Hudson listened for a moment, then came to rejoin Anna and Barolli. “He said he only agreed to talk to Detective Travis, and he doesn’t want to meet you.” He nodded to Barolli.

“Tell him we’re leaving, then,” Barolli said. Hudson nodded and made to return to the cell, when they saw a hand with a small round mirror positioned outside the cell bars.

“He’s checking you out,” Hudson said quietly.

“Please tell him we don’t have time for games. We’re leaving.”

Hudson walked back to Cameron but said nothing as the hand was withdrawn. Again there was a low murmur.

Hudson walked into the cell beside Cameron’s, took out a chair, then went into the cell on the other side and took out a second chair. He placed them both in front of Cameron’s bars and gestured for Anna and Barolli to join him, saying he wanted Anna to sit on the right and Barolli on the left.

Anna kept her eyes down as she took her seat and Barolli sat in his.

“Okay, Cameron? You’ve got Detective Sergeant Barolli and...”

“Anna. Anna Travis,” she said, taking charge. “Good morning.”

Hudson left them, and Anna looked up and into the cell. Cameron was sitting on a similar chair facing forward, his legs crossed casually. She was shocked to see him, because he looked so refreshed and pristine. His dark hair was silky and cut to just above his shoulders, with a part in the middle. His face was tanned, and he looked to her even younger than when she had last seen him. His blue prison-issue shirt was pressed and his trousers creased, and he was wearing leather open-toed sandals.

“Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Barolli said coldly.

Cameron pointedly ignored him as he stared at Anna, saying, “Well, well, you have grown up — and you are wearing your hair in a different style. It’s very flattering.”

She found it difficult to meet his eyes, but looking at a spot above his head, she began: “You said you had information—”

“Please, one moment, let me first offer you a drink. I have still or sparkling water: which would you prefer?”

“Neither, thank you.”

He didn’t address Barolli, turning his own chair a fraction so that he wouldn’t even have to see him. His cell, although small, was immaculate. The cot was made up in military fashion, the sheet folded over the blanket and his two pillows stacked. One wall of the cell had bookcases from floor to ceiling, mostly hardbacks, arranged by size. The opposite side of his cell contained a small computer desk with a laptop and printer; there were packs of A4 paper, notebooks, and envelopes all stacked in a neat order. Beneath the desk was a crate of bottled water and a box of biscuits, and a shelf high up on the wall contained pristine white towels. Lined up were various shampoos and creams, a brush and a comb, and shaving equipment.

The barred section had an interlocking mechanism that would move the gate sideways, leaving the cell open. It was a strange feeling sitting opposite him and looking into the immaculate cell, but Cameron appeared to be totally relaxed, leaning back in his chair.

“You wrote to me—” Anna began again, and again, he interrupted her.

“I did, and I have on three other occasions written to you, but I have never received a reply.”

“I am here now.”

“Indeed you are. May I call you Anna?”

“No. My name is Detective Travis. Mr. Welsh, this is not a social visit, and I am here to discover if in fact you do have information regarding the murder inquiry. Please don’t waste either my time or Sergeant Barolli’s.”

“Time,” Cameron repeated softly, and then he smiled. “I want you to know, Detective Travis, that I have no grudge against you whatsoever. You did what you had to do, and I think you did it rather well. So...” He turned and gestured at his cell. “I certainly have the time, and obviously, I have spent many hours pondering my own situation, my own case. What interests me, and I am sure will interest you, too, is trying to understand what drove me to commit murder. I have retraced my life in detail, never allowing myself to feel self-pity, but more fascinated by what moment — was it madness or desire — that drove me to kill. This self-contemplation has opened up many areas about which I truthfully had been in denial; I now believe that I have two personalities, and only when committing murder are they joined.”

“Mr. Welsh, we are not here to discuss your case,” Barolli said curtly.

Cameron didn’t glance at Barolli but continued as if there had been no interruption. “This self-contemplation and self-analysis proved to be unsatisfying, since I have only myself as a template, so I subsequently broadened my research to delve into other killers’ minds. The outcome is the reason why I wished to see you, Detective Travis. My attempt to understand why I committed murder has enabled me to get inside the general mind of a killer, because I have been inside my own.”

Barolli sighed with impatience, and again Cameron gave no reaction to his presence.

“Have you brought in documents pertaining to your inquiry?” Welsh went on.

“No.”

“Well, that is a waste of time, isn’t it? For me to help you, I will need the postmortem photographs and reports and the forensic details. Without access to these, I doubt if I will be able to assist you in capturing the killer.”

“That won’t be possible, Mr. Welsh,” Anna said.

“Then you should make it possible,” he snapped, “because if you give me access to this material, I will be able to guide you toward your killer.”

Barolli banged back his chair and stood up, and Cameron for the first time turned his attention toward him.

“This is a waste of time,” Barolli growled.

Cameron stood up, and Barolli got to see for the first time how tall he was — well over six feet. He was also exceptionally fit, his body lean and muscular.

“Is that what you think, Sergeant Barolli — that I am wasting your time? I guarantee that I will not have any further meetings with you. Impatient little man, aren’t you?”

Barolli glared at Anna to get out of her seat to return to the main area.

Cameron moved closer to the bars and addressed Anna. “Let me get into his mind. I will become the man you want and give you an insight into who he is.”

Anna stood up, still refusing to look at Cameron directly as he continued. “You have three dead girls — one prostitute and two unidentified victims. You have no suspect and no witness, no DNA — you have nothing! But I guarantee I will be able to help your inquiry. Trust me. However, I need to have access to all your files to date on all three cases, the pathology and forensic details and statements and...”

Anna at last plucked up the courage to look at him directly.

Their eyes locked for a moment, then she turned away, picking up her chair to walk back down the aisle following Barolli. All the hair on her body was standing up, as if she had stepped into an ice-cold room. Cameron Welsh was the last person she would trust, and she swore that she would not subject herself to another visit. Due to the prison security they had to wait for the guards to take them back into the main prison. She could sense that Cameron Welsh was looking at her via the small hand mirror.