Blind Fury

Chapter Five

Anna and Barolli parked up in a side road by the Waitrose car park, then walked along New Malden’s High Street. There were numerous charity shops, and Barolli double-checked that it was a cancer charity, as there was a children-in-need shop and a heart-foundation shop all within a short distance.

“Lot of Chinese live around here,” Barolli said as they passed a Japanese grocery shop. There were several sushi delis, and High Street was busy with the big department store called Tudor Williams. Every store appeared to be having a sale.

The cancer charity shop was well positioned, with a window display of women’s clothes, china, and children’s toys.

“Well, this looks affluent — must be all the Chinese,” Barolli waffled. “Those boots in the window look very small, don’t they?”

Anna didn’t pay him much attention. It was a long way from Hendon and Ronald Kelly’s business. In fact, it was a village atmosphere. She gave Barolli a nudge, as he was still peering into the window display. They entered the shop.

The assistant, Eileen Mayle, an elderly woman wearing a pink twinset with pearls, had eagerly written down all she could remember on a notepad while waiting. She could describe the redheaded victim, but as the police had shown her photograph on the TV program, they couldn’t rely on this too much as a positive sighting. However, she also spoke of the victim as having a strong accent, possibly Polish, and explained that the reason she recalled this customer was because she had tried to buy the jacket, which was priced at six pounds, with a fifty-pound note. The shop assistants always paid close attention to anyone trying to use fifty-pound notes, because they had been caught out a number of times. In the past, customers had bought a couple of small items for a few pounds and then, having taken their change, left the shop. Later, the notes had been found to be forgeries, so the staff now refused to accept them. The girl was even more memorable because she returned a while later with the correct amount of money to buy the coat.

“Did you think it was a fake fifty-pound note?” Anna asked.

“I couldn’t honestly say, and I didn’t have the marker pen to test it, so I couldn’t take it. She took a while to understand, as, like I said, she didn’t speak good English, and the reason I think she might have been Polish is because I had a cleaner from there once and the accents were similar.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes, she seemed to be, and I’d never seen her before.”

“Thank you very much, Eileen. You have been very helpful. If there is anything else you can remember, please call this number.” Anna passed over her card.

“I’ve been trying to think of her name, because I wrote a note to keep the jacket for her, and in case I wasn’t here, I put it on the bag under the counter. I’ve been racking my brains to remember, because I’d pinned it to the bag, but she took it with her.”

This was almost too good to be true.

“And did you remember it?” Anna asked eagerly.

“Well, not her surname, but her Christian name was Estelle.”

The next port of call was the Polish embassy in Portland Place. Anna and Barolli sat in her Mini as they checked some facts about immigration. Barolli scrolled through the information.

“They’ve got this Works Registration Scheme introduced in 2004 when the new countries joined the European Union. This allows the UK to monitor where citizens, say from Poland, are coming into our labor market. They’ve got to register under this scheme if they want to work for an employer.”

“Well, let’s hope we get some luck with Estelle.”

Armed with the photograph of their victim, Anna asked if the embassy personnel could assist in identifying her. It was a tedious interview, with a number of the staff who at first were certain she had never been to the embassy, and it was not until Anna asked if the bar and kitchen workers could also be questioned that they got a result.

A waitress, whose English was poor, was brought to meet them as they waited in a small lounge. They used a barman to act as interpreter, as the girl became flustered when questioned. She was certain the victim was a girl called Estelle Dubcek who had worked as a relief waitress on two occasions. She did not know where she lived, and said that Estelle had not been at the embassy for several months, but she thought she was working as an au pair somewhere in Knightsbridge.

Returning to the station, Barolli kept on moaning about how people would not come forward. If their victim was Estelle and she had worked in Knightsbridge, why hadn’t the host family made contact after the extensive press coverage? Anna asked Barbara to start checking all the domestic employment agencies in the Knightsbridge area, and at the same time to contact Interpol and Passport Control. By six o’clock they had no further development; it was yet another frustrating day.

Just as Anna was getting ready to leave the station, Barbara received a call from a Mrs. Henderson who lived in Walton Street, close to Harrods. She said she had been contacted by the domestic agency she had used to hire an au pair for her two young children. The girl she had hired from the agency had lasted only a few months before she had to return to Poland for a family bereavement. Knowing she was leaving her boss without help, the au pair had suggested a friend whom she had met at the Polish embassy. The girl was no longer working for Mrs. Henderson and had not been for the past few months, but she had been called Estelle Dubcek.

Anna asked why the agency had made contact if the au pair did not come to her via them.

“Because I complained about the original girl they sent to me, and they would have replaced her, but when I said I had already hired Estelle, they got quite unpleasant.”

Anna arranged to call on Mrs. Henderson that evening. The house was impressive, and Mrs. Henderson, an American, was an elegant and rather brittle woman who explained to Anna that she and her family would be leaving England in two months’ time. The house was only leased, and the bank her husband worked for had recalled him to America.

“My children have already left with their nanny. I used the agency for the au pairs to help her out mostly on the weekend, as that is her time off. But as I mentioned to you, I was not that happy with them, and they cost a fortune.”

Mrs. Henderson gestured for Anna to sit down. It was a well-decorated large room with long bay windows overlooking Walton Street. The sofas and chairs were covered in pale yellow damask and matched the draped curtains. A large ornate fireplace with a fake log fire had a long glass-topped table in front of it, stacked with Vogue and Tatler magazines.

“Can you tell me what you know about Estelle?”

“Well, not that much, really. She was pleasant enough, but her English was poor, and to be honest, it wasn’t an ideal arrangement. And then when we got the news to pack up, I didn’t bother replacing her.”

Anna showed her the photograph taken of the victim, but only a head shot. Mrs. Henderson recognized her straightaway.

“Yes, that’s Estelle, she had long red hair. Has something happened to her?”

“Yes, she was murdered.”

“Oh dear God, that’s dreadful.”

“So I will need to know all you can tell me about her.”

Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “There’s not a lot I can add to what I have already said.”

“Did she live in?” Anna prompted.

“For the first month she did, but it wasn’t really working out, as she wasn’t used to looking after small children. She couldn’t cook, and she spent most of the time reading. I honestly didn’t see a lot of her; the only reason she was here was because the other girl had to go back to Poland.”

“Where did she go after she moved out?”

“Back to wherever she was living before, I presume. She would come in on a daily basis but stay over on the weekends when I really needed her.”

“Do you have an address?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I did have a mobile phone number for her.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes, it will be in my phone — and I also have a bag belonging to her. When I told her she would no longer be required, she was truculent about it, but I explained why, that we were going back to the States, and she accepted it and left.”

“And this was when, exactly?”

Mrs. Henderson crossed to a desk and opened a drawer, taking out a leather-bound diary. “Three months ago. I paid her for the next month, expecting her to at least stay over the following weekend, but she never returned.”

Anna asked if Mrs. Henderson could show her the bag Estelle had left. It was a cheap black haversack, containing a nightdress and underwear, a pair of socks, and three English-language books. There was also a lined notebook with jottings and spellings, obviously used by Estelle to learn written English. They also could see that the spelling of her name was Dubcek. There was nothing else — no phone numbers or addresses. Anna thanked Mrs. Henderson and left, taking the haversack with her.

She would have liked to go straight home, as by now it was after seven, but she persuaded herself to return to the station to share what she had just learned.

At eight o’clock, Anna was still at her desk working on her report. Making sure she had done everything by the book, she passed the haversack to the property lockup. Mrs. Henderson had also given her the contact number and address in Poland for the previous au pair, whose name was Katia Rieika. With luck, they could track her down to ask for more details about Estelle. But first Anna rang Estelle’s mobile phone number. To her surprise, it was answered straightaway.

The voice had a heavy accent and it took a moment for Anna to ask who she was speaking to.

“Katia. Who is this, please?”

Anna explained slowly that she was trying to trace Estelle and believed that this was her mobile phone number.

“No, this number is mine. Estelle not here.”

It took considerable time to explain that it was very important for Anna to meet with Katia, as there was some concern about Estelle.

“She not here, she go away.”

Eventually, Katia agreed to meet. Anna would have preferred to see her the following morning, but Katia said she worked in a breakfast café and had to be at work early. So Anna asked if she could come and talk to her now.

Anna had to drive to Earl’s Court, and it was almost nine by the time she parked outside the address off Earl’s Court Road. The house had been divided into numerous studio flats. Rows of bells and scribbled notes were taped to the door to indicate the various occupants. Katia Rieika lived on the second floor, and as soon as Anna rang number twenty, the heavy door buzzed open.

A girl was leaning over the banisters as Anna looked up the wide, old-fashioned staircase. The hall was dusty, and a large table bore mail stacked in rows for the tenants. Mounds of flyers were heaped beneath it, along with old free newspapers and circulars.

Katia turned out to be a very attractive dark-haired girl dressed in a black woolen skirt and sweater. She ushered Anna into the studio room, which was spacious, containing two beds, a large wardrobe, and a small kitchen alcove. It was untidy, with clothes strewn around, and on a table were dirty mugs and food cartons.

Katia was impatient and had her mobile phone out, ready to show Anna.

“Did Estelle use your phone?”

“Yes. Only when she needed it, but it is my phone, I pay for it. I can prove it. I got the last bill two days ago. You want it?”

Anna said that she would like to see it. She then sat on an old floral-covered easy chair and opened her briefcase to show Katia the photograph of Estelle. The other girl recognized her and was distressed when told she had been murdered.

“I need to know everything you can tell me about her,” Anna said.

Katia picked up a box of tissues and wiped her eyes, then sat by the table, getting over the shock. Estelle had been living with her for a while but couldn’t find work until Katia told her about Mrs. Henderson.

“I tell Mrs. Henderson that I go back to Poland, but I just didn’t want to work for her anymore. Pay was not good, and I did not like her, and she made me do cleaning and ironing as well as looking after the children. So I suggested Estelle work for her, as she needed money. She owed me rent and kept on borrowing from me. I work two jobs now, one in the café, and then I work nights in a club. I earn three times the money.”

Bit by bit, Anna learned that Estelle had not registered to work in the UK and had come to England via France eighteen months ago. She had met Katia at the Polish embassy, and they became friends. At first she had slept on Katia’s floor, as there was another girl sharing the studio, but when she left, Estelle moved in. She had then taken over Katia’s job with Mrs. Henderson.

“When she didn’t come back here, didn’t you feel concerned?”

“No, I think she live in with Mrs. Henderson, and my boyfriend was here, so it was okay.”

“But she used your mobile phone?”

“Yes, sometimes, but I ask for it back because I need it.”

“Did Estelle have a boyfriend?”

“No. I don’t think she have one. She was doing house-cleaning for a while, but not much money.”

“Did she have any friends that I could talk to?”

“No. She didn’t know nobody, and I work early in mornings, so I didn’t see much of her, and she lived in at Mrs. Henderson’s.”

“But that was only on weekends.”

“Look, I tell you everything. I got someone else living with me now. I don’t know nothing else about her.”

“What about family?”

Katia shrugged and said that Estelle maybe had someone she knew in Manchester, but who it was, she didn’t know. She got up and opened one of the wardrobes, taking out a large cheap canvas suitcase. “I got this, all her things inside, but she don’t come back for it. I don’t want it, I need the space.”

Anna sighed and tried to think of a way of getting more information out of Katia, but the girl was becoming impatient to leave for work.

“Did you notice anything else missing?” Anna asked.

“No. There was a backpack — is that what you call it? A small thing, and an overnight bag. They not here; she maybe took them with her.”

By the time Anna left Katia’s studio with the suitcase, it was nine-thirty. She decided she would go home and check the suitcase in at the station the following morning.

Anna showered and made herself a sandwich before she opened the suitcase. She laid it on her bed, and as she removed each item, she noted it down: two pairs of shoes, two skirts, sweaters, and T-shirts with some underwear. There was nothing else, no passport or notebooks or makeup. The clothes were all worn but clean and well pressed. Anna knew about the haversack or backpack but not the overnight bag. Could that have meant Estelle was leaving London to visit the person Katia said she knew in Manchester?

She had hoped that the itemized bill for the mobile might be of use, especially if there had been one to Manchester. However, Katia had given her the names of all the calls, and these also included ones made by Estelle to her, and she said there were no other numbers listed for which she didn’t know the recipient. Estelle had given the phone back to Katia a month ago. Frustrated and tired, Anna repacked the suitcase and went to bed.

The next morning, Anna dragged the case into the station, and there were plenty of jokes about her filling up the property locker, as every item she had brought in had to be recorded in the exhibits book and bagged. She made out her report of the meeting with Katia and added the notes to the incident board. Then she sat at her desk, listed the Polish embassy, the Walton Street address, and the Earl’s Court studio. She was wondering why Estelle had bought from a charity shop in New Malden, a good distance from where she’d worked and lived. She had also tried to pay with a fifty-pound note, and this would have been after she left the employment of Mrs. Henderson. Anna tapped her teeth with her Biro, flicking through all her notes, sensing that something didn’t add up. She put in a call to Katia. There was no reply for such a long time that Anna was about to give up when Katia answered, the clatter of crockery and the hiss of a coffee machine audible in the background.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Katia, it’s DI Anna Travis. I just wanted to ask you if you knew anyone living in New Malden?”

“New Malden?” Katia repeated slowly.

“Yes. We know Estelle bought something from a charity shop there, and it’s quite a way from Earl’s Court.”

“I have never been to this New Malden,” Katia growled.

“Do you know anyone living there?”

“No. I do not know where it is.”

“It’s not far from Kingston, Wimbledon, Raynes Park—”

“No. I don’t know any of these places.”

Anna sighed and thanked Katia, who yawned as she hung up. It was catching; Anna yawned as she closed her notebook. She next rang Mrs. Henderson, apologizing for any inconvenience and saying she wondered if there had been any calls made by Estelle on her boss’s landline. Mrs. Henderson said that she doubted it, as she made a point of asking anyone employed at the house not to use the private phone. She did agree, however, to check her phone bill.

“Could you keep a particular lookout for any calls to New Malden or Manchester?” Anna asked. She doubted that Mrs. Henderson would get back to her, but at least she felt she had covered everything possible in trying to ascertain Estelle’s whereabouts before she was murdered.

She decided to go to the property locker to retrieve the English books found in Estelle’s rucksack, in the hope that they might reveal whether Estelle was going to any particular evening classes to study English. However, none of the books had any college listed. It was yet another dead end.

Shortly after lunch, Barbara took a call from a man by the name of Mikhail Petrovich. He asked to speak to Anna Travis.

“Did he say what it’s about?” Anna asked.

“No. Just wanted to speak to you.”

“Put him through, please.” Anna picked up her desk phone. “Anna Travis speaking. How can I help you, Mr. Petrovich?”

“It’s about Estelle. I knew her, and I’ve been told she’s dead. I am very sorry and I want to help you.”

Anna switched on the tape to record the call. The man did seem to be genuinely distressed. He said he was a waiter working at a small hotel on Kingston Hill in Surrey. Anna became tense listening to him as he explained that he knew Estelle because she lived with his girlfriend in Earl’s Court.

“Your girlfriend is Katia Rieika?”

“Yes. Estelle used to live in her place, that is how I know her.”

“Mr. Petrovich, I would really like to talk to you in person. Can I come and see you?”

Anna arranged to meet him at the hotel, but in the car park, as he didn’t want the management to think he was in any kind of trouble.

Barolli looked over as Anna grabbed her briefcase. “Where you off to?” he asked.

“Kingston Hill. Got someone who says he knew Estelle.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“No, it shouldn’t take long.”

Mikhail Petrovich was a handsome young man with slicked-back black hair. He was waiting in the small car park as Anna drew up in her Mini and wound down the window to announce herself. He got in to sit beside her.

“I thought you would maybe come in a police car,” he said.

“No, this is my own vehicle.”

“Very nice. I like this make of car, but I would have it convertible.”

“Do you mind if I tape this conversation?”

“No, I don’t mind, just so long as Katia doesn’t know about me calling you, because she is very jealous. That’s why she kicked out Estelle, because she knew I found her attractive. Like I said, I was quite fond of her.”

Mikail told Anna that he had been with Katia when she received Anna’s call that morning. He had not started his shift until noon, so he went into the café to help Katia open up. He said she didn’t know Kingston or any of the other places, but he did, as he lived at the hotel he worked in. He stayed with Katia on his days off. Petrovich was an undermanager and very proud of it. He had worked in England for seven years and had been dating Katia for almost eighteen months. He had met Estelle when she began renting the studio, and he had felt sorry for her.

“She had no immediate family, except an uncle who she wanted to meet up with, as she had never known him. She had little money and hated working for Mrs. Henderson, as she was so rude to her.”

“Did she contact this uncle?”

“I don’t know, but in secret we met, and she was upset because she said she didn’t have good clothes, so I took her to the charity shop in New Malden, also two more in Wimbledon, to buy things. They have nice secondhand clothes, expensive things going real cheap. I wait for her outside, have a cigarette.”

“Did you pay for the things?”

“Yes, I give her some money.”

“Was it a fifty-pound note?”

“Yes. I got my wages and give her fifty quid. The lady not want that big note, so I bought cigarettes to get change. Estelle keep the rest.”

Anna swiveled around to have a better look at him. “That’s a lot of money, and yet you say she was just a friend?”

“Yes, I say that, and I mean that. We didn’t do sex, she was not that type of girl — she was proper and innocent and I liked her. She was desperate, and all I wanted was to help her, but without Katia knowing, or she would go ballistic, very jealous. Nothing happened between me and Estelle, but I will be honest, I hoped when she came back, we would get to know each other better.” Anna showed him the photograph, and he nodded. “Yes, that is Estelle.”

He turned away to stare out the window before he brought himself to ask what had happened to her. Anna gave him only a few details, adding that perhaps Estelle was intending to go to Manchester. She also asked if Estelle was the type of girl who would thumb a lift.

“Maybe. You see, I couldn’t give her any more cash, and Katia had kicked her out of the studio because she owed rent, so she had no money for a ticket.”

“Would she have had sex for money?”

He sucked in his breath and his face tightened. “No. I tell you, she was a good girl, but with trouble — no job, no money, and that is why I tried to help her.”

“She was here illegally, wasn’t she?”

He hesitated, then admitted that she was not registered to work in the UK, but she wanted to make an application and hoped that her uncle would help her. He looked at his watch. “I have to go back to work.”

Anna asked when was the last time he had seen Estelle, and he recalled that it was the same day she had bought the new jacket for her trip to Manchester.

“So she was definitely going to travel from London to Manchester?”

“Yes. Her uncle was the only person she believed could get her the correct papers. Did she get there? Was she killed in Manchester?”

“No, she never made it there.”

He turned to look at Anna. His dark eyes were filled with tears, and he clenched his hands. “Money. I was saving for a car, so I did not give her any more when she needed it. Now she’s dead, and I will have to live with that. I really liked her.”

Anna watched him walking back to the hotel reception, his head bent. He took out a handkerchief, and she knew he was crying. She was about to drive away when Mrs. Henderson rang. She did have a call registered from her landline to Manchester, and four further ones to mobile numbers she did not recognize. At last the day was beginning to be a productive one. Anna fed the numbers back to the incident room and asked for the call to Manchester to be a priority. This would begin to pinpoint whether or not Estelle was heading there on the day she died — or was on her way back.

By the time Anna returned to the station, they had located Andre Dubcek. He was devastated to be told that his niece had been murdered, as he had expected her to contact him when she arrived in Manchester. He agreed to come down to London but couldn’t do so for a couple of days, as he had a business to run. Barolli had spoken to him and didn’t think they would gain much from interviewing him, as he had never met Estelle. He had asked a lot of questions about when it had happened and how she had been killed, and he appeared to be greatly shocked.

The fact that he had not contacted them after either the newspaper reports or the television crime shows was simply because he had no idea what she looked like; in fact, he said he had been surprised when she contacted him. Andre was married to a local girl from Chorlton, had three children, and ran a small bakery. He told them that Estelle was twenty-two years old.

It felt to everyone that they had made a breakthrough simply by being able to identify their victim. But it still left one more to go, and they were no closer to producing a suspect. Estelle’s photograph now had her name beneath it, alongside the pictures of Margaret Potts and Jane Doe.

Anna left the station at seven, satisfied that she had had a productive day, if not one that helped solve the women’s murders. She was in the car park when Langton drove in and did his usual erratic parking job. She waited by her Mini as he headed toward her.

“You’ve got some developments today?” he said.

Anna explained quickly how she had been able to identify Estelle and that they had contacted a relative.

“Good work, but we’re still almost at square one. Bloody unbelievable, isn’t it? She’s Polish?”

“She was, yes. Seems to have been quite an innocent.”

“Couldn’t be that innocent. Comes over here, no job prospects and an uncle who’s never met her. Do we know her age?”

“Twenty-two.”

He sighed and then gave Anna a pat on her shoulder. “Good work, though, Travis. Let’s hope tomorrow we go one better. This case is growing cold on us.”

Anna’s newfound relaxed interaction with Langton felt a little strained, as if he was going out of his way to be pleasant to her. Perhaps he was.

By the time she arrived home, she didn’t know why she felt so depressed. There were a few eggs in the fridge and little else, as her grocery list was still stuck to the fridge door. There was a half bottle of red wine on the kitchen worktop, however. Anna poured herself a glass and couldn’t be bothered to eat anything. She carried the glass into the sitting room and switched on the TV, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

She couldn’t lift the depression; she knew she was really not looking after herself. She didn’t exercise, she didn’t cook decent meals, and she was eating mostly fry-ups in the station canteen. She had made no new friends, and her whole existence was focused on work. She was also drinking at least half a bottle of wine a night, despite trying to keep it to one and a half glasses. She sometimes drank more and sank into bed cushioned by the alcohol to help her sleep.

Now, unable to concentrate on the TV, she drained the glass and returned to the kitchen to get a refill and then headed into her bedroom. She took a shower and, wrapped in a bath towel, stared at herself in the long wardrobe mirror. Sipping the wine, she let the towel drop to really look at herself. She’d put on weight, and her hair needed a trim. In fact, her face looked pasty, and doing a slow turn, she could see that her waist was much wider than usual, as were her thighs. Flabby, she felt flabby: unfit and ugly. She took a few more sips of wine as she got into her nightdress. It had been bought for warmth and comfort, and that was exactly what it looked like.

She flopped down on the bed. Tomorrow she would join a gym, and she would also go on a diet, start to eat more healthy food, and cut out the wine. Sleepily, she drained the glass, but just as she was about to go and clean her teeth, her phone rang.

“Hello, Anna.”

She knew who it was immediately and wanted to replace the receiver at once.

“You still awake?”

She remained silent, furious that Cameron Welsh had obtained her private phone number.

“Anna?”

“Mr. Welsh, you have no right to call me at my home. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Take the number out of the phone book, then.”

“Good night, Mr. Welsh.”

“Don’t you want to hear why I’ve called you?”

“No, I don’t. Please do not call me again.”

“Isn’t that rather a childish attitude to take, Anna?”

She was about to slam down the phone when he added, “I have more information.”

“To date you have simply wasted our time, Mr. Welsh. You have given us nothing that we haven’t already—”

“I have now,” he interrupted her angrily.

She did not respond.

“I want you to come and see me again. It’s connected to a friend of Margaret Potts. She knows—”

“That won’t be possible.” She replaced the receiver and pulled out the cord in case he tried to call her again.

Even though Anna took a sleeping pill, sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned. Cameron Welsh’s voice was playing over and over in her mind. She woke drenched in sweat from a nightmare, feeling his hands squeezing her throat. She sat up, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but by calling her at home, he had invaded her privacy. It felt as if he were stalking her the way he had stalked his victims, and she was angry at herself for allowing him to have such power over her.

Not wanting to go back to sleep, she brought her briefcase into the bedroom and began to sift through all her notes pertaining to the previous interviews with Welsh. Although she refuted that he had given any conclusive information that moved the case forward, he had nevertheless underlined the importance of Margaret Potts’s relatives, which had eventually been, in some ways, productive. They had traced the man Potts had been abused by, but it had not resulted in tracing their killer, although it more or less confirmed how the dead woman worked the service stations. However, that wasn’t enough for Anna to believe Welsh truly had anything valuable to offer.

Anna arrived at the station early and went straight into Mike Lewis’s office. She told him about the phone call and explained how much it had bothered her. Mike suggested she change her number straightaway to unlisted. He then said he would contact the governor at Barfield to make sure Welsh was not allowed any further late-night calls unless monitored, and if he had a mobile phone, it was to be removed.

“It beggars belief if he does own one, but you never know what they can get permission to use nowadays.”

“That secure unit is like a holiday camp,” she snapped.

“Did you check the number?”

Anna shook her head and repeated what Welsh had said to her about having further information.

“Well, if there is another visit, you won’t be going. Either I or Barolli will go,” Mike reassured her.

“It’ll be a waste of time,” Anna grumbled. “It’s just supposition on his part, and I think he has a thing about me. It’s me he wants there to gloat over, and he’s started giving me nightmares. It’s that slimy voice of his.” She shuddered.

“What do you think he meant by this friend of the victim Margaret Potts?”

“Mike, we’ve interviewed her ex-husband, her brother-in-law, and Emerald Turk. She never had a regular place to live; she dossed down on their floors or in their spare rooms or used a hostel.”

Mike nodded, but then his phone rang, so Anna had to return to the incident room. She was writing up on the board the late-night phone call when Barolli joined her.

“Boyfriend called you at home, did he?”

“Very funny. I’ll be losing my sense of humor over Welsh. He sickens me.”

“What’s this about a friend of Margaret Potts?”

“He was trying it on, but if you want to act on it, go ahead. I am having nothing more to do with him. Besides, I want to work on finding out more about Estelle Dubcek.”

Mike joined them and said he had spoken to the governor of Barfield, and they were doing a strip search of Welsh’s cell. The prisoners were not allowed to make calls after nine-thirty, and Jeremy Hardwick was very certain Welsh would not have access to a mobile, as they were against prison regulations.

Barolli snorted, knowing full well that inside prison, a mobile phone went for a considerable amount of money, and far from being against regulations, they were passed around easily.

Relieved that she would no longer be forced into any meetings with Welsh, Anna threw herself into the next task. As they’d had such good feedback from the last television crime show, they were preparing to run again the requests for anyone able to identify the second victim. Barbara had compiled the list of the girl’s clothes and acquired exact copies ready for showing on the TV appeal.