Blind Fury

Chapter Six

Anna looked again at the information on Estelle Dubcek, the date she finished working for Mrs. Henderson, and the meeting with Mikhail Petrovich. Aware that Katia had told her she couldn’t stay there, Anna wondered where Estelle had slept. Her body was discovered wearing the jacket bought from the charity shop. She had left clothes at Katia’s and more belongings at Mrs. Henderson’s. Knowing when she purchased the coat, they were able to pin down the date she was in London. Anna calculated that three days were unaccounted for before the body was found. Had she gone to Manchester and been returning to London when she was killed? Yet her uncle had said she never turned up. It left Anna wondering if she should question Petrovich again. He could have lied, but she doubted he was connected to the murder. Then there was Katia; was she lying?

Anna sighed and started to think about Welsh’s phone call. Should she question Emerald Turk again? In many ways, she felt they had already covered her connection to Margaret Potts. She didn’t think that either Margaret’s husband or Eric Potts could give any further clues. It was obvious they needed a breakthrough, and it didn’t seem to be coming, no matter what direction the team investigated.

She went into the incident room to mark up the timeline. It was quiet, unusually so for such a big investigation. They had three dead women with no connection bar the fact that they were murdered close to motorway service stations and were believed to have been killed by the same man.

As Anna underlined in red the three missing days, Barbara joined her, wondering if it was possible that their victim had been held captive by the killer.

“It’s possible,” Anna agreed. “From what I can gather, she didn’t take much luggage, maybe just an overnight bag, and could have started out hitchhiking a lift to Manchester.”

“Barolli’s checking out a white van that was on the CCTV footage at the service station used by Margaret Potts. It’s a Ford Transit van and—”

“When did this come in?” Anna looked over at Barolli, who was on the telephone at his desk.

“They got it on three different dates,” Barbara explained as she pinned up the black-and-white photographs.

Barolli finished his call and hurried to join them. “Okay, things are moving. From the license plate, the Transit van belongs to a John Smiley — I’ve got an address for him in Kilburn. Joan’s just checking it out and running him through the national computer to see if he’s known to us.”

Just as they felt they had a break, Joan discovered that the address was for a rented property, and the suspect had moved out five years previously. She could find no police record on file, but from local agency inquiries, they learned that John Smiley was married with two young children.

The neighbors and other residents at the address in Kilburn could give little information to Barolli. His last call was to the landlord, who lived in a house opposite. The man was able to tell them that Smiley was a good tenant, and when his lease was up, he moved out. The landlord had not met his wife but knew the children had been at a local school. He remembered the white van, as it was parked in the residents’ bays, but couldn’t give any details about what work Smiley did. Pressed by Barolli, who said that surely Smiley must have given some details about his work when he took over the lease for rental, the landlord said he had paid a substantial cash deposit.

The next interviews were at the local school, which provided little more than the information that the two Smiley children, Stefan and Marta, had attended the nursery section, and then the eldest moved up to the primary school. The headmistress, a precise woman in her late forties who was wearing thick brown stockings, was able to give a description of Mrs. Smiley as a pleasant and caring woman. She would always bring both children to school in person and was always present at any prize-giving, Nativity play, and so on. She had never met the children’s father and was sad when she learned they would no longer be pupils. She couldn’t recall if she had been told where the family was moving, and then she stopped and thought for a moment.

“I think Mrs. Smiley was Polish, so perhaps they moved back there. We have so many nationalities at our school that it’s sometimes hard to remember.”

“And you have no idea what Mr. Smiley’s work entailed?” Barolli asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Afterward, Anna sat with Barolli in the patrol car. They were disappointed, especially Barolli, who really thought they’d got a breakthrough.

“Maybe we have, you know. It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it, that our victim was Polish and so was Smiley’s wife,” Anna said.

“We don’t know that for sure, but we can check with Births and Marriages.”

Returning to the station, Anna left Barolli to mark up the new development. Joan was working on tracing any parking tickets or traffic violations that involved Smiley and the Transit van. It seemed impossible that in this day and age a family could uproot itself and disappear, and yet by the end of the day, they still had not discovered the whereabouts of John Smiley and his family. They were running checks through school registers in and around the Kilburn area, Social Services, employment agencies, the Polish embassy, voting registers. Anna was concentrating on vehicle license and taxation. John Smiley could have sold the Transit van, but it was still registered to him under his old address. If Smiley still owned the van, it would by now require its motor official tax, so that was another avenue to check out. It was tedious, frustrating work and occupied almost everyone on the murder team.

The following morning, there was still no news. Mike Lewis was getting a lot of pressure from Langton, but they were coming up with one dead end after another. During the briefing, which left them all depressed, they got a surge of energy when a call came in from the TV Crime-watch team. They had hoped to get a result, but they were stunned by just how good a result it was. A woman caller who refused to identify herself said she was certain the murdered girl was called Anika. She didn’t know her surname but thought she’d worked in a Turkish restaurant in Earl’s Court.

Mike Lewis and Barolli headed out, leaving Anna to continue trying to trace John Smiley. Midmorning, they still had no result, and she was glad to leave her office to interview Estelle’s uncle, who had come down from Manchester by coach.

Andre Dubcek was a small man but overweight, bordering on obese. He was wearing a crumpled cheap navy suit, the buttons of his shirt straining over his stomach. He sat with a cup of coffee, and when Anna entered the interview room, he jumped to his feet to shake her hand vigorously.

As the station was not that old, the interview room walls were not the usual cold shade of light lavatory green, but were a warmer color, with deep cream and pinkish brown overtones on the ceiling. There was the obligatory bare table and two chairs side against one wall, close to the tape recorder. There were also — and not in use for this interview — the cameras positioned high up on the wall and focused on the seating area.

Anna drew out a chair and sat opposite Andre. He had a strong accent but a good grasp of English. He explained that he was Estelle’s father’s brother. Anna noticed his thick stubby fingers as he made a lot of wide-handed gestures.

“I am shocked, so shocked. I have brought some photographs that I have, but only from when Estelle was a child.”

Anna looked through them and could see what a pretty girl Estelle had been. Andre pointed out who was who, and kept repeating it was sad that he had not had more contact with his niece. Estelle’s father had died young of lung cancer, and her mother had remarried and, sadly, died in childbirth, when Estelle would have been twelve years old. She had subsequently been brought up by her grandparents, and then when they had passed on, she was virtually on her own.

“I never write, just maybe a card at Christmas. We were so far away, and I have children and a business here, and times are very hard.”

Anna let him talk on until she felt he was relaxed enough to talk about the telephone call from Estelle. He said his wife had answered, and she had been excited, passing the phone to him. He gave one of his flat-handed gestures.

“Maybe I was not as much. I thought Estelle would be asking for money for a ticket, but then she said she was in London. She wanted to visit, meet my wife and her cousins, and... well, yes, it was for money. She said she had no place to live and wanted to maybe find work here with me while she learned English.”

Andre had agreed that she could stay with his family and, if possible, he would find her work in his bakery. He recalled the date she had rung: the day before she met with Petrovich. She had said she would call when she got to Manchester, as she wasn’t sure if she could afford the train fare.

“I told her to get a coach, because it’s much cheaper, and she said she would maybe do that... and I never heard from her again.”

There was nothing more he could add. Anna could see he was distressed, as he kept pressing his hands flat on the table.

“I didn’t have no place to call her, no number. She contact me.”

“She rang you from a mobile?”

“I dunno, I never checked.”

“We got your number from a Mrs. Henderson whom Estelle worked for. Did you only ever receive the one phone call?”

“Yes, she call just once.”

Andre left the station shortly afterward to return to Manchester. It was yet another dead end. Anna made a note on the incident board regarding their interview, then returned to her desk to continue the search for Smiley. He might have gone abroad, but his van was obviously still in London, so they needed to discover if he had sold it. Anna made more calculations, comparing the dates from the CCTV footage of the parked van against the murders. Of the three different occasions, two matched the dates the last two victims were discovered, but there had been no signs of the van at the time of Margaret Potts’s murder.

Anna called across to Joan to ask if she would scroll through previous cold cases with a date similar to when the sightings of the van had been recorded.

“Christ, we don’t need any more bodies,” Joan grumbled.

“Just start on it, Joan, and if you don’t get anything from the service stations, search on.”

Anna’s desk phone rang; it was the headmistress from Smiley’s children’s school. Anna was surprised.

“The reason I am calling is because I was talking in the staff room after you had left, and one of our junior teachers, who’d been in the nursery section as a trainee, recalled Mrs. Smiley. She said she was Polish, and she also recalled her talking about some blinds—”

Anna interrupted. “I’m sorry, I am not quite following... Blinds?”

“Yes, you know — wooden slatted blinds. Mrs. Smiley apparently told her that her husband worked for a company that made them. They’re rather expensive and trendy, and they come in different shades of wood and various sizes.”

Anna clarified that they were window blinds, and she was told that the company made them to measure and fitted them.

It was too much to hope that the teacher recalled the name of the company, and she didn’t, but it meant they were another step forward.

Barbara wrinkled her nose at the news. “Blinds? Wooden blinds like in Switzerland at the skiing chalets?”

“No, for homes here, slatted blinds made to measure in wood. It’s got to be quite a specialist company, as they deliver and fit them. So start checking all the companies.”

Barbara and Joan worked together, literally going through every listed company in the Yellow Pages, on the Internet, and in the directory. While they were checking, Anna joined Mike and Barolli, who had returned from Earl’s Court. Their remaining victim had been identified by two waiters and the manager of the small restaurant. Her name was Anika Waleska; she was a Polish student who had worked for cash in hand four nights a week and the odd weekend as a relief waitress. They had no details of where she had lived, just a phone number. One night she had simply not turned up for work and had not been seen in months. The phone number was a mobile no longer in use and had been bought from a telephone warehouse.

The police began to check back with the Polish embassy in the hope that they could give more details. The incident room was hopping, with every telephone in use as thorough checks were made via Interpol and the UK border agency. They now had a link between their two young victims, as both were Polish — but that excluded Margaret Potts.

Joan got the breakthrough, and everyone went quiet as she had finally traced their only suspect. John Smiley worked for a company called Swell Blinds. They had moved from their warehouse in Hounslow to Manchester five years ago, and John Smiley was still employed by them. She had a contact number for him, as well as the address and details. The company still delivered to London and in fact did business all over the country. The blinds were handmade in a factory in Salford, near Manchester.

“Did you explain why we want to contact him?” Mike asked, worried that Smiley might be tipped off and disappear.

“No, I didn’t, because I know how important this could be, so I played it quite casual and just said it was a routine inquiry.” Joan gave a raised eye to Barbara, who hid a smile. Sometimes in his new position as DCI, Mike got under their skin. They were both old hands and knew enough of police procedure to act accordingly.

They had made big steps forward. Mike contacted Langton to tell him that their third victim had been identified and the owner of the Transit van traced. Langton suggested they move on Smiley fast but keep it low-profile. No sooner had Mike replaced the phone than Joan was startled to receive a call from Smiley himself.

“Is he on the line now?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll take it in my office.”

Everyone waited, and Mike eventually returned to the incident room.

“Well, Smiley by name and nature. Very helpful; said he’s delivering in London tomorrow and he’ll come in first thing.”

“You believe him?” Barolli asked.

“Yes. He has no idea what we want to see him about, as I said it was connected to him not changing addresses on his van.”

“I don’t like it,” Barolli muttered.

“You want to go all the way to Manchester? I don’t, and if we need to confirm that he is in actual fact delivering tomorrow, we can contact his boss — all right?”

“I’d just like to know he’s not about to do a runner.”

“Listen, contact Manchester Murder Squad and ask them to keep an eye on him. He’s got a mortgage, a wife, and two kids, so I don’t think he’s going to do a disappearing act.”

“Yeah, they said that about Ronnie Biggs.”

Anna could see the tension mounting between the two men, and to defuse it, she asked if the team could move on with tracking down anyone who had known Anika Waleska.

“It’s coincidental that Smiley’s wife is also Polish, and there may be some kind of connection there,” Anna said.

Barolli was at it again, suggesting she read up on just how many Polish immigrants had been shipped back out of England. “We’re bloody inundated with Poles,” he said rudely.

Anna gestured to the board, snapping, “Not murdered, though, all right?”

The following day, Langton appeared, sat himself down at one of the desks, and impatiently demanded a briefing. He was playing with a small piece of string, tying and untying a knot as Mike gave him a runthrough of the new details. His foot twitched while he tied and untied the knot. As Mike finished, he stood up.

“You’re out by three days — correct? — from the time Estelle was last seen to her murder? And you got the ID via a phone-in from Crimewatch on Anika, right?” He sighed and chewed at his lips. “They got this anonymity deal, but did you get any hint about who the caller could have been? Did she work in the same restaurant?”

Mike said there was no way the program would give them any assistance on tracing the caller; that was what it was all about, anonymity assured.

“Fuck that. Go back and ask if they’ll run a request for the informant to come forward on their next show. Maybe she’ll cough up.”

Langton paced in front of the board and then stopped, noticing Anna’s detail about her phone call from Welsh.

He glanced at Anna. “You got your number changed?”

“Not yet.”

He returned to perch on the side of her desk. “Okay, I want to visit the prick. Now, I know you don’t want to set eyes on him again, Travis, but let’s put the bastard to bed or see if he’s fucking us around once and for all, eh? So first thing in the morning, all right?”

Anna nodded, not liking it and also not wanting to spend the long journey with him, but she didn’t have an option.

“Right, let’s see how the meeting with this guy Smiley pans out.”

“Shall I order a patrol car for tomorrow?”

“Nope, you can drive. You must know your way there blindfolded by now.” He smiled. Then Langton tied and untied the knot and remained silent, looking over the board again. “I want a check on any previous cold cases that might have similar MOs to our three girls.”

“Already doing that,” Joan murmured, although she had not as yet begun the check.

“I don’t like the missing three days. We need to go back and question Katia and the boyfriend. The victim had to stay somewhere. You don’t think he was shagging her?” he added, turning to Anna.

Anna shook her head. “Petrovich described Estelle as naive and not in any way sexually permissive.”

“Yeah, well, he might say that, but if this Katia was jealous, he might have screwed her in his hotel. He lives in, right?”

“Yes, but on his days off, he stays with Katia.”

“Go back and question him again, because we need to know if our killer picked up the poor girl and held her captive. Have you checked out the coach stations?”

Barolli said that they had, plus the train stations, armed with photographs, but no luck. Langton retied the knot, which was becoming annoying to everyone.

“Okay. Have another session with Eric Potts, see if he ever saw our white van. We don’t have it on CCTV footage for the approximate time Potts was murdered, but we’re not likely to, as it’s two years ago now and the suspect has owned the van since living in Kilburn, right?”

Langton put away his piece of string, checked the time, and announced that he had to leave. As he passed Anna, he promised that he would get on to the governor of Barfield to make sure they did a sweep of Welsh’s cell. He warned her not to pick up her landline until she had the new number.

As always, the whirlwind effect of Langton’s periodic visits left everyone uneasy.

“What’s with the string?” Barolli asked, and Mike smiled.

“He’s given up smoking. It’s something to do with every time you feel the need for a fag: you tie a knot, then untie it, and the urge subsides.”

Anna hoped that the urge would not be present on the drive up to Leeds, as it would get on her nerves even more than Barolli’s antics.

Mike passed out Langton’s orders, and Anna, along with Barolli, sorted out the next round of interviews. They called Eric, but he was not available. They decided not to contact Emerald Turk but to pay her another unscheduled visit to check if she had ever seen the white Transit van.

Emerald was as belligerent as she had been on the two previous visits. It helped that this time Anna was accompanied, and instead of interviewing her in the kitchen, they conducted it in the sitting room. Children’s toys littered the entire room, stacked on the sofa and easy chairs. Emerald made no effort to remove anything but stood, hands on her hips, in the center of the room as Barolli and Anna remained by the door.

“Have you ever seen this van?” Barolli passed over the picture of the van.

Emerald glanced at it and then shrugged. “I dunno. It’s a common sort of van, isn’t it?”

“Might have been parked close by; maybe Margaret was driven here in it. Have another look.”

Emerald sighed and snatched the photograph. “No. She’s been dead two years or more, so why would I fucking remember this van?”

“We think the driver may be connected to her murder,” Anna said quietly.

“Well, she wasn’t run over, was she? So no, I’ve not seen it, and I dunno anyone drivin’ one. Is that all you come for?”

“Thank you for your help,” Barolli said, glancing at Anna.

“My pleasure,” Emerald replied sarcastically, kicking a red tractor out of her way as she walked toward them.

“The suspect delivers blinds — wooden slatted ones,” Anna said as Barolli turned halfway out of the door. “Did Margaret ever mention knowing someone who did that?”

Emerald shook her head at Anna. “No, she fucking didn’t. She was usually half-cut when I saw her. If you ask me, you lot are like the blind following the blind.” She snorted a laugh.

Eric was in his office when they called and he confirmed that he had never seen Margaret get in or out of a white Transit van, nor did she ever mention that she knew anyone selling blinds. They returned to the incident room just as Mike got the message that John Smiley was in reception asking if he could leave his van in their car park. Mike asked Anna to join him for the interview as Barolli was told to go down and show Mr. Smiley where he could park and to have a good look over his van.

John Smiley was tall and well built, with a slight comb-over. He was dressed in green overalls with a Swell Blinds logo embroidered on the pocket and printed on the back of his overalls. He was quite a good-looking man, with dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes, though his teeth were slightly stained with tobacco.

He came into the interview room smiling, confident. When he sat down, he apologized for not having informed the DVLA about his change of address.

“I kept on meaning to get it sent in, but at first we didn’t have a permanent address in Manchester, and we rented a flat. Then we moved from that place to another before we found our house.”

Mike opened a file and made a note. “Have you now registered the vehicle?” he asked.

“I’m going to do it first thing in the morning. I’ve got the form with me.”

“So you own the van, Mr. Smiley?”

“Yes, I do. The firm supplied me with one when I first started working for them, then they traded it in for this one and I bought it from them. I got it for a good price. I was glad that I did, ’cause when the firm moved, a couple of guys who didn’t have their own transport got made redundant.”

“Have there been other drivers using your van?”

“No way, never. I keep it in very good condition — even the kids aren’t allowed to mess it up. To be honest, I thought when the company moved from London to Manchester, they’d suggest trading it in for a new one, but they were economizing, cutting back on a lot of expenses.”

“I am going to show you two photographs, and I’d be grateful if you could tell us if it is your van caught on the CCTV camera.” Mike slid the pictures across the desk.

Smiley looked carefully at both of the photographs and then nodded. “Yes. You can even see my license plate, so it’s definitely my van.”

“Can you tell us why you were at the London Gateway service station on both these occasions?”

Smiley took out a small, well-thumbed diary and glanced at the photographs in front of him before flicking through the pages. “Yes, I’d been delivering to a Mrs. Freeman in Kensington. She wanted the blinds measured for a conservatory.”

Mike made a note, then gestured to the second photograph. Again, Smiley looked through his diary after reading out the date on the photograph.

“Yes, that was delivering four sets of floor-to-ceiling oak blinds to a Mr. Leatherhime, big house in Cobham. My firm will have all the receipts of payments and delivery dates. These are just for me personally.” He closed his diary.

“So take me through how you stopped off at the London Gateway Services on both occasions.” Mike leaned back in his chair.

“Well, it’s a fair old way from Manchester to London, and I usually try to get there and back as fast as possible. I want to be with my kids and put them to bed, or at least say good night to them, if possible. My wife gives me a packed lunch, and I eat on the way, and then I stop off at the London Gateway on the way back and use their toilets, because to be honest, I don’t like to ask customers if I can use theirs. So I have a bathroom break, usually order a coffee to take out, and keep going.”

“Always at the London Gateway?” Mike asked, looking down at his notes.

“No, sometimes I don’t need to, but as it’s the first service station on the M1, when I need to go, it’s usually about that time. I leave early, around four-thirty to five, and it’s a four-hour drive, sometimes a lot longer if there’s traffic or an accident. It can take me up to six hours, as the M6 is always slow and can put me back a couple of hours.”

“So you stop off at the London Gateway and use their conveniences?”

“Yes, sir, but not on a regular basis. It’d depend on whether or not I needed to use them. Our orders have been on the slack side, so I’ve not had to do many trips for the past few months.”

Mike removed the photograph of Margaret Potts, saying, “Have you ever seen this woman?”

Smiley seemed to give it a lot of attention before he shook his head.

Estelle Dubcek’s picture came next. “How about this girl?”

“No, sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.”

“This girl?”

Smiley leaned forward to look at Anika Waleska’s photograph. He hesitated and then shook his head again. “No.”

“Do you ever give hitchhikers a ride?”

“Me? No, never, not worth it. It’s too much of a risk, never have and never will.”

“Tell me about your wife.”

“My wife?”

“Yes.”

Smiley puffed out his cheeks and eased around in his chair. “I dunno what you’re asking me about her for. She can’t drive, and she’s never driven my van. You know, I’m getting to feel a bit uncomfortable. What’s this really about? It’s not just my vehicle license not being updated, is it?”

“No. You are just helping our inquiries, Mr. Smiley.”

“What about?”

Mike gathered up the photographs. “These women were murdered.”

Smiley opened and shut his mouth. “I don’t understand.”

“We are just eliminating people with a vehicle caught on the CCTV cameras in the areas where these women’s bodies were discovered. You happened to be at the location on two of the occasions.”

“My God. This is serious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Smiley, very serious, but I think you have explained your reasons for being at the London Gateway, so I just need to iron out a few more things. How long have you been married?”

“For twelve years. I’ve two children, aged eleven and eight — a boy and a girl. My wife is called Sonja. She and I met when I came out of the army; she was working in Aldershot.”

“Was she from there?”

“No. She’s originally from Warsaw in Poland. She came over to England with her mother twenty years ago.”

“Do you speak Polish?”

“No. Truth is, she hardly speaks it herself now, and we lost her mother four years ago. She was still living in Alder-shot and went a bit senile. We were going to bring her to live with us in Manchester when we got settled, but then she got pneumonia, spent a few days in the hospital, and never came out. Seventy-two, fit as a fiddle before, but just a bit confused, know what I mean?”

“Did your wife ever come on these trips to London?”

“No, no way. She works as a dinner lady at the local school, and she’s keen that the children always have someone at home. She’s a wonderful mother, which is why I try to get back before their bedtime. Kiss them good night.”

“Have you ever picked up a prostitute at the service stations?”

“Me?”

“Yes, Mr. Smiley. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; we are asking everyone we interview.”

“Never. For one, I wouldn’t fancy it, I’m too fussy about personal hygiene, and for two, if my wife was ever to catch me doing anything so stupid, she’d castrate me.” He laughed. “Just joking, but the truth is, I wouldn’t jeopardize my relationship. I love my wife, in fact, I worship the ground she walks on, she’s...”

He picked up his diary again and thumbed through it to take out a small Polaroid picture. He passed it across the table. “That’s Sonja a few years back — she was a real looker, and to be honest I’d sown my wild oats before I met her. Twelve years in the Paras, and we were a wild bunch, fought in the Iraq invasion, got decorated, and I was even thinking about enlisting for another tour when I met Sonja. There was no more gallivanting around for me after that, and she’s a good few years younger.”

Smiley left the station half an hour later, assuring Mike Lewis that he would have his van registered by the following morning. Neither Anna nor Mike said a word as he replaced the photographs and notes in a file. Eventually, he stood up and stretched.

“What do you think?”

Anna had not made one note. “Bit too much information. Guy’s got verbal dysentery, but we can check out his company’s deliveries and—”

Barolli entered the interview room, interrupting her. “Transit van is clean enough to eat your dinner off. There’s not a mark on it, and considering it’s eight years old and with quite heavy mileage, it’s in very good condition, new tires and everything. The two front seats look hardly used, and the two rear passenger seats have been removed, to make more room for storage, I suppose. There’s no carpet, but rubber matting and shelving in the rear.”

Barolli looked from one to the other, saying, “You suss him for this?”

“Not right now, Paul, but we’ll need to check out all his details. He’s an ex-Para, with commendations, and he’s been with the same company ten years. No police record, just a slip up on his vehicle license being out of date.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mike headed into the corridor.

“What do you think?” Barolli asked Anna.

“I don’t know. He was affable and not thrown by any of the questions. Didn’t break out in a sweat, answered everything we needed to know and more.”

“Another dead end.” Barolli sighed with frustration and followed Lewis out.

Anna shrugged. Was it? She had not picked up anything suspicious, and there was only one slight show of nerves when they asked him about his wife. He had not asked for a solicitor to be present, and she wondered if he lived up to his name, not that he had smiled, apart from when they said he could leave. She had no gut feelings about him, just that he had been overtalkative.

By the time Anna returned to the incident room, Mike had relayed the content of their interview to Langton by phone.

“Said he’ll be at your place by seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

Mike walked off to his office, and Anna caught the raised eyebrow between him and Barolli.

“I’ve got one, Anna,” Joan said, rocking back in her chair.

“One what, Joan?”

“Victim. Murdered four years ago, case went cold, victim never identified but found not far from Newport Pagnell service station.”

But Anna was packing up her briefcase, ready to leave. “Let Paul handle it,” she said. “I need to get off home, as I’ve got an early start. Good night.”

As soon as Anna left the incident room, Barolli did a nasty mimic of her with his hands on his hips. “And we all know who’s picking her up for that ‘early start’! I’d put money on it he’ll shag her before they leave for Barfield.”