Blind Fury

Chapter Seven

Anna was waiting in her car outside her garage at exactly seven-thirty. She didn’t want Langton coming into her flat. But he surprised her by turning up carrying two Starbucks coffees and a bag of muffins.

“Morning. I reckoned you wouldn’t have had breakfast, so I brought it along to eat on the drive.”

Langton got into the passenger seat, propped the coffee on the tray between them, and slammed the door closed. He swore as he opened the bag because one of the muffins was chocolate.

“I asked for plain. Do you like chocolate? Because I can’t stand it.”

“Yes, thank you. Just not straightaway.”

They drove off, Langton eating his muffin and swearing again, as the coffee was too hot. She couldn’t help but smile, since he had sugar around his mouth, like a child. He quickly wiped it off with a napkin.

“You get anything from Smiley’s interview?”

Anna repeated that she had felt he was overtalkative, but apart from that, he showed no sign of nerves.

“Ex-Para, so he’s got a lot of training under his belt. Must be a tough sod. They checking out his explanations as to why he was at the service station?” Langton asked.

“I think so, and they’ll also check the deliveries he says he made on the two days.”

“Happily married, right?”

“He says so. Two children, mortgage on the property, and no police record, just the discrepancy over the vehicle’s registration documents.”

“Mmmm. We should keep him in the frame.” Langton took out his length of string and began tying a knot.

“Is that working?” she asked.

“I dunno, but apparently, it takes twenty seconds for the urge to come and go, so tie a knot and untie it, and you shouldn’t feel the need for a cigarette.”

“How long have you been trying it out?”

“Few days. It’s driving me nuts, but I’ve not had a cigarette for twenty-four hours. Slipped up yesterday because I couldn’t find the string. I’ve not got a pack with me and no lighter, so maybe it’s working. If it doesn’t, I’m thinking about going to a hypnotist.”

Anna smiled again. She was so unused to his chatty manner, and she almost laughed as he swore, unable to untie his last knot.

“I had a friend who went to a hypnotist,” she said. “It took all of five minutes, and when he came out, he thought it was a total waste of fifty pounds, then he went up to a kiosk to buy a pack of cigarettes and instead asked for a packet of peanuts.”

Langton looked at her. “Did it work after the peanuts?”

“Yes, apparently so, but he put on weight.”

Langton laughed. “I doubt that would happen to me; I never put on weight.” He rested his arm along the back of her seat. “You have, I notice.”

“Me?”

“Yes, around your hips. Not been working out?”

She flushed and continued driving.

“So how’s your love life?”

“Mind your own business.”

He withdrew his arm and sipped his coffee. “Just making conversation. Don’t get all arsey.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You get these two pink spots on your cheeks, dead giveaway when you get rattled.” He pressed his seat farther back, complained about the lack of leg-room, and then fiddled with the radio. “Do you want the news?” he asked.

“Don’t mind. There’s some CDs if you want to listen to music, and there’s The Times on the backseat.”

Langton turned off the radio and reached for the newspaper. They drove mostly in silence as he read the paper, but he had an annoying habit of reading out bits of articles and nudging her every time he turned a page.

“I can’t read in cars,” she said.

“Thank you for that vital piece of information, Travis. To be honest, I never have the time to read the upmarket rags; it’d take hours. I think they’re bought by commuters because sitting on a train every morning for a couple of hours, they’ve got nothing better to do. I do a crash zap through all the crap ones, keeps me updated...”

“Do you read books?”

“When do I have the time? It’s mostly autobiographies, but I can’t remember the last one I read. I’ve had Napoleon on my bedside table for six months. They’ve got his horse’s skeleton in one of the war museums — Chelsea. It’s surprisingly small. I think it was an Arab, but then he wasn’t a big fella...”

Anna realized that in all the time she had known him, they had hardly ever had a normal conversation, one that wasn’t connected to a case they were working on. She wondered when he would get around to discussing their investigation, but he continued reading out sections from the paper until they headed onto the M1. He tossed the paper into the backseat all crumpled up and with the pages muddled. She found that irritating, as she hadn’t even had time to glance at it. It reminded her of her father getting angry when she had taken out the art section of a Sunday paper before he had finished it. She also recalled that, like Langton, her father never seemed to have the time to read the morning papers, but his Sundays were spent poring over all the weekend editions.

“Stop in at the London Gateway,” Langton said suddenly.

“What?”

“When we get to the service station, drive in. I’ve not had a look around yet. Then go to where Estelle Dubcek’s body was discovered. Pull onto the hard shoulder so I can get out and have a look.”

Anna nodded. He was leaning over to pick up her files, which were stacked on the backseat with her briefcase. “You mind if I look over these?” He was already opening the file containing the photographs, so it was rather pointless even replying.

“Pretty girls. I don’t believe there wasn’t one person who didn’t remember them, maybe gave them a lift. Picked up, strangled, and raped. Doesn’t make sense. Both Polish, like Smiley’s wife — it’s a big coincidence.”

Langton sifted through the files and then tossed them back onto the seat behind him. “No one identified them at train or coach stations, so how did these kids get to the service station? They had to get a lift from someone, or they were snatched maybe trying for a ride. Not so with Margaret Potts, we know about her, but these two young girls...”

“We’re here,” Anna said, driving into the London Gateway.

Langton directed her to the car parking area. He got out and stood for a long time looking around and then bent down to her window. “I’m going to use the loo, do you need to go?”

“No. I’ll wait.”

She watched him striding toward the conveniences, sipping her cold coffee, waiting. It seemed an age before she saw him coming out from the restaurants, and then he disappeared again into the shopping area. It was ten minutes before he headed back toward the Mini.

“Okay. Next drive into the truckers’ area and point out where the Transit van was parked,” he said, and slammed the passenger door so hard the Mini rocked. Anna did as he suggested, and he was another fifteen minutes walking around the parked vehicles, looking at the CCTV cameras, and talking to one driver for a while before he returned.

“The van was parked almost under the surveillance camera,” Anna pointed out, passing him the photograph.

Langton nodded and then asked her to head off to where Estelle Dubcek’s body had been discovered. They drove toward the slip road passing the service station’s petrol station, and Anna remarked that the last time she had been there with Barolli, they had seen a young girl hitching a ride. Langton said nothing as she headed back onto the M1. He was checking his watch to calculate how long it took to get to the area on the hard shoulder where Estelle’s body had been discovered.

Anna eventually parked and Langton got out, gesturing for her to join him.

“Okay, so this is where the guy says he parked his van to take a leak, right?”

“Yes.”

Langton looked around and then crossed to the hedge. He stood for a while, turning toward where the ragged crime-scene ribbons were still in place. “He pisses here, looks over there, and sees the body?”

“Yes.”

Langton chewed at his lip, twisting his string around his fingers. He then pushed his way through the hedge and jumped over the ditch. “She was lying here, her head facing north, yes?” he shouted.

Anna nodded. The ground was still muddy, but he cautiously continued walking to where the body had been lying. He shouted to her again. “Anna, go back to the car, give me a toot on your horn when you see me.”

She did as she was asked and stood by the side of the Mini, waiting. It was some while until his head appeared over the hedge. She pressed the horn.

“Now sit in the car and use the horn again when you can see me,” he called out.

It was not easy to catch a glimpse of him until he was heading toward her from behind the hedge. She tooted the horn.

Langton got back into the car, and she switched on the ignition, but he put his hand over hers. “Wait a minute. Just let me think for a second.”

He was silent, staring toward the hedge. Then he reached behind him and picked up the file of photographs and studied those taken of Estelle’s body at the murder site, looking up at the hedge row.

“I want that guy Collingwood brought back in to check his statement; my gut feeling is that there’s something he’s leaving out.” Langton whistled through his teeth. “Our killer knew he couldn’t be seen from the hard shoulder, and the small dirt track that was used for all the forensic vehicles runs alongside almost up to the hedge, right?”

“Yes. It was very muddy and quite narrow.”

Langton muttered to himself. “I want you to head off the motorway and backtrack to the lane the team used. I need to have a look at it.” He took out a small black notebook and started jotting down something, but she couldn’t tell what.

It took quite a while to drive to the next junction, and then find the nearest turn to take them back in the direction of the crime scene. It took even longer going down the back lanes until they came to the small opening for the track that led across the side of the field to the murder site. Anna could feel the wheels of her Mini dragging through the deep muddy ruts and pulled up. “I think I should stop here. We’ve had more rain, and the last thing we need is to get bogged down.”

He nodded, getting out, and she watched him walk up the lane, skirting puddles and then crossing to where the body had been discovered. When he returned, his shoes were caked in mud, and her carpet on the passenger side was soon covered. She now had to reverse down the lane. When they reached the broken gate at the entrance, Langton asked her to drive back in the opposite direction.

“That part of the lane is very rough, and I don’t think we could use it. All the police vehicles came the long way round,” Anna pointed out.

“See how far you can get,” he snapped.

Anna was loath to head along that route, as it was muddy, with deep tracks making ridges that she had to bounce over. Langton rolled down his window, telling her to stop as he looked up to the trees above. Then he told her to continue.

“We could get bogged down, you know,” she said crossly.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

She did so at a snail’s pace, the car jolting and bouncing while the mud splashed as high as the windows. She was growing increasingly annoyed, only too aware that the traffic officers had warned everyone to stay clear as the lane was such rough going; they had posted specific directions to use the way she had driven in. She was about to insist on turning back when the lane widened and a cinder track appeared. Although there were many potholes filled in with rocks and stones, it was a much easier surface to drive on.

“Keep going,” Langton said again, jotting down the mileage in his book.

To Anna’s surprise, the lane got wider, and after a sharp right turn, there were wooden boards that led onto a small tarmac lane, clearly used to lead to some outbuilding. Langton gestured for her to keep going, so she drove on for a couple of miles, passing a barn and more outbuildings, and then they were on a wider road again. On one side was a hedgerow. At one point there was a wide gap rutted with heavy tracks.

“Turn in there,” Langton instructed.

They drove through and came out at the far side of the truckers’ parking section at the service station.

Langton got out, and Anna could see him talking to a man sitting in his cab eating a hamburger. She saw him gesture toward the way they had come. After more conversation, he returned to the car.

“Okay, let’s go back the way we came and join the motorway there,” he said, and slammed the door shut. He sat with his notebook out and jotted down page after page before he whacked it against the dashboard. “The killer came that way. He drove from the truckers’ area into that lane. He’s someone who knows this area, knows he could get to that field to dump the body and not be seen from the road. The time code of the CCTV footage of Smiley’s van meant he was parked in the truckers’ stop, but the body was discovered hours after he had left. His van is not that big, so he could have easily driven the route we came. Some of the trees have branches broken, so if it wasn’t him, it could have been someone with a fair-sized vehicle.”

Langton continued to explain his theory as Anna headed back to the M1. He was certain the killer had the girls in his vehicle; perhaps they were already dead and he needed a place to dump their bodies. Langton now doubted that their victims were ever seen at the service station — they could have been trussed up in the back of the van.

“What about Margaret Potts? She was seen there and was a regular.”

“Yes, I know, but that truck driver told me that some of the girls service their customers out in that lane — said he’d heard about a few men backing out into that dirt track so they could do the business — and I’d say Maggie Potts would have known that area.”

Langton got on the phone to the incident room. He wanted all the outhouses and barns they’d seen across the fields searched, and anyone working there questioned regarding any vehicles driving down the back route. Anna mentioned that Smiley’s van was in pristine condition when Barolli checked it out. If he had driven down that back lane, he would have gotten scratches from the overhanging trees.

Langton called the incident room again, this time asking them to check out the size of any truck that would get damaged and then to compare that to the dimensions of Smiley’s van.

“Do you think the killer kidnapped the girls?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, possibly. I don’t know.”

“Margaret Potts is the odd one out, then, isn’t she?”

Langton nodded, knotting his string impatiently. “She comes two years before Estelle is murdered, and then we have Anika Waleska between them.”

When Anna mentioned that Joan had brought up a file of another unidentified victim found four years previously, Langton was immediately back on the phone, asking for details. He said little but listened for some considerable time, grunting and barking out instructions for the team to keep digging up more cases with the same MO. He snapped off his phone. “I think our killer’s been at this for a long time, so we might get more. In fact, I am bloody sure of it. Joan’s come up with a girl between twenty and thirty, never identified.”

“Found at a service station?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, Newport Pagnell, naked and wrapped in a blue blanket.”

“That’s not the same MO as ours,” Anna said.

Langton raised his hand, wagging his index finger. “Four years ago! Maybe the killer switched his style, and you know” — he chewed at his pencil — “what if Margaret Potts recognized him, maybe had shagged him before? We need to open up that early case.”

“With no clothes, just a blue blanket, there’s even less to go on than with Anika and Estelle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He went back to his notebook, flicking the pages back and forth while his right foot twitched. “Smiley went to work in Manchester five years ago, so it’s in the time frame. What we need to do is look around and see what we can dig up on him when he worked in London.”

He was back on the mobile again to the incident room as he asked them to check out John Smiley’s army record and to question any employees who had worked with him in London.

Barolli replaced the receiver.

“Langton again,” he told the others. “We’ve got to arrange for a check on John Smiley’s army record, dig out anyone we can find who knew him or knows him from when he worked in London.”

Mike Lewis was busy orchestrating the search team to go to the farm that owned the outhouses and barns, and Joan and Barbara continued their trawl through records of dead cases that could be connected to the current investigation. Two officers were out talking to the Thames Valley detectives who had been on the four-year-old murder inquiry, requesting all of their files.

Barolli passed a cup of tea to Mike, saying, “Looks like he’s placing John Smiley in the frame.”

“Yeah, seems so. Can you do the check on his army pals and get over to their regimental HQ at Colchester?”

“I’ll be gone all day,” Barolli said reluctantly. “It’s a fair old journey over there.”

“Just do it. Meanwhile, I’ll be going back to the landlord of his previous house, and we need to get from Smiley’s employer anyone who knew him when he worked in London. If the company moved lock, stock, and barrel to Manchester, some employees might not have gone up there with them.”

Barolli had left by the time Barbara had been able to contact Arnold Rodgers, the boss at Swell Blinds. Barbara was diplomatic, first thanking the man for his assistance in giving details of John Smiley, then saying that they now required lists of any employees who had not moved to Manchester with the company. She had already checked with Companies House, she told him, but they had no record of how many staff were working for Swell Blinds. Arnold became agitated and admitted that some people were paid cash in hand. Basically, he was worried about not paying National Insurance and kept repeating himself.

Finally, Joan was able to get the names of three ex-employees, although Rodgers had no address or contact phone numbers for two of them. The first was a woman called Wendy Dunn, a part-time receptionist, who agreed to be interviewed. It turned out that she lived in Feltham, southwest London, not far from Barbara, so Mike gave her the go-ahead to leave the station early. He himself was feeling frazzled. The peremptory stream of orders issuing from Langton meant a lot of checking and organization, and he was loath to let anything slide, because he knew he would be grilled on his boss’s return.

Langton had slept for the latter part of the journey. He woke up as soon as they drove through the prison compound and ran his fingers through his hair before straightening his tie. Anna warned him that the governor liked to talk but had so far been accommodating.

They went through the usual security details before being led into the staff building, where the governor was waiting with fresh coffee and biscuits. Langton accepted, and soon they were chatting like old friends. Anna was impressed by the way Langton appeared so at ease and in no particular hurry to interview Welsh. She herself was eager to get it over and done with, but Langton, to her annoyance, accepted a tour of the prison.

She felt very much the second-class citizen, trailing behind as the two men walked side by side, talking nonstop. They went to the gym, they went to various cell blocks and canteens and the huge visitors’ section, stopping over and over again to talk to the prison officers. Langton constantly asked questions, showing genuine interest as Anna hovered after him.

The gates between each new section of the corridors had stringent security measures. On each occasion, the governor would speak to a surveillance camera, one of the locks on the gate would click open, and he would use his personal set of keys to open the second lock. They eventually reached what looked like something from a Doctor Who episode. It was a high-tech glass capsule that housed all the monitors for the prison’s exterior, wards, and corridors. Altogether, the tour took over an hour. It was by now three o’clock, and Anna knew that after interviewing Welsh, the drive back would be a long one. She probably wouldn’t get home until after ten.

Wendy Dunn was in her mid-seventies, older than Barbara had expected. She immediately offered her visitor tea and biscuits, and not until they had settled themselves in her living room in the neat and tidy council flat did she begin to talk. She had worked for Arnold Rodgers for twenty years on a proper, employed basis and had then retired. However, she had returned to work for him on a casual basis for three years before he packed up the company and moved to Manchester. She admitted that she was paid in cash so she did not have to pay tax; it was only a small amount, but under the counter. She had mostly taken the orders and sometimes made cold calls for the company when work was slack. She was sweet and, Barbara felt, an honest woman. She was a widow with four grandchildren, and after Swell Blinds moved, she had not done any other work.

Barbara eased the conversation around to John Smiley.

“Oh, he was a lovely man,” Wendy said immediately. “Help anyone, he would, and he was a very good, hard worker. He had two young children.”

Barbara asked about his wife, Sonja.

“Well, I only met her a few times, once at a Christmas party, and she was lovely looking, then I think I met her at Mr. Rodger’s drinks party. The last time was when I went round to say goodbye to John. I’d got him a little something. He was a kind man, and when I needed some of my own blinds fixed, he did them for me — never would take a penny.”

Wendy gestured at the wooden slatted blinds on her kitchen window as they walked through to put the tea tray down. “They’re lovely, aren’t they, and very light and easy to draw up and down.”

Barbara agreed that they were stylish, and she tried drawing them closed and pulling them up again.

“Was he happily married?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I think Sonja ruled the roost, though; she was houseproud and kept him on a tight rein. He was always short of money.” She laughed.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she’d pack up a lunch for him; he never went to the cafés with the others and said he was saving for a house of their own. The children were well behaved and always dressed well, and John worshipped her, was always talking about his Sonja.”

Wendy would have chatted on for hours and was even able to give another employee’s contact number. He was Portuguese, she said, and did a lot of the paint-spraying and was working at a factory. Barbara had heard enough. She thanked the older woman profusely, then went off home.

Mario Gespari lived in Hounslow, Mike Lewis learned when he gave him a call the next morning. Gespari was also able to give yet another name — Graham Gregory — as the two of them were both now employed in the same paint factory.

Mike looked over to Joan and grimaced. Here were two more to interview, and if they were as glowing about John Smiley as Wendy Dunn had been, it could all be a big waste of time.

Joan was sifting through dead files of cold-case murders. “How far back do you want me to keep going?” she asked.

“Keep it to five years, which is when Smiley left for Manchester.”

“Well, I’ve done that. I found the one we’re checking out, the body wrapped in the blue blanket.”

“In that case, leave it for now.”

“If you say so, but I don’t want to get it from Langton if he thinks I’ve not done what he wanted.”

“All right, all right, go back eight years, then.”

“Go back eight years?”

“Yes! Just get on with it. Jesus!”

Joan pursed her lips and returned to her computer screen. “Somebody’s not a happy bunny,” she muttered to herself.

Anna had tried to signal to Langton that she was eager for them to get on with the Welsh interview by looking pointedly at her watch numerous times. However, he had ignored her, still deep in conversation with the governor. At long last, he said that perhaps it was time they went over to the secure unit.

Waiting to meet them was the nice young fair-haired officer Ken Hudson, whom Anna had met when she and Barolli had first visited.

Ken Hudson shook Langton’s hand and smiled at Anna, then led them into the main recreational area.

“This is very pleasant,” Langton observed, looking around.

Hudson introduced him to the three other officers, who shook hands, then asked if they wanted Welsh brought out, or did they prefer to talk to him in his cell.

“Whatever is convenient for you guys,” Langton said.

“He’s been playing up,” Hudson commented.

Langton asked if by that he meant Welsh was violent, and Hudson shook his head.

“No. Just been bloody-minded and difficult, hogging the kitchen too much, making sarcastic remarks to the other inmates under his breath — you know, goading them to have a go at him. He’s a smart bastard and he knows it, but he’s been dressing himself up in readiness for the meeting with you.” He nodded toward Anna.

Langton suggested they first talk to Welsh in his cell, but with the gate open.

“Okay. I’ll just go and tell him you’re here — not that he won’t know. He expected you earlier.”

“Did he?” Langton said with a smile.

As Hudson headed off down Welsh’s aisle, Langton glanced at Anna and asked softly if she was okay. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Fine. Just wondered if we were ever going to get started.”

Hudson returned to get them. He’d already placed two chairs outside Welsh’s cell. Welsh appeared at his open door, looking tense and angry.

“Mr. Welsh, go and sit down in your cell. Do it or we walk out,” Langton said quietly.

Welsh gave a smirk. “Yes, sir, Detective Chief Superintendent Langton.”

Welsh disappeared and was sitting with his legs crossed when they took their seats in front of him. He was in a pristine white shirt and jeans, with leather thongs. His cologne was strong, his hair shining and glossy, but his eyes were a giveaway to his pent-up anger.

“We meet again,” he said, curtly nodding to Langton.

“So we do, Mr. Welsh.”

“Must be important to get the big brass here in person. Afraid she can’t handle it?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Welsh. I wanted to be here because you intrigue me.”

“Do I now? Well, you are fortunate I agreed, because I wasn’t going to give another minute of my time after that bitch got them to sweep my cell.”

“If you can’t be polite to Detective Travis, this meeting is over.”

“I am so sorry, Detective Travis, if I sounded rude, but you know I paid a lot of money—”

Langton interrupted him. “We’re not here to get into a discussion about your mobile phone. You had it against the regulations, and you know it. So if you are ready to talk, then let’s get started. I am not prepared to listen to any bullshit from you, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Welsh gave a cowering movement with his head, mocking, as if he were afraid.

“I also want it made clear to you that if you attempt to contact Detective Travis on a personal level again, I will make sure you get your privileges removed. That’s more than a sweep of your cell, that’s the books, the laptop...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. So now we can get started.”

There was a pause. Welsh remained with his head bent low and then tossed back his hair. “Have you acted on my information to date?” he demanded.

“You have given us nothing that we were not already checking out. I am here simply because you said that you can, as a killer, get into the mind of the man we are hunting.”

Welsh stared at Langton. “You are not even close to tracking him down, are you?” he said.

“We have some leads.”

“Like what?”

“Listen to me, Mr. Welsh. I don’t have the time to play any more games or arrange any further visits. You now have the opportunity to either assist our case or not.”

“Tell me why you came after me. It was down to you, wasn’t it?”

Langton shifted his weight in the chair. He took out the piece of string and began to tie a knot.

“Is that to stop you wanting to smoke?”

“Yes.”

“You really want to smoke a cigarette now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We are allowed to smoke outside in the exercise yard. I don’t. It’s a filthy habit.”

Langton glanced at his watch and replaced the string in his pocket. “I asked you a question, Mr. Welsh, and you are trying my patience. You killed two young girls. I could try and understand why, with all your privileges, you wanted to destroy not just their lives but your own. You made the choice. I maybe won’t ever understand someone with your intellect wanting to be empowered by the act of rape and murder, so why don’t you—”

“Why were you so sure I was the killer?” Welsh interrupted.

“We had a witness, and you were our prime suspect. It was only a matter of time before we discovered the evidence. It wasn’t as if you had covered your tracks. I am beginning to think that this is all a waste of time.”

Langton made as if to stand, and Welsh leaned forward.

“If you had not had the witness, you never would have caught me. That was, I admit, my mistake — but you know, there is always a witness. I realize that now.”

“Are you saying we have a witness?”

“Of course you do — Margaret Potts. I am surprised you haven’t reached that conclusion. She knew the killer, and as I told little Anna here, you need to go back to her.”

“That could be difficult, since she’s dead.”

“She holds the clues. She knew the killer; she wasn’t the same as those two pretty young girls, she was old, used up — a dirty slag who had worked the service stations for years, correct?”

“We have no connection between Margaret and the two young victims.”

“There isn’t one. She didn’t know them. I am saying she knew the killer — and that if you go further back, you’ll find more cases, more victims.”

“Why?”

“This man has been around for a long time; he’s gotten away with it for a long time, he isn’t suddenly having the urge to kill. Margaret Potts was murdered two years ago. I believe she’s the link because he so nearly got caught. He had to get rid of her. This would mean he believed he’d got away with it, and spurred on with his success, his fury builds and he can’t control it. Then he kills again, twice. He has honed his methods in the way he finds the girls. Do you understand what I am saying? He finds them, wants them young, wants them innocent, and they are trusting enough to go with him. They were not drugged, they were not beaten, they had no restraint marks on their wrists or ankles.”

“They were raped.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, but do they have marks on their bodies as if they were bound and tied? No! Were they drunk? Were they drugged? No! They went with this man of their own accord. They were willing to be with him, so he is a man who is trustworthy, just like myself. My victims wanted to be with me, they found me attractive, so that makes your killer also a very attractive male. Are you following what I am saying?”

Langton gave a dismissive shrug. It clearly annoyed Welsh, who clenched his fists.

“I know this man, understand me? I know how he thinks, how he works, how he can spot a victim and maybe even stalk them, but he has something that is an immediate connection. Maybe it’s just because he’s as good-looking as me. Who would consider me a dangerous predator? And that is what you are looking for, a predator.” Welsh tossed back his silky hair, smiling.

“Go on,” Langton said quietly.

“Well now, let me think. I would say he could even live a double life. He could have a wife, children, a nice home. It’s when he’s away from them that he becomes the animal, the hunter. You have to understand that it will be an obsessive-compulsive need, probably because he is dominated by a woman — his wife or mother — but someone he respects, maybe even loves. Her control of him is what sets the seeds for him to want to strangle and rape, to dominate his victims.”

“How old do you think he is?”

“I’d say mid-forties. This has taken a long time to fester inside him, but as soon as he is away from the comfort zone, away from the suffocation of his respectable life, he rises up; his cock is hard just thinking about what he intends doing. Your killer will fantasize about his plans, and for that he needs space, a job that will take him away from that closeted environment.”

“What work do you think he does?”

Welsh sighed. “I’ve said he’s a driver. A trucker, maybe, with long-distance hauls — anything that takes him out of his perfect loving home. He commits his crimes far away from anyone who knows him, and I would say he is very well liked, respected, a good steady man, and his alter ego won’t ever manifest itself with anyone close to him; on the contrary, he will be above suspicion.” Welsh leaned back and smiled. “You know, you may never catch him.”

Anna had not said a word throughout the meeting, and in fact, Welsh had hardly looked at her. When at last she and Langton stood up to leave, he turned toward her.

“Maybe next time we can have a more private talk, just you and me, because I haven’t finished. There’s more to come from me, and I would like you to get the kudos for nailing this killer. It would benefit your career.”

Langton took her arm, smiling at Welsh and thanking him profusely. The officers appeared in the aisle as if they’d been waiting for the signal. As they headed toward Ken Hudson, they could hear Welsh’s cell gate close with a clang.

In the secure unit’s recreational area, Anna and Langton sat and waited for their escorts to take them back through to the main prison. Langton accepted a coffee, but all Anna wanted was to get out. She had found it sickening listening to Welsh’s gloating.

Langton spoke quietly to her. “I think while we’re here, instead of returning to London, we should make an unscheduled call on Smiley. It will save another long journey, and we’re not that far from Manchester here.”

Overhearing, Ken Hudson looked up. “My parents have a bed-and-breakfast. I could arrange for you to stay there, if you like. It’s between here and Manchester.”

Anna was loath to agree, but Langton was already saying, “We’d really appreciate the offer. Anna, we could pick up toothbrushes and toothpaste on the way.”

“There’s probably everything you’d need at the house,” Hudson said, and explained that it was nothing special, but at least it was clean, and his mother cooked up a great breakfast.

“That’s very kind of you, Ken, but I don’t want to put your mother to any trouble,” Anna protested.

“It won’t be. She’s got no one staying at the moment; in fact, times have been slack lately. She used to foster a lot of kids, but she’s getting on a bit now, and my father’s retired.”

So that was that. Anna could see she’d have to go along with the idea.

Ken said that he would be off duty in half an hour and he could drive them there. Langton pointed out that Anna had her car, but they could do with directions. “Do you live at home?” he asked.

“No. I’ve got a resident officer’s flat here, but I see my folks as often as I can. I can go over there with you, if you like.”

“Really appreciate that, Ken, but it won’t be necessary. Mind you, I’d love it if you could give us a tip on where to get a good curry.”

Anna was becoming extremely tense. A curry and a night in some bed-and-breakfast with Langton was not something she wanted by any stretch of the imagination. She was even more infuriated when Langton insisted on going to have yet another conversation with the governor. Excusing herself, she said she would wait for him in the car park, claiming she needed some fresh air.

Anna was turning on the Mini’s engine to recharge her mobile phone when Ken Hudson joined her, bending down to tap on her window. He was wearing motorbike leathers and carrying a crash helmet.

“I’ve contacted my mum, and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Anna got out as Ken gave her a detailed route map of how to get to his parents’ and the names of a couple of Indian restaurants not far from the house.

“I was thinking I might ride over there. Maybe we could have a bite to eat together.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you,” she said as politely as she could manage.

“How about another time? I go to London quite often, as I’ve got a sister living in Richmond.”

Anna gave him a dismissive smile and looked around for Langton.

“Whereabouts do you live?” Ken asked.

“I have a flat near Tower Bridge.”

“Oh, nice. Is it a loft conversion?”

She sighed, not wanting to get into any further conversation with him and by now anxious to leave, as it was getting dark. She took in the biker’s gear.

“How could you have given us a lift?” she asked. “You look as if you’re on a motorbike.”

“Yeah, but my mate’s got a car I could use. If you want to leave your car parked here, I could—”

“No, I really think we should go, but thanks all the same.” She was relieved to see Langton heading toward them, smoking.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. You got directions, Anna?”

“Yes.”

Ken smiled and said he had also given her contact numbers for a couple of good Indian restaurants.

“You going to join us, then?” Langton asked.

By now Anna’s head was aching.

“Thanks, I’d like that,” Ken said. “I can follow behind until I see you are on the right route; it’s about an hour’s drive.”

Anna couldn’t believe it. Next minute, Langton had walked over to Ken Hudson’s motorbike. The two of them stood with their backs to her, obviously discussing the machine, and she wanted to scream. Ken eventually put on his helmet and sat astride the big motorbike, revving the engine. At last Langton returned to the car.

“That is some bike he’s got there — a Harley-Davidson, immaculate condition, customized paint job on the tank.”

“Can we go now?” Anna said impatiently.

“Ready when you are. I think he’s taken quite a shine to you.” Langton grinned.

“Oh, please.”

Anna passed him the directions as they drove out. Behind them, sounding like thunder, was Ken on his bike. He stayed well back until he roared past with a wave.

“Always wanted one of those,” Langton said, looking after the bike and black-helmeted rider. “Nice young bloke, isn’t he?”

Mrs. Brenda Hudson was a plump, friendly woman who was waiting at the open front door of her freshly painted semi-detached, with its paved front garden. Ken’s bike was already parked, alongside a Metro.

Anna was shown into a small box room, which smelled of polish and clean linen. The single bed had a floral duvet and matching pillowcase. Mrs. Hudson hovered, asking if there was anything she could get to make her guest more comfortable, offering tea and placing down a bottle of water.

“Ken said you weren’t expecting to stay over, so I’ve got some disposable toothbrushes and little toothpaste tubes. I collect them when we go to hotels; there’s also shampoo and bath foam.”

“This is very kind of you, thank you,” said Anna. “If you could just show me where the bathroom is...”

“Of course, dear. It’s at the end of the landing, and I’ll bring you fresh towels.”

Anna sat on the pink toilet seat that matched everything else in the communal bathroom: the pink bath, the pink tiles, and the pink shower curtain. She had rinsed some toilet paper under the cold tap and held it to her face, as she felt worn out and her head was thudding. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself and pressing the tissue into her eyes.

By the time she had returned to her bedroom, the clean towels had been left on her bed, along with the toothbrush and toothpaste. Anna combed her hair and sat on the bed for a while: she could hear Langton laughing downstairs. She could have strangled him, but then she sat up and told herself to get it together. She took a few more deep breaths and stood up, determined to at least try and be pleasant.

In the cozy sitting room, which had a large sofa and matching chairs with a huge plasma screen TV and fake log fire, Langton was talking to Mr. Hudson. The man rose to his feet as Anna entered and shook her hand.

“Very pleased to meet you, dear. The wife is just bringing in a cup of tea for everyone, unless you want something else?”

“No, a cup of tea will be fine, and if you have any aspirin, I’d be most grateful, thank you.”

Mr. Hudson was a well-built man, rather handsome, with the same fair good looks as his son, but his hair was receding. He left them to go and help his wife.

“Got a headache, have you?” Langton asked.

“Yes. It was a long drive and a long session.”

“Useful though. You know, he virtually described John Smiley — and while I was with the governor, he let me make a few calls. Three ex-employees of Swell Blinds, according to the team, all said the same thing. Smiley was an exemplary worker, well liked, and none of them had a bad word to say about him. We’re getting all the files about that victim wrapped in the blue blanket brought over — it’s a possible new case. Mike Lewis said the officers making inquiries about the barns and outhouses knew that a lot of lorries did use that back road and—”

Just then Mrs. Hudson came in carrying a large tray of sandwiches and cakes. Langton jumped to his feet to take it from her and set it down on a coffee table. Mr. Hudson then brought in a big china teapot and some aspirin for Anna. It was hard not to like them. They were a delightful couple and were obviously devoted.

As they had their tea, Mrs. Hudson pointed out all the photographs of children she had fostered over the years, telling them how many she still kept in touch with. She admitted she had never thought about fostering until her own children were in school. It had started with one child, and then the agency would call and ask if she could see her way to caring for another, then another. Next they were shown the albums of her own children: her daughter, Lizzie, in Richmond, who had two children of her own; her youngest son, Robin, living in Australia; and then Ken.

“He was more trouble than the other two put together,” she said affectionately.

She laughed as her husband started recalling some of the teenage Ken’s escapades, from his running off to join a circus to motorbike racing, proudly showing them a cup he’d won at sixteen as a dirt-track rider champion. It was at this point that Ken walked in. He had showered and changed and was wearing a light blue denim shirt and jeans.

“Oh, Christ, she’s not going on about me, is she?” He hooked an arm around his mother and kissed her. The adoration on her face was touching.

Anna sat back, listening to Ken’s stories of his attempts to join various circuses. He was funny, describing how his father, whom Ken called by his Christian name of Roy, would get someone to use a megaphone to call him home. At that point, Langton excused himself, explaining that he needed to make some calls.

Anna helped Mrs. Hudson take the tea things out to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. The kitchen was like the rest of the house, tidy and with every surface shining, and when she put the milk jug back in the fridge, Anna could see it was stocked with plastic containers, all labeled. From the rows of well-thumbed cookbooks, it was obvious that Mrs. Hudson took great pride in her domestic abilities.

When Ken came in to say that he had booked a table at the local Indian restaurant, Anna noticed how at ease he was with his mother. He towered above her as she started to protest that she could cook dinner for them, and he insisted that it would not be necessary.

“But they’ll want one of your full cooked breakfasts — right, Anna?” he said.

Anna agreed. Now that her headache was receding, she found herself liking him more and more. He suggested that he would drive his father’s car so that his guests could enjoy a glass of wine.

Langton had shaved and was keen to go and eat. He sat beside Ken in the front seat of the car, which was as spotless as the house.

“Don’t you drink?” Anna asked.

“Not really, except maybe the odd pint after a game. I play rugby every weekend. We’ve got quite a good team made up from the officers and a few from the local clubs.”

Their conversation was easygoing, and by the time they’d ordered at the small restaurant and a bottle of red wine had been opened, Anna was at last totally relaxed.

The food was not exceptional but was reasonable, and Langton, like Anna, seemed to be enjoying himself. Not until they had ordered coffee did the conversation turn to the reason they had been to the prison. Langton asked Ken what he thought of Cameron Welsh.

“He’s a complex individual,” the young man said. “I don’t like him; he’s manipulative and doesn’t mix with anyone. He spends most of his time studying.”

“Child psychology, wasn’t it?” Anna asked.

“Yes, and I think he’s embarking on economics. He’s very intelligent, but like I said, he’s to my mind very warped. I can’t stand his obsession with his clothes and food fads. He’s got more shampoos and conditioners for his hair than my sister. He’s also independently wealthy, so that makes it easy for him to order in all the books he needs. He’s not allowed cash, obviously, but we can’t stop him ordering from Amazon, and as it’s for educational reasons, there’s no real reason to.”

Langton asked when Welsh had been inside the main prison. Ken said he hadn’t had much to do with him; he just knew there had been trouble, as Welsh constantly antagonized the other inmates.

“Welsh was more intelligent and better educated than any of them, and he knew it and delighted in creating problems. They found out he’d been doing a Joe Orton in the library once, so that caused a stink.”

“Orton? Who’s he, an inmate?”

Anna was surprised that Langton didn’t know. Ken explained that Orton was a brilliant writer who had been charged with cutting out and pasting obscenities in his local library books.

“He was murdered by his boyfriend a good few years back, but Welsh, like him, cut out pages and pasted stuff inside the books, so he got into trouble.”

“You think he’s homosexual?” Langton asked.

“No, no, I don’t, although the way he fancies himself up, he could appear to be. He has a hatred of women, so who can tell what goes on in his head? All I know is he’s never made any sexual approaches to any inmates that I am aware of.”

“Why do you say he hates women?” Anna asked.

Ken explained that when Welsh was submitting his papers for the Open University, Ken had been asked to double-check them in case there were any attempts at communication concealed in the essays. Inmates with twenty-four-hour lockup spent their time finding ways of sending out messages or even trying to arrange an escape.

“Have you got a degree yourself?” Anna asked, impressed but not wanting to sound as if she was.

“Yes. I’m only working in the prison for a couple of years. I eventually want to work with underprivileged teenagers. I suppose it’s from the years watching my mum handle all the kids she took on. She’d still be running herself ragged with them, but she had open-heart surgery two years ago. That’s another reason I chose Barfield — it’s close enough for me to keep an eye on her. If I didn’t, I know she’d get roped into doing too much.”

Langton yawned and poured himself another coffee. “Are you basing Welsh’s hatred of women on his murders?” he asked.

“No, since his victims were not low-class women. You see, Welsh has a real, deep-seated hatred of sexually aware women, like prostitutes. It’s obvious that he had a sick obsession. I think it stems from how he believed his mother rejected him. In his papers, he had to discuss child abuse and how to handle a badly affected youngster, and he wrote a long section about the need to understand how a child reacts to parental rejection. He focused on the loss of a mother and the abusive overcontrolling father. I don’t think he was ever subjected to sexual abuse himself; it was more a mental thing. He talked about how a child will withdraw into his or her own world, and he elaborated on what I presumed were painful memories from his own life. It may have appeared cushioned by wealth, but he consistently underlined the importance of the damage that occurs when a child is excluded from the natural normal love from a parent.”

“She ran off with a close family friend, didn’t she?” Anna poured herself another coffee. Langton had remained silent, deep in his own thoughts, but Anna was enjoying the conversation.

“Apparently, but I think it was a woman she ran off with, not a man. I base this on something he came out with when there was a possibility of having a female prison visitor. I got a tirade against the fact that some women choose to become visitors of long-term prisoners. He said they were all lesbians and that he wouldn’t have one clean his shoes. I remember he went on to describe the woman his mother had left him for as an evil bull dyke. Whether or not it was true, I don’t know... but the fact remains that he was left at a young age to be brought up by his father.”

“Do you mind if we call it quits for tonight?” Langton asked shortly afterward, and signaled for the bill.

Anna was disappointed. She would have liked to spend more time chatting with Ken, but it was late, and she presumed that Langton would want an early start the following morning. He was fast asleep as they drove back to the bed-and-breakfast.

Although Ken offered to make more coffee, they both refused and went up to their rooms. Anna used the bathroom first; she had a quick shower and washed her hair and, coming back to her room, found a small hair dryer on the bedside table. She could hear Langton banging around next door as she brushed out her hair. She could also hear him speaking on the telephone but couldn’t make out who he was talking to. Eventually, she went to bed, and no sooner had she drowsily turned off the bedside light than Langton was banging on her door, calling out that he was going down for breakfast.

Anna had slept better than she had in months. Dressing in a hurry, she opened the curtains and saw Ken outside, getting onto his motorbike. She couldn’t believe it was already eight o’clock.

Breakfast was a substantial affair of sausages, fried eggs and tomato, and crispy bacon, with a pile of toast. Mrs. Hudson insisted on making a fresh pot of tea, so Langton and Anna were alone in the small dining room.

“You sleep all right?” he asked.

“Yes, out like a light. What about you?”

“Terrific. I’ve been with the incident room again, and judging from the new information regarding John Smiley, he is even more like the description from Cameron Welsh. Married, kids, good job, hard worker, with no one having a bad word to say against him.”

“That could also be because he is just that, a decent guy. We’ve nothing on which to make an arrest. The only evidence against him is he was parked at the London Gateway Services; plus, we’ve checked out his delivery drops for that period, and they have been verified.”

“I know. Aren’t you going to eat that sausage?”

Anna passed it over and watched as he thudded the HP sauce over it and attacked the sausage as if he were ravenous. Anna had started to notice how much Langton ate, wolfing down the sandwiches at tea yesterday afternoon, then the curry in the evening, and now he was piling through his breakfast at breakneck speed, hardly pausing between mouthfuls.

Mrs. Hudson came in with the tea and more toast.

Langton was charming. “I’ll make certain I come and stay here again,” he said.

“Ken was sorry he had to leave, but he’s on duty this morning,” Mrs. Hudson explained.

They finished breakfast, and Langton insisted that he pay for himself and Anna, although Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t hear of it. Langton tucked the money into her apron pocket anyway, and then, gesturing for Anna to hurry, he walked out munching a piece of toast covered in marmalade.

Mrs. Hudson began clearing the table.

“Is Ken married?” Anna asked, making sure Langton was well out of earshot.

“No. He’s been close to it a few times, but he’s such a ladies’ man that I don’t know when he’ll ever settle down. You know my daughter lives in Richmond? She’s got two children, and we go and stay as often as we can.”

“Well, when you see him again, will you thank him for me? I really enjoyed last night, and the bed was so comfortable, I slept like a dream.” Anna hesitated and then wrote down her mobile and new home phone number. “Next time you are in London, please give me a call, as I’d like to see you again.” She meant she’d like to see Ken again, but before she could say anything else, Langton bellowed from the hall.

Anna was touched. Mr. Hudson had cleaned her Mini. All the mud from the previous day’s rough riding down the muddy back lanes by the murder site was gone. Langton was smoking, and before Anna could thank Mr. Hudson properly, Langton told her to get moving, as he wanted to be back in London after lunch.

They drove off, Anna waving to Ken’s parents as they stood watching them leave. “What a lovely couple,” she said.

“Yes, they’re sweethearts. They don’t make ’em like those two anymore,” Langton agreed as he studied the route for them to head onto the M6 and then on to Manchester.

“You’ve got marmalade on your tie,” she said, watching him swear and rub it with his finger.

Swell Blinds’s headquarters were in Salford, situated in an old warehouse complex with numerous other small firms. Anna and Langton didn’t get there until after ten. The first thing they saw was a couple of Transit vans lined up outside in listed parking bays. They knew that Smiley was already at work, as they had his registration number. Langton had a quick glance over his van, and there was not a scratch or mark on it. It was, as Barolli had said, in pristine condition.

The reception was a small area cordoned off with glass panels. Mr. Rodgers was there with a rather elderly secretary behind an old desk with a computer and telephone. She had many filing cabinets to either side, and an in- and out-tray of receipts and orders in front of her. She left them to talk in private. Arnold Rodgers was edgy, and it took a while for Langton to put him at ease by assuring him that they were just making inquiries regarding an investigation in London. He made it clear that they were not on any account interested in Mr. Rogers’s company.

“It’s about some girl that was murdered, isn’t it?” Rodgers said.

“That is correct, and we are here only because Mr. Smiley was parked at a service station near where she was found, and we are hoping he may be able to assist us. You know, if he saw anyone, any other suspicious vehicle.”

Mr. Rodgers said he’d received a call from Wendy Dunn, and she had told him that she’d passed on the contact numbers of two other employees.

“She was very helpful, and we also really appreciate you giving us some time today,” Langton said pleasantly.

“Do you want to look over the warehouse?”

“That would be good, yes, thank you. I believe Mr. Smiley is here, isn’t he?”

“He’s not, actually; he had a big delivery yesterday to Glasgow, so he’s got the day off today. Do you want me to get him in?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

At that moment, the elderly secretary tapped and asked if Langton and his assistant would like a cup of coffee. They refused, with Anna less than happy at being referred to in such a way.

While Langton was talking to Mr. Rodgers, it gave Anna the opportunity to have a good look around the small office. It didn’t appear that busy, and the phone had not rung once while they had been there. As the two men set off on a tour of the workshops, Anna asked them to wait.

“I’d be grateful if you didn’t call Mr. Smiley and inform him that we are here,” she said politely. “It’s an informal meeting, Mr. Rodgers, and we’d like to keep it that way, okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And we’d also like the details of Mr. Smiley’s deliveries to Glasgow yesterday.”

“Yes, of course,” the flustered man repeated.

“Thank you.”

The warehouse had two sections. One was for the cutting of the wooden blinds, which were stacked in rows of shelves in order of size. There was a separate area with coils of the cord used for threading them through. Three men were working on the long table with circular saws of various sizes.

The paint spraying took place in the second section, where one man was working in overalls with a face mask. He was spraying and laminating wood, and there were many slats left to dry.

“This is it,” Mr. Rodgers said.

“Does Smiley work in the warehouse when he’s not making deliveries?”

“No, he’s transport. He works alongside Rita in the office when he’s not delivering. We have to have the exact measurements, and he also handles all that — sometimes goes out to measure a property before they submit the orders. We’re very small, even smaller than we were, but we’re managing to keep our heads above water. He’s a trusted employee, you know,” Rodgers went on. “A hard worker and respected by everyone in the company.”

Anna and Langton left Swell Blinds shortly afterward, as there seemed little more useful information to be gleaned. Langton had collected a mass of leaflets and was checking out the prices. “Expensive,” he observed.

“Thinking of ordering some, are you?”

Langton laughed and stuffed the leaflets into the glove compartment. “Wouldn’t be my decision,” he said.

Anna said nothing. She found it rather a sexist remark, implying that he left any home decor responsibilities to his wife. He never talked about her or his children, preferring to keep his personal life private. In fact, Anna wasn’t even sure if he had remarried. She knew he had a stepdaughter called Kitty and a baby son, but it had been such a long time since he had mentioned the boy that she couldn’t recall his name. It was strange, because although they had been virtually closeted together for almost two days, she felt more distant from him than ever. It was further confirmation to Anna that whatever had gone on between them was no longer an issue, and more and more, she was starting to see him in a different light. It wasn’t that she didn’t like or respect him; it was the age gap — something she had never considered. Beside Ken, he had appeared so much older, which he was, and she realized how little, apart from work, they had in common.

“Your son is called Tommy, isn’t he?” she remembered.

Langton grunted in agreement but seemed disinclined to discuss it further. She tried again. “You must have little time to spare for the family.”

“Time enough. Is this SatNav thing working?” He messed the screen.

“Yes, should be there in two minutes. It’s 12 Buxton Avenue.”

Smiley’s house was only a few miles from the warehouse. The area was not that upmarket, with a lot of big council estates. They then branched off to a middle-class enclave of small semi-detached properties that looked almost identical but were better maintained.

Langton and Anna walked up the neat drive, noticing that the small square of grass looked freshly mow.

“We keep it very low-key,” Langton murmured as he rang the doorbell. Smiley answered and looked taken aback to see them both.

“Just need to straighten out a few things, Mr. Smiley, as we were in the area. You mind if we come in?”

“No, come on through.”

They followed him down a small narrow hallway, and he ushered them into his sitting room.

“Is your wife here?”

“She’s in the kitchen.”

Smiley gestured for them both to sit in the well-furnished room. The sofa was still covered in plastic.

“Sorry about that. It’s to keep the kids’ dirty feet off of it,” he explained, and tried to remove it, but Langton said not to bother. He settled himself in an easy chair while Anna perched on the arm of the sofa. Langton asked a few questions about the deliveries, and then he opened his notebook.

“Tell me, John, do you ever use that back lane behind the truckers’ stop at the London Gateway?”

“No, didn’t even know there was one.”

“I’d like to go over a few things about the two occasions we have your van on CCTV. Basically, if you can recall anything unusual, whether you noticed any of the trucks as being regulars... that kind of thing.”

“I gave all the details that I could remember at the station. I only stopped off for such a short time, you see, and never really paid much attention to any of the other vehicles,” Smiley repeated.

Langton took out Margaret Potts’s photograph. “You were shown this before, John, but I just want you to take another look, to make sure... Ever see this woman, John?”

Smiley took the photograph and again said he did not recall ever seeing her, unless she was up by the back lane they had described. If she was, he wouldn’t have taken much notice of her.

Too much information, Anna thought.

“Now, these two girls... The coincidence is they are both Polish, and I believe your wife is also Polish?”

“She is, yes, but I’ve never seen those two girls before. Like I said when I was at the station, if they were hitching a ride, I wouldn’t have stopped. I’ve never given anyone thumbing a ride the time of day.”

Anna watched John Smiley closely. Yet again he did not appear to be in any way distressed by their questions. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans with brown suede boots. He was, she thought, as she had before, quite a good-looking, fit man. The combover was offputting, but he was attractive in a macho way. He was also very clean, as was clear from the condition of his nails and his hands. The room had a similar feel to Ken Hudson’s parents’ but was not as cozy. For a man with two children, there were no toys or children’s belongings anywhere.

“I’d like to meet your wife,” Langton said.

For the first time, Smiley was ill at ease. “I’ve not mentioned anything about this to her,” he said. “I don’t want her getting upset. You know, with your coming here, it looks suspicious, and even though I’ve got no worries, I don’t want her to think I’ve done anything wrong.”

“It’s just routine, and we’ll make sure she’s not worried. You’ve been very helpful, and I really appreciate your time.”

Smiley left the room and Langton glanced at Anna. He nodded to the mantelpiece showing a few photographs of the couple’s wedding and two rather stilted school photographs of their children.

Mrs. Smiley bore no resemblance to the pretty dark-haired girl in the wedding photograph, or the small picture Smiley carried of her in his wallet. She was about seventeen stone, with solid thick arms and legs like tree trunks. Her hair was cut short and worn in an unflattering style with a barrette on either side of a part. Her face was devoid of any makeup.

“This is Sonja,” Smiley said as he hovered behind her. She was almost as tall as he was, and he sort of skirted around her to stand by the sofa.

Langton introduced himself and then Anna. Sonja gave them a curt nod. “What is this about?” She had little trace of an accent and cold blue eyes.

“We are just making inquiries, investigating a case that we believe your husband may have information about.”

“What case?”

“A murder inquiry.”

She turned to her husband and then back to Langton. “Why do you want to talk to John?”

Langton explained that his Transit van had been parked in a service station close to where the murders had been discovered.

“Not one, then, more than one?” she asked.

“Yes, that is correct,” Langton said.

“Why do you think John can help you?”

“Because we are asking anyone we have on CCTV at the location to try and recall if they saw anything suspicious.”

“I don’t know anything about it, but my husband is a good man, and if he can, he will help you. Can you help them, John?”

“No, love. I only stopped off for a bathroom break, then, as usual, drove on. You know I like to get my deliveries over and done with as soon as possible so I can get home to say good night to the kids.”

“You also fit blinds, don’t you?” Anna asked him.

“Yes, it’s all part of the delivery. I take the measurements sometimes before the orders, and then when I deliver, I put them up. We’ve found it’s better if I get the exact size, as the blinds are made to measure. If they’re out by so much as half an inch, we have to take them back to the workshop.”

Langton showed him the photographs of Anika and Estelle once again. “Did you ever go to either of these girls’ homes to measure for blinds?”

Mrs. Smiley looked at the photographs left on the coffee table and then back to her husband.

“No. I’ve never seen them,” he replied.

“They were both Polish,” Langton said quietly.

Mrs. Smiley picked up one photograph after another and then shrugged. “I never seen them; they look very young.”

Langton then laid out Margaret Potts’s photograph on top of the others. “This woman was also a victim.”

“Why are you showing these pictures to my husband?”

“Well, we hope he might have seen them at the service station.”

She pursed her lips and then looked at her husband. “Did you see these women?”

“No, love. I’ve already told them that.”

Langton replaced the photographs in the envelope.

“Wait a minute.” Mrs. Smiley pointed to Margaret Potts’s picture. “This woman is older, different. Is she Polish?”

“No, she was from London.”

“She was a prostitute who worked the service stations, picking up men, often truck drivers.” Anna watched Mrs. Smiley as her mouth tightened into a hard line.

“I’ve seen her type in Aldershot, hanging round the soldiers on leave when they went to the pubs. Disgusting, they were. I worked in a bar for a while, and these women would drink themselves stupid.”

“But you have never seen this woman?” Langton persisted.

Smiley shook his head, and then Sonja folded her arms. “Have you got what you come for, then? Only being it’s John’s day off, I need him to do some shopping for me before the children get home for their lunch.”

“Do you have some of the blinds from the company?” Anna asked pleasantly.

“Yes, in the kitchen and bedrooms. We get them at cost price.”

“Could I see them?”

Sonja hesitated and then shrugged her wide shoulders, gesturing for Anna to follow her out of the room. The kitchen was orderly, with a pine table in the center and two place mats ready for the children’s lunch. They had all the modern conveniences, dishwasher and washing machine, deep freeze and fridge, and in the windows was a set of pale wooden blinds.

“I’d have preferred white, but they only do them in different shades of wood,” Sonja said.

The two women went up the stairs. There was a plastic runner all the way up and even on parts of the landing. Sonja was out of breath; she puffed and rattled as she gestured for Anna to go into the master bedroom.

“We got them in all the bedrooms. That’s ours, and then our son, Stefan, has the box room and... this is my daughter Marta’s bedroom.”

The room had pink walls, pink bedcovers, a pink carpet, and dolls and a dollhouse were stacked neatly against a wall with a big pink chest. The blinds were a darker brown in this room.

“Very nice,” Anna said. “She’s very tidy.”

“They both are. It’s no good having nice toys if they break them, so they’re taught to appreciate their things. My parents came to England with nothing. I never had such lovely things.”

“Your mother died a few years ago, didn’t she?”

Sonja glared at Anna. “How do you know?”

“Your husband told us when he came to the station.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve talked to him before, then, have you?”

“Yes, when he was in London.”

“I see.” She headed back to the stairs, grasping the banister rail, as she was so short of breath.

As they reached the hall, Langton was waiting. He smiled. “We’ll be on our way now. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Smiley.”

“Goodbye.” Sonja went straight to the kitchen, and John Smiley hovered to show them out.

“I’m sorry not to be of any help,” he said, and promised that if he remembered anything at all, he would call them straightaway.

Anna looked back at the house as she put her key into the ignition. “I bet she’s having a go at him. She didn’t know he’d been to see us in London. God, she’s an unpleasant woman, and that house is like a show home. Even the children’s rooms are in military order.”

“She’d scare the pants off me,” Langton agreed.

“She’s not very fit, either. Just moving up the stairs had her heaving for breath.”

Anna adjusted the rearview mirror as they saw John Smiley exit from his house carrying an array of empty shopping bags. “I bet she’s got him on a short rein. I didn’t get anything new from talking to him, did you?”

Langton made no reply. They drove in silence for a while.

“Back to the station, sir?”

“What?”

“I said, do I drive straight back to the station?”

“Yes.”

Anna wondered if he felt, as she did, that the whole trip had been a big waste of time, apart from enjoying Ken’s family. She began to replay in her mind the previous evening, wondering if she would get to meet up with Ken again. It had been a while since she had felt physically attracted to someone, and the fact that he wasn’t connected to the Met was a major bonus. None of the male officers she worked alongside interested her, apart from Langton. She began to calculate how many years she had been emotionally tied to him, to the detriment of ever finding herself a partner.

“He ticks all the right boxes,” Langton said quietly.

“Smiley?”

“Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?” he snapped.

“Unless we’re wrong and the boxes you are referring to are from Cameron Welsh, as I wouldn’t trust a word he says.”

“It’s not about trust; it’s his take on our killer, and it’s bloody close to John Smiley. That elephant-sized wife and that bloody sterile house, he must feel suffocated. He looked to me to be totally dominated by her. He must relish the trips away from home — I know I would.”

“But that doesn’t make him our killer.”

“Too many coincidences. Caught on camera at the service station twice, the sumo wrestler of a wife who just happens to be Polish, like two of our victims. Again, going over what Welsh said, Margaret Potts is the odd one out, a hardened tart. If he’s right, could she hold the clue? Could she be a witness? To what, I dunno.”

Anna concentrated on driving, glancing at the SatNav screen to make sure they were on the right route.

“Too many coincidences,” Langton repeated. “What about him saying there has to be a witness?”

“Doesn’t mean that we have one with this case. I am sure if you did a ratio check on nondomestic murders, but serial killers—”

“He was right, Anna, there is always a witness, and we need to find ours. Now, if it was Margaret Potts, we are going to have start backtracking.”

Anna sighed. They had already spent a long time gathering information on Margaret Potts’s background, and with a woman who had no permanent address, who had worked as a whore for so many years, it was going to be difficult to uncover anything that they had not already investigated.

“We have to find the link,” Langton persisted.

“But I’ve interviewed her husband, her brother-in-law, and this Emerald Turk woman. Maggie didn’t have friends, and she lived rough at hostels.”

“Find out how long Swell Blinds were established in West London. We want to go back over their records from before they moved to Manchester. So John Smiley pays house calls to measure the blinds: did Margaret Potts meet him then? Did she recognize him at the service station? We’ve only got two dates caught on CCTV footage, but what if he was more of a regular, one of her clients?” Langton got out his piece of string and began twisting it around his fingers. “I agree with Welsh: this man has killed before those two Polish girls. We need to check out this new victim wrapped in the blanket. Dig around to see if we have any others, because I think we’re going to find them. If he was picking up victims before the company moved to Manchester, the time frame fits with a possible break in his sickness. Then he starts it again.”

Anna decided that rather than get into an argument with him, she’d stay quiet. The fact that Langton was judging everything by what Welsh had said to him surprised her. She had not picked up any gut feeling that John Smiley was their killer; he had at no time appeared to be lying. The only time she had felt a hint that anything was suspicious was when he had talked about the back lanes behind the London Gateway service station.

Langton then called various other teams on different cases for an update. Just realizing that he was also overseeing numerous other inquiries and with the same intensity and hands-on control impressed Anna, even if she did think he was wrongfooting their investigation.

It was late afternoon when they arrived back at the station, and they could see at once that there had been a lot of new information added to the board in the incident room. Mike Lewis gave them an update, listing all the interviews and the fact that the back lanes were used on a regular basis by some of the other girls. The inquiries around the outhouses and barns had produced a lot of descriptions of various trucks and vans, along with the news that a farmer had moved on some travelers who had parked their wagons there. An old caravan had been searched, and blankets and sleeping bags had been brought in, along with hypodermic needles and condoms.

It was obvious that there had been a considerable amount of legwork done since they had been in Manchester, but Langton ignored it, instead asking to see the file on the blue-blanket victim.

The case was four years old, the victim never identified, her naked body wrapped in the soiled blanket, on which there was no laundry marking. She had been strangled and raped, and her body was badly bruised. Her age was between twenty to thirty, and there were no police records of her fingerprints. She was dark-haired. The one piece of evidence the original team had hoped would help identify her was a small tattoo of a lizard on her right hip. There had been no jewelry, no clothes, and although the Thames Valley Murder Squad had given extensive press and television coverage, no one had come forward.

Mike Lewis said that the victim was found by a farmer, and her body, wrapped in the blanket, had been left in a field by a ditch. It was equidistant between two service stations, but closer to the M6 motorway than to the M1.

Langton stared at the dead girl’s face. It was impossible to say whether or not she was a prostitute, but the postmortem had revealed that she was sexually active; also, the rape had been violent. The killer had left no DNA, and she had no restraint marks and no defense marks on her nails and hands, either. She had been strangled, possibly by her own tights, and there were three lines around her throat, as if her tights or a cord had been wound around it and drawn into a garotte. The killer had taken it away.

The victim’s photographs were pinned up alongside those of Anika Waleska and Estelle Dubcek. Although the team had now identified both girls, they had no information about how they had come to be in the area where they were found. Three days were missing from when Estelle was last seen, and nobody recalled seeing Anika for weeks before her body was discovered.

“Could she be foreign? Polish, like the other two girls?” Langton asked.

Mike shrugged. “No idea. I mean, with the Anika girl, we’ve been trying to trace a dentist who fixed her front teeth, but we don’t know if that was done in the UK, and we’ve not had any joy from the television network regarding their anonymous female caller who tipped us off on her identity. They put out a request for her to get in contact, but she hasn’t, and we’ve been back to the Polish embassy for help but got no result.”

Langton moved on to the photograph of Margaret Potts. He tapped her face. “If Potts died because she witnessed something, then she’s our best bet. We’re going to have to concentrate on her and go back and interview everyone who knew her again.”

Mike glanced at Anna, but she gave no reaction. “Okay, we’ll keep on going,” Mike said.

It was Barolli who asked if John Smiley was still in the frame. Langton shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. We’ll have to get Mr. Rodgers, who owns Swell Blinds, to give us more details of Smiley’s routes and visits for measuring up the blinds, and to go back to before the company moved to Manchester.” He turned to look again at the board. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Three, maybe four victims, and we’re nowhere. But I don’t want to give up; we keep on going even if it feels like we’re wading through treacle. Go back and keep at it until we get a result. We might have missed something.”

“The van driver who discovered Estelle’s body is coming back in. Is there a reason?” Mike asked.

“Yes, my gut instinct. I think he lied, and I want to question him in person. I don’t believe he could have seen the body that easily, unless he already knew it was there. I want to find out why he lied.”

The team was depressed after Langton left. Mike suggested they take a weekend off, recharge their batteries, and return on Monday to start refreshed. Anna remained behind, typing up her report of the prison visit to Welsh and the interview with Smiley. By the time she left the station, it was after ten, and she couldn’t wait to get home and take a leisurely relaxing shower. It had been a very long day with a long drive, and her back ached.

Her home phone was ringing as she opened the front door. For a moment she was reluctant to answer, just in case the weekend leave had been canceled. But it was Ken. He asked at first if she’d had a good drive home, and when she said she had literally just walked in the door, he commiserated.

“I hope you don’t mind me calling. Mum gave me your number.”

“No, I’m glad, as I wanted to thank you. I really enjoyed meeting your parents.”

“I’m thinking of riding down to see my sister. I’ve got the weekend off.”

“So have I.” She found herself smiling.

“You free for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

They agreed to meet in the early evening and then decide whether to take in a show or just eat out. She gave him her address and directions and found she was still smiling as she turned on the shower.

Langton might not have gotten a result from the trip up north, but she had, and it was the first time in longer than she could remember that she looked forward to spending time with someone who had no connection to work.