Blood Line

Chapter Ten

No sooner had Anna taken off her coat in her office than she was called to say that Mr Anthony Ardigo was waiting in reception.

‘It’s the bloke that put in the advert,’ Paul reminded her. Anna told him to take Ardigo into an interview room and she’d be there in a moment. She didn’t waste time. Passing through the incident room she gave Brian a brief outline of the meetings with both Tina and Mr Rawlins. They had not been productive.

‘Well, I’m getting into all these hotels and surfing beaches in Cornwall. I’ve run God knows how many checks, but so far there’s no connection with Rawlins. As we now know that he used his friends’ names, I’m trying those as well.’

‘Did you get anything from Joe Smedley regarding Rawlins’s holiday times?’

Helen looked over from her desk. ‘I’m on that, and we’ve got a list from two years back so we’re using the dates as we contact letting agencies . . .’

‘Good, good – keep at it. Also, check with Smedley how many surfboards Alan kept at his place of work, and call Liz at the forensic lab to see if she has a result on the buccal swab I took in earlier.’

Anna headed for the interview rooms down on the floor below. Reaching the first one she paused as she heard Paul laughing. Looking through the window in the door she could see Paul leaning on the table chatting to a dark-haired, handsome Italian-looking man. She walked in and Paul immediately straightened up and introduced her to Ardigo. The latter shook her hand as she thanked him for coming in to see them.

‘You look Italian,’ she remarked.

‘On my father’s side, my mother is English. I’ve been brought up here.’

She sat down. ‘Has Detective Simms told you the reason we wished to talk to you?’

‘Yes. It’s about the contact ad in a magazine, but I’ve told him it was a good while ago, at least ten months.’

‘You were contacted from the advert by—’

Ardigo interrupted her. He seemed very eager to talk. ‘He called himself Dan Matthews, but when he was described to me, I am sure it was this person called Alan Rawlins.’

‘You describe him to me,’ she asked, taking out her notebook.

‘He was tall, six feet or over, blonde, very blue penetrating eyes, and was physically in great shape. He was also suntanned, and I was asked by Detective Simms if he ever mentioned surfing to me, which he did.’

‘If I recall, the advert asked—’

Again she was interrupted. ‘I like athletic types because I’m a fanatical skier. I work for a dry-ski company as an instructor.’

‘Tell me about this person you think was Alan Rawlins.’

‘Well, he contacted me; I gave him my mobile number, not my home phone. We arranged to meet in a wine bar in Soho, and we had a few drinks.’

‘Was he a drinker?’

‘No, he just had a Coke, I think, but we chatted about this and that and he asked me what I did for a living, sort of sizing me up. After a while, because we really got along, I suggested he come back to my place. He agreed and we got a taxi.’

Anna glanced at Paul, asking if they had the address and contact numbers and he nodded.

‘Please go on, Mr Ardigo.’

‘I found him very attractive. He was quiet – shy, almost – and I think I had another couple of drinks, but he just asked for water. The next minute, he started to strip off. I said something like we should maybe get to know each other a bit more, but he said that we both knew what we met up for, or words to that effect, and . . .’

‘And?’

‘I said to him that I was really interested in forming a relationship with someone, and that I wasn’t into casual sex. I know I put the advert in, but it was the first time I’d done it and I wasn’t sure how it worked. But he said that wasn’t what he was interested in – he didn’t want a relationship. Then he asked if I wanted money.’

Ardigo reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.

‘I certainly wasn’t in it for money! It felt as though he thought I was some kind of rent boy. It really rattled me, and I told him again that I felt it was more important for me to get to know him. He then gripped my face in his hand and kissed me. It was a hard kiss and I tried to push him off, but he wouldn’t let go of me.’

He drank some water and sat staring down at the table-top.

‘I let him do what he wanted. I just went along with it because he scared me. He was like a different person from the one in the bar. To be honest, I think he would have really hurt me if I’d tried to stop him.’

Anna glanced at Paul and then looked back to Ardigo.

‘Did he rape you?’

‘No, it wasn’t exactly rape. When he’d finished, he walked back into the room where he’d taken his clothes off.’

‘Wait a moment . . . you had sex with him in your bedroom?’

‘Yes. Then like I said, he just walked out. I think he went into my bathroom, but I stayed in the bed, and then he left. I waited God knows how long before I got up and went into my sitting room. He’d left a fifty-pound note on my coffee table.’

‘We really appreciate you agreeing to see us, Mr Ardigo, and I am sure it must be very difficult for you,’ Anna reassured him.

‘As soon as I got the phone call, it made me angry all over again. You know, the way he had treated me – I just wanted it on record. It taught me a hard lesson, and as it turned out, it was actually a positive thing because I was pretty shaken up the next day. One of the guys I work with could see I was anxious and I blurted it all out to him, and he admitted that he was gay so we’re now together.’

‘That’s good. When you say you were anxious . . .’

‘Bit more than that. I had a lot of bruises and had to wear a scarf round my neck.’

‘Bruises around your neck?’ Paul asked.

‘Yeah, from when he almost strangled me. That’s another reason why I wanted to come in; the next guy could get killed.’

After thanking Mr Ardigo for giving his statement, Anna asked Paul to show him down to the reception then come to see her in her office.

As Anna passed through the incident room she asked Brian to see if Sal, the owner of the car wash, would agree to an interview.

‘I’ve called a couple of times already – he’s not around,’ Brian said.

‘I want him to give us more details of the surfing beaches and locations.’

‘I’ll keep on trying.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna sat behind her desk mulling over the interview with Anthony Ardigo. Yet again they had another insight into Alan Rawlins and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Paul tapped on her door and walked in.

‘That was interesting,’ he said.

‘Yes. What were you two laughing about before I came into the room?’

‘He was telling me how hard it had been for him to come out . . . Italian father, very macho guy . . . and I said that I could understand.’

‘I see. So you told him that you were homosexual?’

‘Yeah. It was good because it opened him up – in the literal sense.’ Paul laughed.

‘Mind if I give you some advice?’ Anna said icily. ‘Your sexual preferences are your business. If you find it necessary to make sure it is out in the open, that again is your business, but you should retain a separation from your private life as a detective. I am not asking you to do anything other than maintain a professional distance. I don’t think it’s advisable to elaborate on your private predilections when interviewing a possible suspect.’

‘But he wasn’t a suspect, for chrissakes, and he was very nervous.’

‘Put him at his ease – that’s your job, to get a result. And let me tell you, Paul, everyone we interview could be a suspect until we clear them of suspicion.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry.’

‘What I don’t want is the “gay” detective slur against you because you are very competent and a good officer – that’s what should be relevant. That’s all. You can go.’

Paul sheepishly walked out. She didn’t actually know anything about Paul’s private life, whether he lived with a partner or not, and she didn’t particularly want to know. All that mattered to her was that he was a valuable member of her team.

Meanwhile the team had worked hard on piecing together the date byline. The information was listed on the board. The holiday periods Rawlins had whilst working with Joe Smedley at the garage were matched with the dates that Tina had given for her hairdressing competitions. Helen had contacted the salon to ask for the details as Tina had not given them to Anna. Donna told her that Tina was out making a call, but she could give the dates, since she had been with Tina on some of them and knew exactly how long they would have been away. It varied from two days to five.

Anna was certain that Alan Rawlins was able to lead a double life because there were so many days when Tina had been away from their flat. His holidays from the garage were always in the summertime. Joe Smedley had said Alan would take no time off for Bank Holidays or over the Christmas period, but liked to have as much time as possible clumped together for his summer sojourns. It had taken considerable effort going through the records and calculating that June, July, and often August were the times Alan Rawlins was absent.

Late that afternoon Silas Douglas had returned Brian’s calls and agreed to come into the station the following morning. It had been a frustrating day as more and more information was collected. The team were still very keen to get the results from the Tech Support unit about the hard drive taken from Rawlins’s computer. Tech Support were dragging their heels and so Anna got onto them and tore a strip off their Head of Department, pointing out it was imperative they get the information as soon as possible; their excuse that they had a backlog of work didn’t wash with her. She angrily insisted that as this was a murder enquiry they should put her at the top of their list.

Langton called just as she was about to leave for the day. She gave him a brief rundown of the developments and he thankfully listened without interruption. He seemed distant, almost abrupt as he finished the call, saying he had someone waiting on his other line. She left the station shortly after, while both Paul and Brian were still working as the jigsaw grew.

Langton drove into the station just after 7 p.m. and went straight up to the incident room. He’d missed Anna, but Brian Stanley was still there. He was about to leave, but Langton asked him to stay behind as he wanted him to talk him through the investigation to date. It was not that unusual. He was, after all, the Chief Superintendent overseeing the entire Murder Squad. He made Brian feel slightly nervous as he fired off question after question and constantly made notes while muttering to himself.

‘How has the search gone trying to find the body?’

‘We’ve had a team looking into it, but we’ve no trace.’

‘And no positive identification of the victim?’

‘Correct.’

‘This woman, Tina – has she moved back into her flat?’

‘I believe it’s on the cards. The scientists are out of there and the SOCOs have completed their work as well. I know she asked the Gov if she could go and collect more clothes.’

Langton paused by the forensic reports from Liz Hawley. ‘Do we know if they could get a toxicology result from the blood pooling beside the bed?’

‘No. The lab said it would be unreliable as bleach was used to try and clean it up, and they couldn’t even tell us how long it had been there,’ Brian informed him.

‘Mmm . . . It’s been about eight to nine weeks, right – from the time Alan was last seen.’

‘Yes, but we don’t know whose blood it is.’

Langton looked at the photographs taken from the Luminol tests. He tapped the pictures.

‘Fucking bloodbath in there and you’ve no body parts turning up?’

‘No, sir.’

‘If Tina Brooks is to be believed, then whoever did the murder had less than a day to clean up. If she’s lying, and she was part of it, then she and any accomplice, had at least two weeks to get rid of the evidence.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘No witness saw anything suspicious?’

‘No. We’ve questioned all the residents and the near neighbours.’

‘This Tina woman’s car was clean, right?’

‘Yes, sir. She’s requested it to be returned.’

‘What tests have been done with the semen stains and the hair found in the bed?’

‘Still ongoing with the hair, but the semen isn’t a match.’

‘What – the semen DNA doesn’t match the blood DNA?’

‘Correct.’

‘So someone else, another male, slept in the same bed as the victim.’

‘Right. Our problem is that we don’t have a positive DNA profile for Alan Rawlins so we have been unable to ascertain if the blood was his or if the items from the clean bedlinen were his.’

‘Which would mean either Rawlins was the victim or he killed someone and then did a runner?’

‘That’s what we are considering.’

Langton sighed and moved along the board, looking at the details written up about the gay DVDs and pornographic magazines. He shook his head and moved on to the latest entries.

‘So we suspect that Alan Rawlins led a double life. He used his friends’ names when answering sex adverts, and this guy Ardigo came in and admitted that he’d almost been strangled?’

‘Yes. We got that result today.’

Langton snapped his notebook closed, saying, ‘Fucking Tech Support need a firecracker up their arse.’

‘I think the boss gave them one.’

Langton laughed. ‘I hope she did, because this is looking like a cold case if it goes on any longer. No movement in the joint bank accounts, but if he had access to all this cash he could be anywhere by now.’

‘We’re hoping to get a result from Cornwall and to trace his whereabouts from there.’

‘You’re hoping. Jesus Christ, I’ll get on to the people there, and this Sammy Marsh – he’s got a record, right? Anyone asked if they have his DNA on the database?’

‘I think so. We’re waiting for Liz Hawley to get back to us.’

Langton stared at Brian with a cold glint in his eye and snapped that it was not their job to think, but to get facts. He then walked out leaving Brian, already tired from a long day of making call after call, to go to his desk and leave himself a memo to double-check Sammy Marsh’s record in the morning.

The following day when Anna drove into the station, Brian was just parking his car, and so they walked in together. She stopped abruptly when he said he’d not left until late the previous evening due to Langton’s unscheduled visit.

‘He came here?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Bad-tempered cuss, isn’t he? He went over every inch of the board. Said we had to concentrate on Sammy Marsh. I told him that Marsh is missing or on the run. Anyway, he wants us to run a check to see if there was a DNA sample taken after Marsh’s arrest.’

Anna spent the morning, a working lunch and most of the afternoon checking over the case-files, all the statements taken and information they had so far received during the investigation. She wrote down copious notes as she went through the mounting paperwork, raising actions where necessary for the team to complete. The initial Misper investigation into the disappearance of Alan Rawlins had, somewhat understandably, been poor as he was not considered a serious or high-priority case. Indeed, she herself had at first thought he had gone walkabout of his own accord, but now had to make sure that every piece of information and possible lead was thoroughly scrutinised and followed up.

By late afternoon, Anna was still thinking about Langton. Why had he come in to oversee the board when she had spoken to him last thing yesterday and had spent a long time giving him all the details already? It felt as if he was sitting on her shoulder, and she didn’t like it; it made her feel inadequate.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the roar of a Harley arriving in the station car park. She looked from the window as Silas Douglas locked up his bike. Anna called out to Paul to go to reception to meet him and take him into an interview room.

Silas was wearing biker’s leathers with a lot of fringe and he carried his black helmet under his arm. He was even bigger than Paul remembered and towered above him. Added to the creaking of his leathers was the thud of his studded boots as they headed down the corridor.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ Paul asked.

‘No thanks, but a bottle of water would be good.’

He unwound a white neckerchief that he had used to draw over his mouth and sat with his legs apart undoing his fringed jacket. He had a cotton navy-blue scarf with skeleton heads tied round his head in gypsy fashion. His pigtail was tucked into the jacket.

‘Will this take long,’ he asked, ‘only I’m planning to go to the Isle of Man for a drag race.’

Anna arrived and introduced herself and Silas rose to his feet, head and shoulders above her, putting out his hand to shake hers.

‘Thank you for coming in,’ she said, sitting down opposite him.

‘The bloke who phoned me asked me to draw up a list of the best surfing beaches. He could have got them off the internet, but what I’ve done is sort of earmark the top slots for experienced surfers and middle-of-the-road types.’

Sal Douglas dug into a pocket and took out a printed sheet of paper.

‘Now the top surfers would usually hit the north beaches, as tides are stronger there. Amateurs go for the more sheltered ones. Top of the list has to be Newquay Bay. It’s got three big sandy beaches – bit overcrowded in the summer, of course – but it’s the most famous beach in the UK for surfers. All the competitions are held there. Then there’s Crantock Bay and Holywell where the surf’s best at low tide.’

Douglas concluded his descriptions of the surfing beaches by looking at Anna, and saying with a grin, ‘This guy that’s missing – he could be anywhere between Land’s End or East Devon if he’s serious.’

‘Did you make a customised board for him?’

‘It’s hard to say. I’ve been doing this for years, so Christ knows how many boards I’ve sold. I’ve got a small stake in a shop in Newquay Esplanade and I supply them as well. I also sell direct on the beaches from the back of a van.’

Anna placed down the photograph taken of the boards found in Alan Rawlins’s parents’ home.

‘Take a look at this . . . it might jog your memory.’

Silas picked it up in his huge hands.

‘Well, right off I can tell you that this is not what I’d call top of the range. This is more an intermediate’s board. I was shown another photo and that was one of my old hire boards.’

Anna placed down the photograph of Alan Rawlins carrying a board. ‘This?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one, but as I said before, I couldn’t tell you anything about the bloke holding it. I don’t ever recall making a customised board for him. He could have bought a second-hand one off me, but I’m not the only board-dealer out there making money. Kids who buy my intermediate or beginners’ boards eventually sell them on, plus the hire ones get nicked if people don’t keep an eye on them when they’re off the water. The surfers come from all over the world to Cornwall.’

‘He drove a silver sports car, drophead . . .’

Silas puffed out his cheeks. ‘Again, these guys all have sports cars. You know, it’s a big seasonal thing, guys in their hundreds pulling the chicks, driving around in their flash motors. It’s part-surfing, part-sexual conquests.’ He laughed.

‘This man is homosexual.’

Silas shrugged. ‘We get all sorts and true, there is a clique of the gay dudes. They tend to stick together, but I personally don’t have any time for them. To me, it’s a God-given shame. Great bodies and the women drooling, and they bat for the other side.’

‘What can you tell me about the Smugglers café.’

‘Not much more than I already have. It comes and goes in popularity. One season it’s not the place to be seen at, next it’s thriving. It’s cheap. They do hamburgers and chips and it jumps a bit at night, but the cops have been coming down on them for building fires on the beaches. Can’t hear yourself talk in there; the music is throbbing out, which also gets complaints.’

‘You knew Sammy Marsh?’

‘The photographer, yeah everybody knows him. He took that picture I gave Detective Simms and the lady officer.’

‘You told them that he did a moonlight flit to Florida. Do you know why?’

‘Not really no, but I’ll be straight with you, Sammy was a bit of a ducker and diver, regular Mr Tambourine man, moving from beach to beach knocking out good weed. He’d sort of cornered the market as everyone does a joint down there, kind of goes with the sport and I used to buy off him as well.’

Sal smiled and shrugged his massive shoulders.

‘He used to have this big Rasta looking out for him. Sometimes it could get a bit hairy and Sammy didn’t like competition, I know that.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, I don’t know all the facts, but some kids were all sharing a farmhouse, a good way out from Newquay, and they were growing their own cannabis plants. Had several greenhouses – lights – the lot. They were underselling Sammy and he didn’t like it. He got unpleasant, warned them off, and in the end I think they started working for him. I dunno . . .’

‘Was he violent?’

‘Sammy?’

‘Yes.’

Silas gestured with his hand to about his shoulder level sitting down. ‘He was only this big. Like I said, this Jamaican dude, Errol, was his heavy arm, but he also had a few other bodyguards.’

Paul produced Errol Dante’s mugshot. ‘Was one of them this man?’

Silas looked and nodded. ‘Yeah that’s Errol, but I haven’t seen him for a while and nor have I seen Sammy since he went to Florida. I’m only there come the summer months.’

There appeared to be little else that Silas could help them with and so he was thanked for coming in and left the station.

Anna watched from her office window as Silas, ‘call me Sal’, replaced his helmet, having drawn up the white scarf to cover his mouth. He fired up his Harley and almost collided with Langton, driving his beat-up old Rover. She was glad she had seen him as it gave her a few moments to gather her thoughts on how she would approach the fact that he’d been ‘busy’ the night before. She expected him to come in to see her straight away, but when he didn’t she eased up the blinds of the window looking into the incident room. He was standing beside Paul, who was writing up on the board the information from Silas Douglas. Quickly flicking the blind closed as Langton turned towards her, she hurried to sit at her desk.

He did sort of knock, but it was only a tap and the door opened as he strode in.

‘You free for an early dinner tonight?’

Taken by surprise, she blinked and then nodded.

‘Good. There’s a small Italian round the corner, we can walk to it. Say in ten minutes?’

‘Fine. Do I see you there or . . .?’

‘No, we’ll walk over there together. I just want to catch up on a couple of things.’

‘I would have thought you caught up enough last night.’

He hesitated, swinging the door open. No matter how long she had known him, he could still make her hairs stand up on end when he gave her that cold, arrogant look.

‘Just doing my job, sweetheart. Ten minutes.’

He closed the door and she could have kicked herself for bringing it up. She had always hated it when he called her ‘sweetheart’ – now even more so. She also reckoned that the promise of a dinner between them wasn’t what he intended by this evening’s date. Instinct told her he was going to use it for another reason.

As Anna made her way to the ladies cloakroom to comb her hair and freshen up, Langton was in deep conversation with Brian Stanley in the incident room. Exactly ten minutes later, he was waiting for Anna in the corridor.

‘Let’s go,’ he said briskly.

‘Do you mind if I just tell the team I’m off?’

‘Already told them.’ He took her elbow and guided her out. It didn’t feel right. It felt as if he was pushing her.

They hardly spoke during the short walk to the restaurant and he no longer held her arm, but walked quickly. As always she had to speed up to keep up with him.

Sole Mio was a small restaurant furnished with checked tablecloths and candles stuck into wine bottles. The owner greeted Langton like an old friend and asked if he’d like his usual table. As it was virtually empty being so early, they had a choice, but Langton went to a small booth at the side and eased himself in, leaving Anna to sit opposite. He picked up the menu, glanced at it briefly and suggested that she have the house special.

Anna hid herself behind the menu. She was feeling very nervous and unable to read. Langton took out his reading glasses to look over the wine list.

‘I’ll have the sea-food spaghetti,’ she told Langton as he signalled for the waiter. He ordered the food, asked for a bottle of Chianti and then removed his glasses, tucking them into his pocket. He then spread out his cutlery, leaving a larger space in front of him.

‘Anna,’ he said quietly.

She glanced up and gave a shaky smile.

‘How you doing?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Remember I once told you that I’d worked with your father? I’m going back quite a long time now – fifteen years or more . . . Anyway, I got my first murder enquiry as a DCI. Jack wasn’t on the case with me, but I’d just been working alongside him learning the ropes so to speak.’

He paused as the waiter showed them the bottle of wine and then uncorked it and poured a drop for Langton to taste. He swirled it around the glass and then drank it.

‘Lovely, thank you. Just leave the bottle on the table.’

The waiter poured a glass for each of them and did as requested.

‘The case was a murder enquiry, obviously. The victim was a twenty-two-year-old waitress – a single mother with a little girl aged three. She was found in an alleyway not far from where she worked; her throat had been cut and she was almost decapitated. She was or had been a very pretty woman, but the unusual thing about the case was, she had not been raped and her handbag, with her wages in, was still beneath her body. So robbery was not the motive and we could find no one who had a bad word to say against her. The first suspect we looked at was her ex-boyfriend. He was a pleasant enough guy and—’

Anna interrupted. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Just listen, will you?’

He sat back as his starter was brought to the table, a shrimp salad.

‘Did you order a starter?’ he asked Anna.

‘No, just the sea-food pasta.’

‘Do you want that brought now, or will you wait until my main course is here?’

‘I’ll wait.’ She took some bread and buttered it, watching as he ate at his usual fast pace, jabbing at the salad with his fork.

‘Okay, where was I . . . the boyfriend was not the father of her little girl, so I traced him, a Spanish waiter, and I discovered that he had quite a history of petty crime. He’d also legged it to Marbella so I went over there and questioned him, and he gave me three or four names of men he knew my victim had been seeing. I came back and I tracked down all four of them, questioned each one, and they gave me two more names. Seemed my innocent little single mother had quite a sexual appetite.’ He took some bread and wiped around the salad bowl, then picked up his wine glass and sipped before placing it carefully down beside his plate.

‘I schlepped from one end of the country to the other. Was into the case four weeks when the parents admitted they had kicked her out when they discovered she was pregnant. I had a slew of ex-boyfriends, plus women who had known the victim, but what I was still trying to uncover was a motive. Who, out of all these people I’d interviewed, would have sliced her throat and left her dying in this back alley? I checked into her bank accounts, all the boyfriends’ bank accounts; she had a pittance of a savings, so after another two weeks the case was getting cold. I had nothing.’

Langton stopped speaking as his starter plate was removed and he began to twist his napkin.

‘I was having a drink and Jack Travis came into the bar. He asked how it was all going. This was my first solo DCI case, right, and I wanted to make an impression. I said to him, “I’ve fucking turned over every possible stone and got zilch.”’

Their main courses arrived so he remained silent until the waiter had left, pouring more wine for himself and topping up Anna’s glass. She waited, toying with her pasta. Langton had a Saltimbocca alla Romana with vegetables and again ate hungrily before he continued.

‘Your dad listened. I’d had a few beers and then he asked if I minded if he gave me some advice.’

Langton held up his hand and pointed his index finger.

‘He said that one – in a murder enquiry, always look close to home. Someone had hated my victim enough to slash her throat – not to take her money, not to rape her – but just slash her and walk away.’

He ate another mouthful and then held up his hand again.

‘Two – the motive was hatred. It wasn’t robbery, it wasn’t sexual. It had to be someone who knew her, knew what time she left her job, knew she walked up that alley as a shortcut to the bus stop.’

He ate more, chewing his meat, and gestured towards her plate as she’d hardly touched a morsel.

‘Is that all right?’

‘It’s fine.’ She took a mouthful, but the food felt greasy and she could hardly swallow. Langton repeating her father’s words had made her feel very emotional.

‘Three – by looking at the kill, it had to be someone close to her. She had no defence wounds, no struggle, no blood or skin under her fingernails, which meant she faced her killer and wasn’t afraid of him.’

Again he paused to eat. Anna just moved her pasta around the plate.

‘Four – he said I should return to anyone close, particularly the ex-boyfriend. Next day I brought him in again and after two hours of interrogation he gave it up. He admitted to the murder. He said she had kicked him out. By this time he had grown to love her little girl and wanted to marry her, but she had rejected him.’

Langton drained his glass. He then stared hard at Anna, wiping his lips with his napkin and tossing it down.

‘You want to know why I am telling you all this?’

She nodded, pushing her food aside.

‘Anna, you are bringing in how many fucking links and suspects? You’ve got a board that looks like the train timetable at Euston station, with links and arrows and possible connections. You’ve got homosexual contacts from magazines; you’ve got a whole slew of suspects connected to drugs in Cornwall. You keep opening up avenues of probable suspicions when what you have is a bloodbath at that flat Alan Rawlins lived in. You’ve got no body, you’ve got evidence that another male slept in that same bed where you believe the murder took place, a victim you have yet to even bloody identify.’

‘I am aware of that,’ she said stiffly.

‘You can’t keep chasing all these probable connections. You have to get to grips with this Tina Brooks woman. She’s lived with him, but she only admitted he was missing after his father reported it. She could have disposed of the body with help maybe, so I’ll give you that, but the whole reason I am talking to you is because I think you have started to open up a can of worms that may wriggle and look suspicious, but you haven’t hit close to home. It doesn’t matter if Alan Rawlins led a double life, that he was homosexual with a nasty streak to him. The basic facts are that someone was brutally murdered in that flat. Tina has to be your prime suspect and all this surfing stuff, this drug dealer Sammy Marsh, is making the enquiry look like a trainwreck.’

‘I don’t know if it was Alan Rawlins who was murdered in that flat.’

‘But she must bloody know what went on – she lived there! I don’t want to make you lose confidence, but what I do want you to do is put the pressure on Tina Brooks. Going off to Cornwall is not going to bring in a result, Anna. So what if Alan surfed with a gay troupe of guys? So what if he led this other life? The basic facts are it is very probable he was murdered inside his own flat, his body dismembered and then dumped. The answer is close to home, Anna, believe me. I want you to think like your dad, think how he guided me, because right now I am sorry to say it, but you have let this case run right off the rails.’

She had to cough to clear her throat. It felt terribly constricted.

‘How long have I got?’

He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

‘Listen, I am not about to pull the enquiry. All I’m asking you to do is to focus on the basic facts. Remember, I am telling you this because I did the exact same thing and it was Jack, your father, who pointed me in the right direction.’

Anna sipped her wine. He went to top up her glass again, but she shook her head.

‘No, thank you.’ She chose her next words very carefully. ‘I would like to discuss this with you tomorrow.’

‘Why not now?’

‘Because I need to digest everything you’ve said to me, then I’d like to talk it over with you.’

She got up and he gestured to the ladies cloakroom, thinking she wished to use it, but she picked up her bag.

‘I’m leaving now. If it’s preferable I will come to your office, or shall we say nine o’clock here at the station?’

‘I’ll come to you.’

‘Thank you, and thank you for dinner.’

Langton watched her walking out, unsure if he should go after her or not. Her expression had been unreadable even for him. He didn’t think he had been too hard on her, on the contrary. He would, if it had been anyone else, have expressed his concerns over the way the case was being handled in front of the entire team. He would also have replaced her with another DCI. Maybe she should learn the hard way. Instead he had taken her out for dinner and tried to be as diplomatic as possible. He truthfully felt her murder enquiry was a mess of over-investigation, wasting valuable time.

He signalled for the waiter to remove their plates and then ordered a double brandy, deciding that in the morning he would call a briefing. Anna must by now be aware of his misgivings and realise that it could not continue.

‘Was there something wrong with the sea-food pasta, sir?’ the waiter asked.

Langton shook his head as his brandy was placed in front of him.

‘No. She just wasn’t hungry.’

Anna went straight back to her office and spent a long time on her computer looking over the file of the old case that Langton had referred to. Eventually she’d had enough and left for home. She had fought to keep control of her emotions, refusing to allow Langton to see how deeply his criticism had affected her. But by the time she’d returned to her flat and was getting into bed, the flood-gates opened; she couldn’t stop crying. She felt that by using her father as part of his review of her work, Langton had betrayed her.

Sleep didn’t come easily as she finally calmed down enough to digest everything Langton had spoken about. Intuitively she knew that the meeting with him in the morning would be make or break time, but somehow the old fighting instincts she used to have lay dormant. She had never felt so alone and so lacking in self-confidence.