Clean Cut

Chapter Two

Anna was contacted early Monday morning: she was to join a new murder team in Brixton. The Senior Crime Officer was DCI John Sheldon, whom she knew nothing about and had never met. The murder team had taken over the second floor at the station and already shipped in were the obligatory computers and clerical staff. Sheldon had two officers who had worked with him many times, DI Frank Brandon and DS Harry Blunt; added to these were two more DIs, four more DSs, and fifteen Detective Constables. Anna was instructed to join Sheldon at the victim’s flat.

Irene Phelps was thirty-nine years old and worked at the local public library. She was a quiet, studious woman with long blonde hair. She had been very pretty. The crime scene was still being worked over by the forensic teams; her body remained in the small study where she had been discovered. The room had been ransacked; there was overturned furniture, smashed ornaments and vases. She lay face down on the carpet. The wounds to her upper torso had left her blouse slashed and heavily bloodstained. Her skirt had been drawn up and her panties thrown to one side; she had terrible wounds to her throat and face. Irene had put up a fight for her life, but it had obviously been a very brutal and frenzied attack. Her twelve-year-old daughter had found her body.

Anna hovered in the doorway, not even entering the room to keep contamination down to the minimum. She looked over to the white-suited forensic officers; then physically jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder.

‘You must be DI Travis?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m the SIO on this one: DCI Sheldon.’

Sheldon had a soft Northern accent, blond hair thinning and swept back from a pleasant, pinkish face. He was wearing a cheap suit, white shirt and neat, unobtrusive tie. Anna gave a small smile and went to shake his hand but he turned away, gesturing to a big, square-shouldered officer.

‘This is DI Frank Brandon. Frank!’

Brandon turned and walked over to be introduced. ‘Hi, how’s old Langton doing?’

Anna flushed. ‘He’s got a long way to go, but he’s doing well.’

‘That’s good. I’ve heard he’ll more than likely be invalided out, but knowing him — well, not personally, but he’s got a hell of a reputation — he won’t like it.’

Before Anna could reply, DS Harry Blunt called out from the kitchen; they all turned to look down the hallway.

Blunt was short and stocky, with a reddish crew cut and flushed cheeks.

‘Getting a lot of prints; looks like the bastard washed up in here and made himself a sandwich. The knife found by her body may come from a set on the kitchen counter.’

‘This is Anna Travis,’ Sheldon said, indicating Anna.

She got a cool nod from Blunt, as he turned his attention back towards the kitchen and the forensic team working dusting for prints.

Sheldon pursed his lips and then looked at his wristwatch. ‘Right, may as well get back to the station. Did you come in your own car?’ he asked Anna.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Okay, see you back there then.’ He walked down the hall to the open front door.

‘Would it be all right if I just stayed on for a while, to get the layout?’ Anna asked Blunt.

The DS shrugged his shoulders and edged past her. He obviously suited his name: she felt as if he had little or no time to waste on small talk.

‘You know where the station is?’ This was Brandon; Anna said that she had checked it out before she arrived.

‘Good — and mind if I give you a word of advice? The Gov is a stickler for time, so if he’s going to give a briefing, I wouldn’t be too long. We’ve all been here since early this morning.’

‘Who’s looking after her daughter?’ Anna asked.

Brandon said she was with grandparents; then, like Sheldon, he walked off, leaving her standing by the kitchen door.

The incident room was silent. Anna was directed over to the Detective Inspectors’ desks, which were in a small corner; due to the limited size of the station, they did not have their own offices. The incident board had already been set up; the victim’s name and address were printed up, with little else. Anna could see Sheldon talking to Brandon in his office through the open blinds. There were three female and two male officers standing by a tea urn. None made any reaction to Anna or bothered to introduce themselves, but all parted as Sheldon came out of his office and crossed to the board. He didn’t even need to ask for attention; everyone immediately returned to their desks and sat waiting.

‘Okay, victim’s name is Irene Phelps, works at the public library. She got divorced five years ago; ex-husband lives in Devon and is an estate agent. He’s been contacted and will be travelling up to see his daughter. She’s only twelve; very traumatized and staying with her grandparents. They live three streets away from the victim’s flat. Okay, Frank, over to you.’

Sheldon nodded to Brandon, who flipped open his notebook. Brandon spoke rather loudly, unlike Sheldon. ‘Right, Gov. We’ve so far gathered that Irene always left work at three; this was to make sure she was home by the time her daughter returned from school. The route to her home was by tube from Brixton, one stop; from there, she could walk home. On this particular day, she left work as usual, but her daughter Natalie went to see her grandmother after school; she arrived at four-thirty, then left to walk home at about five forty-five. She would have reached home at just after six, found the front door open and discovered the body of her mother. We therefore only have a short timeframe. Irene Phelps could have met her killer on the tube and walked with him to her flat; he killed her between the hours of four to five-thirty. That’s it from me, Gov.’

Sheldon ran his fingers through his thinning hair, then continued in his soft Northern accent, hardly raising his voice, ‘We need to ascertain whether she knew her killer or disturbed him inside her flat. The place looks ransacked, but she had little of value and very rarely kept any money there; the place had been turned over and the lady put up one hell of a fight. We found no visible signs of forced entry but we’ll know for sure when the forensic teams give us their report. If she did know her killer and let him in, then we need to spread the net to question anyone that knew her, any ongoing relationships; so far, we’ve not had time to gather much evidence of who she knew, so that will be our first priority.’

Sheldon then gave a list to the duty manager of what he wanted the team to work on. He checked his watch and gave a strange low whistle. No one spoke. He sucked in his breath, gesturing at the photographs up on the incident board.

‘She took a terrible beating. It was a vicious attack and we need to get this bastard fast, because there is carelessness about the murder scene. Eating a fucking sandwich, drinking a cup of tea — unless the victim made them for him, but I doubt it; there was too much blood in the kitchen. Whoever killed her would have heavily bloodstained clothes, so question neighbours, anyone around her flat: someone must have seen this son of a bitch, so let’s not waste time. Get out there! Meanwhile, we wait for the PM and the forensic reports. That’s it, everyone. Let’s get moving, unless anyone has got anything to say?’

No one did; the briefing broke up as everyone got their marching orders. Frank Brandon came to Anna’s desk.

‘You and me, we’ve got the neighbours and workplace. You want to split it or work together?’

‘Whatever suits,’ Anna said.

‘Okay, I’ll do the neighbours, you get over to the library. May I call you Anna?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I was just wondering, who is questioning her daughter?’

‘That’ll be Harry; he’s good with kids, got a brood himself. She was in a right state, so maybe they’ll delay talking to her until she’s had some counselling.’

‘Did she call the police?’

‘Yeah — well, she ran to a neighbour and they called us for her.’

‘And she’s twelve?’

‘Yeah, just a kid. Her dad’s coming to see her; she’ll be staying at the grandparents’. Why you interested in her?’

‘Well, she found the body, and with the short time period, she might have even seen the killer — maybe she even knew him.’

‘Yeah, well — leave that to Harry, okay?’

‘Fine. I’ll get over to the library.’

Brandon had a chiselled face, high cheekbones and, with his square shoulders, it was obvious he worked out. Although he had everything going for him in the looks department, there was something unattractive about him — at least, there was to Anna. He used a very heavy cologne, which she thought was Aramis; in any case, it was certainly very pungent, and he had this manner, as if he was an object of desire. Perhaps he was — in his own mirror.

The library had not been closed, but there were numerous bouquets of flowers left by the doors. They looked rather sad and bedraggled; a couple had cards written by children.

Anna was introduced to a pleasant-faced woman, who shook her hand firmly.

‘I’m Deidre Lane; poor Irene worked alongside me in the children’s department. I suppose you’ve seen a few of them have left flowers. I’ve more in my office and I’m not quite sure what to do with them. It’s just so dreadful, none of us can believe it.’

They walked towards a small office, where Anna accepted a cup of lukewarm tea. The office was filled with posters advertising forthcoming children’s activities and readings. Deidre’s desk was piled high with books and files; she cleared a space for Anna to put down her cup. She then drew up a chair to sit beside her, rather than behind the desk.

‘Was it a burglary or something like that?’ she asked.

‘We won’t know that until we have had time to check, but I am here really to ask if you knew of anyone who had some kind of grudge against her.’

‘Against Irene? No, no, good heavens, no. There wasn’t a soul who had a bad word to say about her.’

‘Could you list all the people employed here?’

‘It wouldn’t — it couldn’t be connected to anyone from here.’

‘But I do need to know everyone’s name and address just for elimination purposes.’

‘I see. Well, yes, of course.’

‘That will include cleaners or janitors, anyone who has recently worked here, painting or redecorating, doing carpentry — any odd-job men who may have come into contact with Ms Phelps.’

Deidre went over to a filing cabinet and took out a large ledger. This time, she sat at her desk, and began to list for Anna everyone working at the library. She included a plumber who had been working on the drains recently and two boys who had helped clear the pathways around the library.

It became clear to Anna that most of the employees had been at the library for many years, even the odd-job men. Armed with names and addresses, she then turned her attention to asking for more details about Irene. She learned that Irene was a very diligent and loved member of the team, always on time in the morning, and always leaving promptly at three so she could be at home when her daughter returned from school.

‘She worshipped her little girl; she is such a lovely pleasant child, always very well dressed. Her name is Natalie, but everyone calls her Natty; she often helps out with the Saturday-morning activities. Irene didn’t get any extra money for this; to be honest, she wasn’t paid that much, but I know she had a settlement after her divorce. I think her ex-husband paid the rent, so she was not kept short. Between you and me, I think it was a bitter divorce — he left her for someone else and went to live in Devon, I think, but I can’t be too sure. Irene didn’t like to talk about him and I never met him, or really knew her while they were together.’

Anna went through the usual queries, asking if anyone knew whether Irene had any boyfriends or was in any kind of relationship, but this also led nowhere.

‘I didn’t really socialize with her,’ Deidre explained. ‘I had never been to her flat, but working alongside her for so many years, we became quite good friends, and I never heard her mention that she was seeing anyone. I think she led a very quiet life, with just herself and Natty. On a few occasions, she mentioned that she had been to see a movie, usually with Natty at weekends; she had her parents quite close so would spend Sundays with them. I think she did a bit of shopping and cleaning for them, as they are quite elderly. Christmas-time, when we had our office party, we would all bring our husbands and partners, but Irene was always alone; in fact, I never saw her with anyone but her daughter.’

Anna spent another hour talking to the other librarians. In each case, they were very shocked and distraught at the brutality of the murder. She then contacted the plumber and arranged to see him later that same morning, plus the two young kids who had swept the pathways. It was becoming obvious that no one really knew Irene out of work time; nor had they ever seen her with anyone apart from her daughter. It was really very sad; Irene Phelps appeared to be a hardworking and caring woman whose life focused on her job, her daughter and her elderly parents.

The plumber turned out to be a short, ruddy-faced man, who wasn’t too sure if he had even met Irene. He had worked for the library virtually on a charity basis, he told Anna, as they were always short of finances; he would come in on Sundays to see to any jobs that needed doing. For the entire day of the murder, he had been working in Clerkenwell on a new housing estate. The two young lads were also unable to give any details about Irene; they had been paid in cash to sweep the pathway of leaves, and then both had gone to a gym straight after. They had seen no one lurking around and nothing suspicious.

Anna returned to the incident room just after three. She typed up her report and went over to discuss her interviews with the duty manager; together, they brought the board up to date with the lists of colleagues, part-time workers and alibis. She then returned to her desk and made herself look busy, as there was to be a briefing at five. She hoped it would not go on for too long, as she was planning to drive over to Glebe House.

At five o’clock sharp, Sheldon walked out of his office, just as Harry Blunt and Frank Brandon entered the incident room. None of them acknowledged Anna or, for that matter, anyone else; they sat at their desks checking over their notes. Sheldon stood for a moment, looking at the board and the results of the day’s enquiries. He slowly loosened his tie and then turned to the room.

‘We should get the lab reports in tomorrow; forensic are still at the murder site. So, in the meantime, let’s hear how today progressed.’

There was a brief silence, then Harry Blunt stood up.

‘Didn’t get much for us from the grandparents — they’re very elderly and very obviously shook up. I talked with Natalie, the daughter; she has a counsellor with her, but the outcome is again not too helpful. On the day of the murder, she returned home, a bit later than usual; she’d been to see her grandmother, as she’s had a bout of flu. So it was nearer to five forty-five when she thinks she got home. Front door was ajar, so she called out—’

Sheldon wafted his hand. ‘We know this. What else have you got?’

‘Well, she saw her mother, then ran to a neighbour who called the police. They kept her with them until the locals arrived and then they took her to stay with her grandparents. As far as we can ascertain, she saw no one else inside the premises and no one outside; she also said she didn’t know anyone who would want to hurt her mother, or of any new friend Irene had who she might have been seeing. I have suggested we maybe talk to her again in a proper audiovisual suite. From what I’ve gathered, the victim kept herself very much to herself and rarely, if ever, entertained, but was well-respected and liked by both sets of neighbours living in the same house. None, when questioned, had seen or heard anything and were all very shocked. There had been no workmen around lately, so no strangers in and out of the premises, which are quite secure; we’ve also got nothing from any CCTV cameras.’

Sheldon nodded and pulled at his tie again; he now looked to Frank Brandon.

‘Coming up with much the same thing, Gov: well-respected, hard worker, did the same journey to school and work every morning, and returned around about the same time every day. This makes the timeframe for the murder to be from around four to when the daughter returned home.’

‘Yes, yes, we know that,’ Sheldon snapped, and then indicated Anna.

Anna went through her report in a little more detail than the others. Sheldon sat down in the middle of it. He yawned, checked his watch and, when Anna had completed her report, he stood up and gestured to the board.

‘We got anything on the ex-husband?’

Frank remained seated as he flipped open his book. ‘He’s an estate agent, quite well off, remarried, has two young kids by his second wife. He was in Devon on the day that the victim was killed. He’s travelling up to see his daughter, so we can talk to him then.’

Sheldon dug his hands in his pockets. ‘Well, let’s hope we get something from the PM and forensic, because we’ve got bugger all so far. I want the house-to-house to continue; see if anyone in the area saw or knows something.’

He turned to Anna, pointing. ‘Yes?’

‘Have they said the weapon used was from the victim’s flat?’

‘They have not verified it, but there is one carving knife missing from the block and one found in the kitchen sink; bastard probably used it to cut up his sandwich. We are hoping to get DNA and a match on fingerprints but, like I said, we wait to see what they come up with. In the meantime, I want a significant trawling of any possible CCTV footage in and around the murder site. That’s it — reconvene at nine in the morning.’

Anna was surprised; she had never been on an enquiry that felt like a nine to five. She’d also never seen an incident room clear out so fast, leaving just clerical and the small night staff to run the enquiry.

Anna had intended to call in at Langton’s apartment, to collect his mail, etc., but by the time she had returned home, showered and changed, it was already after six-thirty. She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid the rush-hour traffic on the M4 heading out of London and so accepted she wasn’t going to get to see him until way after eight. She spent the time in the slow-moving traffic going over the case. She found it all very depressing: so different from working alongside Langton, whose energy and tireless pressure on everyone around him always paid dividends. There had been numerous other cases she had been involved in, before and after Langton; none of the SIOs ever matched him, or even came close.

Langton was waiting for her, sitting in a wheelchair in the empty recreational room. He gave her a glum smile. ‘I’d just about given up on you.’

‘Well, I started on a new investigation this morning — victim murdered in her own flat. Her kid found the body.’

‘Who’s heading it up?’ he asked moodily.

Anna listed Sheldon and co., and he snorted.

‘That stuffed shirt! Can’t stand him and that bodybuilder sidekick of his — thinks he’s Burt Reynolds. If he spent less time in the gym and more time policing… They’re all a bunch of wankers.’

Anna grinned; he was always abusive about anyone else working on the murder teams, but he had actually summed up her own thoughts.

Langton gestured around the empty room. ‘They’re all watching a movie, creaking and groaning around a plasma screen.’

‘What film?’

‘I don’t bloody know. I hate it; all they do is moan and groan or burst into tears all the time. It’s like a wailing wall around here.’

He sighed and then asked if she’d got any mail for him. She apologized and said she would collect it tomorrow.

‘Don’t put yourself out.’

‘Oh, just stop this. I didn’t have the time this evening.’

‘I bet Sheldon closed shop at five; he’s a real nine-to-five copper.’

She laughed and agreed; however, until they had some results from the lab and forensics, they couldn’t move in on anyone with a motive.

Langton ruffled his hair. ‘You know, before the days of DNA and the white suits at forensic, we had maybe not as much to go on, but nobody ever clicked their heels; now, it’s all down to waiting for scientific evidence. Sometimes, they come up with bugger all as well.’

Anna didn’t really want to get into the details of the case, but he obviously did. After receiving a brief rundown, he remained silent, and then suggested that they check out all hostels and halfway houses in and around the area.

‘Sounds like some nutter, some bastard that might have been able to monitor your victim’s routine.’

‘Yes, I’ve thought about that too; it’s quite a tough area.’

He winced in pain and rubbed his knee.

‘You okay?’

‘No. This physio bloke massages my knee as if I was in a rugby scrum; it hurts like hell and yet I’m still not able to walk more than a couple of paces. They even brought me a fucking Zimmer frame. I said, the day you see me shuffling around on that, pal, is the day you can give me an OD of morphine.’

Anna remained with Langton for almost two hours; he then seemed to suddenly fade fast. He was hardly able to keep his eyes open, so she suggested she leave and see him the following evening. As she turned to go, he caught her hand.

‘Eh, you don’t have to make this schlep out here every day. If you’re up to your eyes in this case, leave it — just call me.’

She kissed him, and he held onto her hand tightly. ‘I’ll pull through this. It’s just going to take longer than I thought, but I’ll make a promise — next time you see me, I’ll be on my feet.’

She kissed him again and then left him, still sitting in his solitary position, surrounded by gym equipment he couldn’t use. She didn’t mention that she was going to talk to the head nurse for an update.

Anna was kept waiting for half an hour before she was able to discuss Langton’s progress. The nurse was a pleasant six-foot-five giant with a big wide smile.

‘Well, he’s not an easy patient, and he’s got one hell of a temper, but he is very determined. The reality is, this is going to take a lot longer than he thinks. The knee joint is very worrying and I know causes agony; sometimes it would be better for him to rest up, but he refuses and demands painkillers. He had a bad fall because he tried to stand and wanted to work out on weights, but after a chest injury as bad as the one he suffered, he has to be patient.’

‘How long will he be staying here?’

‘Well, we usually do a two-week stint, then patients can go home. If they need further treatment, they come back; we’ve got some that have been coming back and forth for months. I’d say James is going to be looking at the very least, six months.’

‘Six months?!’

‘Yes, and I can’t guarantee that he will be able to walk unaided — but that is not the only problem. He can’t unwind, or he won’t; his desperation to get into the gym and work out is very common. They think if they exercise to excess, it’ll block out their thoughts and then they won’t have to consider their own feelings. Sadly, the support system network that used to exist for officers like James has virtually eroded in the last year. There used to be a much stronger camaraderie and humour. What I am concerned about is his isolation; he refuses to interact with any of the other patients and this will, I am sure, eventually lead to depression.’

Anna felt depressed herself, driving home. It was after one when she eventually got to bed and she was so tired, she crashed straight out. She also forgot to set her alarm, so was late getting up and got caught in the rush hour driving over to Brixton.

The briefing was already in progress when she quietly entered the incident room and sat at her desk. As she suspected, Sheldon had requested they check into all men on probation that were known in the area.

‘I think, due to the ferocity of the attack, we could be looking at someone with a previous record of violence and assault, so get cracking and let’s see if we can get a better result today.’

Anna said nothing. She noticed Blunt and Brandon huddle with Sheldon for a while before they broke up. Sheldon then gestured for her to come into his office.

‘You were late,’ he said curtly.

‘Yes, I’m sorry — I got caught up in traffic.’

‘Not a good enough excuse. I run a very tight unit.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She changed the subject fast. ‘Have you heard anything from the PM report?’

‘Nope. In fact, I’m just on my way over there if you’d like to join me.’

‘Thank you.’

She sat in rather uneasy silence in the rear of the patrol car, while Sheldon had a lengthy call to someone she presumed was his dentist, as he was asking about root canals and the cost; then it went from root canals to implants. He again discussed the cost, and swore, before eventually agreeing to call back.

‘Do you have toothache?’ she asked.

‘No, my wife, but it’s private and costs a bloody fortune. She had four front teeth capped six months ago and it came to over three thousand quid.’

‘It is expensive,’ she murmured, not that interested.

‘How is he doing?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Langton. I heard he was in a bloody no hope situation.’

She felt her hand tense. ‘Well, he’s far from that and is expected out of Glebe House soon,’ she lied.

‘Well, he’s a fighter, I’ll give him that, but not someone I’ve ever got on with — probably why he’s never made Superintendent. Now, he might — if he’s going to be kept on in some kind of desk job capacity.’

She bit her lip. ‘I think he’s very keen to get back to the murder team.’

‘Yeah, they all say that, you know — but you don’t get shipped out there for nothing.’

She wanted to punch the back of his red neck. ‘He simply requires a lot of physio on his injured knee.’

Sheldon turned round, resting his arm along the back of the seat. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll be a regular visitor, so send him my regards when you next see him.’

‘I will.’ She was annoyed at the implication that she was on such close terms with Langton, as she had attempted to keep their private life just that — private.

‘I knew his first wife,’ the DCI went on. ‘Indian, I think she was, very beautiful — had a tumour and died very suddenly.’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘He had a tough time dealing with it — well, I suppose one would. I think he was shipped out to Glebe House that time too, though I may be wrong.’

‘Yes, you are. He has never been there before.’

‘Ah well, you know how rumours spread.’

‘Yes, I do.’ She leaned back and stared out of the window, hoping the conversation was over.

‘I worked with your father,’ Sheldon continued. It was bad enough him talking about Langton, but now her father! ‘Yeah, just in uniform. He was a character — scared the life out of everyone, had a right old temper on him, similar to Langton, in many ways. He never could tolerate all the paperwork. Well, he’d hate it even more now — fart and you’ve got to leave a bloody memo.’

She was saved from any further conversation as they drew up into the car park of the mortuary.

Unlike Langton, Sheldon was quite the gentleman, holding open the doors for her to walk in ahead of him; he also told her to gown up, as if she’d never been at a post mortem before.

Irene Phelps had really fought for her life. The defensive wounds to her hands and arms were like a patchwork quilt. The crisscross wounds also slashed her cheeks, neck and eyes, with one incision virtually slicing through her right eye. She had died from a single knife wound to her heart: the blade, a kitchen carving knife, had been thrust into her up to the hilt. She had been raped and sodomized after the attack. They had DNA from the assailant’s semen and blood.

Returning back to base with Sheldon, Anna remained as silent as they had been while at the mortuary.

They drove for at least five minutes before he spoke. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked, not turning to look at her in the passenger seat directly behind him.

‘Well, it was obviously a frenzied attack by a killer who left his DNA and probably his fingerprints all over the weapon and the flat.’

‘Yes, and…?’

‘I don’t think burglary was his initial motive; he may have ransacked the premises after the kill, but I think he was there to kill. He—’

She was interrupted. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because of the severity of the wounds. I think he must have been waiting for the opportunity rather than planning it.’

‘Go on.’

‘There are no signs of a break-in, which means he was possibly already holding our victim when she let herself in. From what I saw at the flat, it did not look as if he was a professional burglar. It’s just as if he was in such a frenzy after the murder and the sexual gratification: he threw things around, searching for anything of immediate value. We know he must have bloodstained clothes; as we have not had anyone coming forwards, having seen the assailant either in or around the victim’s home, he must have somewhere close that he could walk out to.’

Sheldon turned to face her. ‘Very good observation.’

‘Well, it’s all rather obvious. I also think he will have a record of violence and mental instability; he may not have killed before but he will, I am sure, have done this before.’

‘Done what exactly?’

‘Attacked. The sex we know took place after the victim was dead, or in the throes of dying. Nothing looked premeditated, apart from the entry to the victim’s flat, so there is a possibility that she knew him or had met him before. I don’t mean she knew him well, but she may have seen him before, which again makes me think he lives close by. He could have been watching her, seen her arrive home and then moved to force her into allowing him to enter. As we know, the timeframe is short between Irene leaving work and her daughter discovering the body, so it must have all happened in less than an hour.’

‘What about the sandwich he made for himself?’

Anna shrugged. ‘He was hungry.’

At the briefing, Sheldon repeated almost word for word what Anna had said. She listened, taken aback; the way Sheldon talked, it was as if he had come up with the possible scenario. By now, they also had the forensic report: the killer had left fibres, two hairs and fingerprints in the kitchen, hall and the study where he had killed Irene Phelps.

By four-fifteen, they had a suspect who had a police record for assaults on women. Arthur George Murphy was forty-seven years old and had served fewer than thirteen years of a life sentence for a violent sex attack. In other words, he was on parole! Murphy also had a record of attacks on strangers dating back more than thirty years. This convicted sex attacker, whilst on parole and supposedly under supervision, had been free to kill Irene Phelps.

As the search went out for Murphy, more details of his past came in. The reports were astonishing. Despite his appalling history, Murphy had been considered a low risk, when he was clearly a serious danger to the public. Even a brief check of his file would have been enough to convince anyone that Murphy should not have been walking the streets. His criminal record stretched back to 1975, when he was first convicted for terrorizing women. In 1990, he had been handed a nine-year term for rape. He served six years, the Old Bailey heard how Murphy turned into a snarling animal when he spied his victims. This was when he was sentenced to life; his crime had been a knifepoint rape.

Within hours, the team had been given an address for Murphy, two streets away from Irene Phelps. There was a huge amount of press and TV coverage, warning the public that they should not approach Murphy but contact the police if he was seen. In the hostel that he had been allocated by the probation services, they found Murphy’s possessions: bloodstained clothes, a pair of trainers that had blood on the soles and over the laces, stacks of pornography and a few items of no significant value that had belonged to Irene Phelps. There were also all his social services records and probation contacts, and twenty-two pounds in cash stuffed into an envelope. But there was no sign of Murphy himself; no one at the hostel had seen him for two days.

Sheldon was in a fury as the details came in. He was standing behind his desk, shaking his head. The fact that nobody from the probation service or the community management of offenders had reported the disappearance of Murphy to the police was disgusting. His face had gone puce with anger.

‘It’s fucking unbelievable; this bastard is released halfway through a life sentence for rape and manages to just walk out of his hostel to kill another woman without anyone knowing what was going on! The probation services just bleated on about lack of funds and serious staff shortages, especially here in London; well, that doesn’t help us, that doesn’t help us one fucking iota, because that son of a bitch is out there and we know he’s going to do it again!’

Anna let Sheldon wind down, not that she disagreed with a word he was saying; the entire system was a farce. It was obvious there were serious deficiencies in the way Murphy had been managed.

‘I was just wondering, sir, if we have any details on Murphy’s parents, or any relatives? We know he left the hostel in a hurry, and with money left behind, so he has to be on the run somewhere. Maybe someone is hiding or protecting him.’

‘What kind of person hides this animal? And don’t give me mother love; if she is hiding him, then she’s as bad as he is.’

‘So do we have anything on his parents?’

‘Some bitch spawned him, yeah.’ He checked through a file. ‘Father dead eight years ago. Mother is named as Beryl Dunn — God only knows where she is. Brother also dead, but younger sister, Gail Dunn, living at an undisclosed address. We can check her out, but I want you to get onto his probation department and get them to give us as many details as they can.’

Murphy’s probation officer, one of a team allocated to him and numerous others, was surprisingly young. She was slim and neat with large rimless glasses, and very much on the defensive.

‘You know we have two hundred thousand offenders under supervision at any one time.’

‘But not in the specific area.’ Anna tried not to sound angry.

‘No, of course not, but we do have over a hundred. What I was going to say was that, out of that two hundred thousand, we know that only about a hundred will commit a further serious offence. That is a fraction of one per cent.’

Anna gritted her teeth. ‘I am here about one specific offender, Arthur George Murphy.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that, but I am trying to explain to you: we get so much pressure — blame, in reality — when we do not have the resources to monitor offenders, even those that we have been told are high or very high risk.’

Anna took a deep breath. ‘That is irrelevant. The fact is Arthur Murphy was able to walk out of his hostel and kill a poor defenceless woman. I am not here to listen to the problems within the probation services; it sounds very sobering and appalling and for you, obviously, deeply distressing. I need from you any possible friend, relative, any previous known contact of his that he might have been able to get to, anyone who could be protecting him.’

‘I am not allowed to divulge personal details.’

That was it. Anna jumped up and banged on the woman’s desk with the flat of her hand. ‘Irene Phelps was raped and sodomized, her throat cut, her body slashed, and she was found by her twelve-year-old daughter. Now, that child will live for the rest of her life with that nightmarish image of her mother. We need to bring this man in and charge him; we need to put him away and this time, for life, so if you have anything, and I mean anything, that might help us trace him, then would you please assist me to the best of your ability and not make excuses for the total failure of your department!’

Anna slammed the door of her Mini so hard the car rocked. She could not believe the amount of time it had taken to get three possible contacts that their killer might or might not have approached. His sister, Gail Dunn, had requested anonymity after her brother’s last rape and prison sentence: she had moved away from London in the hope of losing all contact with him. The other two names were recently released prisoners who had spent time with Murphy. Both these men were installed in different hostels in London, one tagged, so they should not be too difficult to track down.

Anna reported back to the incident room. Blunt took the job of tracking down the two ex-prisoners; she and Brandon were to visit Murphy’s sister. To be cooped up with Brandon and his cologne for a long drive to the New Forest was not a prospect Anna relished. She would have preferred to do it alone.

When she had suggested this, Sheldon had one of his nasty turns, pointing his finger at her. ‘This man is dangerous. No way would I allow you to visit his sister alone; neither of you can take the risk if he’s hiding out there, and it’s a possibility. So, I’ve already contacted local police for back-up; you touch base with them as soon as you arrive and they’ll be standing by. You are not working with risk-taker Langton now, Detective Inspector Travis — I look out for my team. Now get on out there!’

Anna made no reply. He’d made her feel two inches tall, and she was beginning to loathe him, but at the same time she knew he was right. Murphy could be anywhere, and he was dangerous.

Gail Dunn, Arthur Murphy’s sister, had been traced to the New Forest. She had been using the surname Summers when she first moved, but now called herself Sickert. Gail was living in a rented bungalow with numerous outhouses used as a small market garden business and piggery. Judging by the state of the entire premises, it was none too successful. The gate hung off its hinges and there were deep puddles and potholes in the drive leading to the bungalow. Numerous wrecked cars littered the land, rusting and tyreless. Kids’ bicycles and toys were left in profusion on a balding patch of lawn.

Brandon sniffed and pulled a face. ‘Jesus Christ, what is that stench?’

‘Pigs. There’s some pens out the back.’

Brandon looked around uneasily. ‘You know, the Gov was right. I don’t like the look of this place. I’ll call in for the back-up. If Murphy’s hiding out in any of those outbuildings, he can just do a runner.’

‘Maybe we should have just tipped them off to search and not waste time.’ Anna followed his gaze. The place looked awash with mud. ‘Or don’t you want to get your shoes muddy?’

Brandon glared at her; he was not amused, but walked away from the front door to make a call. He gestured for her to go ahead and ring the doorbell. Anna pressed the bell, but it made no sound; she pressed again.

Brandon joined her. ‘We got two cars on their way; not answering the door, huh?’

‘Bell’s not working.’ Anna rapped with her knuckles on the door.

Brandon walked to a window and cupped his hands to peer inside, then rejoined Anna at the front door.

‘I don’t like this; let’s wait for back-up to get here.’

Anna nodded, then checked her watch. ‘Unless she’s gone to pick up her kids from school… Do we know if she’s living with anyone? Changes her name often enough.’

‘They didn’t have any details.’ Brandon walked over to look at the greenhouses and huts behind the bungalow then rejoined Anna. ‘Bloody good place to hide out though, isn’t it? Christ, this stench is disgusting. How can she live here with kids?’

She nodded; the place did have a desolate feel. Like Brandon, she now started to look through the windows.

‘Let’s go round the back,’ she suggested.

Brandon shook his head. ‘Nope, we wait.’

‘No dog.’

‘What?’

‘I said, there’s no dog. Usually in a place like this, they have some scraggy dog loose, or chained up. It’s the silence that’s freaky.’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Okay — I’ll take a look round the back, you stay out front. They should be here any minute.’

Anna nodded, and couldn’t help but smile as she saw Brandon roll up the bottom of his trousers to head down the muddy pathway. He was only just out of sight when Anna heard a soft mewing sound; at first, she thought it could be a cat, but listening harder, she was sure it was a child.

At the same time, two patrol cars headed into the drive. Anna hurried across and gestured for one car to head round the back to join Brandon and the second to come with her to the front door.

‘There’s been no answer at the front door, but someone’s inside. I think you need to give a big loud bang on the door and make yourselves obvious. If still no one opens up, break it down.’

Brandon was relieved to be accompanied by one officer; the other began sloshing through the mud towards the outhouses. Closer, the stench of the pigs made him feel sick. He heard the loud banging at the front door just as he reached the back one.

‘Police! Open the door! Police!’

Brandon tried the back door; it too was locked. He stepped back, put his shoulder against it and gave a strong push, then another, but it took both him and the officer with him to burst it open.

At the same time, Anna, with her two officers, had broken down the front door and entered the hallway.

‘Police! Come out and show yourself! Police!’

A terrified little girl wearing a pair of pyjamas toddled out of the back bedroom. Anna bent down and opened her arms.

‘It’s okay, little one. Come here — come on, come to me.’

The child seemed rooted to the spot, so Anna had to walk very slowly towards her. She turned to the officers and quietly told them to search the front room where she thought she had seen the curtain move.

Anna bent down to be on the child’s level. ‘Where’s your mummy?’

She began to cry.

‘What’s your name? I’m not going to hurt you. Why don’t you just come to me and tell me your name?’

The child started to scream as the officers came out from the front room. ‘No one in there.’

Meanwhile, Brandon was looking around the kitchen; piled with dirty dishes and used pans, it looked as if a meal had been prepared and left on the table. He walked into the hall.

‘Nobody’s in the kitchen, but someone left in a hurry.’

Anna had by now calmed the little girl, and was carrying her in her arms. ‘I don’t know if she can talk, but she’s soaking wet, and we’ve no one in the front room.’

Brandon nodded and then opened a bedroom door: dirty sheets and three unmade beds, plus a child’s cot. Toys strewn everywhere.

‘Empty; let’s try this one.’

This was the only room they had not yet looked into. He eased the door open very quietly and then hung back, before he slowly pushed it wide open.

This was the main bedroom: a double bed, again with unmade sheets and very untidy, but no occupant.

‘Where’s your mummy?’ Anna again asked the little girl who was now silent; she smelled strongly of urine and possibly more. ‘Is your mummy outside?’

It was at this point that the officer who had been looking around the outhouses and huts appeared at the back door.

‘Nobody out there, but we’d need more men to have a thorough search. Place is really run down; there’s some hens in a pen and pigs and a goat, but nothing else moving.’

Brandon shrugged. ‘What do you make of this?’

Anna carried the little girl into the children’s room, and sat her down on a small child’s armchair.

‘Do you know where your mummy is?’ she tried again.

No reply. Anna sighed; the child was totally mute, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Brandon stood in the doorway. She looked at him.

‘Listen, should I change her, put her in dry clothes? She’s soaking wet and she stinks.’

‘I wouldn’t — it’s up to you.’

‘Can I get you some nice dry clothes?’

The child shrank back from her.

It was then they heard a jeep driving up, an old Shogun that sounded as if the exhaust had fallen off. By the time Brandon had reached the front door, a woman had jumped out of the Shogun and was running towards the bungalow, screaming.

‘What’s going on? What the hell is going on?’

She was tall and skinny, wearing jeans and Wellington boots, with a man’s jacket tied round her waist over a stained T-shirt.

Brandon blocked her at the front door. ‘Gail Sickert? I am Detective Inspector Brandon.’

‘What the fuck has happened?’ She tried to push past him, shouting out, ‘Tina! Tina!’

‘Just calm down, love. Is this your little girl?’

‘What’s happened? Let me in — get out the fucking way!’

Brandon blocked the door. ‘Your kid’s fine. Just stay calm. We need to talk to you.’

Anna carried out the little girl.

Gail was allowed to go to her. She held out her arms and hugged her tightly. ‘Fucking coppers, you broke me door. What’s this about?’

Brandon cleared the officers out and told them to wait in the patrol cars.

By now, Gail had changed Tina, and her other daughter, Sharon, had been brought out of the Shogun. Sharon was seven years old, a thin waif-like child with lank blonde hair and red-rimmed eyes.

‘I only went to get her from school and take my Keith round to his mate’s house to play. I weren’t gone for longer than twenty minutes, for God’s sake. You’re not going to report this to the bloody social services, are you?’

Anna asked Brandon to give her some space as Gail was in such a state, rocking the still-silent Tina in her arms and keeping Sharon close to her.

‘Gail, I’m really sorry we’ve frightened you.’

‘You just bloody broke in here — you got no right to do that, she’s terrified. You got no right to break into the place.’

‘Gail, we do have every right. We’re looking for your brother.’

‘He’s not fucking here. I wouldn’t let him cross the bloody doorstep, he’s a lunatic. I’m gonna make an official complaint about this.’

‘Your brother is wanted in connection with a murder.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with me. You lot have had him in the nick more times than I’ve had hot fucking dinners and you just let him out; he’s sick, sick in his head. I’ve not seen him for years and if he did come here, my bloke’d take a shotgun to him.’

Gail started to sob. This upset the little girl, Tina, and she began to cry. This started Sharon off and she clung to her mother, crying too.

Anna put the kettle on. It was greasy to touch and the sink was full of filthy dishes. The kitchen was disgusting.

‘Where is your husband?’ she asked.

Gail sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘He left just after I moved in here; bastard just pissed off.’

‘That would be Mr Summers?’

‘Yeah. I changed me name to Sickert, as I’m livin’ with someone else now.’

‘And where is he?’

‘He had to collect some pig food, went off early this morning. I have never left my kid on her own before, but I had to pick this one up.’

Anna emptied a cold teapot full of tea bags into the overflowing trash.

Brandon and the other officers did a thorough search of the property, but there was no sign of Murphy. The patrol cars left and Brandon came to the back door, but got a warning look from Anna to stay out. By now, she had made a cup of tea for Gail and warmed a bottle to give Tina some milk.

‘She’s deaf,’ Gail said, rocking her.

Sharon was sitting eating biscuits, banging her heels against the side of a high stool. Anna sat opposite Gail, drinking from a nasty chipped mug.

‘We need to find your brother,’ she said softly.

‘Well, I dunno where he is, and I don’t want to know; if I did know I would tell you, and you have to believe me. I think they should have locked him away for life — meaning life — after what he done to those poor women, and now you say he’s done it again.’ Gail took a deep breath. ‘Molested me when I was at home with me mum — I think he’d have raped his own granny if he could. Few drinks and he was a brute. I hated him; my mum didn’t know how to handle him, now he’s killed some poor woman and it’s me you come to looking for him. I dunno what’s wrong with you lot. I’d like to kill him myself.’

Anna listened and kept her voice calm and steady. ‘We’ll get both your doors repaired today, Gail.’

‘So you bleedin’ should. My man’s gonna go apeshit when he comes back. You’d best make yourself scarce.

‘Is there anywhere you think your brother would go to, to stay with someone who would be prepared to protect him?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve not seen him for Christ knows how long.’

‘No one you can think of?’

‘No. Like I said, I’ve not been in contact with him since…’ She frowned, then put her mug of tea down and went over to an untidy sideboard. She opened one drawer after another, then took out a small photograph.

‘The last time he was released, Arthur come by and he was with this horrible bloke, stank of booze; they wanted money and my husband kicked them out. He warned Arthur that if he ever came back, he’d beat the hell out of him. For all his bravado and macho thing with women, he’s a wimp, but he had this guy with him and my kid Keith had this little throwaway camera… I don’t remember the other one’s name even, just that they’d met in prison; he and Arthur were bragging about stuff, and I made Sharon go up an’ stay in her room.’ She passed the photograph to Anna. ‘I remember him gloating about how he’d been living free of police supervision because of some legal loophole; he said something about the register. He and Arthur had had a fair amount to drink. That was when my husband had listened to enough and threw them out.’

Anna looked at the photograph. ‘And this was how many years ago?’

‘Two — no, longer. I dunno. I didn’t even have Tina then, so it’s a while back.’

‘So it wouldn’t have been here at the bungalow?’

‘No, me other place.’

‘Has he been here?’

Gail turned away and wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘No, thank God.’

‘And this man with your brother, you don’t recall his name?’

‘No. Had a Newcastle accent though.’

Anna spent a while longer with Gail before she felt she was able to leave.

Brandon, sitting in the car, was impatient. He glared at her as she sat beside him. ‘I hope you bloody got something. I know I did — fleas! What a shithole. She should be reported to the social services for leaving that little kid on her own.’

Anna said nothing as he started up the engine and they drove out; just as they turned into the road, an open lorry piled high with pig food turned into the drive.

Back at the station they used computer imagery to identify the man in the photograph as Vernon Kramer. 1976: he had convictions for dishonesty and served twelve months. 1980: convicted of bodily harm and theft; received a six-month sentence. 1984: acquitted of three rapes. 1986: sentenced to six years for the rape and indecent assault of two fourteen-year-old girls. He was released early in 1990, after serving just three years. Eight months later, Kramer was sentenced to five years for the false imprisonment of a thirteen-year-old girl he abducted at knifepoint. This sentence coincided with Murphy’s conviction; the two men then served time in the same prison.

Anna sighed and turned to Brandon. ‘He was released yet again in January 1997. This is maybe what Gail meant — he gloated about being out too early to be listed on the sex offenders’ register.’

‘Yeah, him and thousands of others, because their crimes took place before the register was created. It was, believe it or not, feared they would claim their inclusion was a breach of bloody human rights! Makes me want to throw up.’

Anna nodded in agreement, then she turned over a page and looked to Brandon.

‘Last known address … you are not going to believe this, but it’s in Brixton — and not far from where our victim was living.’

Brandon approached and leaned over the back of her chair; he’d refreshed his cologne and she had to take a deep breath.

‘Let’s check it out,’ he said. ‘If he’s harbouring Murphy, we need to get in there — and fast.’

Not wanting to tip off Kramer, they used the old ‘voting register’ scam. Anna had agreed to act as a decoy; she would simply knock on the door of the hostel to ask whoever answered if they had the correct names listed for the voting register. The hostel was in a very rundown area of Brixton, and contained eight bedsits. The man who opened the front door was black, very muscular, and naked, down to a pair of boxer shorts; he also seemed stoned out of his head. He had a wide, gap-toothed smile, with two gold teeth beside the gap. He looked her up and down, then slammed the door shut, having told her to fuck off! Anna gasped — he had towered above her and smelt heavily of body odour. She reported back to the team. As the house was already staked out, they decided Anna could return to base and they would wait.

As luck would have it, before she even left, the front door opened again and Kramer walked out. Anna remained in the unmarked patrol car. He was tailed to an off-licence, where he bought twelve cans of beer and a bottle of vodka. He then walked to a fish and chip shop and was seen to buy two portions of fish and chips.

Totally unaware he was being tailed, Kramer walked casually back to the house. He stopped at one point to light a fresh cigarette from the stub in his mouth, tossing it aside. He then continued to the front door and fumbled with the keys. Just as he was letting himself in, Brandon and two back-up officers moved in. Kramer didn’t put up any kind of resistance. He admitted that Murphy was in his flat, and said he was scared to kick him out. He was searched, handcuffed and taken to Anna’s patrol car; he sat sullenly in the back, leaning his head against the window as they drove back to the station.

Kramer lived in bedsit 4B. Brandon, accompanied by the two uniformed officers, entered the house and knocked on the door. There was a pause, then it was unlocked.

‘Did you remember to get them to put vinegar on mine?’ said a voice.

Brandon shouldered his way in. There was a brief moment when Murphy thought of attempting to fight his way past, but he gave up fast.

Anna would have liked to have been in on the interrogation, but no way: this was Brandon and Sheldon’s territory. As Murphy was intoxicated when he was brought in, they delayed questioning him until first thing the following morning. No one had mentioned the fact that it was Anna who had patiently questioned his sister and come up with the photograph that led them to capture him. She remained at the station until nine, writing up her report, before leaving for home. She was too tired to go and visit Langton, so called Glebe House to say she was working late. She spoke to the night nurse and was told that Langton had had a good day’s physio and was watching a movie. Anna asked for him not to be interrupted, but to pass on the message that she would see him the following evening.

She felt guilty about being so relieved to get an early night. Tomorrow would be the interrogation, then Murphy would be taken to the magistrates. There was, she knew, no possibility of bail. She calculated that a trial date would be set quite quickly, then it would be down to preparation for the trial. That would be the end of the case.

Anna was back at the station by eight-fifteen the next day; Murphy was to be brought up from the holding cell at nine for the interrogation. By nine-fifteen, she was sitting alone in the small observation room adjacent to the interview room. Murphy had still not been brought up, as they were waiting for his solicitor to finish talking to him. It was just after ten when they took up their seats and she saw Murphy for the first time.

Murphy, wearing a white paper suit, was sullen-faced. He had cropped hair, big flat ears and a large nose. His thin mouth was drawn downwards, almost clownishly, at the sides. His eyes were dark and blank, giving hardly any expression at all. He sat with his hands cupped in front of him, big gnarled hands with dirty fingernails. Anna felt disgusted by the look of him, by his insolence and by the lack of any kind of remorse when shown the photographs of his victim.

He leaned forwards and then rested back. ‘Yeah, that’s her.’

It was chilling to hear him explain how he had seen Irene Phelps on a number of occasions walking back towards her flat. He said, without any emotion, how on that particular day he had followed her to her door and simply pushed her inside. At one point, when Brandon was discussing the DNA results from his attack, he had shrugged.

‘You know, you people think rape is about sex. Of course, sex comes into it, but you know what it’s really about? Power.’ Murphy’s thin clown mouth drew down in a sickening smirk. ‘I had power over her. Sex is just an extension of that power. Afterwards, I was real hungry, so I made up a sandwich: tomatoes, lettuce, and there was some ham. It tasted good.’

Anna clenched her fists; it was so hard to believe what this man had done and, moreover, how he could sit there talking about making a ham sandwich with the blood of his victim still on his hideous hands.

‘I can’t help it.’ He gestured wide, then continued. ‘I got this determination, you see, deep down inside me, and it’s really deepset, you know what I mean? And my problem has always been that I have to satisfy that anger. What did you say her name was?’

Brandon’s face was taut. ‘Irene Phelps.’

‘Right, Irene; well, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I suppose it was lucky her daughter wasn’t home, because I’d thought about doing her.’

Anna walked out of the room. She couldn’t stand to watch another second’s gloating from that sickening man, who’d murdered a decent young woman and probably traumatized her twelve-year-old daughter for the rest of her life. Murphy’s psychiatric reports from the time he had been in prison evaluated him as being very dangerous; the fact that he was released made it chilling to even contemplate the total ineptness of the probation departments. It exposed the terrifying weaknesses at the heart of the criminal justice system.

Anna returned to her desk as Harry Blunt passed with two mugs of coffee; he placed one down for her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, rather surprised.

‘Good work — that photograph was a piece of luck. That animal could have hung out for weeks, maybe months; the filth he was living with, they could have started to kill together.’

Anna sipped her coffee. Harry seemed loath to move away. ‘I’ve got a daughter the same age as Irene Phelps’s little girl,’ he told her.

‘Did her father come and see her?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, she’s going to be living with him. Won’t be easy; he’s got two kids with another wife and, at her age, moving schools, new environment… Poor little soul.’ He slurped his coffee and then sighed. ‘You know, there are no excuses over this bastard. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong, and what makes me puke is that no one is going to take the blame, and they should. His effing so-called probation officers should be sacked. Whoever gave that son of a bitch a low-risk category should be fired; better still, be made to look at the dead woman’s corpse — ask them then if they still think he’s a low risk. Do you know how many murders last year were committed by low-risk bastards freed on parole?’

‘Not right off, no, I don’t.’

Harry leaned forwards. ‘Nearly fifty. I dunno how they think we can do our job; we no sooner get them to trial and banged up than they let them loose again! Bloody frustrating. I tell you what, if that creature in there had killed my daughter, then I’d strangle him. Why not? Gimme twelve years — good behaviour, I’d be out in seven, probably less. I’m not kidding. The Home Secretary said there was a crisis — a fucking crisis? I’d say it’s a lot more than that. My mate’s a prison officer, and he says his pals have been warning the Prison Officers Association: there’s overcrowded wings, riots and hostage taking — something he’s gotta face every week, and you know what? The Home Office pays forces nearly four hundred quid for each prisoner, that’s if you count it up; a bill to the tax payers of over ten bleedin’ million, and are they building new prisons? Are they hell as like. That’s how fucking pricks like Murphy get out early. And now you know they are giving inmates friggin’ keys to their cells, so they gain respect? Jesus Christ, I dunno what the world is coming to.’

He drained his coffee and stood up. ‘Sorry,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘Just needed to get it off my chest.’

‘Do you ever talk about your work with your wife?’

‘No, I try to close down when I walk out of here, but on this, with my daughter being the same age… I kept on looking at her, then looking at my wife and thinking, what if it had happened here, in my house? My home invaded by that madman, and one that should never have been let out on the streets? Well, look at poor old Jimmy.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Langton. Fucking illegal immigrant got him and nearly killed him, and from what I’ve heard, he’d have been better off.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, he’s not going to walk again, is he?’

Anna flushed. ‘Yes, of course he is. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but he’s making a remarkable recovery.’

‘Just a bloke I knew who was at the rehabilitation home, released a few days ago; he told me. May have got it wrong, sorry.’

‘Yes, you have got it wrong, Harry.’

‘Well, I’ve said I’m sorry, love. I know you and he are — what exactly? Living together?’

Anna stood up, packing her files. ‘I hope you will put your friend right. James is really hoping to get back to work soon.’

‘Oh well, good on him.’ Harry moved away, leaving her feeling tense and angry, but thankfully no longer thinking about Arthur George Murphy. She would not allow him to invade her life. Langton already had.

She felt so protective towards Jimmy and, moreover, so upset that rumours were spreading that he would never walk again.