Clean Cut

Chapter Three

As soon as Anna had been released from duty, she called the rehabilitation home to see if she could speak to Langton to confirm that she would, unlike the previous night, be there to see him.

‘Hi, how you doing?’ He sounded unlike himself.

‘Well, we caught the killer and he’s admitted it. He couldn’t really get out of it; we had enough evidence.’ She listened. ‘Hello, are you still there?’

‘Yeah, but listen, I’m feeling really whacked out, been doing a lot of work in the gym. I’m just going to crash out and have an early night. Let’s say you come tomorrow?’

‘Well, it’s up to you.’

‘So, see you tomorrow. I’m glad you got a result. G’night.’

The phone went dead. She sat holding the receiver, feeling wretched. He really hadn’t sounded like himself — not even his moody self. She waited a while and then called again, this time to speak to the nurse. By the time that call ended, she felt even worse.

Langton had not been working out in the gym — far from it. He had overstretched himself the day before and now had an infection in his knee joint; he was unable to walk and in great pain. The swelling was the size of a football and they were very concerned; having already had septicaemia once, they were worried there might be a recurrence. He had been given morphine to dull the pain and was, as they spoke, being taken back to his room to sleep.

Anna wanted to weep. Had this so-called friend of Harry Blunt’s been right, and would Langton never walk again? She went over everything the nurse had said and was certain that if Langton did rest, did not push himself, the infection could be controlled and he would be able to return to exercising, in moderation.

She cooked herself an omelette but hardly touched it, and was about to go over to Langton’s flat to collect his mail, when the doorbell rang. It was Mike Lewis; he apologized for not calling her and just turning up, but he had been to see Langton himself.

Anna passed Lewis a glass of wine; he sat, glum-faced, on her sofa.

‘He’s not in good shape, Anna.’

She said she’d called the night nurse and knew about the knee infection.

‘Well, that’s part of his problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s all the other stuff, you know.’

‘No, I don’t. What do you mean?’

‘His head; his mind is all confused, and he’s so bloody angry.’

‘Wouldn’t you be?’ she said defensively.

‘Yeah yeah — of course, but I can’t help him Anna. I can’t do what he wants.’

‘Which is what, exactly?’

‘Track down this bloody illegal immigrant that knifed him.’

‘Has he asked you to do that?’

‘Christ, he’s on the phone every day asking me how far I’ve got, what I’ve come up with, but you know there’s been a dedicated team trying to locate the bastards. I’m already on another case and I don’t have the time to do what he wants.’

‘How far have you got?’

‘Well, that’s the point — I haven’t. There’s no trace of them. I reckon they’ve already skipped the country, but telling him that is like a red rag to a bull. He refuses to believe the bastard could just walk away, or fly, or whatever he’s done, but we can’t get a trace on either of them. The team handling the search have done no better.’

‘Have you got any details with you?’

Lewis sighed and opened his briefcase. ‘I’ve the original case file, which I should not have made copies of, but I did. The rest is all I’ve been able to get so far.’

‘Can you leave this with me?’

Lewis nodded. ‘Sure, but you won’t get any help from anyone. I’ve just come across a brick wall. I don’t know what else to do.’

Anna made Lewis a sandwich and changed the subject, asking him about his son and how Barolli was doing.

‘Well, we’re all missing having the boss as our SIO; no one comes up to him, have you found that? I know you’ve been working with that prick Sheldon.’

Anna smiled.

‘Anna, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, same with Barolli, but it’s fruitless.’ Lewis hesitated. ‘You know, what is important is that he concentrates on getting fit. As it stands, he’s never going to be able to work again; he’ll have to go before a physical assessment board and no way will he come through it. I think he’ll get signed off.’

Anna showed Lewis out. By this time, it was after eleven and she didn’t feel like going through the files he had left. She had too much to think about, predominantly Langton’s physical condition. She set her alarm for five o’clock, to give her time to read up on the file. She had no notion of what it contained, but if she could do anything to help, then she would make it her priority.

The file contained copies of all the murder enquiry paperwork: witness statements, documents from the arrest of the suspect, and numerous photographs. Added to these were Lewis’s notes and, in a small black notebook, Langton’s own private notes on the case. Langton had an expression: ‘it’s in the book’. He would tap the pocket where he kept it. Jokes about train spotting or ‘one for the book, Gov’ were often heard around the incident room. He would say it whenever anyone screwed up — that could even mean forgetting his morning coffee! When Anna had asked him about it, he had grinned and said it was common knowledge he had a terrible memory; he had started, when he was a rookie, just making notes of things he shouldn’t forget — sometimes, it could be just to remind himself to collect his laundry. Over the years, it had become a habit and then a talking-point; then he noticed that he could make detectives very edgy if they saw him jotting something down whilst he was with them.

‘Like to keep my team on their toes,’ he laughed.

She said to him that she had never seen him use it.

‘Ah. That’s because what I jotted down about you had nothing to do with police work.’

‘You’re telling me you needed to be reminded of whether or not you fancied me?’

Again he had laughed, dismissing it with a waft of his hand. ‘The date of your birthday? Now forget it. It’s just a joke anyway; and besides, you constantly have your nose in your official notebook — more than any other officer I have ever worked with.’

It was true; in fact, her father had tipped her off. He always said to write everything down, because the memory can play tricks. If you are required to recall in detail an incident for the courtroom, your book becomes your security blanket.

Langton’s notebook had a red elastic band wound tightly round it. It was slightly curved, as if it had taken the shape of his chest. Anna eased back the elastic band, and wrapped it round the palm of her hand before she opened the book. His small, tight handwriting covered every page, back and front, until three-quarters of the way through, when it stopped abruptly. The thin pages were stiff; a couple she had to blow apart, which made her think that no one had read the notes recently. Maybe Lewis hadn’t bothered; if the notebook was such a joke, he might not have thought it of any value.

The writing was meticulously neat, but not that easy to read; she peered at page one.

The call out for the horrific murder of a teenage girl called Carly Ann North came in at 9 a.m. The body had been discovered on wasteground behind King’s Cross station. Although only sixteen years of age, North had already been convicted of prostitution and sent to a young offenders’ institute. She was from a very dysfunctional background, both parents heroin addicts. She had been knifed and her wounds were horrific; the killer had attempted to decapitate her. He had also tried to remove her hands, to avoid fingerprints being taken. A police officer had disturbed the killer, having seen three men loitering near the wasteground. He caught him, but the others, obviously acting as lookouts, ran off, leaving their friend fighting with the officer. The killer was an illegal immigrant. The judge had ordered at his trial that, after serving a sentence for rape, he should be deported. Underlined was his name: Idris Krasiniqe, aged twenty-five.

Anna then turned from the notebook back to the case file. Krasiniqe had a string of offences, from possession of cannabis to common assault; he’d had community punishment when only eighteen years of age. His last offence was the robbery, when the judge had ordered his deportation after sentence; yet eight months after his release, he was still at large and this time had murdered Carly Ann North.

Anna sighed. It was just unbelievable, especially with the ongoing case against Arthur Murphy. How could this man have been allowed to stay in the country, after a judge’s order for deportation!

In the same meticulous writing, Langton had made a few personal notes: one about Barolli being too overweight; another, that Lewis was slacking, as his wife was expecting another child and, with a toddler, he was often tired and late for work.

Anna sat back. She wondered how many of these private notes he had made about her, but she didn’t have time to continue looking over the file. She had to get herself to work on time!

The day went slowly. Murphy was taken before a magistrate. Bail, as they knew it would be, was refused and he was shipped off to Wandsworth prison to await his trial.

Anna returned home to change and get ready to leave for Glebe House. First, she picked up Langton’s keys and went round to his flat.

There was a stack of post, mostly junk mail, on the doormat. She picked it all up and took it to the dining-room table, to sift through it. There was a similar stack already on the table. The flat was quite tidy; she wondered if his ex-wife had been round. Anna knew she often stayed there with Kitty. If this was the case, she hadn’t bothered to empty the laundry basket in the bathroom. Anna stuffed everything into a bin liner to take home to wash, and then went into his bedroom.

The bed had been made and the room looked reasonably neat. The only photograph on his bedside table was of Kitty, sitting on a pony and beaming into the camera. Anna checked for any unpaid bills on the dressing-table, but there were just some ten-and twenty-pound notes left with change on top. She opened a drawer to take out some fresh pyjamas and, as she did so, she found a photo album. Anna felt guilty about looking through it, but couldn’t resist. It was of his wedding to his first wife. She was, as Anna had been told, very beautiful and they looked very much in love. At the end of the book was a small remembrance card from her funeral.

Anna replaced the album and shut the drawer. Just as she turned away, she noticed a piece of newspaper sticking out of another drawer. She eased it open. It was crammed with newspaper articles, cut out and pinned together. Anna checked the time and reckoned she had better get a move on, or she would be later than ever to see Langton. Collecting them all, she put the cuttings into her briefcase.

Langton wheeled towards her in the reception area, beaming. ‘I was just about to give up on you.’

‘I’m sorry. I went over to your flat to collect some clean pyjamas.’

‘Any mail for me?’

‘Yes, I’ve brought it. Can we go somewhere and sit down?’

‘I already am,’ he laughed.

Langton spun round and headed towards a lounge area, banging the double doors open with his chair. Anna gave a rueful smile; even in his wheelchair, he still had the habit of forgetting she was behind him, barging through doors and letting them swing back in her face.

‘As you can see, it’s a hive of activity,’ he said, gesturing to the empty room.

‘Well, that’s good, we can have some privacy.’

‘They’ll all be watching some crap on TV, or in the bar; you want a drink?’

‘No, thanks. Have you had something to eat?’

‘I think it was fish, but it could have been Christ only knows what; I could have used it as a table-tennis bat.’

She sat in a comfortable chair and placed her various bags on the coffee-table. Langton manoeuvred the chair to sit opposite; as she took out the mail, he glanced through it, muttering that it was all rubbish.

‘I left a load of junk mail behind,’ Anna told him. ‘I think your ex-wife had been there and left even more. There’s a few bills you need to pay.’

‘Yeah yeah, leave them — I’ll sort them.’

‘Do you have your chequebook with you?’

‘Yeah yeah, and my credit card, so no problem.’

She laid out his clean clothes. He kept twisting in his chair.

‘You look well,’ she said. He didn’t. He was unshaven and he smelled of drink. ‘Been in the bar, have you?’

‘I have; there’s nothing else to do, and don’t ask about the conversation in there — load of fruits. Can’t have a sane conversation with any one of them.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

He suddenly went quiet. ‘Nope. It’s not, just making conversation.’

She leaned forwards. ‘How’s the physio going?’

He bowed his head. ‘I can’t walk yet and it’s painful, but the bastards won’t give me any more painkillers. They count them out like I was ten years old.’

‘Well, they have to do that for a reason; you don’t want to get addicted to them.’

‘What would you know about it?’

‘Well, I’m really glad I schlepped all the way here, if you can’t be pleasant.’

‘I hate this fucking chair.’

‘You seem to be very adept at wheeling about in it.’

He shrugged. ‘I might be in it for the rest of my life.’

‘Of course you won’t.’

‘I hate it — hate being so dependent, you know? I can’t even take a piss without falling over.’

‘Well, you were told it would take time.’

‘Oh, stop talking down to me as if I was mentally screwed up as well as physically.’

‘You know, undergoing a life-threatening operation, and then—’

‘I know what I went through. Sometimes I wish I’d never pulled through.’

‘Well, I for one am glad that you did.’

‘Are you?’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘You fancy being attached to a cripple, do you?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Well, if you want a straight answer: as it is, you are pretty unpleasant, but—’

He interrupted her. ‘Well, I’ve given this some thought, and I want you to know that I’m not coming back to your place. In fact, I think it’s probably better if we call it quits right now.’

‘Call what quits?’

‘You and me, Anna — what do you think I’m talking about? I don’t want you coming to see me any more. I mean it; you didn’t bargain for this, nor did I. So, let’s just be adult about my situation.’

‘You think you are?’

‘What?’

‘Being adult about this!’

‘I reckon I am.’

‘Then why don’t you take into consideration my feelings?’

‘That’s just what I am bloody doing!’

‘No, you are not. You haven’t even given me a chance to say what I think, what I feel—’

‘I’m all ears.’

He was making her feel so frustrated, there was such anger in him.

‘Maybe the fact that I love you should be considered.’

‘Do you?’

‘You know I do.’

He turned away.

‘You don’t show me any kind of affection whatsoever; you’ve not even touched me, let alone kissed me,’ she said.

‘Hard from this chair.’

‘Oh stop it, please.’

He bowed his head and the tears streamed down his face. She was not expecting that. She got up and went to him, wanting to put her arms around him.

‘For Chrissakes, leave me alone.’

She gripped the arms of his chair. ‘Look at me. Look at me!’

He wouldn’t and she felt such anguish; she was close enough to touch him and yet he was refusing to allow her near.

‘Right, fuck you then.’ She straightened, returned to her bag and started packing up her things. ‘If this is the way you want it.’

‘It is. Just go away, Anna. Leave me — I mean it.’

She made quite a show of putting aside the things she had brought for him and getting her car keys. He remained silent.

She really didn’t have anything else she could say, apart from, ‘Goodbye. Please don’t bother to show me out.’

She had never heard his voice so soft and painful. ‘I’m sorry.’

She chucked her keys onto the table and went to him, wrapping him in her arms. ‘Please don’t send me away.’

‘I’m sorry; you are the only thing I have.’

‘Then for God’s sake, stop this nonsense and never, never do it again to me. You hurt me and I get all confused, because I love you so much.’

He said it — hardly audible, but he said it. ‘I love you, Anna.’

They kissed. It wasn’t a passionate embrace, but the kiss was sweet and gentle. He touched her face. ‘I wait all day to see you, then I behave like a bastard.’

‘I wait all day to be with you.’ She drew up a chair to be able to sit close to him and hold his hand. He gripped it so tightly it hurt, but she didn’t mind.

Anna eventually had to leave, but there was a quiet understanding between them that had never been there before. When he kissed her goodbye, he whispered that he would count the hours until he saw her again. He was tearful again; it was so poignant and heartbreaking.

Langton waved to her as she crossed the car park. He had gone by the time she was sitting inside her car. She waited for a few moments before she was able to cry. He had never been so vulnerable, so dependent and so scared of the future. She drove home with such mixed feelings churning up inside her. The reality was, she didn’t honestly know how she would be able to cope with him coming home. If he remained as incapacitated as he was now, there was no way he could return to work. She knew her love would have to be very strong to deal with him and the probability that he would be an invalid for the rest of his life.

Anna was still deeply unsettled when she got home. She made some hot chocolate and sat up in bed, thinking about her parents. Isabella Travis had been like a child in many ways. She had been sexually assaulted as a young art student. Anna’s father, Jack, had investigated the case, became her protector and subsequently her husband. Anna’s entire childhood had been blissfully ignorant of any trauma; they had kept it so far removed from her that she had never known the truth until both parents were dead. Could she, like her father, take on Langton and love him, no matter what?

Anna continued to work on Murphy’s forthcoming trial; at the same time, she made the daily visits to see Langton. She found it very exhausting to drive the distance every night there and back before going into the station the next morning. Some nights, the prognosis was good and he was cheerful; other nights, he was morose and in great pain. The injury to his knee was taking a long time to heal, but what made her really worried was the latest talk she had with the head nurse.

He described Langton’s physical condition as 50 per cent better; however, he was not mentally coping with the injuries. He was, as she well knew, deeply angry, but what she had been unprepared for was to be told that he was suffering from deep depression. He was also drinking heavily and creating ill-feeling amongst the other patients.

It did not help for Anna to be told that, during these rehabilitation periods, many officers behaved in much the same way. They were so used to being in control: to lose it became so emotionally debilitating that often the nurses, physiotherapists and psychiatrists were unable to make any headway until they were about to be discharged. Anna could not bring herself to ask if it was conceivable that Langton would be able to return to work. It was looking highly unlikely, every visit.

It was not until the weekend, however, when she was checking through the bundle of newspaper clippings she had taken from Langton’s flat, that she became most concerned.

1. Hunt for child sex attacker who cut off his tag to flee bail hostel. The suspect’s photograph was ringed in pencil.

2. Why was this rapist who butchered our beautiful daughter allowed to walk the streets unsupervised? The article was underlined twice.

3. This Latvian came to Britain after raping two women. Now he’s accused of the murder of a schoolgirl here. The suspect’s photo had a black mark across his face.

4. The one hundred year backlog on asylum. This article was so heavily underlined that the pen had cut through the newspaper.

5. UK passports for 200,000 foreigners.

6. Asylum seekers come first. He’d underlined this in red.

7. 23 foreign offenders allowed to walk free.

8. Offenders. Reoffenders convicted of fresh crimes including drugs, violent disorder, grievous and actual body harm, and two murders. The row of faces was again ringed, with odd dates jotted down beside them.

9. Will no one pay for this fiasco? A thousand convicts lost in the system. Again, Langton had underlined sections.

10. Super hostels planned for free sex offenders. This had a deep, thick pencil cross over it.

11. Hunt for released killers.

12. One immigrant arrives in Britain EVERY minute. The article went on to show migrants hiding their faces, as they prepared another bid to cross the Channel illegally.

13. ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT who worked at the Old Bailey was twice deported.

14. Paedophile backlash: website identifying convicted offenders could drive them into hiding in fear of vigilantes, warns probation supremo.

15. TRAVESTY: asylum seeker raped a child and got an eight-year sentence, then chose to stay in jail rather than be deported. now we are paying him fifty thousand for his inconvenience.

16. Child rapists’ rights were put before victims.

17. Life means six years: almost one hundred murders were committed by criminals supposedly under the supervision of probation officers in the past two years; chilling figures are a shocking indictment of Government failure across the board to protect the public…

18. DOSSIER reveals 50 dangerous convicts in our open prisons.

There were over thirty more cuttings, all about the Home Office’s inept handling of the deportation of illegal immigrants and the appalling situation that had resulted. Why had Langton kept them? Not only had he cut them out, but his handwriting was also scrawled across them, and he had ringed photographs of suspects.

She wondered if any of them had any connection to his own case, but they were all dated before he was attacked. Anna packed them away in a folder; she would bring it up next time she went to visit. Then she worried: maybe she shouldn’t ask him about them, as it would look as if she had been snooping around his flat. She decided she would contact Mike Lewis again.

Lewis agreed to drop by her place later that afternoon. It was almost three when he turned up and said he couldn’t stay long as he was working. He seemed very uneasy.

‘I’ve felt bad about not going to see him but you know, work pressures and with a wife and new kid on the way…’ He trailed off, obviously feeling guilty.

‘I see him most nights,’ she said, placing his coffee down on the table in front of him.

‘Word is he’s not doing so well,’ Lewis said, avoiding looking at her.

‘It’s going to take time.’

‘Yeah, I guess so — that was what I was told.’

‘Has Barolli been to see him?’

‘I dunno, I’ve not spoken to him in a while. He’s on another case. Life goes on!’ Lewis paused. ‘He’s not going to get back to work, is he?’

Anna drew up a chair and smiled. ‘Well, that’s what they say, but you know him better than anyone. I don’t think he’s going to give up that easily.’

‘It’s not a question of giving up though, is it? If he’s still unable to walk, then there’s no hope of him coming back. I know he wouldn’t take on any kind of pen-pushing job. Maybe that’s why I can’t face it, you know; I hate to see him this way.’

There was a long pause. Anna waited. Lewis suddenly bowed his head.

‘I keep on thinking about that night — you know, when it happened. I’ve been put on sleeping tablets by my doc. I just keep on seeing the look on his face when that bastard slashed him and thinking, could I have done something to stop it happening? It all happened so quickly. I thought he would bleed to death. Barolli’s the same; he was off for a few weeks, you know. Having worked with the old bastard for so long, we really felt bad. He was always so…’ Lewis shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’ He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

Anna picked up the file. ‘I found these newspaper cuttings in his flat. Can you have a look at them for me?’

‘Sure.’

She handed him the file and walked out to get some fresh coffee and to leave him alone for a few moments. When she returned, Lewis had them laid out on the coffee-table in front of him.

‘More coffee?’

‘No — no, thank you.’ He leaned back, and then gestured to the cuttings. ‘The case we were on: that girl was raped and murdered by an illegal immigrant, Idris Krasiniqe. He was supposed to have been deported, but slipped through the net.’

‘I’ve read the case file.’

‘I think all these are just the Gov’s fury at what happened.’

‘But all these cuttings are dated before that.’

‘I suspect the Gov was going to really make a loud noise about it. As you can see, all this press, all these bastards walking around, but suddenly it’s all gone quiet. Home Office have put their hands up and admitted they have screwed up, probation department ditto. Nobody is taking the flak for what has gone on — what is still going on — and the prison service is helpless to deal with the overcrowding.’ He sighed. ‘Which leaves us, the police, in a pretty pitiful state. We catch them; they are released or, as you can see from this article…’ He picked it up. ‘Bloke is put into a hostel, cuts off his tag, goes out and kills a thirteen-year-old girl! Beggars belief. Jimmy was getting fed up to the back teeth with it all.’

Anna nodded. ‘I’m on a case with a guy let out early on parole who killed a woman; her twelve-year-old daughter found her.’

‘There you go. I can tell you, there’s an awful lot of us that are about to throw the towel in. If I was the Gov, I’d walk away, get my pension and live the rest of my life out of this bloody city. It’s all out of control; without the money and the manpower, we’re flailing around like idiots. What he ever thought he could do about it, only he can tell you.’

‘Has he called you again? Last time you mentioned that he kept in touch.’

‘Yes, he calls me, at work, at home. Yes, he bloody won’t let up — but, like I said the last time I was here, there’s not a lot I can do.’

‘It’s hard to believe they haven’t arrested the man who attacked him.’

‘No, they never found him. In reality, we should have had an armed operation, but the Gov was impatient.’ Lewis drained his coffee and stood up. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘But what about the attack on Langton?’

‘You tell me, case left open…’ Lewis rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘I can’t start hunting them down in my free time, for Chrissakes; besides, we don’t even know where to start looking. We think the bastard is already out of the country — I told you that. The murder enquiry was over when we caught the killer and he got sent down for life.’

‘But what if Langton’s life sentence is him stuck in a fucking wheelchair?’ she snapped.

‘Look, don’t do this. It’s out of our hands. He’s alive.’

‘You mean there would be a bigger enquiry if he was dead — if he’d died from his wounds? Is that what you are saying?’

‘No!’

‘Then what is happening about tracking down the men who did this to him?’

Lewis sighed. ‘There is a new division set up to deal with all the problems surrounding immigration, illegal immigrants, parole jumpers, et cetera. The Home Office are backing them, and—’

‘That sounds like a big whitewash load of crap,’ she said furiously.

‘Maybe it is, but it’s ongoing, and maybe you need to talk to them. But…’ He hesitated.

‘But what?’

‘Well, word of warning. You are part of the murder squad; they are a different department, so you don’t want to muddy the waters.’

‘Muddy the waters?’

‘Yeah. If you start making moves on them, they won’t like it. As it is, they’re keeping their heads down because of all the bad press.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s all Langton is — bad press? I don’t believe what I am hearing, Mike. He almost died!’

Lewis turned angrily towards her. ‘I know that, for Chrissakes — I was there, all right? But at the same time, I have my career to think about. I’ve got a toddler and a baby on the way and I can’t afford to lose out by switching divisions. I’ve worked hard enough to get to where I am now.’

‘You got there because of Langton and you know it.’

Lewis had to clench his fists, she was making him so angry; beneath it was his guilt, because he knew she was right.

‘Listen, Anna, back off me. I’m keeping up to date with any new developments, but I am not going to become a vigilante trying to track down this bastard. We’ve already been told he is more than likely back in Somalia. They use fake passports; he could have switched his name a dozen times by now!’

‘What about the others? There were other suspects, weren’t there?’

‘Yes,’ he sighed again, looking unutterably weary.

‘What about them?’

‘We’re trying to find them, but Krasiniqe, the guy we arrested for Carly Ann’s murder, is in prison, terrified because he named them in the first place. He keeps on about voodoo and they had to place him in a segregation wing because he’s so scared he’s going to be killed. Don’t think I just walked away from this, because I didn’t. I tried; Barolli tried. Now we just have to get on with our lives.’

Anna closed the door behind him. She could hardly bring herself to be pleasant, or thank him for coming to see her. She found it so hard to believe that after what had happened to Langton, no one seemed to be mounting a full-scale operation to nail down his attacker.

She looked at all the cuttings Lewis had spread out over the coffee-table. No wonder Langton was depressed. Having almost died from his injuries, he was now trapped in a wheelchair with little hope of ever returning to work. He also must know that there appeared to be equally little hope of ever bringing to justice the man who had put him there.

Anna checked the time: it was now nearly four, so she decided she would buy some grapes and smoked salmon and bagels to take to Glebe House. She placed all the cuttings back into the folder and then picked up the case file Lewis had left on his previous visit.

The mortuary shots of Carly Ann North were horrific; she had suffered appalling injuries at the hands of her killer. Anna read and reread the way he had been arrested. A police officer on patrol had radioed in for assistance, after seeing the men with the body. He had arrested Idris Krasiniqe, who had really put up a fight, but the other two men had run for it as soon as the patrol car was visible. During Langton’s interrogation, Idris admitted that he had killed Carly Ann but insisted that the other two men were also there when she was killed, holding her down. He also admitted that they had gang-raped her. They had DNA evidence to verify this. Idris’s lawyers hoped to get a more lenient sentence for him, for helping the police by naming his friends. He had to give an address. Accompanied by Lewis and Barolli, Langton went to question them. The attack on Langton had taken place in the hallway of the residence. Both men escaped.

Anna suddenly realized the time. Abandoning her reading, she changed and hurried out, heading for the M4 via a deli. All the way there, her mind churned over and over her conversation with Lewis and her take on the case file. She had changed her mind about what to do with the newspaper cuttings: they were now in her briefcase.

Anna parked her Mini and bent into the back seat to collect the groceries and the files; when she turned round, she nearly dropped them all.

Langton was standing on the steps of the Glebe House. Standing — and with a grin stretched from ear to ear. He waved.

Anna ran to him, overcome with emotion.

‘Now don’t you grab me, or I could fall over,’ he said.

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘You’d better. I’ve walked from the lounge to here unaided and now I am going to walk back in there.’

Anna watched as he turned slowly and walked, step-by-step, opening the door for her; then, a little unsteady, he kept on walking towards the lounge. She saw him wince in pain, but he was so determined to keep on his feet that he refused to even place a hand against the wall to steady himself.

He eventually got to a big comfortable wingback chair and eased his body down. Then he looked up at her. His face was glistening with sweat.

‘I’m coming back, Anna! Gimme a few more days, I’ll run out there to meet you.’

Anna put down her briefcase and groceries on a table as he raised his hand to her.

‘Come here, you.’ He drew her close and she bent down to kiss him, trying hard not to cry. He kissed her right back and then gave a long sigh. ‘If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be home by the end of next week.’

She drew up a chair to sit close to him.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘I think that would be wonderful,’ she said, taking out the grapes and smoked salmon and bagels.

He had shaved and was wearing a shirt and trousers rather than pyjamas, though he still had slippers on his feet.

‘So,’ he said, still with that smile on his face. ‘How’s your day been?’