Clean Cut

Chapter Six

Anna had been called by Langton four times on the morning she was due to collect him. He wanted some chocolates for certain nurses; then he rang to say to bring some good bottles of wine. Next, had she got the right suit and tie? Then again, to make sure she remembered to bring the gifts. Anna could hear the excitement in his voice, like a kid, as he checked the time for the pick-up on every call, constantly reminding her not to tell anyone he was discharged.

She drove to Glebe House as instructed, to be there for two-thirty. She arrived slightly earlier, due to a traffic-free M4; she handed over his suitcase and said she would wait in the lounge. He did not appear until almost three. He looked fantastic, and very smart, taking the wine and chocolates from her to hand out like royalty to the staff.

A number of staff stood to wave him goodbye as he walked towards Anna’s Mini. She carried the suitcase filled with his laundry and odds and ends. She opened the passenger door for him and then walked round to put the suitcase into the boot. By the time she stashed it and closed the boot, he was still standing, waving, and holding onto the edge of the door. He stood there until the staff had disappeared inside, then with a grimace he began to ease himself into the seat, which she had pulled back as far as possible, earlier on. It took quite some time, as his knee obviously pained him greatly. He swore at her for having such a bloody small car but eventually managed to flop down and haul his bad leg inside.

As they drove home, he sighed deeply, as if still in pain; every time she asked if he was all right, he said he was fine. By the time they reached home, he was rubbing his knee and wincing.

‘It’s because I’m so cramped,’ he said.

‘Well, let me get the case inside first, then I’ll come back and help you out.’

‘I don’t need any help, just go on inside. I’ll follow you in a second.’

Anna took his case up into the flat, and then returned to the car. He was still unable to get out of the seat. She bent down to suggest he swing his legs out first, and he swore at her.

‘I’m just getting my breath! Don’t tell me what to do.’

Anna stood back and watched as he painfully eased one leg round, and then used both hands to lift his right leg. He was forced to hold on to her to stand upright. The sweat rolled down his cheeks as he attempted to straighten up. It was a very slow walk to the lift, then, from there, the few paces into her flat; each step was obviously agony for him and, much against his will, he was still forced to cling to her.

As they went into the lounge, he almost fell onto the sofa, rubbing his leg and muttering how it was all because of being in such a cramped position in her car. She unpacked his case, and left him to cool down. She then asked if he was hungry, and would he like to go out to eat, or dine at home.

‘Oh, let’s run down to the local Italian!’ he said sarcastically.

‘I was joking! I’ve got steak and salad and a good bottle of wine.’

‘Come here.’ He held out his hand and clasped hers, drawing her down to sit beside him on the sofa. ‘I’m a sourpuss and an ungrateful son of a bitch, but if you get the pills in the blue-labelled bottle, it’ll help ease this housemaid’s fucking knee. Christ only knows how housemaids deal with it; mind you, they’re not on their hands and knees washing down steps any more, are they?’

She kissed his cheek; it felt cold and clammy. The pills were in a black leather shaving bag. She was surprised how many bottles of different prescriptions he had been given. After he’d taken two with a glass of wine (which she doubted was the best way to take them) the pain obviously lessened and when she served dinner, he ate hungrily and said it was the best dinner he’d had since he’d been injured. It was not until they had coffee (or she had one — he was still drinking) that he became quiet and serious.

‘It’s not going to be easy, is it?’ he said.

‘I never thought it would be, but then I never thought you’d be home this quickly. In fact, you just being here is a miracle.’

He smiled, and lifted his glass. ‘To my sweet Anna!’

She blew him a kiss. ‘Right, I’ll going to clear up, and then we can watch TV — or have an early night; maybe you should do that. It’s been a big day for you and you don’t want to tire yourself out.’

‘Let me tell you when I’m tired.’

‘Fine, just sit then. I won’t be long.’

She had just wiped down the kitchen counters and had put the dishwasher on when she heard him calling her. She went over to him.

‘I can’t get up,’ he said quietly.

It wasn’t easy getting him up onto his feet; he was like a dead weight. They had to walk very slowly towards the bedroom. He gasped for breath at each step; twice they had to pause whilst he gritted his teeth before being able to move another step forwards. He was embarrassed at being unable to take a piss without her helping him, but he was incapable of retaining his balance.

She helped him undress, ready to take a shower. He had grown silent; time and time again he winced with pain, but said nothing. She took his dirty clothes into the kitchen to put into the washing machine and to give him some privacy, but when she returned to the bedroom he was still sitting, naked apart from a towelling robe around his shoulders.

‘I can’t stand up again,’ he said, head bowed.

‘That’s okay. For goodness’ sake, it’s your first day home.’

She leaned forwards to put her hands under his armpits to try and haul him up, but he was too heavy; she eventually managed it by letting him lean his weight forwards onto her and then very slowly standing.

He took the few steps towards the ensuite with one arm resting round her shoulders, his other hand groping the wall. He had lost a considerable amount of weight; his tall frame looked rake thin. Anna turned on the shower as he rested against the tiled sides, and she got a good soaking before she was able to help him stand beneath the water jets.

Only now had Anna the opportunity to see the terrible scars to his body. One ran from his right shoulder-blade, crossing his chest and reaching almost down to his waist. The other ran from the middle of his right thigh over his kneecap, almost down to his shinbone. He must have required hundreds of stitches.

‘Bit like a patchwork quilt, aren’t I?’ he joked, as she soaped his back and helped him wash his hair.

They had quite a struggle to get him back to the bedroom and into his pyjamas, and he then lay back exhausted. She felt such compassion and such love that she wanted to weep, but she kept up a bright and steady chatter, setting the alarm and preparing to take her make-up off.

By the time Anna was ready to get into bed, he was asleep on top of the duvet. She had to ease one side open and slide in. She turned the lights out, feeling exhausted herself.

Twice during the night he had to have some more painkillers before she had him finally tucked up beside her. He had hardly said another word, as if even talking pained him. She lay awake beside him for a long time, assessing just what she had taken on. She had always known that it wouldn’t be easy; however, it had never really dawned on her exactly how difficult it was going to be.

‘This is going to put us to the test, isn’t it?’ he said softly, as if he knew what she was thinking. She was surprised; she had thought he was sleeping. He raised his arm for her to snuggle closer to him.

‘I suppose a fuck is out of the question?’ he asked, and she could hear him smiling.

‘Right now it is, I’m too tired — but you won’t get away with it for too long.’

He laughed. ‘I won’t wait for long; I need to see if everything is in working order. At least the bastard missed my dick!’

The following morning, Anna helped him dress before she went to work. She left him sitting in the lounge, watching breakfast TV with a tray of eggs and bacon. He seemed in a better frame of mind and smiled as she waved a kiss goodbye.

‘I won’t be late. Any special orders for dinner?’

‘Blow job would be nice.’

She pulled a face and walked out.

At the station, Harry Blunt was having an argument with Frank Brandon, as usual. This time, it was a bet on what had been the fastest trial from the time of arrest. Blunt insisted it was thirty-six days, but Brandon was adamant it was forty-seven. After a few phone calls, Blunt held out his hand for a twenty-pound note.

Murphy had pleaded guilty at the plea and directions hearing. He was still held at Wandsworth; the trial date had been set and counsel appointed to represent him. Harry, as usual, went into a fury at the waste of public money, but the full show had to continue: it was the law. A law, Harry felt, that should be reviewed. With all the evidence and the admission of guilt from Murphy, he reckoned Murphy should just go before a judge and receive his sentence there and then. ‘Better still, give the son of a bitch a lethal injection! Get rid of the dross of humanity, instead of allowing them to clog up every prison.’

He was about to launch into another favourite topic of conversation, the prison system, when Brandon told him to shut up; they’d all heard it before.

‘How’s Langton doing? I heard he’s left Glebe House,’ Brandon asked.

He’d be furious that news had got out already about his release, Anna thought. ‘He’s doing really well,’ she said.

‘He’s a bloody marvel,’ Harry interrupted, and then went into another tirade. ‘Do you know how much my pal got, for being knocked out and kicked like a football? Poor bastard, he was on full pay for just six months; then they cut it down to half pay for a further six months, and then the fuckers cut the pay off altogether! All he could claim was twenty quid per week from the Police Federation. Twenty quid! You can’t buy a week’s groceries with that. It’s fucking disgusting. Poor bastard can’t even remember his own name.’

Brandon nodded — actually agreeing with Blunt! ‘I’ve got private medical insurance, mate.’

Harry pursed his lips. ‘Well, I bloody haven’t — not with two kids and a mortgage.’ He turned to Anna. ‘Has Langton got private insurance?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, I hope so — he’s gonna be out for months. Will he be claiming disability pension?’

‘He’s not disabled,’ Anna said brusquely.

Brandon parked his backside on the edge of her desk. ‘Friend of mine, he was a triathlete, right? Knocked off his motorbike, paralysed from the waist down. He went before the Chief Medical Officer. I mean, he was all right upstairs, understand? Just his legs got crushed. He’s earning good if not better money now, doing a non-operational job over at Hammersmith.’

Anna chewed her lips; between the pair of them, she was beginning to get really furious. ‘No way will he be disabled, nor, I can assure you, is he mentally screwed up either, so just shut up, the pair of you. You’re like two old women.’

Brandon shrugged and returned to his own desk, but she caught the look between him and Harry, as if they knew she was lying.

Langton was sitting at the bar in the kitchen, as he found the high stool more comfortable. She had bought tuna steaks and microwave chips and was tossing the salad as he opened a bottle of wine.

‘Do you have medical insurance?’ she asked.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just Harry Blunt was talking about some friend of his.’

‘What, hang-’em-all-Harry?’ he said, grinning.

‘He was saying today that there shouldn’t be a trial if someone has pleaded guilty and there is strong evidence to prove it.’

‘What, actually just hang them?’ he said, taking out the cork.

She laughed. ‘He’s such a gossip — kept on about disability pay and how little an officer gets.’

‘Talking about me, were you?’

She put down the salad tongs. ‘Well, they asked how you were.’

‘Oh yeah, and what did you tell them?’

‘That you had made a remarkable recovery and no way would you be claiming any disability.’

‘It’s going to be a few months, you know,’ he said, pouring the wine.

She sat beside him. ‘So, do you have medical insurance?’

‘Yes. I took it out after my first wife died, mainly because I loathed the bloody hospital she was taken to, though she didn’t last long enough to see the place. I just thought to myself, if anything happened to me, no way was I going to end up in a bloody National Health ward; probably die of something I picked up from the floors.’

‘That’s good.’

He turned towards her. ‘Don’t talk about me, Anna.’

‘I didn’t; they just asked me how you were.’

‘And you come back with all these queries about private medical insurance and disability pensions!’

‘I just said that you were recovering!’

‘Don’t even say that, okay?’

‘Yes, all right! So, you want salad?’

After dinner, they sat in the lounge and Langton brought out a notebook.

‘I’ve got a driver and a car at my disposal,’ he began by saying, ‘so it’s not going to inconvenience you.’

‘I don’t mind driving you around.’

‘Well, you can’t when you’re at work, so this is what I’ve organized so far.’

Anna looked down his list. He had a personal trainer booked for every other day. He’d apparently wanted a session every day, but had been told that he needed a day in between, so the muscles could acclimatize to the workout. He had therefore arranged physio sessions on the days between the workouts, plus a massage three times a week, as well as swimming, saunas and steam baths.

‘You are going to be doing all this every week?’ she asked, astonished.

‘Yep. It’s taken me all day on the phone arranging it.’

‘Good for you,’ she said, and meant it. She was proud of him and said she would make sure he ate healthy foods to put some weight back on.

When she went into the bedroom, she had to step over a selection of weights and equipment. He’d evidently asked the delivery men to shift the furniture around and it made her bedroom look rather like a gymnasium. It irritated her slightly that he hadn’t mentioned it to her, but she said nothing.

‘I’ve got a rowing machine coming in tomorrow,’ he said, rubbing his knee with a foul-smelling liniment.

‘Where on earth are you going to put it?’

‘In the hall — the only place with enough space. The rowing action will build up my shoulders and the knee action will strengthen the ligaments. Sorry about this stuff; it stinks.’

She wrinkled up her nose. ‘My dad used something like it on an injured shoulder.’

‘Yeah, it’s good old-fashioned grease with a heat mix. The scars have healed well, but the skin is so taut around them and the muscles ache like hell on my knee.’

‘Do you want me to do that for you?’ she asked.

‘Nope, better I do it — I’ve got a very low pain threshold,’ he joked.

Anna kissed his cheek; he hadn’t shaved and it was like a bristle brush. ‘Would you like me to shave you?’

‘No, I’m growing a beard. Day I shave it off is the day you know I’m back in shape.’

‘Oh.’

‘Does it bother you?’

‘No. You’ll look a bit like Rasputin.’

He grinned. ‘Yeah, look how many shots the assassins fired into him before they could kill him, mean bastard. They even tried to drown him, then poison him as well.’

‘I’m going to take a shower.’

‘Fine, go ahead.’ He was wrapping an elastic bandage around his knee.

She couldn’t help feeling as if he had taken over her entire flat, as well as her life. She opened the bathroom door and was taken aback to see a walking frame. She went back in and asked him what it was in there for.

‘Ah, it’s just so you don’t have to help me piss, or watch me crap. Makes me more independent — but it stays in there. I’m not using it anywhere else.’

Anna shut the door, easing herself around the bloody walking frame. Lined up in the bathroom were rows of vitamins, gels and tablets, crowding her make-up shelves. She couldn’t find her toothbrush, and had to move his pills around to find it.

‘This won’t last for long. It’s just temporary, so stay calm,’ she muttered to herself, but she felt as if the walls of the bathroom were closing in on her.

Anna had yet to bring up the situation with Sickert, though it still concerned her. It never seemed to be the right time, as they were settling down to quite an amicable partnership. The fact that she ran her life around him, cooked and laundered, and was a constant support as he grew stronger, made him less demanding. Langton constantly impressed her with his total dedication to regaining his strength. They also started again; he was, as he had been before, a generous and exciting lover. They didn’t exactly swing from the rafters, but if he was in any discomfort, he never showed it. His knee injury was still very obvious and she knew he depended on his painkillers to continue the rigorous training programme he had set for himself. He also had moments of deep depression and anxiety. These times she knew to leave him alone; that was not easy if she was at home, as the flat was so small.

As far as she knew, Langton made no contact with anyone apart from his trainer. He now had quite long hair and a beard; not exactly Rasputin, but it altered his appearance totally. He mostly wore tracksuits and trainers, so that if he did venture out, she doubted anyone would have recognized him. He seemed to have no desire to either take in a movie or dinner at a restaurant, but he did make one trip: she returned home from work one day to find his bicycle propped up in the hall. She knew he had always used one to work out at the track in Maida Vale, but she had no idea how the hell he had got it into the flat. With the rowing machine, and now the bicycle, circumnavigating the hall was hazardous. The bike pedals always caught her ankle and she had tripped over the rowing machine so many times that she had a permanent bruise on her leg.

A stack of mail he must have collected from his flat, all unopened, took up almost the entire space on the coffee-table. This was another irritation to her: everywhere he went, he left a trail of trainers and tracksuit tops. Newspapers he would buy every morning, so she had a stack of them in the kitchen. She tried to throw them out, but he insisted she keep them, as there were some articles he was interested in. It would have been an ideal opportunity for her to discuss the cuttings she had discovered at his flat all those weeks ago, but they were interrupted when the doorbell rang. It was his physio, come for a morning session.

Sometimes, just when she felt it was all too much for her, he would do something that made her melt. He would often return from his workouts with a bunch of flowers. A few times, he cooked dinner and made such an effort it touched her heart, as he was so boyish and eager for her to compliment his culinary efforts. He rarely asked about her work and never spoke of Lewis or Barolli — if Anna did refer to them, he would waft his hand as if to say ‘don’t go there’—but he was eager to talk about vitamins and minerals and physical therapy. He was now having extra massages and treatment from an acupuncturist.

Langton was obsessed with his recovery: it was his sole occupation and he would allow nothing to disrupt his regime. Anna knew it must be costing a fortune, since his personal trainer alone was a hundred pounds an hour. But the results were really astonishing: already his frame had filled out and he was almost back to his original weight. He was very proud of his six-pack and often stood admiring himself in the wardrobe mirror. He would be up and out with his bicycle before she showered. He’d cycle to the Maida Vale bike track and do five miles, then cycle home for his porridge and mound of vitamins. He was still often in pain and had been warned by everyone on his training programme not to push it too much, but he refused to listen.

The trial of Murphy was a week away. Vernon Kramer had already been sentenced and sent back to Wandsworth prison, as he had requested to serve out his time close to family and friends.

This had caused Harry Blunt to deliver yet another tirade about the prison services. ‘You know that bastard will be segregated on Rule 43 because he’s a child molester; now he’ll be back with his old cronies and probably swapping dirty pictures, the bastards! They don’t call it that any more — Rule 43: seems it offended some of the arseholes. Mind you, now they’ll have keys to their own fucking cells!’

Brandon looked at Anna and gave her a half-smile. She had grown to like him, especially now he had dispensed with his cologne. He came over to her desk and passed a note.

‘Came in late afternoon yesterday, but you’d already left,’ he said. ‘She insists she wants to talk to you, but wouldn’t say what it was about. That’s her mobile number.’

‘Thanks.’ Anna glanced at the Post-it note. ‘Beryl Dunn…?’ She looked at the name, tried to think if she had ever heard it before and then it clicked: Beryl Dunn was Arthur Murphy’s mother.

She dialled the number. ‘Is this Mrs Dunn?’ Anna asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I am Detective Inspector Anna Travis.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘You left a message for me to call you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to tell me what it is a—’

‘Not on the phone,’ the woman interrupted.

‘Well, that makes it rather difficult.’

‘It’s important I speak to you, but I’m not coming into no police station.’ She had a strong Newcastle accent.

‘If you could just tell me why you wished to see me, then I can arrange to meet you.’

There was a pause.

‘Hello, Beryl? Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you want to see me?’

‘I need to talk to someone about something. It’s important: you arrested my son.’

Anna waited; she could hear heavy breathing on the end of the line.

‘I’m talking about Arthur Murphy,’ said Beryl.

Anna hesitated, then agreed to meet her the following day in a café next to the old Peabody estate in Lilly Road. Then she went straight off to knock on Sheldon’s office door, to inform him of this latest development.

‘Whatever she has to say won’t help him — he’s going down for life. Take Brandon with you; give him something to do,’ barked Sheldon.

Anna hesitated. ‘I think he should just be in the background. She seemed very uneasy, and as she’s coming all the way down from Newcastle, I don’t want her to take fright and do a runner.’

‘That’s as may be, but take him with you anyway. It’s a café—let him go in and get a cup of tea. Better to be safe than sorry. If she’s as nuts as her son, you might need back-up.’

Brandon went into the seedy café fifteen minutes before Anna had agreed to meet Beryl Dunn. He was sitting in a corner with an order of eggs, bacon, sausage and chips swimming in grease, with a milky cup of tea and white bread and butter. He glanced up as Anna walked in. She looked around; apart from Brandon, there were only two other customers, who both wore painters’ overalls and were tucking into plates of the same disgusting food.

Anna ordered a cup of coffee from the old man behind the glass counter. He dumped a thick-rimmed cup and saucer onto the flat counter. She handed over seventy pence, looked around and picked a table for two as far from the painting duo as possible, but reasonably close to Brandon.

Moments later, a woman walked in, waved over to the counter and asked for an espresso before looking round and making her way slowly to Anna’s table. She was about five feet two and very overweight, with heavy swollen ankles in strappy sandals. She had a bright red coat and a large plastic handbag. Her hair was bleached yellowish-blonde and hung down to her shoulders, the black and grey roots just showing. She wore heavy make-up: thick black eyeliner and spiky mascara, rouged cheeks and dark red lipstick that ran in small rivulets up the lines around her mouth.

‘You Detective Inspector Travis?’ she said quietly.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Beryl Dunn.’

She sat down in a waft of heavy, sweet perfume. She inched the coat off to rest on the back of her chair, revealing a white frilly lace blouse with a low neckline, showing off her cleavage and large breasts. Her small plump hands with red nail varnish had numerous rings; she wore a man’s wristwatch. She said nothing else until her espresso was placed down in front of her, then reached over for the box of paper napkins and removed one, slipping it into the neck of her blouse.

‘Don’t want to drop coffee down meself,’ she said, then lifted the thick cup to her lips and slurped. She placed it carefully down on the saucer. ‘I said he was my son, but I disowned him years ago. He was always a nasty little bastard. I even feel sick to admit I give him birth. His father was a nasty bastard too, glad to be rid of him; cancer got him, but I’d have liked to shoot the bugger. Whatever our Arthur gets, he’s got it coming to him. He’s a disgusting pervert.’

She sipped her coffee again. Her lipstick left marks on the rim of her cup. ‘I was in showbusiness.’

‘Really?’ Anna smiled, surprised.

‘Stand-up comic; did the rounds of all the Northern clubs. Now standing is hard enough, never mind making the buggers laugh.’ She gave a hoarse throaty laugh; her lipstick was smeared on her row of false teeth.

‘You wanted to see me,’ Anna prompted her.

‘Yes. It’s about our Gail.’

‘Gail is your daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Beryl Dunn leaned back. ‘She’s been trouble as well, but she’s a good girl, really — just stupid, know what I mean? She got involved with a man, who left her pregnant with her first kid, our Sharon, but she got a nice council flat out of it. Then she had another one, little Keith — he’s a right tearaway, he is — a year or so later, but she got involved with drugs and they kicked her out with two kids, so she came back to live with me.’

Again she paused as she sipped her coffee. ‘I couldn’t keep her there for long. I got my private life, know what I mean? Anyways, that was several years ago, all water under the bridge.’

She licked her lips and sighed. ‘I always forgave her, because of what Arthur done; she had to go to therapy for it. For a while she was safe from him down in London — Hackney, it was—’cos he was banged up in prison, but they no sooner put the bugger away than he’s out again and after her, so she went to the police — you know, to get protection, to keep him away from her.’

Anna nodded her head. She knew all this and was trying to fathom out why Beryl wanted to see her.

‘Next thing, he gets out with this no-good bloke called Vernon something or other, and he bloody gets her pregnant! I mean, you’d have thought she’d have learned, but no. Like I said, she’s a bit on the stupid side.’

‘I saw the little girl,’ Anna said. She wondered if this could possibly be Vernon Kramer’s child.

‘Yeah, Tina’s a cute little thing, but Gail would have nothing more to do with Vernon because he was after her other daughter, sick bastard. So she kicked him out and said if he ever came near her again, or near her kids, she’d get him arrested.’

‘Was his surname Kramer?’

Beryl tapped the teaspoon on the side of her cup. ‘I dunno his surname, but he was a friend of that bugger Arthur. Now look, Detective Inspector, my Gail may be stupid, but she’s always had a good heart and she’s been a good mother to those kids. She calls me and writes, sends me photographs, and we have always kept in touch. I give her money when I can and see her Christmas-times, if I’m able to.’

She took out a handkerchief and wiped her mouth. ‘Few months back, I got a postcard from her saying she was moving to the New Forest with her latest bloke: she was renting some place and said not to let Arthur know where she was, as she’d got this restrainin’ order against him. I wouldn’t have given him the time of day, let alone told him where she was. I bought her a mobile for her birthday so we could keep in touch; she’d had problems with her phone and not paid the bills. Anyways, next thing I hear, this new bloke has run off and she’s living with someone else.’

Anna nodded.

‘When I went to see her, I got a shock,’ the woman continued. ‘I’m no racist, but me, I’ve never gone with a darkie. He was all right, I suppose. He was clearing up the yard and gonna decorate the bungalow, but Gail said the stench from the pigs made her feel sick.’

‘So you went to see her?’

‘Yes — that’s when I met him — called himself Joseph Sickert. Gail started using his surname. Stupid, but she wanted to do it, so…’ Beryl blinked, and dabbed the corner of her eyes. ‘I got a call from her and that’s when she told me about you being there, about puttin’ Vernon in it, and how they arrested Arthur. She says you was very nice.’

‘So you think Vernon Kramer is Tina’s father?’

‘I’m guessing so. Like I said, I never knew his surname, just that he was some friend of Arthur’s. She gets done up ’cos she won’t use contraceptives. I wish to Christ I had, but we’re good Catholics.’

‘I liked her,’ Anna said quietly. At the same time, she knew that Gail had lied about how well she had known Kramer. It was obvious that if he was the baby’s father, he would have seen her more than just the once when he had turned up with Arthur Murphy.

Anna realized Mrs Dunn had been talking and apologized. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

‘I said, I think something has happened to her. The phone is not turned on, she’s not at the bungalow, I dunno where she is. I am worried sick.’

‘How long has it been since you last talked to her?’

Beryl tried to remember the exact date. It was around the time Anna had been to see Gail about the photograph.

‘She would never usually leave it this long, because I get stuff sent to me for her, you see. Because she was always moving around, I get sent her child support cheques and I post them on to her, but she’s not been in touch. I dunno whether or not to report it, and I dunno which place I should go to, you know, to file a missing person. To be honest, I don’t want anythin’ to do with the police. No disrespect, but I’ve had a few run-ins in the past and I’ve just got meself sorted.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Anna asked.

‘Well, could you find her and tell her to contact me, just so I don’t worry, and I can send on her money.’

‘Yes, I’ll do what I can.’

The plump hand clasped Anna’s. ‘Thanks, love.’

Beryl Dunn had been married three times and had a history of prostitution going back to the 1960s. She had also served six months for running a brothel and living off immoral earnings.

Anna and Brandon discussed with Sheldon what they should do about Beryl’s request, plus the fact that the young child Tina was possibly Vernon Kramer’s.

‘Pass it over to social services and the local police station where she was last known to be in residence. That’s all we can do,’ Sheldon said. ‘She could be anywhere. They can file a missing persons report, or the mother will have to do it herself.’

Anna looked at Brandon. ‘Her kids were on an at-risk list from the last place she lived — no wonder, if that bastard Kramer fathered a child with her. I am very concerned, especially as her DSS monies have not been cashed.’

Sheldon sighed. ‘Travis, we are not a probation office, or a social service department. Like I said, just pass the report over to her local branch. If she’s gone missing, she probably had reasons.’

Anna returned to her desk, wrote up her report for their files and then contacted Gail’s local police station. She looked up as Harry Blunt leaned on her desk.

‘You worried about her?’

‘Yes, I am. It’s hard to do a moonlight with three kids, isn’t it? And it looked like they left in a big hurry.’

‘She’ll turn up when she needs money, they usually do; unless you’re worried about that Rasta she was with?’

‘I am more concerned about the Vernon Kramer link. I mean, she said she had been threatened.’

‘But he’s banged up and so is Murphy, so there’s not a lot either can do now. If they were on the loose, yeah — but not now.’

As she drove home, Anna decided that she would discuss the whole episode with Langton; she’d put it off long enough.

She was surprised that he was not there. There was no note to say where he had gone. There were two suits in her wardrobe and more shirts. She showered and got into a dressing-gown, wondering about dinner; it was now after eight. She went into the kitchen and started emptying the dishwasher, a job she hated and one Langton never did. Just then, the front door banged open.

‘You home?’ he yelled.

‘In the kitchen!’ she called back.

He walked in, clean-shaven, hair cut, but still in a tracksuit.

‘Here I am,’ he said grinning.

‘Good heavens, what brought this on?’

He walked out, calling back to her, ‘I have my appointment with the police review board.’

She followed him out of the kitchen. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I applied last week.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t get a date until today, so there was no reason to tell you. It could have been another week or month.’

‘But are you ready for it?’

Langton put his hands on his. ‘I wouldn’t have applied if I didn’t think I was. Why, don’t you think I’m fit enough?’

‘Well, yes, I do, but surely you don’t want to rush things?’

‘I do. I want to get back to work; my insurance won’t cover much more of the treatment.’

She smiled. ‘Well, if you think it’s the right time…You are obviously the one who’d know.’

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. ‘Don’t get so worried. I know what I am doing. I wouldn’t have applied if I didn’t feel up to it.’ He kissed her again, then went into the bedroom. ‘Just got to decide on which suit, so I’ll need your opinion.’

Anna returned to the kitchen. ‘I’m going to cook some pasta,’ she called, then listened as she heard the shower running. She shook her head, hardly able to believe that without ever mentioning it to her, he had applied for a fitness test. She knew it would be quite a tough one. He would have to be assessed both mentally and physically to remain in office. The Chief Medical Officer would have to certify him as ready to return to work.

She poured some water into a pan and set it on the stove to boil, then opened a packet of spaghetti and took out some tins of chopped tomatoes. She began to cut up an onion to fry with the tomatoes, slicing some garlic and herbs. By the time Langton joined her, fresh from his shower, the sauce was bubbling away and the pasta ready to be drained.

He kissed her neck. ‘Smells good.’

She turned, smiling. ‘You look good.’

‘I feel good.’

He started to open a bottle of wine. She had almost forgotten how handsome he was. He’d looked rough for so long, with his straggling hair and unshaven face; now he really did look like the old Jimmy. In fact, she had to admit that he actually looked a lot better, as he had cut down on his drinking.

He placed two wine glasses down and poured; he passed her glass over. ‘To me, for the test tomorrow!’

‘To you,’ she said, and they clinked glasses and drank. It was yet again not the right time to get into Sickert or discuss Langton’s attack.