Clean Cut

Chapter Seven

Anna waited until he had dressed. She knew she was going to be late for work, but this was more important. He had switched suits and changed his mind about the shirt and tie three times. As it was also to be a physical test, he packed a clean tracksuit and T-shirt. She offered to drive him but he had ordered a car and he insisted she leave, to give him time to calm down.

Langton waited until the door closed behind her before he took a double dose of painkillers. He had been upping the dosage for some considerable time; the excruciating pain that still lingered, especially in the mornings, made it necessary.

Anna waited all morning for a call; she had no idea how long the test would take. She rang his mobile, but it was turned off. She heard nothing all afternoon. She thought about contacting Lewis to see if he had heard anything, but decided against it. She eventually talked with Harry Blunt about the friend he had mentioned. She tried to sound nonchalant, wondering what kind of tests Langton would be put through if he were to go before the review board.

Harry shrugged; he wasn’t too sure. ‘Thing is, they’re pretty hot on testing the old brain cells. Basically, if an officer has been through the mill, shot or injured badly, it can do a lot of damage upstairs. They probably do running, jumping, and a few weights for the physical, but I honestly don’t know. Is he recovered then?’

‘Just wondering,’ Anna shrugged.

‘Want me to find out?’ Harry asked.

‘No, no. I was just thinking ahead really.’ She did not want to tell any lies, but remembered her promise to Jimmy to stay silent about his progress.

‘How’s it going with him?’

‘Oh, coming along well enough to make my life a misery,’ she joked.

‘My wife does that to me every day and night. One of my kids has bad asthma and she sometimes has to deal with his attacks solo. We’ve been in and out of A&E more times than I’ve had hot dinners.’

Harry continued to talk about his son’s asthma and what a game little boy he was, and how frustrating it was because he was such a fighter. Anna smiled and nodded. Langton was a fighter all right; she just wished he would call. She, more than anyone else, knew how important it was for him to get past the police review board. The day dragged on and, driving home, she was unsure of how she would be able to deal with his rejection.

The massive bouquet of flowers was propped on his rowing machine. There was a large card attached to the stems, with her name scrawled in black felt-tipped pen. She opened the envelope. It was actually a birthday card, but he had scribbled over the message and written: For my little red-headed nurse. She bit her lip; it was such a simple gesture but so unexpected from him. There was a bottle of champagne on ice in the kitchen sink. He was taking a shower; she opened the bathroom door.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

He turned, his hair filled with soapsuds, and grabbed her, drawing her under the water jets. She tried to struggle free, but he wouldn’t let her go and he kissed her with such passion she relented and clung to him. She knew her suit would shrink and her shoes would be ruined, but it didn’t matter.

Langton had passed the physical examination and spent the afternoon with the Chief Medical Officer, who turned out to be someone he had known for years. After the test, they had gone to a bar and had a few drinks.

‘I’m back, Anna! I return to full operational duties next week!’

She couldn’t chide him about not contacting her, he was so full of energy and enthusiasm. He told her a number of times about the questions and tests he’d been put through for the psychological part, and how he’d walked through it with ease.

‘They didn’t stand a hope in hell of catching me out,’ he said. Anna caught him flick a glance towards her.

‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’ She could tell he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

‘Caught you out? That’s what you said — that they didn’t stand a hope in hell of catching you out.’

‘For Chrissakes! I just meant they didn’t suss that my knee is not in as good a shape as it should be.’

‘What did they make you do?’

He sighed with impatience. ‘Run on a treadmill, rowing machine, monitored my heart, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘And it hurt?’

‘Of course it bloody did! But you tell me how often I am gonna need to row over a river to catch someone.’ He laughed.

She took a deep breath. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Just drop this, Anna, please. Let’s finish the champagne and go to bed.’

‘It’s not about the review. It’s something I should have told you about weeks ago, but I didn’t. The time was never right, and then—’

‘You want me to leave?’

The look on his face made her want to wrap him in her arms. ‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Well what is it? Is it something I’ve done?’

‘No. Now just shut up for a minute and let me tell you. It’s connected in a way to the case I’ve been on. It’s about this guy called Sickert.’

‘Who the hell is he?’

‘Please don’t interrupt me, just listen.’

Langton poured more champagne and then sat with the glass held loosely in his hands as Anna gave him a short summation of the reasons why they had interviewed Gail Sickert, about the photograph and how Anna had returned to the bungalow to see her again. At this point, she got up and opened a drawer, taking out her small tape recorder, and returned to sit opposite him. He put his feet up on the coffee-table and sipped the champagne. He was listening, but he also yawned.

Anna continued talking quietly, not looking at him. She described how she had hurried back to her car as Sickert drew up in his truck.

‘This is what he shouted at me. It’s quite hard to hear everything, but listen.’

She then pressed Play on the tape. Langton leaned forwards. She watched him as it got to the point when Sickert threatened her. The tape stopped. He leaned back and gestured for her to replay it. She did; then he drained the glass of champagne and placed it down on the coffee-table.

‘Describe him,’ he said quietly.

Anna did so, and he nodded his head.

‘Anyone in your team opened their mouths about us? Me?’

‘No, I’ve asked, and neither Arthur Murphy nor Vernon Kramer could have known about our relationship.’

‘This Sickert got a record?’

‘No, I only just found out his Christian name yesterday — it’s Joseph — but there’s nothing on him on the database.’

‘You tell me why you think he said what he said.’

Anna shrugged. ‘Well, it could have just been a blind threat — you know, coincidence — and I would have sort of accepted it, until—’

‘Until what?’

‘Well, they’ve disappeared, and in a hurry — that’s Gail, her three kids and Sickert. Yesterday her mother called and asked to speak to me; she wouldn’t come into the station, so I met her in a café. She’s worried about Gail and her kids as she’s made no contact. We’ve reported it to the local cop shop, but whether or not social services will help trace her, we don’t know. Her mother wanted me to file a missing person’s report, which you know I can’t do. She said she forwards on Gail’s child-support cheques from Newcastle, where she herself lives, and as she’s had no contact, she’s been unable to send them.’

Langton remained silent.

‘She had no money, the place was a shithole, and they owed rent. The kids had been on the risk-lists of a number of social services from Newcastle to London. Gail herself had taken out a restraining order against her brother Arthur Murphy; he had molested her when she was a kid.’

‘But he’s banged up, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, since his arrest. The trial’s due and it’s very unlikely he’ll be out in under twelve years. Vernon got eighteen months for his part in hiding out Murphy and, as he broke his parole, he will serve out the rest of his sentence: maybe two years. It’s all so murky. Vernon is the father of Gail’s youngest child, but she found out he was going after her elder daughter, so she kicked him out. She must have met Vernon through her brother — he’s got a record for being a sex offender, it’s so sick — anyway, at some point after her husband had left her, she then met up with Sickert — maybe via them, I wouldn’t know — but it had to be within the last year or so; the little girl is still in nappies and looks about eighteen months old. Obviously, the local cops will report back to us if they find any connection to our murder enquiry, because it is worrying that Gail has not contacted her mother for her money…’

Langton remained silent again as Anna trailed off. She reached over to touch his arm, but he withdrew it.

‘I was going to tell you so many times, and then… You know, it could all be coincidence, what he said to me. What do you think?’

‘Not sure,’ he said flatly.

Anna got up and opened her briefcase; she took out the file of the newspaper clippings she’d taken from his flat.

‘I also wanted to talk to you about these.’ She placed the file down in front of him, but didn’t open it; instead, she went on to tell him about her talks with both Lewis and Barolli.

‘I tried to get them to explain a few things. They both took so long getting back to me, as they’re on enquiries and pretty busy, but I got the feeling that they didn’t really want to know: they felt you were putting pressure on them to trace your attacker, and… They said they couldn’t act like some kind of vigilantes, but I was stunned that, after what had happened to you, nothing seemed to be being done about trying to track the men down. Lewis was sure they would have got out of the country by now anyway.’

She wished Jimmy would say something, but he just remained silent, so she kept going.

‘When I was at your flat looking for some clean clothes, I found these newspaper cuttings. I know you’ve been collecting more whilst you’ve been here with me.’

He glared at her.

‘I wasn’t snooping about; they were in the drawer with your pyjamas.’ She waited, and then stood up. ‘For Chrissake, why don’t you say something?’

He suddenly hurled the champagne glass at the wall; it shattered, spraying the contents over the wallpaper.

‘Well, that was a reaction!’ she said angrily.

‘What the fuck do you want me to say?’ he grunted, and hauled himself to his feet, his face twisted with pain. ‘You sneak around, acting as if I was some mental retard that couldn’t deal with any of the shit you’ve just laid on me. These … these!’ He snatched up the file. ‘Just my personal research, nothing ulterior, nothing weird, just information for me to store up because of the screw-up confronting the Met. Like Lewis, like fucking Barolli, I am not intending to act like some vigilante to get these sons of bitches, nor did I ever at any time ask them to do anything improper or against the law. All I did ask was for them to keep me updated, because it isn’t over — not for me. I am not going to walk away and pretend this never happened. Why do you think I’ve been pushing myself to get back on the force? I want the fucker that sliced me open, and I’ll find him — but I’m not hiring a mask and a cloak, for Chrissakes!’

‘I never said you—’

‘You never said — that is it, isn’t it? You kept all this quiet, never opened your mouth about all this.’ He wafted the file. ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you talk to me?’

‘Because the time was never right! You almost died!’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘Maybe what you don’t know was what the effect of your injuries did to me and to everyone who knew you. I was afraid for you.’

‘Afraid?’

‘Yes. I didn’t want to upset you.’

‘Upset me?’

‘Yes! All I wanted was for you to get better; that was all I ever wanted and if I did wrong, then I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I tried to protect you.’

‘Protect me from what?’

She burst into tears.

‘What the hell are you crying for?’

‘Because you make me feel as if I have done something wrong, when all I was doing, trying to do, was make sure you got well and fit.’

He stared at her, so angry that she could see the muscle in his cheek twitching. ‘I’m never going to be fit; I’ll have this for the rest of my life.’ He pulled open his shirt to show the scar. ‘I’ll look at this every day for the rest of my life. I’ll feel the ache in my knee just as a reminder. But they never slashed my brain, Anna; they never damaged my fucking head, and for you to tiptoe around, afraid I wouldn’t be able to deal…’

Anna turned and slammed out of the room and went into the bedroom. She flung herself onto the bed face down.

He kicked open the door. ‘I haven’t finished. Don’t you walk out on me like this!’

‘I’ve finished!’ she shouted.

‘Have you? You mean, there isn’t anything else you felt I couldn’t cope with?’

She whipped round. ‘I tell you what I am finding hard to cope with. You are a thankless, egotistical bastard, who never thinks of anyone but yourself. I have had to put up with all your shit for how many weeks? I can’t move in my own flat, but have you heard me complain? Have you? And all I tried to do was care for you, protect you. I didn’t want to bring up anything I’ve said tonight, for one reason. I didn’t want it to worry you.’

He was about to interrupt, but she flung a pillow at him.

‘Just for one second think about me; think about what I have gone through. I doubt that you can, because all you ever really think about is yourself!’

‘Well, now I am thinking of you. The sooner I get out of your life is obviously going to be the best for both of us!’

‘Fine — go ahead. You do exactly what you want, like you always do.’

Langton threw his clothes into a suitcase. She watched him for a few minutes before she walked out into the kitchen. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat at her breakfast bar, listening to him banging around the bedroom. After about fifteen minutes, he appeared in the doorway.

‘I’ll get the rest of my stuff packed up tomorrow.’

‘Whatever you want.’

He called a taxi and chucked his set of spare keys onto the coffee-table. She looked at him as he carried his case to the front door.

‘Won’t you need your keys to get into the flat to move all this crap out? Your bicycle, your rowing machine?’

‘I’ll let you know when I can get them moved out over to my place.’

Then he was gone.

All the shelves in the bathroom where he’d kept his rows of pills were empty. She was quite shocked, not at the available space, but how he had in such a rage remembered to take them all. He’d left some socks and a pair of shoes, his dirty laundry in the basket, a few shirts and one suit. She felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting them to shreds; instead, she slammed the wardrobe door and went to clean up the broken champagne glass. Tipping it into the bin in the kitchen, she noticed a number of empty pill bottles. She took them out. They were all his painkillers but some of them, she noticed, had different strengths and, oddly enough, various labels, all from different chemists. She threw them back into the bin, tied up the plastic bag and placed it by the front door to take to the bins outside the next morning.

Anna had a terrible night. She couldn’t sleep, yet she didn’t feel like crying. The more she tossed and turned, the more angry she felt at the way he had behaved. She would not contact him; she was sure that, when he thought about the entire situation, he would apologize. She’d wait, because she did not feel she had in any way been at fault; all she had ever done was consider his recovery to be the most important thing. All he had very obviously done was selfishly make it his sole priority. Well, he had achieved what he was so determined to do: he had been reinstated as a leading detective in the Murder Squad. She would no doubt read about him in the Police Gazette, and by next week he would be attached to a murder enquiry.

Arthur Murphy’s trial would soon be over and she would be onto another case, obviously not with Langton. If he went down on bended knee for her to join whatever team he was selecting, she would never work alongside him again. In fact, by four o’clock in the morning, she had worked herself up into such a fury that she dragged down one of her own suitcases and hurled into it everything she could find that he had left behind. She then went into the hall and chucked it onto his rowing machine.

When Anna returned to bed, she decided she would ask Harry to help her remove everything and leave it at Langton’s flat. She punched her pillow with her fist and dragged the duvet cover around herself.

The next thing, she was jolted awake by her alarm clock. She reached over to slap it off with the flat of her hand and lay there for a moment, her heart thudding. The silence, the total silence, did it to her; she broke down and sobbed. It was over, he’d gone, and already she missed him.

Arthur George Murphy was sentenced to life with a minimum term of fifteen years for the murder of Irene Phelps. His mother, Beryl Dunn, sat almost hidden at the end of the gallery. Three of Irene’s co-workers from the library sat in the centre of the gallery, staring at the smug gloating face of their friend’s killer, unaware his mother was so close. Irene’s parents wept, holding each other’s hands. Murphy showed no remorse, and shrugged his shoulders in the dock as if the sentence meant nothing.

As Anna left the court, Beryl Dunn hurried towards her.

‘Excuse me? Hello!’

Anna had seen Beryl but didn’t really want to face her again.

‘I’ve still not heard from our Gail,’ she said loudly. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn in the café, and her make-up looked as if she’d just given it another layer. ‘Did you do anything about it for me?’

Anna saw Brandon making a quick exit, and she hesitated.

Mrs Dunn continued. ‘Like I said, I’ve not heard from her. Something’s got to be done — I mean, she’s not even called me.’

‘I gave the local police near her bungalow the details, and they will have no doubt contacted social services.’

‘Did you report her missing?’

‘No. I told you that you would have to make a formal report.’

‘But that’s not right; she’s never not kept in touch and I got her social cheques and her child support. I told you they get sent to me, now why wouldn’t she want them?’

‘Mrs Dunn, if you really think something is wrong then—’

‘I know something is.’

‘—then make a report.’

‘Fuck off,’ she said, and pushed past Anna.

It was then that Irene’s ex-husband walked towards Anna. He introduced himself and thanked her, as Beryl banged out of the court. He was a tall, rather gaunt man, with thinning sandy hair and a dark navy suit.

‘I am Kenneth Phelps,’ he said, then hesitated, as if saying his name was somehow embarrassing.

‘How is your daughter?’ she asked.

‘Natalie is gradually settling down with us in Devon, but it’s very hard; she misses her mother, obviously. We have some help from a counsellor, but of course, she has nightmares. Her grandparents visit when they can. Eventually, she’ll make new friends at the school, but right now, we just take it day by day.’

Anna watched him walk over to join Irene’s mother and father; at least he was not alone.

Outside, Harry Blunt made Anna jump as he put his arm around her.

‘Want a lift?’

‘Yes, thanks. That’s Irene’s ex-husband and her parents,’ she said, watching their car go past.

‘I know,’ he said, then burst out: ‘Bastard got fifteen years, will probably serve even less; while that little girl will be twenty-seven years old when he gets out. She’s the one with the life sentence.’

‘Actually, Harry, I think I’m going to walk for a while, but thanks for the offer.’

‘Up to you.’ He started to walk away then stopped. ‘Eh! I heard Langton’s back — bloody unbelievable. We all thought he was a goner; tough bastard, isn’t he?’

She nodded and walked away, not wanting to discuss it or now to ask Harry to help her move the exercise equipment, after all.

‘Been good working with you, Travis!’ he called after her.

She turned and forced a smile. ‘Thanks, Harry.’

Anna knew she would have a couple of days before she was assigned to another enquiry, so decided to put them to good use: maybe take a weekend at a spa and pamper herself. She tried not to think about Langton, but it was very difficult, with her hallway still occupied by his stuff. At home, her answerphone light was blinking; her heart thudded with the expectation of a message from him, but it was Brandon, saying he’d missed her after the trial. The second message was from Mike Lewis, congratulating Langton: he’d just heard the news — it was going round the Met like bushfire! She deleted the messages and then jumped as her doorbell rang.

It was a short square Indian, with a terrible striped sweater. He showed Anna his pick-up order and delivery drop.

She watched the poor man almost give himself a hernia as he carried out the bicycle and then took apart the rowing machine. He said he couldn’t take the suitcase, as that was not on his list. Anna grabbed her purse and took out a ten-pound note.

‘Just take it to the same address, would you?’

He agreed. After he’d left, she opened the kitchen windows for a through draught and lit a scented candle, to reclaim her space. She had to hand it to Langton. He didn’t do things by halves — walking out and then hiring the van and driver, without even one call to her. Well, she could be just as cold. There was no way she would contact him now. She was just going to get on with her life and think back to that list she had made about how difficult it was living with him. Well, he was not living with her any more — and she hoped that went round the Met like bushfire!