Above Suspicion (19 page)

But Ms Anderson was a whizz on the court. She served so hard that Anna took four games before she could make a return. Her partner kept on saying, ‘It’s OK,’ then whenever there was a ball close to the net, he would yell ‘MINE!’ which really irritated her.

They were pretty much evens: one set and four games each. Richard had, time and time again, lobbed some really great shots and Anna kept thinking perhaps she had underestimated him. He’d never played so well. It got to five—four, with Richard and Pamela leading, when Anna got into her stride. Her serve picked up and she started slamming back the spin serve from Ms Anderson. Suddenly it was six—five and time was running out on their court. She dodged Phil twice to make a slam from the nets. Then on a vital shot, the one they needed to win the next set, she had bellowed, ‘Mine, MINE!’ just before missing it.

It should have gone to a tie-break, but there were people waiting for their court. They shook hands. ‘Another time,’ Phil said. A towel around his neck, he opened his wallet and begrudgingly handed over a fifty-pound note to Richard. Though he did not say it, she knew Phil blamed her for the outcome. She was astonished when Richard laughed and refused to take the money. ‘We’ll play again when Tara’s fit.’

She noticed how fast the fifty-pound note went back into Phil’s pocket.

Ms Anderson was nowhere to be seen in the women’s changing room. Anna applied her make-up, wondering if another date with Richard might improve his performance. His tennis had certainly improved. She made her way to the canteen. It was almost eight o’clock, just time for a quick breakfast before she had to leave for work.

The boys had ordered bacon sandwiches and coffee for the table. Richard got up to draw Anna’s chair out for her and she sat down, impressed. He was improving every minute. She noticed he did the same for Pamela, who had now changed into her uniform.

Phil said between mouthfuls, ‘I hear you’re working with Langton.’

‘Yes, I’m with the murder team now.’

‘I worked alongside him once. That was enough.’ He pulled a rasher of bacon from his sandwich and took a bite. ‘Mind you, that was a good few years ago.’

‘Didn’t get along?’ Anna asked innocently, disliking Phil even more.

‘He could be a nasty sod at times. You ever played tennis with him?’

Anna gave him a surprised look. She could not have imagined Langton playing anything, except perhaps the odd hand of poker.

‘Got a sliced serve,’ Phil slurped his coffee, ‘that’s a bitch to get back.’

Then he stood up, announcing that breakfast was on him. He gave a brief smile to Anna and mentioned to Richard that he would book another court.

There was an uneasy silence after he’d left. Pamela nibbled at her sandwich, while Richard said confidentially to Anna, ‘So, how is it working out? Word is, not too good.’

‘We just got some big leads,’ Anna protested.

Pamela laughed. ‘I know your commander’s DCI. And she’s not a happy bunny.’

‘Oh, really? Well, perhaps she hasn’t had the update. When you’re dealing with seven murders, some as far back as—’

‘I know James Langton too.’ Pamela dabbed her lips.

‘He used to be part of the Met’s athletic team, bicycle racing. I often saw him at the athletic track in Maida Vale.’

‘Langton on a bicycle?’ Anna asked, surprised.

‘That was a while back, of course, when he was married to Debra Hayden. Did you know her?’

‘No.’

‘She was amazing. She used to race with him - “the Demon Duo”, they were called. It was all very sad.’

‘You mean the divorce?’ Anna was fascinated.

‘No, Debra was his first wife. She died of a brain tumour. Tragic, really; she had a great career ahead of her. And she was very beautiful.’

Anna noticed that Richard had gone quiet, but she couldn’t resist.

‘I know he has a thing about blondes.’ She was trying to sound casual.

Pamela looked up sharply.

‘I couldn’t say. Debra was Persian, though, so I doubt it.’

‘Oh,’ Anna said and would have liked to continue, but Pamela was checking her watch. She collected her bag and leaned over to kiss Richard.

‘See you later, darling,’ she said. She smiled at Anna. ‘Nice meeting you. Richard’s told me a lot about you.’

Richard fiddled with his teaspoon, embarrassed. Pamela waved as she left the canteen.

‘What do you think of her?’ he asked nervously.

‘She seems very nice,’ Anna replied, with some confusion.

‘Congratulate me. We’re engaged.’

‘Oh! Congratulations! I’m, uh, speechless. How long have you been together?’

‘Six months, on and off.’

‘Six months? Really!’

‘I didn’t mention her before, because when I last saw you, I wasn’t so sure.’

‘And now you are.’

‘Yes. We’re living together.’

‘Oh. Wonderful.’

‘Yes. Pammy put me on the Atkins. And I’m working out. I’ve never been fitter. I’ve got ten times the energy I used to have!’

‘I can see that. Look at the time. I can’t be late.’

As she stood up, Richard kissed her cheek. She couldn’t believe it; he was wearing aftershave.

‘Thanks for stepping in this morning. Phil’s a really nice guy, recently divorced. You two seemed to get along well. Maybe we could do it again sometime?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, gathering her things. ‘Work’s really busy right now.’

She couldn’t wait to get away from him. She could have kicked herself. Why the hell hadn’t she put him on the Atkins diet? All that potential and she hadn’t spotted it? Some detective!

She returned briefly to the ladies to comb her hair. She adjusted her new suit in the mirror. Her white shirt was open at the neck, revealing the gold chain and small diamond that had once belonged to her mother. She looked great.

At the station, Anna was disappointed that no one remarked on her makeover. They had all gathered in the incident room for the latest briefing. Langton sat on the edge of the desk and, on the board behind him, the dead women’s faces looked out at the assembled team.

‘Mike, what you got?’ Langton asked Lewis.

Lewis had been allocated the second victim, Sandra Donaldson. He reported that he had traced one of her kids to Brighton. The boy was working in a seaside fish and chip shop. According to Lewis, he was one sandwich short of a picnic and all his questions only produced monosyllabic grunts. The boy had been brought up in various foster homes. He claimed he didn’t know any of the women, he didn’t know anyone from Manchester, he hadn’t really known his mother. He described his sister as a slag and his brother as a criminal, presently a guest of Her Majesty in Brixton prison.

Barolli had had no luck either. He, too, had begun tracing relatives of the victims. The ex-husband of Mary Murphy had left England to live in Germany, taking her twin daughters with him. She had no other contactable family. Barolli had then turned to Kathleen Keegan’s children in the hope that they could help. Since they were scattered all over the place, he had gone for the eldest: a married daughter, living in Hackney with five kids.

‘She was unable to recall anyone called Anthony Duffy, or if her mother was acquainted with any of the other women. She did remember that Kathleen had lived in Manchester and supported Manchester United; she said her mother had probably screwed the entire football team, given that she screwed everything else. She hated her.’

As Barolli sat down, Moira stood up to address the room. She told them about her visit to Emily Booth. Teresa Booth’s mother was still alive, residing in a care home for the elderly. The old lady was feisty and still had all her faculties. Moira had them laughing with her mimicry of the woman’s Newcastle accent.

It had been a lengthy interview. Though the old lady did not recognize any of the victims’ names, she handed Moira photographs of her daughter, including a group shot of three women sitting on the railings at a sea front. Moira held up the photograph.

‘I thought it was Brighton to begin with, but the old lady said that it was Southport, Lancashire. Not far from Manchester, right?’

The photograph was circulating round the room and had reached Langton.

‘Now I may be wrong, but take a look at the woman to the right, wearing a black skirt and sun top. I think she’s Beryl Villiers.’

While Anna waited for her turn, she opened her briefcase and removed a selection of the photographs Beryl’s mother had provided. After Moira’s photograph was passed to her and she had examined it, Anna stood up, heart pounding, to address the room.

‘It’s either her, or a doppelganger. I brought this picture from Leicester.’ The second photograph began to circulate.

Langton was the last to compare both pictures. After considering them, he approached the wall and pinned up both pictures.

‘What else have you got for us, Travis?’

‘Kathleen Keegan,’ she said. The room erupted.

Anna described the interview with the ex-detective, then the one with Mrs Kenworth. Jean was writing the updates on the board, marking the connection between those women in red felt-tip pen. Now that four of them had been connected to each other, possibly all of them would be connected to the house in Shallcotte Street. The only two unlinked as yet to the others were Sandra Donaldson and Mary Murphy.

‘Good work, Travis. Barolli, I want you to contact Manchester Vice Squad. We need to know about any working girl — well, she’d be an old woman now — who was had up for prostitution before Shallcotte Street came down.’

Lewis put up his hand. Langton nodded.

‘Gov, even if we get each woman knowing each other — maybe even knowing Lilian Duffy — what does it prove?’

Langton exhaled a sigh. ‘That the killer also knew them; perhaps all of them. That’s what these links are providing.’

‘Yeah, well, I know that part,’ Lewis said.

‘So what’s your problem?’

‘I just can’t get my head round the fact that Duffy would kill them one by one. There’s years in between the murders, in some cases. I think we should be looking elsewhere, one of their pimps, or a client. Duffy, or Alan Daniels, was only eight years old when he finally left Shallcotte Street. We know where he went, what school,
etc.
What does tracing the slags who knew each other give us? I mean, Lilian Duffy? It was bloody twenty years back when he’s down for possibly killing his mother! And the latest murder is Melissa Stephens? She’s not a hooker, she’s not a slag: she’s a seventeen-year-old student.’

‘You’re saying you don’t think we have a serial killer?’

‘We know there is a serial killer. Everyone’s agreed they’ve got the same MO.’

The tension in the incident room was uncomfortable, as Lewis went head to head with Langton.

‘So?’

‘I’m saying we should back off these old cases. Only concentrate on Melissa Stephens. We’re wasting valuable time on the case and as time goes on, we’ll lose any leads we might get.’

‘We haven’t got any leads, Mike!’

‘I know that,’ snapped Lewis. ‘But we’ve all been schlepping around the fucking country when we should have been here. What I’m saying is, if you think Duffy is the killer, get the Cuban in.’

Langton’s jaw was working overtime. ‘He never saw his face.’

‘OK, get the gravel-voiced tart in. She said he was blond. She saw part of him.’

‘She said she only saw him from the side and he was wearing shades.’ Lewis sat down, sighing.

Langton looked around the room, his eyes shifting from one to the other. ‘You all have the same feelings?’

Everyone looked uncomfortable under his individual scrutiny, until he got to Anna. He raised his eyebrows. She hesitated; Langton was just about to pass over her, when Anna raised her hand. ‘I think we should stay on trying to discover if the women all knew each other.’

‘Thank you,’ Langton said and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I don’t know if Daniels is our man either, but I do not believe we are looking for a random client of these girls as Mike suggested, or one of their pimps. These murders do have a link: the girls knew each other. That should lead us to anyone they had in common.’

He paused. ‘If that person was Alan Daniels, that makes him a suspect. If the same man killed Melissa Stephens, it could mean that the killing cycle that had him murdering prostitutes may be complete, but he can’t stop. What may have started out as a series of revenge killings could have gone into override. He could be enjoying the act of murder too much to stop. In which case, I do not think he will stop.’

Everyone in the room was hanging on his words. You could have heard a pin drop.

‘Whilst you have been schlepping around the country, I have been working on the dates.’

Langton gestured for Jean to draw up the big diagram board. ‘These are the time gaps that have been blocked out.’

Jean turned over the first sheet of thick white paper.

‘I have not included the murder of Lilian Duffy, only the other women, because of their time frame. There are big gaps between the murders, as Mike was saying. Nearly three years in the longest case.’

Marked up were the names of the victims and beside them the dates. Langton then took the marker from Jean. Beside the time gaps, he wrote in big letters: USA; USA; USA. ‘These dates are when Alan Daniels was filming in the United States.’

He turned to the room. ‘I don’t know in which US cities, or locations, his filming took place and at this stage I don’t want to go back to Daniels, or his shark of a brief. We’ll go to his theatrical agent. But once I know the cities he was filming in, I will be enquiring Stateside to find out if they had any victims found with our MO.’

Anna sat back in her chair. Langton never ceased to amaze her. She had watched him quietly wipe the floor with all of them and by the end, there wasn’t a man or woman in the room who didn’t feel the same awed respect that she did.

‘Travis!’ Langton gestured towards his office. When Anna grabbed her notebook, she suddenly noticed the doodles covering one page. Before closing the book, she quickly ripped out the page with the rows of hearts. She was irritated to find herself acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher.

She closed the office door. He had his back to her. ‘What do you think, Travis?’