Backlash (53 page)

He was amazed at her strength, and it took all of his to grip hold of her and lift her off her feet. Then her right foot kicked him viciously in his injured kneecap, and he was forced to let go
of her as he crunched over in agony.

She paced up and down, wrapping her arms around herself, muttering almost inaudibly that if it wasn’t for her they would never have gone to the quarry, if it wasn’t for her they
would not have uncovered the fact that Bradford’s mother was already dead. He leaned with one hand on the desk, the other rubbing at his knee as she opened her briefcase and began ripping up
pages from her notebook, hurling them into the air as she continued, ‘Did anyone else bring up the excavation of the Jordans’ property? NO! Here’s my notes, want to read my notes
about the way I pieced together that the Jordans’ house extension had to be a lead? What about Andrew Markham? He only employed Oates to work for him, who got that lead? ME. All on the board,
sir, everything written down.’

One of her high-heeled shoes had fallen off, her hair had come loose from its band, and two buttons on her blouse had come undone. She was panting, her chest heaving, and there was a pitiful
pain-wracked expression in her eyes. Slowly the rage calmed and she gave a helpless look around the office as if only just aware of what she had done.

‘It’s okay,’ he said softly.

He gently took her in his arms, her heart was beating so rapidly he could feel it against his chest.

‘It’s okay,’ he repeated.

‘Why wasn’t I able to stop it? I didn’t do enough.’

Her voice was muffled and he couldn’t quite make out what she said.

‘Why did he have to die? I didn’t do the work, it was my fault, I should have been more aware that it might happen.’

Then he understood. What he had just witnessed was the rage he had long suspected lay hidden, and had finally erupted, all this time after the trauma of losing her fiancé. Anna blamed
herself for not being more aware of the danger Ken Hudson had been in, as a crazed prisoner who’d had a fixation on her had murdered him. Her obsession with the Oates murder case had really
been fuelled by her guilt, and her refusal to grieve.

He stroked her hair as she calmed.

‘I want you to take a couple of weeks off, while we get ready for the trial, are you listening to me?’

She nodded.

‘Then you get back to work.’

She nodded again.

‘Now I think we’d better clear up Mike’s office.’

She moved away from him, picked up her shoe, and watched him bending and wincing as he collected all her torn scraps of paper from her notebook.

‘Now we have to be singing off the same hymn sheet, Travis. What happened here is over and done with. I guarantee that crew out there were all ears, so I will tell them we just had a bit
of an argument and you accidentally threw the telephone at the wall!’

She laughed then went to him and held him, resting her head on his shoulder.

‘Thank you.’

‘Think nothing of it, button up your blouse, and what went on we put to bed, I mean it . . . it’s over. That said, it was a very low blow, kicking an injured man where you knew it
would hurt.’

‘I wasn’t aiming for your knee.’ She gave him a wonderful smile.

‘Don’t push your luck with me, Travis, I’ll be limping out of here now.’

He didn’t; they both went back into the incident room and behaved as if nothing had happened. Langton quietly joked with Barolli about Joan bringing him her mother’s home-cooked
meals in hospital. He noticed Anna walking out, briefcase in her hand and back straight; she didn’t say goodnight to anyone.

‘Everything all right, guv?’ Mike asked.

‘Everything’s fine, but you might need to order a new desk phone – tripped on the wire and hit my bloody knee.’

‘Travis has gone, has she?’

Langton gave him a cool dismissive glance and helped himself to a glass of wine.

‘Well, she certainly did her homework,’ Mike observed.

‘Yes she did, Mike.’

He held up his glass.

‘Cheers.’

He turned towards the incident board as he sipped his rather tepid white wine. The faces of the victims all appeared in shadows – it was late, the main lights turned low. He walked slowly
from section to section, victim to victim. Lastly he paused in front of the photographs of little Rebekka Jordan. He more than anyone knew the toll this enquiry had taken on them all, especially
Travis. She was a loner, like himself, and he knew that she was probably one of the best detectives he had ever worked with. He turned to the room and raised his glass.

‘To DCI Anna Travis.’

‘Thank you very much, sir.’ He turned in surprise. She had combed her hair and put fresh make-up on, showing no sign of what had taken place just minutes before. He watched her move
from one member of the team to another, sipping her wine and smiling, until she came to stand beside him.

‘How’s your knee, sir?’

‘Aching.’

‘Like my heart. But I want you to know that I will take on board everything we discussed. I promise. Goodnight.’

For the second time he watched her leaving. The double doors swung closed behind her. His admiration for the way she handled herself went up another notch. DCI Anna Travis was a class act.