Blind Fury (20 page)

Anna helped Mrs. Hudson take the tea things out to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. The kitchen was like the rest of the house, tidy and with every surface shining, and when she put the milk jug back in the fridge, Anna could see it was stocked with plastic containers, all labeled. From the rows of well-thumbed cookbooks, it was obvious that Mrs. Hudson took great pride in her domestic abilities.

When Ken came in to say that he had booked a table at the local Indian restaurant, Anna noticed how at ease he was with his mother. He towered above her as she started to protest that she could cook dinner for them, and he insisted that it would not be necessary.

“But they’ll want one of your full cooked breakfasts—right, Anna?” he said.

Anna agreed. Now that her headache was receding, she found herself liking him more and more. He suggested that he would drive his father’s car so that his guests could enjoy a glass of wine.

Langton had shaved and was keen to go and eat. He sat beside Ken in the front seat of the car, which was as spotless as the house.

“Don’t you drink?” Anna asked.

“Not really, except maybe the odd pint after a game. I play rugby every weekend. We’ve got quite a good team made up from the officers and a few from the local clubs.”

Their conversation was easygoing, and by the time they’d ordered at the small restaurant and a bottle of red wine had been opened, Anna was at last totally relaxed.

The food was not exceptional but was reasonable, and Langton, like Anna, seemed to be enjoying himself. Not until they had ordered coffee did the conversation turn to the reason they had been to the prison. Langton asked Ken what he thought of Cameron Welsh.

“He’s a complex individual,” the young man said. “I don’t like him; he’s manipulative and doesn’t mix with anyone. He spends most of his time studying.”

“Child psychology, wasn’t it?” Anna asked.

“Yes, and I think he’s embarking on economics. He’s very intelligent, but like I said, he’s to my mind very warped. I can’t stand his obsession with his clothes and food fads. He’s got more shampoos and conditioners for his hair than my sister. He’s also independently wealthy, so that makes it easy for him to order in all the books he needs. He’s not allowed cash, obviously, but we can’t stop him ordering from Amazon, and as it’s for educational reasons, there’s no real reason to.”

Langton asked when Welsh had been inside the main prison. Ken said he hadn’t had much to do with him; he just knew there had been trouble, as Welsh constantly antagonized the other inmates.

“Welsh was more intelligent and better educated than any of them, and he knew it and delighted in creating problems. They found out he’d been doing a Joe Orton in the library once, so that caused a stink.”

“Orton? Who’s he, an inmate?”

Anna was surprised that Langton didn’t know. Ken explained that Orton was a brilliant writer who had been charged with cutting out and pasting obscenities in his local library books.

“He was murdered by his boyfriend a good few years back, but Welsh, like him, cut out pages and pasted stuff inside the books, so he got into trouble.”

“You think he’s homosexual?” Langton asked.

“No, no, I don’t, although the way he fancies himself up, he could appear to be. He has a hatred of women, so who can tell what goes on in his head? All I know is he’s never made any sexual approaches to any inmates that I am aware of.”

“Why do you say he hates women?” Anna asked.

Ken explained that when Welsh was submitting his papers for the Open University, Ken had been asked to double-check them in case there were any attempts at communication concealed in the essays. Inmates with twenty-four-hour lockup spent their time finding ways of sending out messages or even trying to arrange an escape.

“Have you got a degree yourself?” Anna asked, impressed but not wanting to sound as if she was.

“Yes. I’m only working in the prison for a couple of years. I eventually want to work with underprivileged teenagers. I suppose it’s from the years watching my mum handle all the kids she took on. She’d still be running herself ragged with them, but she had open-heart surgery two years ago. That’s another reason I chose Barfield—it’s close enough for me to keep an eye on her. If I didn’t, I know she’d get roped into doing too much.”

Langton yawned and poured himself another coffee. “Are you basing Welsh’s hatred of women on his murders?” he asked.

“No, since his victims were not low-class women. You see, Welsh has a real, deep-seated hatred of sexually aware women, like prostitutes. It’s obvious that he had a sick obsession. I think it stems from how he believed his mother rejected him. In his papers, he had to discuss child abuse and how to handle a badly affected youngster, and he wrote a long section about the need to understand how a child reacts to parental rejection. He focused on the loss of a mother and the abusive overcontrolling father. I don’t think he was ever subjected to sexual abuse himself; it was more a mental thing. He talked about how a child will withdraw into his or her own world, and he elaborated on what I presumed were painful memories from his own life. It may have appeared cushioned by wealth, but he consistently underlined the importance of the damage that occurs when a child is excluded from the natural normal love from a parent.”

“She ran off with a close family friend, didn’t she?” Anna poured herself another coffee. Langton had remained silent, deep in his own thoughts, but Anna was enjoying the conversation.

“Apparently, but I think it was a woman she ran off with, not a man. I base this on something he came out with when there was a possibility of having a female prison visitor. I got a tirade against the fact that some women choose to become visitors of long-term prisoners. He said they were all lesbians and that he wouldn’t have one clean his shoes. I remember he went on to describe the woman his mother had left him for as an evil bull dyke. Whether or not it was true, I don’t know . . . but the fact remains that he was left at a young age to be brought up by his father.”

“Do you mind if we call it quits for tonight?” Langton asked shortly afterward, and signaled for the bill.

Anna was disappointed. She would have liked to spend more time chatting with Ken, but it was late, and she presumed that Langton would want an early start the following morning. He was fast asleep as they drove back to the bed-and-breakfast.

Although Ken offered to make more coffee, they both refused and went up to their rooms. Anna used the bathroom first; she had a quick shower and washed her hair and, coming back to her room, found a small hair dryer on the bedside table. She could hear Langton banging around next door as she brushed out her hair. She could also hear him speaking on the telephone but couldn’t make out who he was talking to. Eventually, she went to bed, and no sooner had she drowsily turned off the bedside light than Langton was banging on her door, calling out that he was going down for breakfast.

Anna had slept better than she had in months. Dressing in a hurry, she opened the curtains and saw Ken outside, getting onto his motorbike. She couldn’t believe it was already eight o’clock.

Breakfast was a substantial affair of sausages, fried eggs and tomato, and crispy bacon, with a pile of toast. Mrs. Hudson insisted on making a fresh pot of tea, so Langton and Anna were alone in the small dining room.

“You sleep all right?” he asked.

“Yes, out like a light. What about you?”

“Terrific. I’ve been with the incident room again, and judging from the new information regarding John Smiley, he is even more like the description from Cameron Welsh. Married, kids, good job, hard worker, with no one having a bad word to say against him.”

“That could also be because he is just that, a decent guy. We’ve nothing on which to make an arrest. The only evidence against him is he was parked at the London Gateway Services; plus, we’ve checked out his delivery drops for that period, and they have been verified.”

“I know. Aren’t you going to eat that sausage?”

Anna passed it over and watched as he thudded the HP sauce over it and attacked the sausage as if he were ravenous. Anna had started to notice how much Langton ate, wolfing down the sandwiches at tea yesterday afternoon, then the curry in the evening, and now he was piling through his breakfast at breakneck speed, hardly pausing between mouthfuls.

Mrs. Hudson came in with the tea and more toast.

Langton was charming. “I’ll make certain I come and stay here again,” he said.

“Ken was sorry he had to leave, but he’s on duty this morning,” Mrs. Hudson explained.

They finished breakfast, and Langton insisted that he pay for himself and Anna, although Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t hear of it. Langton tucked the money into her apron pocket anyway, and then, gesturing for Anna to hurry, he walked out munching a piece of toast covered in marmalade.

Mrs. Hudson began clearing the table.

“Is Ken married?” Anna asked, making sure Langton was well out of earshot.

“No. He’s been close to it a few times, but he’s such a ladies’ man that I don’t know when he’ll ever settle down. You know my daughter lives in Richmond? She’s got two children, and we go and stay as often as we can.”

“Well, when you see him again, will you thank him for me? I really enjoyed last night, and the bed was so comfortable, I slept like a dream.” Anna hesitated and then wrote down her mobile and new home phone number. “Next time you are in London, please give me a call, as I’d like to see you again.” She meant she’d like to see Ken again, but before she could say anything else, Langton bellowed from the hall.

Anna was touched. Mr. Hudson had cleaned her Mini. All the mud from the previous day’s rough riding down the muddy back lanes by the murder site was gone. Langton was smoking, and before Anna could thank Mr. Hudson properly, Langton told her to get moving, as he wanted to be back in London after lunch.

They drove off, Anna waving to Ken’s parents as they stood watching them leave. “What a lovely couple,” she said.

“Yes, they’re sweethearts. They don’t make ’em like those two anymore,” Langton agreed as he studied the route for them to head onto the M6 and then on to Manchester.

“You’ve got marmalade on your tie,” she said, watching him swear and rub it with his finger.

Swell Blinds’s headquarters were in Salford, situated in an old warehouse complex with numerous other small firms. Anna and Langton didn’t get there until after ten. The first thing they saw was a couple of Transit vans lined up outside in listed parking bays. They knew that Smiley was already at work, as they had his registration number. Langton had a quick glance over his van, and there was not a scratch or mark on it. It was, as Barolli had said, in pristine condition.

The reception was a small area cordoned off with glass panels. Mr. Rodgers was there with a rather elderly secretary behind an old desk with a computer and telephone. She had many filing cabinets to either side, and an in- and out-tray of receipts and orders in front of her. She left them to talk in private. Arnold Rodgers was edgy, and it took a while for Langton to put him at ease by assuring him that they were just making inquiries regarding an investigation in London. He made it clear that they were not on any account interested in Mr. Rogers’s company.

“It’s about some girl that was murdered, isn’t it?” Rodgers said.

“That is correct, and we are here only because Mr. Smiley was parked at a service station near where she was found, and we are hoping he may be able to assist us. You know, if he saw anyone, any other suspicious vehicle.”

Mr. Rodgers said he’d received a call from Wendy Dunn, and she had told him that she’d passed on the contact numbers of two other employees.

“She was very helpful, and we also really appreciate you giving us some time today,” Langton said pleasantly.

“Do you want to look over the warehouse?”

“That would be good, yes, thank you. I believe Mr. Smiley is here, isn’t he?”

“He’s not, actually; he had a big delivery yesterday to Glasgow, so he’s got the day off today. Do you want me to get him in?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

At that moment, the elderly secretary tapped and asked if Langton and his assistant would like a cup of coffee. They refused, with Anna less than happy at being referred to in such a way.

While Langton was talking to Mr. Rodgers, it gave Anna the opportunity to have a good look around the small office. It didn’t appear that busy, and the phone had not rung once while they had been there. As the two men set off on a tour of the workshops, Anna asked them to wait.

“I’d be grateful if you didn’t call Mr. Smiley and inform him that we are here,” she said politely. “It’s an informal meeting, Mr. Rodgers, and we’d like to keep it that way, okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And we’d also like the details of Mr. Smiley’s deliveries to Glasgow yesterday.”

“Yes, of course,” the flustered man repeated.

“Thank you.”

The warehouse had two sections. One was for the cutting of the wooden blinds, which were stacked in rows of shelves in order of size. There was a separate area with coils of the cord used for threading them through. Three men were working on the long table with circular saws of various sizes.

The paint spraying took place in the second section, where one man was working in overalls with a face mask. He was spraying and laminating wood, and there were many slats left to dry.

“This is it,” Mr. Rodgers said.

“Does Smiley work in the warehouse when he’s not making deliveries?”

“No, he’s transport. He works alongside Rita in the office when he’s not delivering. We have to have the exact measurements, and he also handles all that—sometimes goes out to measure a property before they submit the orders. We’re very small, even smaller than we were, but we’re managing to keep our heads above water. He’s a trusted employee, you know,” Rodgers went on. “A hard worker and respected by everyone in the company.”

Anna and Langton left Swell Blinds shortly afterward, as there seemed little more useful information to be gleaned. Langton had collected a mass of leaflets and was checking out the prices. “Expensive,” he observed.