Blind Fury (27 page)

Anna did so, finding this interview far easier to deal with, as Welsh appeared to be paying close attention to every word she said without any snide references or sexual undercurrent.

“The gaps in between the dead girls—have you reviewed any further cases that might be connected?”

“To be honest, we haven’t. The four cases we have are taking up a great deal of time, not to mention financial resources. If we continue to look for other unsolved cases, it would make it difficult to continue holding on to the entire team allocated to the cases we already have, since we’re under pressure to get a result.”

“There will be more, but I understand that everything in this world today has a price. Justice doesn’t have the finances—very sad, isn’t it? Now, the girl in the blue blanket: tell me how you got to identify her.”

Anna went into detail about the tattoo and what they knew about Dorota’s life. She skirted giving any surnames or naming Olga at all, trying to keep her account as informative as possible without revealing too many undisclosed facts. Welsh jotted down notes and sometimes asked pertinent questions, but always, when he interrupted her, he did it politely.

“The girl who was joining her uncle in Manchester to work in his bakery: did she know either of the other victims?”

“We don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“If these girls were trying to find work apart from turning into whores, maybe that was the reason they were heading for Manchester. But no! I would rule out the possibility that they were all going to Manchester or up north for any reason. They were picked up in London. Whoever picked them up was, as I have said numerous times, someone they trusted. Now, what if they didn’t know him personally? What if he was a police officer or someone wearing a uniform? He would be seen as trustworthy. What if you go back to what I have suggested—that Margaret Potts knew him?”

“We have considered that, but we cannot find the connection to the girls.”

“She didn’t know them, she knew
him.
Your victim in the blue blanket, her body was found closer to the M6 than the M1. Go back over the press releases at the time of her murder and find out how many photographs were in the papers. I know you said the tattoo was described as a dark blue lizard, but there was one beneath it, correct?”

“I think we are going around in circles. We have considered the possibility of the killer wearing a police uniform that would not make his victims wary of getting into the van or truck he drives. So if they were thumbing a lift or—”

“He kills them in his vehicle, he has his fun with them, and then he dumps the bodies—but only your blue-blanket girl was naked. Why? Was she his first? What did he do with her clothes?”

By the way he was moving his body, shifting his weight, Anna suspected he was becoming aroused as soon as he started talking about the killer, and she was tempted to call the interview off. “She was his first.”

“You have Margaret Potts as his second two years later. I think she picked him up at the service station, she recognized him, and so he had to kill her. The blue blanket was number one, and he got away with it. Next he’s threatened by this disgusting piece of humanity, and he has to kill her. This would have started the excitement building because he’s gotten away with it again.”

He leaned back, and she could see that he had an erection beneath his jeans.

“You have no idea what it does to your sex drive,” he told Anna. “You can’t think straight, you can’t eat, you are permanently in a semi-orgasmic state. Just recalling what you have done, thinking about your victims mewing and pleading with you not to hurt them as you squeeze the living breath out of them, and you come into them with the greatest orgasm imaginable; your own howls as the rush spreads over your body and screams inside your head.” He swallowed. “No, this killer didn’t pick them up and screw them in a field; he spent hours with them, wrapping the cord tighter and tighter—”

“I think that’s enough now, Mr. Welsh.”

“What?”

“My time is up, and I don’t want to miss my train back. You have been very informative, thank you.”

“You can’t leave now—I haven’t finished.”

“Well,
I
have. Thank you, Mr. Welsh.”

Anna almost knocked the chair to the ground in her haste as she stood up and walked past the cell gate.

“You will have to come back. Do you hear me? You will have to come back!”

She didn’t reply. Hearing Welsh shouting, Ken appeared at the end of the aisle. “You all right?”

“Yes, but I’d like to leave now, Officer Hudson.”

Welsh used his mirror to try and catch a glimpse of Anna as she walked away. He saw Hudson saying something to her; he also caught his hand touching Anna’s back in an overfamiliar way; and he caught the look she gave him. It was so obvious that Hudson was fucking her—he knew it, he could smell it. That was why she’d come to Leeds alone. It wasn’t to see him, it was to see that blond beefcake of a thickheaded officer, and he fought to keep his rage under control.

•  •  •

Anna was desperate for some fresh air, so she walked back to Ken’s flat. She debated calling the incident room but decided against it. Opening the fridge, she took out the steaks and prepared a salad, making up some dressing, and then opened the bottle of pinot grigio and poured herself a glass. Welsh still made her feel violated: she loathed him, and knowing that he was sexually aroused while he was talking to her, sickened her.

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The team had obviously discussed the possibility that the killer could pick up the girls wearing a police uniform, but they had no witness; nor did they have any idea where he had picked them up. Going over everything that had been said today, she knew there had been nothing new. Welsh had thought she would never come back.

She lay there thinking about Margaret Potts and whether she had recognized the killer, but as they knew so little about her daily routines, apart from at the service station, they had no idea how she could have known or recognized him—unless she had, as Welsh had implied, deduced something from the newspaper reports.

Anna sat up and sipped some more wine. It was not five yet, so she drained the glass and snuggled under the duvet to have a nap. She woke with a start an hour later when Ken closed the front door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he walked in.

“I’ve been fast asleep,” she said guiltily. “I meant to get the steaks marinated and . . .”

He came over and kissed her, drawing her to her feet. “I need a shower, then we’ll cook dinner together. How did it go with Welsh?”

She told him it had not been of much use, and while Ken showered, she went into the kitchen to finish tossing the salad and start work on the steaks. She used a wooden spatula to whack and soften the meat. She found some microwave french fries and then set the table.

“How do you like your steak?” she shouted to the bathroom.

“Medium, and there are some chips in the freezer.”

“Already got them. How long will you be?”

“Five minutes.”

Anna set the horrible Formica table in the kitchen and then found plates and napkins. By the time Ken came into the kitchen wearing the dressing gown, the steaks were frying.

He leaned forward to kiss her neck, and she sniffed and murmured, “Mmmm—you smell nice. Let me guess, is it Clinique Happy for men?”

He stepped back and flushed.

“I saw it in your bathroom,” Anna explained. “What—did you think I’m an expert on men’s aftershave because I have sex with so many?”

“It was given to me by my sister,” Ken said. “She’d probably bought it for her old man but gave it to me.”

“I like it.”

“Well, that’s okay, then. I’ll splash it all over my body.”

They didn’t waste time clearing away the debris of dinner but went straight to bed. Around midnight, Anna woke up and spent a long time looking at Ken’s sleeping face, leaning up on her elbow. It had all happened so fast, and it was hard to believe that she was so besotted. He slowly opened his eyes as if he had felt her looking at him. She hadn’t touched him because she didn’t want to wake him.

“What?” he murmured.

“I love you,” she said shyly.

He reached out and drew her close to him. “What are we going to do about that?”

She laughed as he slowly moved to lie on top of her.

Anna was still sleeping when Ken’s alarm went off. It was seven-thirty, but he was not beside her. She got up and wrapped his dressing gown around her. There was coffee in the kitchen, but he wasn’t in the shower, so she went into the lounge. He was doing push-ups on a blanket, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he panted. “Coffee is nearly ready, and there are bagels and smoked salmon, as I know you like them. I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to leave. I’m on early duty.”

By the time she had drunk her coffee, he was dressed and ready to go to work.

“I’ve left a number by the phone of a local taxi firm. Sorry I can’t take you to the station myself, but I have to be on duty due to having strong-armed the other lads to get off early last night. I don’t know if I can swing it for the weekend, but if I can’t, would you be prepared to come here again?”

“Yes, but not to see Welsh!”

Grabbing a quick swig of coffee, he kissed her neck and started to leave. Then he paused and turned toward her, saying, “Last night, did you mean what you said?”

She blushed and pretended not to understand. He came to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, too, Anna Travis.”

Then he was gone and she wanted to cry. She wanted to run after him and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she finished her coffee and ate too much, but because he’d bought the bagels and salmon especially for her, she felt that she should.

She did all the washing up and cleaned the kitchen, took a shower and washed her hair again, then packed. Taxi arranged, she went into the lounge, finding it strange being in his flat alone. He had left a set of dumbbells and the blanket he’d been using on the bricked wood floor. She bent down as if to pick it up, fold it, and put it away when she froze. It was a blue blanket—newer, cleaner, and with a prison laundry mark in the right-hand corner, but she was certain it was identical to the blue blanket found wrapped around the victim Dorota Pelagia.

Chapter Eleven

A
nna had a terrible few moments of panic. Her mind went completely blank in a hideous mental block. She took deep breaths, refusing to allow herself to even contemplate the connection between Ken, the blanket, and the killer. She knew she would have to discuss it with him, and immediately, but the fear that he could be involved made her throw up in the toilet.

Afterward, she splashed cold water over her face and then called the prison to ask to be put through to the secure unit, as it was of the utmost importance. She was told that it was against regulations for the officers in the unit to take personal calls. Fighting to keep control of her voice, she explained who she was and said it was imperative she speak to Officer Hudson.

It was a while before Ken came to the phone; the first thing he asked was if she was all right. He was afraid there had been some kind of accident.

“I’m fine, Ken, but just before I left your flat, I noticed that you’d been exercising on a blanket. It’s prison issue—a blue one—and I need to know why you have it.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, I’m not. It’s very important. Ken, can you tell me about the blanket?”

“It was in the flat when I moved in. They give them out, or they did, to the officers in the flats. Most of them bring in their own bedding, obviously. I don’t think they are part of the prison issue anymore, but there must be hundreds still used in cells . . . What’s so important?”

“Can I take it with me back to the station?”

“Whatever for? Are you having me on?”

“No. I wish I were, because I can’t really discuss it with you, but can you call me later when you are off duty and I’ll explain?”

“Explain it now, Anna. I was almost having a heart attack in case you’d been hurt.”

Anna felt her body breaking out in a cold sweat. “All right,” she said, and swallowed. “One of our victims was found wrapped in an identical blanket—the same color, but with no laundry mark. We’ll need to find out if they were also issued to other prisons.”

There was a pause, and then Ken asked if she wanted him to check it out for her.

“No, station will get on to it.”

“Okay, but you be honest now, did you think I had something to do with it? You didn’t, did you, Anna?”

“Of course I didn’t,” she lied, “but I just needed to check it all out with you. Look, I’ve got to go, the taxi is here to take me to the station.”

She felt terrible that she had, for a moment, had a hideous suspicion that he could in some way be involved. During the taxi ride, she rang the incident room and gave them the blanket discovery, making no mention that she had found it in Ken Hudson’s flat, but insisting that the team needed to find out how many prisons used the blue blankets for their inmates. She also spoke to Mike Lewis about the Cameron Welsh interview, repeating that he was adamant regarding the Margaret Potts connection and that he had even suggested the killer could use a police officer’s uniform to entice the victims to trust him.

“Or it could even be a prison officer’s uniform,” she added, and felt her body break into a sweat again.

The journey to King’s Cross seemed to take forever, as there were faults on the line and delays, so she didn’t get back to the incident room until late afternoon. She immediately passed the blanket over to be sent to the forensic lab.

The team had discovered that the blankets were imported by a company in Wembley and made for them in China. The company had ordered a massive consignment, delivered over four years to five prisons, but had recently lost contracts, as the inmates didn’t like them and preferred duvets. These blankets were also used at police stations in Manchester for prisoners held overnight in the cells. The remainder, since the prisons had stopped ordering, had been delivered to hostels around London. They were looking at hundreds of thousands of these blue blankets, and it promised another lengthy, tedious line of inquiry.

That night Anna had a call from Ken. He suggested that it was possible their killer had worked as a prison officer. Anna agreed but said it was a long shot.

“Do you know if officers keep their uniforms when they leave?”

“Yeah, some do. We get our uniforms, but many officers buy more comfortable black trousers. I doubt if they’d bother retaining the shirts with the epaulettes, although it’s possible.”

Anna didn’t want it to happen, but the discovery had somehow damaged the innocent warm glow she felt toward him, and he picked it up fast.

“Listen, I think you and I had better spend some more time together and soon, because even though you are telling me you didn’t feel any suspicions, I can tell by the way you are talking to me that it upset you. I’ll pull what strings I can to get off this weekend, okay?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Good night. Love you.”

She didn’t say she loved him and felt guilty, so she rang him back straightaway, but his phone went to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message but hung up.

The possibility that their suspect might have worked as a prison officer was a step forward, and yet it meant they were in an even worse position, because not only did it entail another round of inquiries, it also meant that John Smiley was less likely to be their prime suspect. And they had no one else.

The following morning, Pete Jenkins confirmed that the blanket did match the one they held at the lab. It was made from the same fabric, with the same stitching, but the old one had been worn, probably washed numerous times.

Anna had spoken again to Pete when she went home the previous evening and explained in more detail the importance of the blanket being prison issue, though it was virtually impossible to trace the actual batch and discover where it might have been sent. However, what it could mean was that whoever killed Dorota Pelagia four years ago might have had access to one and had perhaps even worked for the prison service.

Ken had ridden down to London on his Harley late Friday, and all the anxiety Anna had felt had disappeared. They talked about the case, about Dorota Pelagia, and the fact that Langton had threatened to pull half the team. Lang-ton had admitted that they did have new developments, but ones that he felt had scant hope of a conclusion. It had been a depressed group when Anna had left, even more so as they all had weekend leave, bar the skeleton night-duty officers. It appeared they were heading toward a scaling-down of the entire investigation.

“Our prime suspect no longer fits the new stuff that came in. We have his CV from when he left the army and joined this company called Swell Blinds.” Anna was lying in bed beside Ken, and when there was no reply, she realized he had fallen asleep. Easing herself out of the bed, she crept into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Sitting on a breakfast bar stool cupping the mug between her hands, she didn’t feel at all sleepy. More than ever, she was aware what it felt like to have someone to be with, despite the fact that Ken had fallen asleep when she was talking about the case. Never, in her entire career to date, had she worked on a case that looked as if it could go so totally cold. At worst, there would always be an ongoing investigation and even a couple of officers assigned to monitoring any new evidence. On all her other cases, she had learned something about the victims, but with this one, they still knew little about the Polish women. Only Margaret Potts’s past life had they been able to piece together.

Anna sipped her tea, questioning herself. Had she overlooked something? Even though she had uncovered key facts, such as the lizard tattoo and the date of Dorota’s marriage, it had not brought in a hoped-for result. They were still no closer to finding the killer.

Anna finished her tea and thought about returning to bed. As she passed her bedroom, she looked in at the sleeping figure of Ken. It was a good feeling to have him part of her life, and instead of going to look over her notes and case files, as she would have done alone, she slipped in beside him. Loving the feel of his back as she pressed herself against him, she fell asleep.

Their entire weekend was taken up with preparing a picnic, and as Ken had brought another helmet, Anna had the first-time experience of riding behind him. They rode out to Greenwich Park and had a long walk, getting to know more and more about each other. She never brought up the case; it was out of her thoughts, even more so when they came back and changed to go to the theater. They had dim sum for dinner in a place on Tooley Street and didn’t return to her flat until late. The following morning they stayed in bed reading the Sunday papers before riding over to have lunch with Lizzie and her family. Anna helped cook and wash up, and Ken played out in the garden with the two boys. Lizzie looked out at them having fun and then turned to her guest. “Are you keen to have children, Anna?” she asked.

Anna was taken aback. It was something she had never really thought about, but the scene outside brought the truth home to her. Finally, she said that she was.

“That’s good, because I sort of thought you were a career girl. Ken loves kids, and he’s really a very special person, the way he looks out for Mum and Dad.”

“They’re lovely people.”

“Yes. I always think they have more heart than anyone I’ve ever known, especially my mum. Strange, you know she had a big scare, open-heart surgery, and we thought we might lose her.”

“Yes. Ken mentioned it to me, but she seems well now.” Anna glanced out the window, watching as Ken held Oscar upside down, while Ollie screamed that it was his turn.

“He’ll make a terrific dad,” Lizzie said fondly.

Anna was so startled by the remark that she flushed. Before she could say anything, Ken burst in and suggested that they all go for a walk in Richmond Park.

In the end, Anna and Ken took the boys to the park, leaving their parents to enjoy a quiet couple of hours with the Sunday papers. By five o’clock, when they had returned to Lizzie’s house and had tea and sandwiches, it was time for Ken to take Anna home and get back to Leeds. She tried to persuade him to stay another night and leave the next morning, but he refused, saying that he had to be at work early because he’d had the weekend off.

“When will I see you again?” she asked.

“I’m working next weekend, so it’ll be up to you whether you want to drive up. It’s also my parents’ wedding anniversary.”

Anna hugged him, saying that she’d be there if she got the weekend off. Then he was gone and the flat felt empty. She couldn’t believe how much she already missed him. He had drawn her into his world, his family, and the warmth of their affection for one another spilled over to her. Having no parents and no relatives, Anna had been solitary and until now had not questioned how much of her time was spent alone or at work.

She kept on thinking about what Lizzie had asked—whether she wanted children—and the thought of carrying Ken’s child made her well up inside. She had to admonish herself. He had not implied that their relationship would go that far, and she didn’t know if he would want a long-term commitment, but it didn’t stop her from daydreaming about getting married. This again was something she had never contemplated or even allowed herself to think about, especially during her long affair with Langton. Even though they had lived together, she had intuitively known it would never go further than that. She didn’t even know if she had wanted it to, but one thing she did know: she had never contemplated having a child with him, and she was certain that it had never been something he had thought about or desired.

Anna tossed and turned, one moment thinking about what kind of bridal gown she would choose, whom she would invite to the reception, and the next warning herself to stop thinking about it. She decided that she would go to see Ken in Leeds the next weekend and, having made the decision, fell fast asleep.

Monday morning, Anna arrived at the station and could feel the lack of energy in the incident room. Barbara and Joan were gossiping over their mugs of tea, and Barolli was standing in front of the incident board with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Anna joined him.

“Nothing came in over the weekend?”

“Nope. I had bloody sleepless nights. I’ve never been on a case that had so much work done and so little to show for it—bar the amount of stuff written up here. I tried thinking if there was anything we’ve overlooked, but Christ Almighty, Anna, look at how many interviews we’ve done, how much work the clerical staff has had to wade through, and having that John Smiley as our only suspect looks like a complete waste of time. So all that crap we’ve had to delve into about Swell Blinds has also been pointless.”

Anna looked at the photographs of the victims, the red arrows linking the girls, the Polish connection, the tattoo.

“I was thinking over the weekend, too,” she said. “In every case I’ve worked on, I’ve uncovered details about the victims’ lives, but with these girls, we’ve got blanks; we don’t know where they went after stopping work for the domestic agency—all we know is that Anika worked in a restaurant, but we don’t know where she lived. With Estelle, we have her working as an au pair, staying with a friend, and buying clothes from a charity shop, but we still don’t have a clue where she went for the three days before her murder. As for Dorota Pelagia, we have no information about where she worked or lived, nor do we know of anyone who knew her apart from the hideous Olga—so where was
she
four years ago?”

“Tell me something I haven’t thought about,” Barolli muttered.

“I think we should do one big press conference with all the victims’ profiles.”

“Listen, they’ve had them on the crime shows, they’ve done the news coverage over and over again, and what has it brought? Fuck-all,” Barolli grumbled.

Anna shrugged and went over to her desk.

“What did Cameron Welsh have to say for himself?” Barolli asked, curious despite his bad mood.

Anna gestured at the board but gave Barolli the gist of it, adding, “He also had a hard-on when he was telling me all this, so I suspect he was just wanking around.”

“Did he keep on about Margaret Potts?”