Blind Fury (5 page)

The notebook was left in the pocket of the tracksuit. Emerald didn’t want any repercussions. Even though Anna had explained the importance of the contents to their investigation, she could think only of the trouble she might get into for having sold the jewelry. She certainly didn’t want anyone showing up claiming the money. It had all been spent anyway.

Chapter Two

D
ays later and the team had still not been able to identify their latest victim. It was immensely frustrating. Even with the extensive press coverage and television broadcasts, no one had come forward. Interpol had also been unable to assist, and neither had Mispers. It was beginning to look as if, along with their brunette victim, the police had another Jane Doe.

Mike held a briefing, but it was disappointing news: officers at the service station and viewing CCTV had so far come up with nothing. It seemed no one had seen the girl, and even though they were still making inquiries, it was looking as if they had reached a dead end. They also gained nothing from the clothing of either of the young women except for a few seat-cover fibers, but they were of a common variety used in a number of vehicles. The disturbing element was the consensus that all three victims had been killed by the same person, due to the MOs being virtually identical.

Mike concluded the briefing by saying that they had distributed appeals for information and warning leaflets at the service stations.

Anna wrote up the report of her visit to Emerald, detailing the fact that Margaret Potts had kept a notebook of the license plates of men who picked her up. But as Emerald had said she no longer had the suitcase or knew where the notebook could be, it was not much use.

Barolli went over to Anna’s desk. “The bitch is lying,” he said. “She never told me she had Potts’s suitcase.”

“I think she was scared it might get her into trouble. She was wearing the dead woman’s tracksuit.”

“You don’t think she’s still got the case, do you?”

“I might have, but she got quite agitated when I asked to see it, and said she’d thrown it out.”

“You think it’d be worth getting a warrant to search her place?”

“From the way she reacted, I’d say as soon as I left, she would have got rid of it, if she still had it.”

“Shit.”

Anna declined to add that he had missed the opportunity when he first interviewed Emerald. She was annoyed that the woman had lied to her, claiming that the suitcase had been checked over when she had been interviewed previously.

“We never found Potts’s handbag, and we didn’t even have a description of it.” Barolli grunted. “Maybe this notebook would have been in it.”

“Probably. She must have kept it on her if she was jotting down reg plates. Strange that she would—” Anna broke off as a new thought occurred to her.

“Would what?”

“Well, Emerald said she was a wily old girl, tough, very streetwise, and yet she gets into a car or a truck with the killer. So, he’s got to be someone she trusted enough or maybe had been with before.”

“Fuck! If only we had the bloody notebook,” Barolli said angrily.

“Well, we don’t, but there’s something else,” Anna said, then hesitated. “Again, this came from Emerald. She said that Margaret had contact with some heavy guys—ex-cops, she said—and they looked out for her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, when she was roughed up, she never reported it to the police, but would use the heavy guys to get the addresses from the plates and leave it to them to deal out their own rough justice.”

Barolli pulled at his tie. “We’d better go back to Emerald Turk, search her place again, and see if she can give us some names.”

Anna agreed and suggested the men might work for bailiff companies if Emerald couldn’t or refused to help. Privately, she doubted that the woman would cooperate, but without much else to work on, they had to do something.

Barolli turned. Passing through the incident room was Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton. He waved at them both before entering Mike Lewis’s office.

“I wondered when he would show up,” Barolli murmured. “He won’t like this. Word is he’s up for the commander’s position, heading up Murder and Serious Crime.”

Anna said nothing, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, she hadn’t felt disturbed at seeing Langton.

“You didn’t get your promotion,” Barolli said suddenly.

“That’s a bit obvious.”

“Well, I’m in the same boat. I’ve been before the powers that be twice, and I just don’t seem able to crack it. It’s all the fucking diversity stuff that gets me.”

“Got me, too,” she said, smiling. This wasn’t actually the truth, since it had been Langton who had vetoed her promotion, but she no longer harbored any ill feelings toward him. On the contrary, she now realized he had been right, and she was not yet ready for promotion to detective chief inspector. But she fully intended to prove herself when the time came around again.

“This case isn’t going to do any of us any favors,” Barolli grumbled.

Anna wished he’d move off, but instead, he perched on the edge of her desk, his heel kicking against it.

“You going to see about getting a search warrant and interviewing Emerald Turk again?” she asked.

He sighed and then, thankfully, moved back to his own desk. “I’ll run it by Mike,” he said.

Anna turned as Barbara joined her, signaling to her that she was wanted in Mike’s office.

“You don’t think these Jane Does are maybe illegal immigrants, do you?” Barbara asked with concern. “If that’s the case, we’ll never get them identified. Maybe we should check around the embassies and clubs—churches, even.”

Anna picked up her notebook, saying, “I think that’s already in hand, Barbara. Did Mike say what he wanted?”

“No. I’d have put it through to your desk, but you were having a confab with Barolli.”

Anna sat beside Langton, who gave her a warm smile and asked how she was. He seemed relaxed, while Mike was edgy, flicking a Biro pen. Then there was a pause.

“I’m very well, thanks,” Anna replied, thankful that this was true and that Langton’s sudden appearance had not affected her.

“You want me to tell her?” Mike began.

“No. It’s this letter, Anna, from the prisoner Cameron Welsh. I had a look over it. I’m not that impressed because it could just be a load of bull, but considering the case is flatlining all round, we shouldn’t just dismiss it, in case he does have information for us or you.”

“I really doubt that he has,” Anna said, somewhat surprised.

Langton nodded. “Yeah, I hear you, but he’s been banged up for some considerable time and would have had a lot of opportunity to talk to any number of inmates—so you never know. I suggest you pay the bastard a visit, see what he’s got or hasn’t. I can’t really recall if you had much interaction with him when we arrested him.”

“I met him, obviously, and was in on a couple of interviews, but that was it.”

“Well, you obviously made a big impression on him.”

Anna made no reply as Langton continued: “From what I’ve read up on the case files, Welsh doesn’t fit the profile of this sicko we’re looking for, but then as I recall, he didn’t fit the profile we worked on while hunting for him. Both his victims were held captive.”

“He’s gained a child psychology degree while he’s been in prison,” Anna said.

“Yes, I know, and he’s also been in a pack of trouble while he’s been at Barfield. Anyways, go and see him and take Barolli with you. Might as well see if he’s bullshitting, but maybe he’ll surprise us.”

Anna stood up as Mike told her to talk to the prison governor to arrange the meeting. Privately far from happy, she left his office and returned to inform Barolli about Langton’s suggestion.

“Shit, that’s a schlepp and a half up there, isn’t it? It’s around Leeds—right?”

“Correct.” Anna wasn’t sure if the distance made it better or not. “I’ll contact the governor and type up a letter of introduction.”

It took three calls before she was able to speak to Jeremy Hardwick, the governor of Barfield. Hardwick was pleasant and listened as she explained, then he agreed that she should be allowed into the secure unit to talk to Welsh. So she made an appointment for the following afternoon and asked Barbara to work out how long the trip would take. Langton passed by her desk as he was leaving and paused.

“I’ve made contact with the prison,” Anna told him.

“Good. Make them keep him in his cage, get what you can, and report back. I think it’ll be a wasted journey, but right now we’ve nothing else.”

She watched him look over the incident board and have a talk with Barolli before he left. But she felt nothing.

Before long, Barbara came over to Anna with a route map and the details she would need.

“Are you driving, or should I get a train timetable?” Barbara asked.

“No, this is fine. I’ll drive, and Paul’s with me.”

“Remember, you’ll need the fax from the prison and an introduction letter; plus, do keep your petrol receipts.”

“Thank you, Barbara.” At least she would be well prepared, Anna thought.

“So tell me about this geezer Welsh,” Barolli said, slurping his coffee as he settled himself in Anna’s passenger seat. She had picked him up from his flat in Notting Hill, and they were heading for the M1.

“Highly intelligent;” just got a degree in child psychology. He was well educated, went to public school and I can’t remember which university, but he was reading law and dropped out. Anyway, he represented himself at his trial,” Anna told Barolli, wishing he wouldn’t slurp so loudly.

“So did Ted Bundy.”

“What?”

“That American serial killer, killed Christ knows how many women.”

“Yes, yes, I know who he is.”

“Well, he represented himself at his trial. The judge apparently said what a waste it was that such a brilliant mind should be so deviant, as he could have been a successful man.”

“Maybe Welsh could have been, but he just gave me the shivers,” said Anna, remembering.

“Why?”

“Because of his manner—everything about it. He was so well spoken and so arrogant, treating us as if we were beneath him. He never showed any emotion whatsoever, even when it was obvious we had enough evidence to arrest him, not even when he was charged. During his trial, he used to doodle on a notepad all the time and was constantly interrupting the prosecution. Judge Oldfield laid into him after one session, and he was quite unapologetic, simply drawling that as he was the man on trial for his life, he had every right to question the prosecution’s long-winded summing-up.”

“How long did he get?”

“Oldfield gave him two life sentences without bail, so thankfully, he will die in prison. The judge said he was one of the most despicable men he had ever encountered, that his crimes were sadistic and violent, and that he had never at any time shown a fragment of compassion for his victims.”

“How did he kill them?” Barolli seemed grimly intrigued.

“Held them captive, tortured and raped them over a period of four or five months. The first girl was only seventeen, and the second girl was snatched eight months after he disposed of victim one’s body. He buried her in the garden of his basement flat. It was a hideous place. Part of it was still like a cellar, with chains and bare brick walls, but the section he lived in was luxurious, and he owned the large walled garden. The area of the basement he occupied had every piece of high-tech equipment conceivable, with plasma TV, stereo, and an amazing kitchen extension with culinary devices a professional chef would die for. He actually owned the whole house but leased off the other flats.”

“What work did he do?”

“He ran a very successful IT company with offices in Canary Wharf, and he employed four people, or he used to. By the time we got on to him, he’d closed it down. I think he was ready to move abroad.”

Barolli tapped her arm and pointed as they headed toward the roundabout that led to the start of the M1. He asked if she ever used the big Brent Cross shopping center, as he had been there a few times. She shook her head, and he began telling her how much he had saved on the sale price of some fitted wardrobes for his mother. As they approached the motorway, there were numerous young guys holding up cardboard notices with various locations on them, from Manchester to Liverpool.

“London Gateway service station is the first up, isn’t it?” Barolli asked.

“Yes,” Anna replied.

“Used to be called Scratchwood Services,” he said as he slurped more coffee. After a long pause, he returned to their previous conversation. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That he was so successful and yet still committed murder. I mean, was he a freaky-looking bloke?” Barolli wanted to know, finishing the dregs of his coffee.

“No. On the contrary, he was very handsome—tall, well dressed.”

“Fuck. I dunno. Hannibal Lecter—right? I mean, don’t tell me in his fab kitchen he cooked his victims?”

“No, but he entertained lots of women. He honestly didn’t fit any profile we had ever come across, and it took months of surveillance and more months compiling the evidence against him. Langton headed up the inquiry, and he was like a dog with a bone: he wouldn’t back off him.”

“He’s something else.”

Anna hesitated and asked if he meant Langton. Barolli nodded.

“Yeah. I wish I’d started my career under his wing, like you. I could have learned a lot from him. Now he basically just swings in, passes out orders, and swings out again, but I’d have really liked the opportunity of working alongside him in his earlier days.”

Anna agreed, which led them to discuss how many cases Barolli and Langton had subsequently worked on together, from the serial-killer movie star to the Red Dahlia case. Where Barolli had not been as fortunate as Anna was in the many cases between.

“He sort of specializes in serial murders, doesn’t he?”

Anna nodded and then recalled the horrendous case when Langton had almost been killed. She didn’t want to think about the details even now.

“You had a scene with him, didn’t you?” Barolli asked, and Anna gripped the steering wheel.

“Yes, but it was over a long time ago, and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Barolli, unperturbed. “So let’s go back to this animal Cameron Welsh. You said that Langton was on to him—dog with a bone, you said, right?”

“Yes. We got the lead from an ex-girlfriend of Welsh’s,” Anna recalled. “We’d been on the investigation for about two months when she walked in, wanting to speak to whoever was in charge of the inquiry. She was very attractive and had worked for him in the city, but he had recently fired everyone, and at first we thought it was maybe a case of sour grapes. There had been a lot of press about the discovery of the second victim, but at that stage, we didn’t even know he’d killed before.”