Blind Fury (17 page)

Smiley left the station half an hour later, assuring Mike Lewis that he would have his van registered by the following morning. Neither Anna nor Mike said a word as he replaced the photographs and notes in a file. Eventually, he stood up and stretched.

“What do you think?”

Anna had not made one note. “Bit too much information. Guy’s got verbal dysentery, but we can check out his company’s deliveries and—”

Barolli entered the interview room, interrupting her. “Transit van is clean enough to eat your dinner off. There’s not a mark on it, and considering it’s eight years old and with quite heavy mileage, it’s in very good condition, new tires and everything. The two front seats look hardly used, and the two rear passenger seats have been removed, to make more room for storage, I suppose. There’s no carpet, but rubber matting and shelving in the rear.”

Barolli looked from one to the other, saying, “You suss him for this?”

“Not right now, Paul, but we’ll need to check out all his details. He’s an ex-Para, with commendations, and he’s been with the same company ten years. No police record, just a slip up on his vehicle license being out of date.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mike headed into the corridor.

“What do you think?” Barolli asked Anna.

“I don’t know. He was affable and not thrown by any of the questions. Didn’t break out in a sweat, answered everything we needed to know and more.”

“Another dead end.” Barolli sighed with frustration and followed Lewis out.

Anna shrugged. Was it? She had not picked up anything suspicious, and there was only one slight show of nerves when they asked him about his wife. He had not asked for a solicitor to be present, and she wondered if he lived up to his name, not that he had smiled, apart from when they said he could leave. She had no gut feelings about him, just that he had been overtalkative.

By the time Anna returned to the incident room, Mike had relayed the content of their interview to Langton by phone.

“Said he’ll be at your place by seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

Mike walked off to his office, and Anna caught the raised eyebrow between him and Barolli.

“I’ve got one, Anna,” Joan said, rocking back in her chair.

“One what, Joan?”

“Victim. Murdered four years ago, case went cold, victim never identified but found not far from Newport Pagnell service station.”

But Anna was packing up her briefcase, ready to leave. “Let Paul handle it,” she said. “I need to get off home, as I’ve got an early start. Good night.”

As soon as Anna left the incident room, Barolli did a nasty mimic of her with his hands on his hips. “And we all know who’s picking her up for that ‘early start’! I’d put money on it he’ll shag her before they leave for Barfield.”

Chapter Seven

A
nna was waiting in her car outside her garage at exactly seven-thirty. She didn’t want Langton coming into her flat. But he surprised her by turning up carrying two Starbucks coffees and a bag of muffins.

“Morning. I reckoned you wouldn’t have had breakfast, so I brought it along to eat on the drive.”

Langton got into the passenger seat, propped the coffee on the tray between them, and slammed the door closed. He swore as he opened the bag because one of the muffins was chocolate.

“I asked for plain. Do you like chocolate? Because I can’t stand it.”

“Yes, thank you. Just not straightaway.”

They drove off, Langton eating his muffin and swearing again, as the coffee was too hot. She couldn’t help but smile, since he had sugar around his mouth, like a child. He quickly wiped it off with a napkin.

“You get anything from Smiley’s interview?”

Anna repeated that she had felt he was overtalkative, but apart from that, he showed no sign of nerves.

“Ex-Para, so he’s got a lot of training under his belt. Must be a tough sod. They checking out his explanations as to why he was at the service station?” Langton asked.

“I think so, and they’ll also check the deliveries he says he made on the two days.”

“Happily married, right?”

“He says so. Two children, mortgage on the property, and no police record, just the discrepancy over the vehicle’s registration documents.”

“Mmmm. We should keep him in the frame.” Langton took out his length of string and began tying a knot.

“Is that working?” she asked.

“I dunno, but apparently, it takes twenty seconds for the urge to come and go, so tie a knot and untie it, and you shouldn’t feel the need for a cigarette.”

“How long have you been trying it out?”

“Few days. It’s driving me nuts, but I’ve not had a cigarette for twenty-four hours. Slipped up yesterday because I couldn’t find the string. I’ve not got a pack with me and no lighter, so maybe it’s working. If it doesn’t, I’m thinking about going to a hypnotist.”

Anna smiled again. She was so unused to his chatty manner, and she almost laughed as he swore, unable to untie his last knot.

“I had a friend who went to a hypnotist,” she said. “It took all of five minutes, and when he came out, he thought it was a total waste of fifty pounds, then he went up to a kiosk to buy a pack of cigarettes and instead asked for a packet of peanuts.”

Langton looked at her. “Did it work after the peanuts?”

“Yes, apparently so, but he put on weight.”

Langton laughed. “I doubt that would happen to me; I never put on weight.” He rested his arm along the back of her seat. “You have, I notice.”

“Me?”

“Yes, around your hips. Not been working out?”

She flushed and continued driving.

“So how’s your love life?”

“Mind your own business.”

He withdrew his arm and sipped his coffee. “Just making conversation. Don’t get all arsey.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You get these two pink spots on your cheeks, dead giveaway when you get rattled.” He pressed his seat farther back, complained about the lack of leg-room, and then fiddled with the radio. “Do you want the news?” he asked.

“Don’t mind. There’s some CDs if you want to listen to music, and there’s
The Times
on the backseat.”

Langton turned off the radio and reached for the newspaper. They drove mostly in silence as he read the paper, but he had an annoying habit of reading out bits of articles and nudging her every time he turned a page.

“I can’t read in cars,” she said.

“Thank you for that vital piece of information, Travis. To be honest, I never have the time to read the upmarket rags; it’d take hours. I think they’re bought by commuters because sitting on a train every morning for a couple of hours, they’ve got nothing better to do. I do a crash zap through all the crap ones, keeps me updated . . .”

“Do you read books?”

“When do I have the time? It’s mostly autobiographies, but I can’t remember the last one I read. I’ve had Napoleon on my bedside table for six months. They’ve got his horse’s skeleton in one of the war museums—Chelsea. It’s surprisingly small. I think it was an Arab, but then he wasn’t a big fella . . .”

Anna realized that in all the time she had known him, they had hardly ever had a normal conversation, one that wasn’t connected to a case they were working on. She wondered when he would get around to discussing their investigation, but he continued reading out sections from the paper until they headed onto the M1. He tossed the paper into the backseat all crumpled up and with the pages muddled. She found that irritating, as she hadn’t even had time to glance at it. It reminded her of her father getting angry when she had taken out the art section of a Sunday paper before he had finished it. She also recalled that, like Langton, her father never seemed to have the time to read the morning papers, but his Sundays were spent poring over all the weekend editions.

“Stop in at the London Gateway,” Langton said suddenly.

“What?”

“When we get to the service station, drive in. I’ve not had a look around yet. Then go to where Estelle Dubcek’s body was discovered. Pull onto the hard shoulder so I can get out and have a look.”

Anna nodded. He was leaning over to pick up her files, which were stacked on the backseat with her briefcase. “You mind if I look over these?” He was already opening the file containing the photographs, so it was rather pointless even replying.

“Pretty girls. I don’t believe there wasn’t one person who didn’t remember them, maybe gave them a lift. Picked up, strangled, and raped. Doesn’t make sense. Both Polish, like Smiley’s wife—it’s a big coincidence.”

Langton sifted through the files and then tossed them back onto the seat behind him. “No one identified them at train or coach stations, so how did these kids get to the service station? They had to get a lift from someone, or they were snatched maybe trying for a ride. Not so with Margaret Potts, we know about her, but these two young girls . . .”

“We’re here,” Anna said, driving into the London Gateway.

Langton directed her to the car parking area. He got out and stood for a long time looking around and then bent down to her window. “I’m going to use the loo, do you need to go?”

“No. I’ll wait.”

She watched him striding toward the conveniences, sipping her cold coffee, waiting. It seemed an age before she saw him coming out from the restaurants, and then he disappeared again into the shopping area. It was ten minutes before he headed back toward the Mini.

“Okay. Next drive into the truckers’ area and point out where the Transit van was parked,” he said, and slammed the passenger door so hard the Mini rocked. Anna did as he suggested, and he was another fifteen minutes walking around the parked vehicles, looking at the CCTV cameras, and talking to one driver for a while before he returned.

“The van was parked almost under the surveillance camera,” Anna pointed out, passing him the photograph.

Langton nodded and then asked her to head off to where Estelle Dubcek’s body had been discovered. They drove toward the slip road passing the service station’s petrol station, and Anna remarked that the last time she had been there with Barolli, they had seen a young girl hitching a ride. Langton said nothing as she headed back onto the M1. He was checking his watch to calculate how long it took to get to the area on the hard shoulder where Estelle’s body had been discovered.

Anna eventually parked and Langton got out, gesturing for her to join him.

“Okay, so this is where the guy says he parked his van to take a leak, right?”

“Yes.”

Langton looked around and then crossed to the hedge. He stood for a while, turning toward where the ragged crime-scene ribbons were still in place. “He pisses here, looks over there, and sees the body?”

“Yes.”

Langton chewed at his lip, twisting his string around his fingers. He then pushed his way through the hedge and jumped over the ditch. “She was lying here, her head facing north, yes?” he shouted.

Anna nodded. The ground was still muddy, but he cautiously continued walking to where the body had been lying. He shouted to her again. “Anna, go back to the car, give me a toot on your horn when you see me.”

She did as she was asked and stood by the side of the Mini, waiting. It was some while until his head appeared over the hedge. She pressed the horn.

“Now sit in the car and use the horn again when you can see me,” he called out.

It was not easy to catch a glimpse of him until he was heading toward her from behind the hedge. She tooted the horn.

Langton got back into the car, and she switched on the ignition, but he put his hand over hers. “Wait a minute. Just let me think for a second.”

He was silent, staring toward the hedge. Then he reached behind him and picked up the file of photographs and studied those taken of Estelle’s body at the murder site, looking up at the hedge row.

“I want that guy Collingwood brought back in to check his statement; my gut feeling is that there’s something he’s leaving out.” Langton whistled through his teeth. “Our killer knew he couldn’t be seen from the hard shoulder, and the small dirt track that was used for all the forensic vehicles runs alongside almost up to the hedge, right?”

“Yes. It was very muddy and quite narrow.”

Langton muttered to himself. “I want you to head off the motorway and backtrack to the lane the team used. I need to have a look at it.” He took out a small black notebook and started jotting down something, but she couldn’t tell what.

It took quite a while to drive to the next junction, and then find the nearest turn to take them back in the direction of the crime scene. It took even longer going down the back lanes until they came to the small opening for the track that led across the side of the field to the murder site. Anna could feel the wheels of her Mini dragging through the deep muddy ruts and pulled up. “I think I should stop here. We’ve had more rain, and the last thing we need is to get bogged down.”

He nodded, getting out, and she watched him walk up the lane, skirting puddles and then crossing to where the body had been discovered. When he returned, his shoes were caked in mud, and her carpet on the passenger side was soon covered. She now had to reverse down the lane. When they reached the broken gate at the entrance, Lang-ton asked her to drive back in the opposite direction.

“That part of the lane is very rough, and I don’t think we could use it. All the police vehicles came the long way round,” Anna pointed out.

“See how far you can get,” he snapped.

Anna was loath to head along that route, as it was muddy, with deep tracks making ridges that she had to bounce over. Langton rolled down his window, telling her to stop as he looked up to the trees above. Then he told her to continue.

“We could get bogged down, you know,” she said crossly.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

She did so at a snail’s pace, the car jolting and bouncing while the mud splashed as high as the windows. She was growing increasingly annoyed, only too aware that the traffic officers had warned everyone to stay clear as the lane was such rough going; they had posted specific directions to use the way she had driven in. She was about to insist on turning back when the lane widened and a cinder track appeared. Although there were many potholes filled in with rocks and stones, it was a much easier surface to drive on.

“Keep going,” Langton said again, jotting down the mileage in his book.

To Anna’s surprise, the lane got wider, and after a sharp right turn, there were wooden boards that led onto a small tarmac lane, clearly used to lead to some outbuilding. Langton gestured for her to keep going, so she drove on for a couple of miles, passing a barn and more outbuildings, and then they were on a wider road again. On one side was a hedgerow. At one point there was a wide gap rutted with heavy tracks.

“Turn in there,” Langton instructed.

They drove through and came out at the far side of the truckers’ parking section at the service station.

Langton got out, and Anna could see him talking to a man sitting in his cab eating a hamburger. She saw him gesture toward the way they had come. After more conversation, he returned to the car.

“Okay, let’s go back the way we came and join the motorway there,” he said, and slammed the door shut. He sat with his notebook out and jotted down page after page before he whacked it against the dashboard. “The killer came that way. He drove from the truckers’ area into that lane. He’s someone who knows this area, knows he could get to that field to dump the body and not be seen from the road. The time code of the CCTV footage of Smiley’s van meant he was parked in the truckers’ stop, but the body was discovered hours after he had left. His van is not that big, so he could have easily driven the route we came. Some of the trees have branches broken, so if it wasn’t him, it could have been someone with a fair-sized vehicle.”

Langton continued to explain his theory as Anna headed back to the M1. He was certain the killer had the girls in his vehicle; perhaps they were already dead and he needed a place to dump their bodies. Langton now doubted that their victims were ever seen at the service station—they could have been trussed up in the back of the van.

“What about Margaret Potts? She was seen there and was a regular.”

“Yes, I know, but that truck driver told me that some of the girls service their customers out in that lane—said he’d heard about a few men backing out into that dirt track so they could do the business—and I’d say Maggie Potts would have known that area.”

Langton got on the phone to the incident room. He wanted all the outhouses and barns they’d seen across the fields searched, and anyone working there questioned regarding any vehicles driving down the back route. Anna mentioned that Smiley’s van was in pristine condition when Barolli checked it out. If he had driven down that back lane, he would have gotten scratches from the overhanging trees.

Langton called the incident room again, this time asking them to check out the size of any truck that would get damaged and then to compare that to the dimensions of Smiley’s van.