Blind Fury (18 page)

“Do you think the killer kidnapped the girls?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, possibly. I don’t know.”

“Margaret Potts is the odd one out, then, isn’t she?”

Langton nodded, knotting his string impatiently. “She comes two years before Estelle is murdered, and then we have Anika Waleska between them.”

When Anna mentioned that Joan had brought up a file of another unidentified victim found four years previously, Langton was immediately back on the phone, asking for details. He said little but listened for some considerable time, grunting and barking out instructions for the team to keep digging up more cases with the same MO. He snapped off his phone. “I think our killer’s been at this for a long time, so we might get more. In fact, I am bloody sure of it. Joan’s come up with a girl between twenty and thirty, never identified.”

“Found at a service station?” Anna asked.

“Yeah, Newport Pagnell, naked and wrapped in a blue blanket.”

“That’s not the same MO as ours,” Anna said.

Langton raised his hand, wagging his index finger. “Four years ago! Maybe the killer switched his style, and you know”—he chewed at his pencil—“what if Margaret Potts recognized him, maybe had shagged him before? We need to open up that early case.”

“With no clothes, just a blue blanket, there’s even less to go on than with Anika and Estelle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He went back to his notebook, flicking the pages back and forth while his right foot twitched. “Smiley went to work in Manchester five years ago, so it’s in the time frame. What we need to do is look around and see what we can dig up on him when he worked in London.”

He was back on the mobile again to the incident room as he asked them to check out John Smiley’s army record and to question any employees who had worked with him in London.

Barolli replaced the receiver.

“Langton again,” he told the others. “We’ve got to arrange for a check on John Smiley’s army record, dig out anyone we can find who knew him or knows him from when he worked in London.”

Mike Lewis was busy orchestrating the search team to go to the farm that owned the outhouses and barns, and Joan and Barbara continued their trawl through records of dead cases that could be connected to the current investigation. Two officers were out talking to the Thames Valley detectives who had been on the four-year-old murder inquiry, requesting all of their files.

Barolli passed a cup of tea to Mike, saying, “Looks like he’s placing John Smiley in the frame.”

“Yeah, seems so. Can you do the check on his army pals and get over to their regimental HQ at Colchester?”

“I’ll be gone all day,” Barolli said reluctantly. “It’s a fair old journey over there.”

“Just do it. Meanwhile, I’ll be going back to the landlord of his previous house, and we need to get from Smiley’s employer anyone who knew him when he worked in London. If the company moved lock, stock, and barrel to Manchester, some employees might not have gone up there with them.”

Barolli had left by the time Barbara had been able to contact Arnold Rodgers, the boss at Swell Blinds. Barbara was diplomatic, first thanking the man for his assistance in giving details of John Smiley, then saying that they now required lists of any employees who had not moved to Manchester with the company. She had already checked with Companies House, she told him, but they had no record of how many staff were working for Swell Blinds. Arnold became agitated and admitted that some people were paid cash in hand. Basically, he was worried about not paying National Insurance and kept repeating himself.

Finally, Joan was able to get the names of three ex-employees, although Rodgers had no address or contact phone numbers for two of them. The first was a woman called Wendy Dunn, a part-time receptionist, who agreed to be interviewed. It turned out that she lived in Feltham, southwest London, not far from Barbara, so Mike gave her the go-ahead to leave the station early. He himself was feeling frazzled. The peremptory stream of orders issuing from Langton meant a lot of checking and organization, and he was loath to let anything slide, because he knew he would be grilled on his boss’s return.

Langton had slept for the latter part of the journey. He woke up as soon as they drove through the prison compound and ran his fingers through his hair before straightening his tie. Anna warned him that the governor liked to talk but had so far been accommodating.

They went through the usual security details before being led into the staff building, where the governor was waiting with fresh coffee and biscuits. Langton accepted, and soon they were chatting like old friends. Anna was impressed by the way Langton appeared so at ease and in no particular hurry to interview Welsh. She herself was eager to get it over and done with, but Langton, to her annoyance, accepted a tour of the prison.

She felt very much the second-class citizen, trailing behind as the two men walked side by side, talking nonstop. They went to the gym, they went to various cell blocks and canteens and the huge visitors’ section, stopping over and over again to talk to the prison officers. Langton constantly asked questions, showing genuine interest as Anna hovered after him.

The gates between each new section of the corridors had stringent security measures. On each occasion, the governor would speak to a surveillance camera, one of the locks on the gate would click open, and he would use his personal set of keys to open the second lock. They eventually reached what looked like something from a
Doctor Who
episode. It was a high-tech glass capsule that housed all the monitors for the prison’s exterior, wards, and corridors. Altogether, the tour took over an hour. It was by now three o’clock, and Anna knew that after interviewing Welsh, the drive back would be a long one. She probably wouldn’t get home until after ten.

Wendy Dunn was in her mid-seventies, older than Barbara had expected. She immediately offered her visitor tea and biscuits, and not until they had settled themselves in her living room in the neat and tidy council flat did she begin to talk. She had worked for Arnold Rodgers for twenty years on a proper, employed basis and had then retired. However, she had returned to work for him on a casual basis for three years before he packed up the company and moved to Manchester. She admitted that she was paid in cash so she did not have to pay tax; it was only a small amount, but under the counter. She had mostly taken the orders and sometimes made cold calls for the company when work was slack. She was sweet and, Barbara felt, an honest woman. She was a widow with four grandchildren, and after Swell Blinds moved, she had not done any other work.

Barbara eased the conversation around to John Smiley.

“Oh, he was a lovely man,” Wendy said immediately. “Help anyone, he would, and he was a very good, hard worker. He had two young children.”

Barbara asked about his wife, Sonja.

“Well, I only met her a few times, once at a Christmas party, and she was lovely looking, then I think I met her at Mr. Rodger’s drinks party. The last time was when I went round to say goodbye to John. I’d got him a little something. He was a kind man, and when I needed some of my own blinds fixed, he did them for me—never would take a penny.”

Wendy gestured at the wooden slatted blinds on her kitchen window as they walked through to put the tea tray down. “They’re lovely, aren’t they, and very light and easy to draw up and down.”

Barbara agreed that they were stylish, and she tried drawing them closed and pulling them up again.

“Was he happily married?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I think Sonja ruled the roost, though; she was houseproud and kept him on a tight rein. He was always short of money.” She laughed.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she’d pack up a lunch for him; he never went to the cafés with the others and said he was saving for a house of their own. The children were well behaved and always dressed well, and John worshipped her, was always talking about his Sonja.”

Wendy would have chatted on for hours and was even able to give another employee’s contact number. He was Portuguese, she said, and did a lot of the paint-spraying and was working at a factory. Barbara had heard enough. She thanked the older woman profusely, then went off home.

Mario Gespari lived in Hounslow, Mike Lewis learned when he gave him a call the next morning. Gespari was also able to give yet another name—Graham Gregory—as the two of them were both now employed in the same paint factory.

Mike looked over to Joan and grimaced. Here were two more to interview, and if they were as glowing about John Smiley as Wendy Dunn had been, it could all be a big waste of time.

Joan was sifting through dead files of cold-case murders. “How far back do you want me to keep going?” she asked.

“Keep it to five years, which is when Smiley left for Manchester.”

“Well, I’ve done that. I found the one we’re checking out, the body wrapped in the blue blanket.”

“In that case, leave it for now.”

“If you say so, but I don’t want to get it from Langton if he thinks I’ve not done what he wanted.”

“All right, all right, go back eight years, then.”

“Go back eight years?”

“Yes! Just get on with it. Jesus!”

Joan pursed her lips and returned to her computer screen. “Somebody’s not a happy bunny,” she muttered to herself.

Anna had tried to signal to Langton that she was eager for them to get on with the Welsh interview by looking pointedly at her watch numerous times. However, he had ignored her, still deep in conversation with the governor. At long last, he said that perhaps it was time they went over to the secure unit.

Waiting to meet them was the nice young fair-haired officer Ken Hudson, whom Anna had met when she and Barolli had first visited.

Ken Hudson shook Langton’s hand and smiled at Anna, then led them into the main recreational area.

“This is very pleasant,” Langton observed, looking around.

Hudson introduced him to the three other officers, who shook hands, then asked if they wanted Welsh brought out, or did they prefer to talk to him in his cell.

“Whatever is convenient for you guys,” Langton said.

“He’s been playing up,” Hudson commented.

Langton asked if by that he meant Welsh was violent, and Hudson shook his head.

“No. Just been bloody-minded and difficult, hogging the kitchen too much, making sarcastic remarks to the other inmates under his breath—you know, goading them to have a go at him. He’s a smart bastard and he knows it, but he’s been dressing himself up in readiness for the meeting with you.” He nodded toward Anna.

Langton suggested they first talk to Welsh in his cell, but with the gate open.

“Okay. I’ll just go and tell him you’re here—not that he won’t know. He expected you earlier.”

“Did he?” Langton said with a smile.

As Hudson headed off down Welsh’s aisle, Langton glanced at Anna and asked softly if she was okay. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Fine. Just wondered if we were ever going to get started.”

Hudson returned to get them. He’d already placed two chairs outside Welsh’s cell. Welsh appeared at his open door, looking tense and angry.

“Mr. Welsh, go and sit down in your cell. Do it or we walk out,” Langton said quietly.

Welsh gave a smirk. “Yes,
sir,
Detective Chief Superintendent Langton.”

Welsh disappeared and was sitting with his legs crossed when they took their seats in front of him. He was in a pristine white shirt and jeans, with leather thongs. His cologne was strong, his hair shining and glossy, but his eyes were a giveaway to his pent-up anger.

“We meet again,” he said, curtly nodding to Langton.

“So we do, Mr. Welsh.”

“Must be important to get the big brass here in person. Afraid
she
can’t handle it?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Welsh. I wanted to be here because you intrigue me.”

“Do I now? Well, you are fortunate I agreed, because I wasn’t going to give another minute of my time after that bitch got them to sweep my cell.”

“If you can’t be polite to Detective Travis, this meeting is over.”

“I am so sorry, Detective Travis, if I sounded rude, but you know I paid a lot of money—”

Langton interrupted him. “We’re not here to get into a discussion about your mobile phone. You had it against the regulations, and you know it. So if you are ready to talk, then let’s get started. I am not prepared to listen to any bullshit from you, is that clear?”

“Yes,
sir
.” Welsh gave a cowering movement with his head, mocking, as if he were afraid.

“I also want it made clear to you that if you attempt to contact Detective Travis on a personal level again, I will make sure you get your privileges removed. That’s more than a sweep of your cell, that’s the books, the laptop . . .”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. So now we can get started.”

There was a pause. Welsh remained with his head bent low and then tossed back his hair. “Have you acted on my information to date?” he demanded.

“You have given us nothing that we were not already checking out. I am here simply because you said that you can, as a killer, get into the mind of the man we are hunting.”

Welsh stared at Langton. “You are not even close to tracking him down, are you?” he said.

“We have some leads.”

“Like what?”

“Listen to me, Mr. Welsh. I don’t have the time to play any more games or arrange any further visits. You now have the opportunity to either assist our case or not.”

“Tell me why you came after me. It was down to you, wasn’t it?”

Langton shifted his weight in the chair. He took out the piece of string and began to tie a knot.

“Is that to stop you wanting to smoke?”

“Yes.”

“You really want to smoke a cigarette now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We are allowed to smoke outside in the exercise yard. I don’t. It’s a filthy habit.”

Langton glanced at his watch and replaced the string in his pocket. “I asked you a question, Mr. Welsh, and you are trying my patience. You killed two young girls. I could try and understand why, with all your privileges, you wanted to destroy not just their lives but your own. You made the choice. I maybe won’t ever understand someone with your intellect wanting to be empowered by the act of rape and murder, so why don’t you—”