Blind Fury (19 page)

“Why were you so sure I was the killer?” Welsh interrupted.

“We had a witness, and you were our prime suspect. It was only a matter of time before we discovered the evidence. It wasn’t as if you had covered your tracks. I am beginning to think that this is all a waste of time.”

Langton made as if to stand, and Welsh leaned forward.

“If you had not had the witness, you never would have caught me. That was, I admit, my mistake—but you know, there is always a witness. I realize that now.”

“Are you saying we have a witness?”

“Of course you do—Margaret Potts. I am surprised you haven’t reached that conclusion. She knew the killer, and as I told little Anna here, you need to go back to her.”

“That could be difficult, since she’s dead.”

“She holds the clues. She knew the killer; she wasn’t the same as those two pretty young girls, she was old, used up—a dirty slag who had worked the service stations for years, correct?”

“We have no connection between Margaret and the two young victims.”

“There isn’t one. She didn’t know them. I am saying she knew
the killer
—and that if you go further back, you’ll find more cases, more victims.”

“Why?”

“This man has been around for a long time; he’s gotten away with it for a long time, he isn’t suddenly having the urge to kill. Margaret Potts was murdered two years ago. I believe she’s the link because he so nearly got caught. He had to get rid of her. This would mean he believed he’d got away with it, and spurred on with his success, his fury builds and he can’t control it. Then he kills again, twice. He has honed his methods in the way he finds the girls. Do you understand what I am saying? He finds them, wants them young, wants them innocent, and they are trusting enough to go with him. They were not drugged, they were not beaten, they had no restraint marks on their wrists or ankles.”

“They were raped.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, but do they have marks on their bodies as if they were bound and tied? No! Were they drunk? Were they drugged? No! They went with this man of their own accord. They were willing to be with him, so he is a man who is trustworthy, just like myself. My victims wanted to be with me, they found me attractive, so that makes your killer also a very attractive male. Are you following what I am saying?”

Langton gave a dismissive shrug. It clearly annoyed Welsh, who clenched his fists.

“I know this man, understand me? I know how he thinks, how he works, how he can spot a victim and maybe even stalk them, but he has something that is an immediate connection. Maybe it’s just because he’s as good-looking as me. Who would consider me a dangerous predator? And that is what you are looking for, a predator.” Welsh tossed back his silky hair, smiling.

“Go on,” Langton said quietly.

“Well now, let me think. I would say he could even live a double life. He could have a wife, children, a nice home. It’s when he’s away from them that he becomes the animal, the hunter. You have to understand that it will be an obsessive-compulsive need, probably because he is dominated by a woman—his wife or mother—but someone he respects, maybe even loves. Her control of him is what sets the seeds for him to want to strangle and rape, to dominate
his
victims.”

“How old do you think he is?”

“I’d say mid-forties. This has taken a long time to fester inside him, but as soon as he is away from the comfort zone, away from the suffocation of his respectable life, he rises up; his cock is hard just thinking about what he intends doing. Your killer will fantasize about his plans, and for that he needs space, a job that will take him away from that closeted environment.”

“What work do you think he does?”

Welsh sighed. “I’ve said he’s a driver. A trucker, maybe, with long-distance hauls—anything that takes him out of his perfect loving home. He commits his crimes far away from anyone who knows him, and I would say he is very well liked, respected, a good steady man, and his alter ego won’t ever manifest itself with anyone close to him; on the contrary, he will be above suspicion.” Welsh leaned back and smiled. “You know, you may never catch him.”

Anna had not said a word throughout the meeting, and in fact, Welsh had hardly looked at her. When at last she and Langton stood up to leave, he turned toward her.

“Maybe next time we can have a more private talk, just you and me, because I haven’t finished. There’s more to come from me, and I would like you to get the kudos for nailing this killer. It would benefit your career.”

Langton took her arm, smiling at Welsh and thanking him profusely. The officers appeared in the aisle as if they’d been waiting for the signal. As they headed toward Ken Hudson, they could hear Welsh’s cell gate close with a clang.

In the secure unit’s recreational area, Anna and Langton sat and waited for their escorts to take them back through to the main prison. Langton accepted a coffee, but all Anna wanted was to get out. She had found it sickening listening to Welsh’s gloating.

Langton spoke quietly to her. “I think while we’re here, instead of returning to London, we should make an unscheduled call on Smiley. It will save another long journey, and we’re not that far from Manchester here.”

Overhearing, Ken Hudson looked up. “My parents have a bed-and-breakfast. I could arrange for you to stay there, if you like. It’s between here and Manchester.”

Anna was loath to agree, but Langton was already saying, “We’d really appreciate the offer. Anna, we could pick up toothbrushes and toothpaste on the way.”

“There’s probably everything you’d need at the house,” Hudson said, and explained that it was nothing special, but at least it was clean, and his mother cooked up a great breakfast.

“That’s very kind of you, Ken, but I don’t want to put your mother to any trouble,” Anna protested.

“It won’t be. She’s got no one staying at the moment; in fact, times have been slack lately. She used to foster a lot of kids, but she’s getting on a bit now, and my father’s retired.”

So that was that. Anna could see she’d have to go along with the idea.

Ken said that he would be off duty in half an hour and he could drive them there. Langton pointed out that Anna had her car, but they could do with directions. “Do you live at home?” he asked.

“No. I’ve got a resident officer’s flat here, but I see my folks as often as I can. I can go over there with you, if you like.”

“Really appreciate that, Ken, but it won’t be necessary. Mind you, I’d love it if you could give us a tip on where to get a good curry.”

Anna was becoming extremely tense. A curry and a night in some bed-and-breakfast with Langton was not something she wanted by any stretch of the imagination. She was even more infuriated when Langton insisted on going to have yet another conversation with the governor. Excusing herself, she said she would wait for him in the car park, claiming she needed some fresh air.

Anna was turning on the Mini’s engine to recharge her mobile phone when Ken Hudson joined her, bending down to tap on her window. He was wearing motorbike leathers and carrying a crash helmet.

“I’ve contacted my mum, and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Anna got out as Ken gave her a detailed route map of how to get to his parents’ and the names of a couple of Indian restaurants not far from the house.

“I was thinking I might ride over there. Maybe we could have a bite to eat together.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you,” she said as politely as she could manage.

“How about another time? I go to London quite often, as I’ve got a sister living in Richmond.”

Anna gave him a dismissive smile and looked around for Langton.

“Whereabouts do you live?” Ken asked.

“I have a flat near Tower Bridge.”

“Oh, nice. Is it a loft conversion?”

She sighed, not wanting to get into any further conversation with him and by now anxious to leave, as it was getting dark. She took in the biker’s gear.

“How could you have given us a lift?” she asked. “You look as if you’re on a motorbike.”

“Yeah, but my mate’s got a car I could use. If you want to leave your car parked here, I could—”

“No, I really think we should go, but thanks all the same.” She was relieved to see Langton heading toward them, smoking.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. You got directions, Anna?”

“Yes.”

Ken smiled and said he had also given her contact numbers for a couple of good Indian restaurants.

“You going to join us, then?” Langton asked.

By now Anna’s head was aching.

“Thanks, I’d like that,” Ken said. “I can follow behind until I see you are on the right route; it’s about an hour’s drive.”

Anna couldn’t believe it. Next minute, Langton had walked over to Ken Hudson’s motorbike. The two of them stood with their backs to her, obviously discussing the machine, and she wanted to scream. Ken eventually put on his helmet and sat astride the big motorbike, revving the engine. At last Langton returned to the car.

“That is some bike he’s got there—a Harley-Davidson, immaculate condition, customized paint job on the tank.”

“Can we go now?” Anna said impatiently.

“Ready when you are. I think he’s taken quite a shine to you.” Langton grinned.

“Oh, please.”

Anna passed him the directions as they drove out. Behind them, sounding like thunder, was Ken on his bike. He stayed well back until he roared past with a wave.

“Always wanted one of those,” Langton said, looking after the bike and black-helmeted rider. “Nice young bloke, isn’t he?”

Mrs. Brenda Hudson was a plump, friendly woman who was waiting at the open front door of her freshly painted semi-detached, with its paved front garden. Ken’s bike was already parked, alongside a Metro.

Anna was shown into a small box room, which smelled of polish and clean linen. The single bed had a floral duvet and matching pillowcase. Mrs. Hudson hovered, asking if there was anything she could get to make her guest more comfortable, offering tea and placing down a bottle of water.

“Ken said you weren’t expecting to stay over, so I’ve got some disposable toothbrushes and little toothpaste tubes. I collect them when we go to hotels; there’s also shampoo and bath foam.”

“This is very kind of you, thank you,” said Anna. “If you could just show me where the bathroom is . . .”

“Of course, dear. It’s at the end of the landing, and I’ll bring you fresh towels.”

Anna sat on the pink toilet seat that matched everything else in the communal bathroom: the pink bath, the pink tiles, and the pink shower curtain. She had rinsed some toilet paper under the cold tap and held it to her face, as she felt worn out and her head was thudding. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself and pressing the tissue into her eyes.

By the time she had returned to her bedroom, the clean towels had been left on her bed, along with the toothbrush and toothpaste. Anna combed her hair and sat on the bed for a while: she could hear Langton laughing downstairs. She could have strangled him, but then she sat up and told herself to get it together. She took a few more deep breaths and stood up, determined to at least try and be pleasant.

In the cozy sitting room, which had a large sofa and matching chairs with a huge plasma screen TV and fake log fire, Langton was talking to Mr. Hudson. The man rose to his feet as Anna entered and shook her hand.

“Very pleased to meet you, dear. The wife is just bringing in a cup of tea for everyone, unless you want something else?”

“No, a cup of tea will be fine, and if you have any aspirin, I’d be most grateful, thank you.”

Mr. Hudson was a well-built man, rather handsome, with the same fair good looks as his son, but his hair was receding. He left them to go and help his wife.

“Got a headache, have you?” Langton asked.

“Yes. It was a long drive and a long session.”

“Useful though. You know, he virtually described John Smiley—and while I was with the governor, he let me make a few calls. Three ex-employees of Swell Blinds, according to the team, all said the same thing. Smiley was an exemplary worker, well liked, and none of them had a bad word to say about him. We’re getting all the files about that victim wrapped in the blue blanket brought over—it’s a possible new case. Mike Lewis said the officers making inquiries about the barns and outhouses knew that a lot of lorries did use that back road and—”

Just then Mrs. Hudson came in carrying a large tray of sandwiches and cakes. Langton jumped to his feet to take it from her and set it down on a coffee table. Mr. Hudson then brought in a big china teapot and some aspirin for Anna. It was hard not to like them. They were a delightful couple and were obviously devoted.

As they had their tea, Mrs. Hudson pointed out all the photographs of children she had fostered over the years, telling them how many she still kept in touch with. She admitted she had never thought about fostering until her own children were in school. It had started with one child, and then the agency would call and ask if she could see her way to caring for another, then another. Next they were shown the albums of her own children: her daughter, Lizzie, in Richmond, who had two children of her own; her youngest son, Robin, living in Australia; and then Ken.

“He was more trouble than the other two put together,” she said affectionately.

She laughed as her husband started recalling some of the teenage Ken’s escapades, from his running off to join a circus to motorbike racing, proudly showing them a cup he’d won at sixteen as a dirt-track rider champion. It was at this point that Ken walked in. He had showered and changed and was wearing a light blue denim shirt and jeans.

“Oh, Christ, she’s not going on about me, is she?” He hooked an arm around his mother and kissed her. The adoration on her face was touching.

Anna sat back, listening to Ken’s stories of his attempts to join various circuses. He was funny, describing how his father, whom Ken called by his Christian name of Roy, would get someone to use a megaphone to call him home. At that point, Langton excused himself, explaining that he needed to make some calls.