Blind Fury (3 page)

Two days later, and with continued requests for anyone able to identify the victim to get in touch, the team still had no clue. It was unbelievable to think that, like the second case, the third girl appeared to have no one reporting her missing, no one seeing her at the service station or perhaps thumbing a lift. As the team continued to question drivers and service-station personnel in an attempt to identify her, they felt deeply disappointed that they were getting no result.

On the fourth day, Anna received a letter. Barbara placed it on her desk, raising her eyebrows as she did so. “Fan mail?” the DC asked.

Anna turned over the envelope; stamped on the back was the address of Barfield Prison. She looked up at Barbara and joked, “It’s probably from someone I helped get locked up.”

Anna slit open the envelope and took out a blue-lined thin sheet of writing paper. Typed in the right-hand corner was the prison’s address and the name
CAMERON WELSH
,
Prisoner 6678905 Top-Security Wing.

She knew who it was immediately: Cameron Welsh was an exceptionally evil sadistic killer given two life sentences—with no possibility of being released—for the murder of two teenage girls five years previously.

Anna had been on the case with the then-DCI James Langton. The latter was now detective chief superintendent, and as usual, whenever his name cropped up, she felt a surge of emotion. Having been in love with him, lived for a short time with him, helped him recover from a terrible wounding, and then split up with him, she had been through a lot of hurt and painful self-analysis. His intensely strong hold on her had been almost impossible to get over for a long time—in fact, up until the last case they had worked on; however, they had at last reached a more amicable relationship, one born out of her admiration for him, even though at times the situation was still tough for her to handle. It was only during the last year that she had truthfully been able to put their past relationship behind her and to treat Jimmy Langton as a confidant. And he had, as he had promised, been supportive at all times during her recent cases.

Barbara rocked back in her chair. “Who’s it from?” she asked.

Anna wafted the letter in the air, saying, “As I suspected, from a real shit bag. I’ve not read what he wants yet.”

She opened the single folded page. Written in felt-tip pen, the writing was looped and florid. It read:

Dear Detective Travis, Anna,

I don’t know if you remember me, but I recall you were very attractive when you were part of the murder team that arrested me. I have written to you before but you have never replied, though I do not hold that against you. I am not sure if you are attached to the present hunt for the killer of the girl found close to the M1 motorway. If you are, then I think I can be of assistance to you. I have been following the murder inquiry and I have made copious notes, as I am certain the same killer has two previous victims. I believe it would be very beneficial for you to have a meeting with me.

Yours faithfully,
Cameron Welsh

Anna’s blood ran cold. Welsh had made her skin crawl when she had been present at interviews with him. He was extremely well educated, and she knew he had gained a degree in child psychology while in prison. She also knew he had been held in solitary, as he had refused to be placed on a wing. He had been moved into the prison within a prison at Barfield due to his constant antagonism of other inmates. While in prison, he had also had many altercations with officers, and even in the small secure unit, he still managed to be a loner. Anna knew because she had received three previous letters from Welsh and had even called the prison to gain further details about him. But there had been no contact for at least a year—until this letter.

She was about to toss it into the rubbish bin beside her desk but then stopped herself. She stared at the blue-lined paper and the looped felt-tipped writing, flattening the crease out with her hand. Could this creature really have something that might be, as he said, beneficial? She doubted it. In the end, Anna decided that she would discuss the letter with Mike Lewis. On previous cases, she’d been warned by Langton that she hadn’t acted like a team player—and she had no intention of making that mistake again.

Mike Lewis was not in his office, so Anna returned to her desk just as Barbara came past, wheeling the tea trolley with some donuts and buns.

“You want a coffee?” the DC asked. “It’s fresh.”

“Yeah, thanks, and I’ll have one of those,” Anna said, pointing to a bun.

“I’ve lost four pounds,” Barbara said, turning to indicate her flat stomach. She was still a little overweight, with a round, pretty face, and she had lightened her blond hair and had it cut short.

“You look good.”

“Thanks. It’s been hard. I’ve got my old man working out with me as well. He’s lost half a stone, but he doesn’t have the canteen goodies where he works. It’s the donuts that do me in.”

Anna helped herself to the pink-iced bun and placed it on a napkin on her desk as Barbara poured her coffee and passed it over.

“What did the letter-writer want?”

“It was, as I suspected, from someone I played a small part in putting away for the rest of his life.”

“Gets me, you know, how they are allowed to write letters. In the old days they’d never let a prisoner have a stamp, never mind bloody phone cards. Was it something unpleasant?”

“Thinks he can help with our inquiry. Cheeky sod wants me to visit.” Anna bit into her iced bun.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere near him. Go on, chuck his stupid letter in the bin.” Barbara started to move off.

Anna stopped her. “There was a lot of press about the two previous victims, wasn’t there?”

Barbara nodded. “All we could get, to try and find out the second woman’s identity—but nothing. Beggars belief, doesn’t it, that not one person has come forward. I think she was maybe an au pair or foreign, you know, over here on some kind of work . . . Still, didn’t make sense that no one recognized her, and she was lovely looking. Not the kind you’d forget.”

Barbara went off to give Joan her morning coffee as Anna finished her iced bun and sipped her drink. Unlike a lot of the stations she’d worked in, the canteen here was well-organized, with a good breakfast and lunch menu. While it didn’t solve cases, it certainly helped with morale.

It was over lunch with Barbara and Joan that Anna told them more about Cameron Welsh and his imprisonment at Barfield.

“That place is all new and streamlined, isn’t it?” Joan asked.

Barbara shook her head, saying in disgust, “It’s bloody better equipped than my son’s secondary school. They’ve got computer courses, exercise classes, gymnasiums, and it was at Barfield that one of the feckin’ prisoners almost caused a riot because he said that being forced to wear the colored shoulder band that shows who’s a prisoner and who’s a visitor was an invasion of his privacy. The world’s gone bloody mad.”

“Cameron has gained a degree in child psychology,” Anna said thoughtfully.

“See what I mean? Don’t tell me he murdered kids?”

“No, they were two teenagers.”

“Boys?”

“No, girls—and apparently, he’s held in the secure unit inside the main prison, refused to ever go on the wing, and keeps himself to himself.”

“So what can he tell you if he’s shut away in that unit?” Joan queried. “I mean, what can
he
know about the cases? If I were you, I’d contact the prison governor and say that no more letters from Welsh are to be forwarded to you. Sick buggers, all of them.”

Anna nodded, still undecided whether she should try to bring it up with Mike Lewis.

“What was he like, this Welsh?” Barbara asked curiously, then gave a laugh. “Apart from being a scumbag, that is.”

Anna tried to recall what Cameron looked like physically. “I remember he was very tall, sort of gaunt almost, and his face was very pale. Well, he’d been hiding out for some time, so whether that was why he was so thin, I’m not sure. All I can really remember clearly about him was that he had very penetrating dark eyes. I hated the way he looked at me. He was well spoken, though, and he held his own throughout the interviews. I never heard him raise his voice—he had this cool manner, as if we were almost beneath him. That was until DCI Langton came on board.” Anna sighed. “Langton was heading the inquiry, and he had a really hard time cracking him. In fact, I don’t even recall that he did, but we had enough evidence against the bloke—DNA, clothes fibers, and eventually even a witness—to go to trial, and although he still maintained he was innocent, thankfully the jury found him guilty.”

“How did he react to the sentence?”

“He smirked and shook his head, Joan. That was about all the reaction he gave.”

Joan pulled a face. “I’d stay well clear of him,” she advised. “Remember what’s-her-name from Hannibal Lecter, the way he tormented her?”

Anna laughed. “Cameron isn’t exactly in the same category,” but then she thought again and added, “Well, perhaps not far off. He tortured his two victims but used them for sex slaves rather than his dinner menu. When he tired of one, he went and found another. But I couldn’t compare him with Hannibal or myself with Jodie Foster, and anyway, after what we’ve just discussed there is no way I would agree to seeing him.”

By the time they returned to the incident room, Mike Lewis was in his office, so Anna decided to see what he thought.

Mike had only recently gained promotion, and Anna knew he was playing it strictly by the book. His office was very sparsely furnished, with a number of photographs of his twin boys and one of his wife in a leather folding frame. A row of sharpened pencils and a large notepad sat beside his computer and telephone. She often didn’t notice that Mike was in actual fact rather good-looking, with thick, close-cropped blond hair. If she had to describe his looks, she would use the words
nice
and
ordinary
, because he was both. He had also been a strong right-hand man for DCS Langton. Mike was quiet and methodical and a calming influence. Anna knew he was a dedicated officer, if not an exceptional one.

She watched him reading the letter without much enthusiasm. As he handed it back to her, he asked, “How long has he been inside?”

“Five years, almost six.”

“Mmmm. Well, I can’t see what he would know about our case, unless he talked to another prisoner and got some information via him, but I doubt it. You say he’s in solitary?”

“No, he’s in the secure unit at Barfield. That’s the prison within a prison; usually, they are only placed in there if they have been trouble or they’re terrorists. I think they also place heavy drug dealers in there, but there are only about six cells.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but like I said, I doubt he has anything to offer us. He’s probably just after getting a visit from you.”

Anna agreed and folded the letter. “So I ignore it?” she said.

Mike sighed. “It’s really up to you, Anna.”

“I’d prefer not to see him.”

“Okay, just make a note of it, file the letter, and thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

Anna returned to her desk and put the letter in her briefcase. Barolli caught her eye. “The postmortem’s in on our Jane Doe.”

Anna went over to the incident board to read up on the details as Barolli joined her.

“Doesn’t give us much, does it? Just that she was dead about twelve or so hours before the body was discovered.”

“Still no ID?”

“Nope, but we’re getting a lot of coverage on the case, and we’re looking into dental records. Mispers have also been contacted, but no female of her description has been reported missing. You’d think with that red hair, someone would recognize her, wouldn’t you?”

Anna stared at the victim’s pictures and bit her lip. “Unbelievable. Someone somewhere has to know who she is.”

“Right, but we held out hopes on that last case, the brunette, and we got zilch back. We’re covering the nearest motorway service stations to see if anyone remembers her, see if she was hitchhiking, exactly as we did before, but it’s bloody time-consuming.”

“She doesn’t look the type to me,” Anna murmured.

“Type of what?”

“Girl who’d hitchhike or hang out, like Margaret Potts. I don’t think she was on the game.”

“Well, we didn’t think our brunette was a tart, but nowadays you never know.”

“How about Interpol?”

“On to it, but so far nothing’s come in.”

Barolli sucked in his breath. Both of them could see the truth from the notes on the board, the arrows joining each victim’s injuries. They knew they had a serial rapist killer. But what they couldn’t ascertain until the last two girls were identified was if there was a connection apart from their murders. If the victims had known each other, it would help the police to focus their inquiries. All they had were three dead women, all tossed aside like garbage close to the M1, and yet no witnesses.

“What about Margaret Potts?” Anna gestured to the first victim. “I see the team interviewed a number of known associates. Did they give any indication of a usual night’s work?”

Barolli gave a shrug. “Yeah, but nothing that helped us. She worked between two motorway service stations. She’d either do the business in the guys’ lorries or hitch a ride, especially if there were two drivers, and she’d do the pair of them en route to their next stop, then get out and turn the same tricks on the other side. Been at it for years.”

“Can I talk to this girl?” Anna tapped the board where the name
Emerald Turk
was written up as helping inquiries. “Who is she?”

“Emerald—yeah, she shared a flat with Potts.”

“Is that her real name?”

“I doubt it.” Barolli gave a short laugh. “We had four different aliases for her, and she was a real bitch; didn’t give us much—just how Potts earned her money.”

“So she was doing the same circuit?” Anna persisted.