Blind Fury (35 page)

Ken scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot. The washing-up could wait.

Chapter Fourteen

A
nna drove into the station car park at eight-thirty. She’d had to leave Ken’s flat at such an early hour that she’d had little or no sleep. Hurrying into the incident room, she booked on duty and, from Barbara, got the address of the Potts children’s foster parents. They were across London, in Brixton, so to make the appointment, she left virtually straightaway.

Joan passed her on the way out. She stared after Anna as she got a bright “Good morning.”

Joan dumped her briefcase on her desk. She said she’d just seen Travis hurtling out of the station like a teenager.

Barbara sidled up to her.

“What?” Joan asked.

“She’s engaged—got a ring on her wedding finger. I couldn’t help but notice it. She waved it in front of me enough times.”

“Engaged?”

“I presume so. She didn’t actually say she was, but—”

Joan interrupted her. “Who to? I’ve never seen her with anyone. You must have gotten it wrong.”

Barolli walked in. “Gotten what wrong?”

Barbara began to sort out the work on her desk. “Barbara says Travis is engaged.”

“She’s having you on. Is she here yet?”

Joan giggled. “Been and gone.” She switched on her computer and told Barbara she shouldn’t spread gossip.

Barbara returned to her desk, retorting, “Wait until you see it. Looked like a row of nice diamonds.”

Anna parked on a pleasant tree-lined street; the semi-detached houses had seen better days, but they were reasonably well kept, apart from a couple that looked as if they were divided into numerous flats. She rang the doorbell of number eleven and waited.

“Good morning. Are you Mrs. Walters?” Anna asked.

“Yes.”

Anna showed her ID and introduced herself. Mrs. Walters stepped back, and Anna followed her along a dingy hallway into a large sitting room. It was not well furnished, and it had worn carpets and old velvet curtains.

“Should I have my husband present?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a few questions and want to make it clear to you that they are connected to an ongoing investigation into the children’s late mother, Margaret Potts. I am not from any Social Services or foster-care agency.”

When Mrs. Walters sat down, Anna realized that she was younger than she looked, though devoid of any makeup, and her hair was pinned back unflatteringly.

“Do you want a cup of tea or anything?”

“No, thanks. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I really appreciate you seeing me.”

“I did have concerns. I mean, I don’t know what it’s about. I’ve no problems with the children. They’re both at school.”

“I am sure you are taking great care of them.”

“To the best of my ability, I am. They’re good kids—well behaved and getting on better at their school.”

“Did you ever meet their mother, Margaret Potts?”

“Mother?” Mrs. Walters gave a derisive look at the ceiling. “Hard to describe her as one, and their father’s even worse. I know he’s out of prison, but there’s not been a single Christmas card or birthday card. How do you explain to them that he probably doesn’t give them a thought?”

“Did Margaret?”

“At first she would stand outside and not come in, just stand there looking up at their bedroom window. It’s at the front. I think once or twice they saw her, but that always caused trouble, because they’d want to talk to her but were scared they’d have to go back to that wretch of a father. It’s hard because we can never say anything bad about the parents, so we make up excuses—you know, they do love you, et cetera. More important is to make sure they don’t think it’s
their
fault.”

“Did she come and visit them?”

“Not for a long time to begin with, then she arranged to take them out on a Saturday. Three times she promised to come—never turned up once. In the end, I told her that if she couldn’t be here when she said she would, then it was better for her not to come at all.”

“Did she remember their birthdays?”

“That’s the only good thing I can think about her. She did sometimes send presents and cards, but she can’t have thought too much about what she chose. Her boy, Eric, is nine now, and into computers; the girl, Margie, is eleven. The things she sent were too babyish for Eric, and it was always dolls for Margie—you know, Barbies and My Little Pony, when she’s into pop stars and the like.” Mrs. Walters sat straight-backed in the chair opposite Anna.

“I suppose you are aware of what happened to her?” Anna asked gently.

“Yes, of course. I mean, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, it was a terrible thing and in a way sort of worse, because I think she’d been trying to straighten herself out.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The last time I heard from her, she rang here and told me that she was going to arrange to take the children to some fun fair, as she was looking for a permanent place to live.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, must be nearly three years. I never spoke to her again, and next thing the Social Services came here to tell me she’d been murdered and I had to tell the children. By this time they didn’t react all that much, and we never heard from any of their relatives.”

“Did Margaret ever send the children money, specifically around the time before she was murdered?”

“Money?”

Anna saw the woman tense up, so she carefully explained that they believed Margaret might have been getting access to reasonable sums of money. “We are still investigating her murder, and this may be a possible link to discovering what happened to her or why she was killed.”

Mrs. Walters got up, went over to a dresser, and opened a drawer from which she took out a big envelope. “These are the cards and a couple of letters she sent.”

Anna smiled and took the envelope, aware that Mrs. Walters had not answered her question.

“I keep them for when they leave here—you know, so that they have something to remember her by or not. They can do what they like with them, but the Services encourage us to retain anything they get sent.”

“May I read them?”

“Yes, please go ahead.”

Anna opened birthday cards sent to Eric and Margie over a couple of years. Big scrawled writing was on the envelopes and inside the cards:
To my lovely Margie from her mummy
and
For my big boy Eric, from his loving mummy.
There were only three letters on cheap pink notepaper, and Anna found reading them moving.

Dear Eric and Margie,

I miss you and I think about you every day because I love you with all my heart. Sometimes things happen and I’ve done what I thought was best for you. I will come and see you regularly and send you presents.

Love, Mummy

There were rows of crosses as kisses. The first letter had been written six years ago. The second letter said virtually the same thing and was written six months later. The third letter was dated eighteen months before her death.

Dear Eric and Margie,

I will come and see you soon and we can spend a whole weekend together as things have got better for me.

I hope you are both working hard at school because it is important you get a good education. I am buying some nice treats for you both.

Love, Mummy

Anna looked up as she replaced the letters and cards into the envelope. “She never showed up for the weekend she promised?”

“No, I never heard from her again, apart from that phone call.”

“So she never sent any money?”

Mrs. Walters again seemed tense. “If she had, I’d have reported it. We have to, if it’s for the children.”

“You know, it is important, Mrs. Walters, if you did receive any money from Mrs. Potts.”

“If it was a check, we’d report it and arrange an account if that was what was wanted.”

“I am referring to any cash sent to you.”

Mrs. Walters clasped her hands together.

“I can fully understand,” Anna said quietly, “that if you did receive cash, then you naturally would have put it toward things for the children. I am not in any way insinuating that there was any wrongdoing on your part.”

Mrs. Walters twisted her wedding ring around and around. Anna went for it. “How much did Margaret Potts send you, Mrs. Walters?”

“She didn’t send it.”

Anna leaned forward. “I’m sorry?”

“It was in an envelope pushed through the letter box. We—that’s my husband and I and the children—had been at a sports day at the school, and when we came back, it was lying on the doormat.”

“When was this?”

The woman was really nervous now, constantly licking her lips. “Six months or more before her body was discovered.”

“Can you tell me how much it was?”

“I’ve wondered and worried about this, you know. I said to my husband we should tell the Services, and then we’d had it over a week and done nothing with it, and it sort of stayed in that drawer. I took a tenner here and there for things, and he needed to pay off his car, and then the washing machine broke down, so we bought a new one. It wasn’t as if we spent it on ourselves. We take them out on trips in the car, and I need a washing machine.”

“Just tell me how much, Mrs. Walters, that’s all I want to know.”

“Over a thousand pounds.”

“In used or new notes?”

“Old ones: ten and twenties.”

Anna returned to the station, knowing that Margaret Potts had not only left money in her suitcase but had also given Mrs. Walters a large amount. Anna sat at her desk and calculated the timing between the two amounts of cash. It was possible there was even more money, as Emerald Turk could have lied about how much was in Margaret’s suitcase. Mrs. Walters also could have lied about the amount. Adding this to the new clothes, new shoes, and so on, Anna was certain that their victim was in possession of more money than she was earning as a prostitute. She crossed to the board and jotted down her new information.

Barbara glanced at Joan and then craned her neck to have a look at Anna’s left hand. She turned away quickly when Anna came over.

“Have we had access to John Smiley’s bank accounts yet?” Anna asked.

“Due in this afternoon,” Barbara said, able to see clearly the ring on Anna’s finger. “That’s lovely,” she said, nodding toward it.

“Thank you.”

“Diamonds, are they?”

“Yes, Barbara, and seed pearls. It’s Victorian.” Anna couldn’t stop herself. “It’s an engagement ring,” she blurted out.

Barbara looked again at Joan. “Oh, your mother’s, is it?”

Anna giggled and shook her head. “No, it’s mine, Barbara. I’m engaged.”

“To be married?”

“That is the usual reason for wearing an engagement ring, isn’t it?”

“Well, congratulations! Aren’t you the quiet one? So who’s the lucky fiancé?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Happened on the weekend, then, did it?” Joan asked, looking over.

They were blatantly nosy, but Anna couldn’t take offense. “Yes, it happened on the weekend.”

The news went round the incident room like a forest fire. Barolli was told by Joan, he told Mike Lewis, and the rest of the team was told by Barbara. DI Anna Travis was engaged to be married!

Anna secretly enjoyed the furtive attention, she knew they would be drawing up bets to try and find out whom she was engaged to. It wouldn’t be a secret for too long.

The excitement over the engagement abated only when Mike Lewis received the details of John Smiley’s bank accounts. They were impressed by his wages, as they were considerably higher than many of the team members were earning; forty-five thousand pounds a year. The money was paid directly into his account. Smiley had numerous direct debits for things like gas and electricity; his mortgage was also paid directly. He had withdrawals of eight hundred pounds every month paid into an account in the name of his wife, Sonja Smiley. They presumed this was for housekeeping. He didn’t appear to make cash withdrawals on a regular basis; maybe his wife paid him out of the housekeeping. He had three cards, one of which was in the name of Swell Blinds and was used only for diesel. Another was for his NatWest cashpoint, and a third was a department store credit card.

“Bloody well organized, isn’t he?” Mike said, looking at the columns of figures.

In a high-interest savings account, Smiley had twelve thousand pounds. He had a pension arranged with Swell Blinds’ employees, and basically, that was it.

Anna leaned over Mike’s shoulder. “So the only lump sums of cash that go out are paid directly into his wife’s account. If she is handing out pocket money, they live a frugal life. What about an expense account for Swell Blinds, anything on that?”

“We haven’t seen that come in. I can get on it.”

“We also need to go back further. These are all this year’s, right? But if he was being blackmailed by Margaret Potts, it wouldn’t be recent; she’s been dead two years. Take it back to three years ago.”

Anna repeated to Mike the amount of money they knew their victim had in cash shortly before she died.

“You see, the money in the suitcase was left at Emerald Turk’s, along with a bunch of new clothes, so she would have to be blackmailing Smiley after the blinds were put up in her flat, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“The money from Mrs. Walters was about six months before she was murdered.”

Mike was scrolling through the bank statements with Anna standing beside him.

“With him being such a model husband and not shelling out even for holidays, as far as I can see, it’s going to be easy to see if he starts making cash withdrawals to pay her off.” Anna drew up a chair. “Although if the money was in tens and twenties, used notes, it doesn’t quite gel if he wasn’t withdrawing large sums to pay her off, does it? At the same time, Margaret would have been paid in used notes by her punters.”