Clean Cut (11 page)

As she was leaving for work the following morning, Barolli phoned. He apologized for not getting back to her, but had been in bed with a streaming cold. He sounded as if he was still hardly able to breathe.

‘Mike Lewis called me,’ he said, sniffing loudly.

‘Did he tell you why I wanted to see you?’

‘Yeah, and he’ll run the prints for a check, but you know it was a hostel and we had Christ knows how many.’

‘Yes, I know that, but if there is a match?’

‘Right, right. You know, Anna, when it went down, I was behind Mike, and I didn’t really get to see the bastards’ faces either. I never even saw the big bloke–well, not for more than a few seconds when he ran past.’

When Anna described Sickert, Barolli said he couldn’t recall if either of the guys had dreadlocks, though both were black. She couldn’t really understand why neither Lewis nor Barolli felt as she did. She knew how much
they cared for Langton and how many times they had worked alongside each other; their lack of enthusiasm depressed her.

There was no mention of Sickert in the incident room as the case against Vernon Kramer went before the crown court. He was wearing a sober grey suit, white shirt and tie. It never ceased to amaze her how the legal teams cleaned up their clients. He pleaded guilty to harbouring Arthur Murphy, but claimed he was afraid of him, saying that Murphy had threatened him if he did not help. This lie was swiftly demolished, as they were able to report that Vernon was actually wandering around buying fish and chips and beer, and could at any time have contacted the police. It was pointed out that the newspapers had front-page photographs of Murphy and requests for the public to assist in tracing him. Vernon replied that he didn’t read newspapers. In summation, he was found guilty and, as he was on parole, he was returned to Wandsworth prison with an extra eighteen months added onto the rest of his previous sentence. This time, he was to serve the full term with no leave to apply for parole.

Sheldon looked at Anna and shrugged. ‘Should never have been on early release anyway, the sick bastard.’

‘No wonder Gail was scared, her brother a killer and his best pal a paedophile.’

‘Listen, both of them are sick fucks, but Murphy’s going down for life. Another couple of years and Vernon here will be back in a hostel with more of his sicko friends. He’ll probably meet even more in the nick: they get segregated for their own protection from the other cons; come out and they’re at it again. He reckoned he
was clever because he wasn’t on the sex offenders’ register; this time, I’m gonna make damned sure he is.’

Langton was sitting in the lounge, chatting to two other residents when she walked in. He waved, slowly stood up, and then walked towards her with his arms outstretched.

‘Eh, take a look at me?’ he grinned.

She wrapped her arms around him, almost in tears; he was a little unsteady and joked that she was pushing him over. They walked together to a vacant area, with two armchairs and a coffee-table. He sat down and she noticed that he winced in pain as he grasped the arms of the chair, easing himself down. He then blew out his breath.

‘I’ve got some good and some bad news,’ he smiled.

‘Well, I’m all ears.’

‘Tomorrow I’m having a physical assessment and if I pass, I’m coming home at the weekend.’

She was shocked: she hadn’t expected him to be released for another week at least.

‘They don’t keep us here for long, you know–get ’em out fast is their motto! So, how do you feel about that?’

She forced a smile. ‘It’s wonderful! This weekend?’

‘Yep. If I get under the weather, then I’ll be back for another two weeks–it’s the way they work it–but I reckon as soon as I’m out, that means out out.’

She leaned across to kiss his cheek.

‘So what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Should I go back to my place or come and stay with you?’

‘What do
you
think?’ she said in mock anger.

‘Well, I won’t be much use, you know. I can’t drive
yet, but I’ll get compensation and that’s dosh for a taxi back and forth to a gym and the physio. I’m going to need a lot of work done on my knee. You know what the nurse said to me? Said it’s going to feel like housemaid’s knee. I said to her: “Well, never having been one, I wouldn’t know, so what does it feel like?” And she said: “Fucking painful!’” He laughed and she couldn’t help but join in.

She brought out some fresh fruit. He winced, saying he couldn’t face another grape, but ate the apples one after the other, munching through them like a kid. All the while, he gave her a running commentary about the other patients; he had her laughing as he mimicked them, using funny voices. It was a while before he calmed down and then reached over to take her hand.

‘You sure about taking me on, sweetheart?’

‘I have never been more sure about anything. Besides, your flat has a walk up four flights; I’m only two flights plus a lift and my flat is all on one floor, so it’s obviously the better place. Added to that, you’ll have me to cook and look after you.’

‘I don’t need mothering, Anna.’

‘Who said I’d be doing that? I want you fit and back to work as soon as possible, because I know you are not going to be easy.’

He grinned, then frowned. ‘Keep it quiet though. I don’t want visitors. I don’t want to see any of the old team, not until I’m ready.’

‘Whatever you say.’

‘I’ve made a list of stuff I’ll need to be brought in for me to go out looking the business.’

He handed it over and she slipped it into her handbag. She did not open her briefcase, which still contained
the case file and his own folder of press cuttings. The time passed very quickly as they kissed and hugged each other. She was very tearful when he whispered that he loved her.

‘I love you too, and you are going to get back in shape, I know it.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘I have to, because no way am I going to be shoved into some desk job, not me. I’m coming out and I’ve got a lot of unsolved business to sort!’

She felt very uneasy, but he clasped her hand.

‘Don’t get that worried look on your face. I won’t be doing anything dumb, but if you know me and I think you do, you know it’s not over.’

She gave a sad smile. ‘I know.’

A
nna had been called by Langton four times on the morning she was due to collect him. He wanted some chocolates for certain nurses; then he rang to say to bring some good bottles of wine. Next, had she got the right suit and tie? Then again, to make sure she remembered to bring the gifts. Anna could hear the excitement in his voice, like a kid, as he checked the time for the pick-up on every call, constantly reminding her not to tell anyone he was discharged.

She drove to Glebe House as instructed, to be there for two-thirty. She arrived slightly earlier, due to a traffic-free M4; she handed over his suitcase and said she would wait in the lounge. He did not appear until almost three. He looked fantastic, and very smart, taking the wine and chocolates from her to hand out like royalty to the staff.

A number of staff stood to wave him goodbye as he walked towards Anna’s Mini. She carried the suitcase filled with his laundry and odds and ends. She opened the passenger door for him and then walked round to put the suitcase into the boot. By the time she stashed it and closed the boot, he was still standing, waving, and holding onto the edge of the door. He stood there until
the staff had disappeared inside, then with a grimace he began to ease himself into the seat, which she had pulled back as far as possible, earlier on. It took quite some time, as his knee obviously pained him greatly. He swore at her for having such a bloody small car but eventually managed to flop down and haul his bad leg inside.

As they drove home, he sighed deeply, as if still in pain; every time she asked if he was all right, he said he was fine. By the time they reached home, he was rubbing his knee and wincing.

‘It’s because I’m so cramped,’ he said.

‘Well, let me get the case inside first, then I’ll come back and help you out.’

‘I don’t need any help, just go on inside. I’ll follow you in a second.’

Anna took his case up into the flat, and then returned to the car. He was still unable to get out of the seat. She bent down to suggest he swing his legs out first, and he swore at her.

‘I’m just getting my breath! Don’t tell me what to do.’

Anna stood back and watched as he painfully eased one leg round, and then used both hands to lift his right leg. He was forced to hold on to her to stand upright. The sweat rolled down his cheeks as he attempted to straighten up. It was a very slow walk to the lift, then, from there, the few paces into her flat; each step was obviously agony for him and, much against his will, he was still forced to cling to her.

As they went into the lounge, he almost fell onto the sofa, rubbing his leg and muttering how it was all because of being in such a cramped position in her car. She unpacked his case, and left him to cool down. She
then asked if he was hungry, and would he like to go out to eat, or dine at home.

‘Oh, let’s run down to the local Italian!’ he said sarcastically.

‘I was joking! I’ve got steak and salad and a good bottle of wine.’

‘Come here.’ He held out his hand and clasped hers, drawing her down to sit beside him on the sofa. ‘I’m a sourpuss and an ungrateful son of a bitch, but if you get the pills in the blue-labelled bottle, it’ll help ease this housemaid’s fucking knee. Christ only knows how housemaids deal with it; mind you, they’re not on their hands and knees washing down steps any more, are they?’

She kissed his cheek; it felt cold and clammy. The pills were in a black leather shaving bag. She was surprised how many bottles of different prescriptions he had been given. After he’d taken two with a glass of wine (which she doubted was the best way to take them) the pain obviously lessened and when she served dinner, he ate hungrily and said it was the best dinner he’d had since he’d been injured. It was not until they had coffee (or she had one–he was still drinking) that he became quiet and serious.

‘It’s not going to be easy, is it?’ he said.

‘I never thought it would be, but then I never thought you’d be home this quickly. In fact, you just being here is a miracle.’

He smiled, and lifted his glass. ‘To my sweet Anna!’

She blew him a kiss. ‘Right, I’ll going to clear up, and then we can watch TV–or have an early night; maybe you should do that. It’s been a big day for you and you don’t want to tire yourself out.’

‘Let me tell you when I’m tired.’

‘Fine, just sit then. I won’t be long.’

She had just wiped down the kitchen counters and had put the dishwasher on when she heard him calling her. She went over to him.

‘I can’t get up,’ he said quietly.

It wasn’t easy getting him up onto his feet; he was like a dead weight. They had to walk very slowly towards the bedroom. He gasped for breath at each step; twice they had to pause whilst he gritted his teeth before being able to move another step forwards. He was embarrassed at being unable to take a piss without her helping him, but he was incapable of retaining his balance.

She helped him undress, ready to take a shower. He had grown silent; time and time again he winced with pain, but said nothing. She took his dirty clothes into the kitchen to put into the washing machine and to give him some privacy, but when she returned to the bedroom he was still sitting, naked apart from a towelling robe around his shoulders.

‘I can’t stand up again,’ he said, head bowed.

‘That’s okay. For goodness’ sake, it’s your first day home.’

She leaned forwards to put her hands under his armpits to try and haul him up, but he was too heavy; she eventually managed it by letting him lean his weight forwards onto her and then very slowly standing.

He took the few steps towards the ensuite with one arm resting round her shoulders, his other hand groping the wall. He had lost a considerable amount of weight; his tall frame looked rake thin. Anna turned on the
shower as he rested against the tiled sides, and she got a good soaking before she was able to help him stand beneath the water jets.

Only now had Anna the opportunity to see the terrible scars to his body. One ran from his right shoulder-blade, crossing his chest and reaching almost down to his waist. The other ran from the middle of his right thigh over his kneecap, almost down to his shinbone. He must have required hundreds of stitches.

‘Bit like a patchwork quilt, aren’t I?’ he joked, as she soaped his back and helped him wash his hair.

They had quite a struggle to get him back to the bedroom and into his pyjamas, and he then lay back exhausted. She felt such compassion and such love that she wanted to weep, but she kept up a bright and steady chatter, setting the alarm and preparing to take her make-up off.

By the time Anna was ready to get into bed, he was asleep on top of the duvet. She had to ease one side open and slide in. She turned the lights out, feeling exhausted herself.

Twice during the night he had to have some more painkillers before she had him finally tucked up beside her. He had hardly said another word, as if even talking pained him. She lay awake beside him for a long time, assessing just what she had taken on. She had always known that it wouldn’t be easy; however, it had never really dawned on her exactly how difficult it was going to be.

‘This is going to put us to the test, isn’t it?’ he said softly, as if he knew what she was thinking. She was surprised; she had thought he was sleeping. He raised his arm for her to snuggle closer to him.

‘I suppose a fuck is out of the question?’ he asked, and she could hear him smiling.

‘Right now it is, I’m too tired–but you won’t get away with it for too long.’

He laughed. ‘I won’t wait for long; I need to see if everything is in working order. At least the bastard missed my dick!’

The following morning, Anna helped him dress before she went to work. She left him sitting in the lounge, watching breakfast TV with a tray of eggs and bacon. He seemed in a better frame of mind and smiled as she waved a kiss goodbye.

‘I won’t be late. Any special orders for dinner?’

‘Blow job would be nice.’

She pulled a face and walked out.

At the station, Harry Blunt was having an argument with Frank Brandon, as usual. This time, it was a bet on what had been the fastest trial from the time of arrest. Blunt insisted it was thirty-six days, but Brandon was adamant it was forty-seven. After a few phone calls, Blunt held out his hand for a twenty-pound note.

Murphy had pleaded guilty at the plea and directions hearing. He was still held at Wandsworth; the trial date had been set and counsel appointed to represent him. Harry, as usual, went into a fury at the waste of public money, but the full show had to continue: it was the law. A law, Harry felt, that should be reviewed. With all the evidence and the admission of guilt from Murphy, he reckoned Murphy should just go before a judge and receive his sentence there and then. ‘Better still, give the son of a bitch a lethal injection! Get rid of the dross
of humanity, instead of allowing them to clog up every prison.’

He was about to launch into another favourite topic of conversation, the prison system, when Brandon told him to shut up; they’d all heard it before.

‘How’s Langton doing? I heard he’s left Glebe House,’ Brandon asked.

He’d be furious that news had got out already about his release, Anna thought. ‘He’s doing really well,’ she said.

‘He’s a bloody marvel,’ Harry interrupted, and then went into another tirade. ‘Do you know how much my pal got, for being knocked out and kicked like a football? Poor bastard, he was on full pay for just six months; then they cut it down to half pay for a further six months, and then the fuckers cut the pay off altogether! All he could claim was twenty quid per week from the Police Federation. Twenty quid! You can’t buy a week’s groceries with that. It’s fucking disgusting. Poor bastard can’t even remember his own name.’

Brandon nodded–actually agreeing with Blunt! ‘I’ve got private medical insurance, mate.’

Harry pursed his lips. ‘Well, I bloody haven’t–not with two kids and a mortgage.’ He turned to Anna. ‘Has Langton got private insurance?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, I hope so–he’s gonna be out for months. Will he be claiming disability pension?’

‘He’s not disabled,’ Anna said brusquely.

Brandon parked his backside on the edge of her desk. ‘Friend of mine, he was a triathlete, right? Knocked off his motorbike, paralysed from the waist down. He went
before the Chief Medical Officer. I mean, he was all right upstairs, understand? Just his legs got crushed. He’s earning good if not better money now, doing a non-operational job over at Hammersmith.’

Anna chewed her lips; between the pair of them, she was beginning to get really furious. ‘No way will he be disabled, nor, I can assure you, is he mentally screwed up either, so just shut up, the pair of you. You’re like two old women.’

Brandon shrugged and returned to his own desk, but she caught the look between him and Harry, as if they knew she was lying.

Langton was sitting at the bar in the kitchen, as he found the high stool more comfortable. She had bought tuna steaks and microwave chips and was tossing the salad as he opened a bottle of wine.

‘Do you have medical insurance?’ she asked.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just Harry Blunt was talking about some friend of his.’

‘What, hang-’em-all-Harry?’ he said, grinning.

‘He was saying today that there shouldn’t be a trial if someone has pleaded guilty and there is strong evidence to prove it.’

‘What, actually just hang them?’ he said, taking out the cork.

She laughed. ‘He’s such a gossip–kept on about disability pay and how little an officer gets.’

‘Talking about me, were you?’

She put down the salad tongs. ‘Well, they asked how you were.’

‘Oh yeah, and what did you tell them?’

‘That you had made a remarkable recovery and no way would you be claiming any disability.’

‘It’s going to be a few months, you know,’ he said, pouring the wine.

She sat beside him. ‘So, do you have medical insurance?’

‘Yes. I took it out after my first wife died, mainly because I loathed the bloody hospital she was taken to, though she didn’t last long enough to see the place. I just thought to myself, if anything happened to me, no way was I going to end up in a bloody National Health ward; probably die of something I picked up from the floors.’

‘That’s good.’

He turned towards her. ‘Don’t talk about me, Anna.’

‘I didn’t; they just asked me how you were.’

‘And you come back with all these queries about private medical insurance and disability pensions!’

‘I just said that you were recovering!’

‘Don’t even say that, okay?’

‘Yes, all right! So, you want salad?’

After dinner, they sat in the lounge and Langton brought out a notebook.

‘I’ve got a driver and a car at my disposal,’ he began by saying, ‘so it’s not going to inconvenience you.’

‘I don’t mind driving you around.’

‘Well, you can’t when you’re at work, so this is what I’ve organized so far.’

Anna looked down his list. He had a personal trainer booked for every other day. He’d apparently wanted a session every day, but had been told that he needed a day in between, so the muscles could acclimatize to the
workout. He had therefore arranged physio sessions on the days between the workouts, plus a massage three times a week, as well as swimming, saunas and steam baths.

‘You are going to be doing all this every week?’ she asked, astonished.

‘Yep. It’s taken me all day on the phone arranging it.’

‘Good for you,’ she said, and meant it. She was proud of him and said she would make sure he ate healthy foods to put some weight back on.

When she went into the bedroom, she had to step over a selection of weights and equipment. He’d evidently asked the delivery men to shift the furniture around and it made her bedroom look rather like a gymnasium. It irritated her slightly that he hadn’t mentioned it to her, but she said nothing.

‘I’ve got a rowing machine coming in tomorrow,’ he said, rubbing his knee with a foul-smelling liniment.