Blind Fury

by Lynda La Plante

  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 kne
w 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.

  Anna helped Mrs. Hudson take the tea things out to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. The kitchen was like the rest of the house, tidy and with every surface shining, and when she put the milk jug back in the fridge, Anna could see it was stocked with plastic containers, all labeled. From the rows of well-thumbed cookbooks, it was obvious that Mrs. Hudson took great pride in her domestic abilities.

  When Ken came in to say that he had booked a table at the local Indian restaurant, Anna noticed how at ease he was with his mother. He towered above her as she started to protest that she could cook dinner for them, and he insisted that it would not be necessary.

  “But they’ll want one of your full cooked breakfasts—right, Anna?” he said.

  Anna agreed. Now that her headache was receding, she found herself liking him more and more. He suggested that he would drive his father’s car so that his guests could enjoy a glass of wine.

  Langton had shaved and was keen to go and eat. He sat beside Ken in the front seat of the car, which was as spotless as the house.

  “Don’t you drink?” Anna asked.

  “Not really, except maybe the odd pint after a game. I play rugby every weekend. We’ve got quite a good team made up from the officers and a few from the local clubs.”

  Their conversation was easygoing, and by the time they’d ordered at the small restaurant and a bottle of red wine had been opened, Anna was at last totally relaxed.

  The food was not exceptional but was reasonable, and Langton, like Anna, seemed to be enjoying himself. Not until they had ordered coffee did the conversation turn to the reason they had been to the prison. Langton asked Ken what he thought of Cameron Welsh.

  “He’s a complex individual,” the young man said. “I don’t like him; he’s manipulative and doesn’t mix with anyone. He spends most of his time studying.”

  “Child psychology, wasn’t it?” Anna asked.

  “Yes, and I think he’s embarking on economics. He’s very intelligent, but like I said, he’s to my mind very warped. I can’t stand his obsession with his clothes and food fads. He’s got more shampoos and conditioners for his hair than my sister. He’s also independently wealthy, so that makes it easy for him to order in all the books he needs. He’s not allowed cash, obviously, but we can’t stop him ordering from Amazon, and as it’s for educational reasons, there’s no real reason to.”

  Langton asked when Welsh had been inside the main prison. Ken said he hadn’t had much to do with him; he just knew there had been trouble, as Welsh constantly antagonized the other inmates.

  “Welsh was more intelligent and better educated than any of them, and he knew it and delighted in creating problems. They found out he’d been doing a Joe Orton in the library once, so that caused a stink.”

  “Orton? Who’s he, an inmate?”

  Anna was surprised that Langton didn’t know. Ken explained that Orton was a brilliant writer who had been charged with cutting out and pasting obscenities in his local library books.

  “He was murdered by his boyfriend a good few years back, but Welsh, like him, cut out pages and pasted stuff inside the books, so he got into trouble.”

  “You think he’s homosexual?” Langton asked.

  “No, no, I don’t, although the way he fancies himself up, he could appear to be. He has a hatred of women, so who can tell what goes on in his head? All I know is he’s never made any sexual approaches to any inmates that I am aware of.”

  “Why do you say he hates women?” Anna asked.

  Ken explained that when Welsh was submitting his papers for the Open University, Ken had been asked to double-check them in case there were any attempts at communication concealed in the essays. Inmates with twenty-four-hour lockup spent their time finding ways of sending out messages or even trying to arrange an escape.

  “Have you got a degree yourself?” Anna asked, impressed but not wanting to sound as if she was.

  “Yes. I’m only working in the prison for a couple of years. I eventually want to work with underprivileged teenagers. I suppose it’s from the years watching my mum handle all the kids she took on. She’d still be running herself ragged with them, but she had open-heart surgery two years ago. That’s another reason I chose Barfield—it’s close enough for me to keep an eye on her. If I didn’t, I know she’d get roped into doing too much.”

  Langton yawned and poured himself another coffee. “Are you basing Welsh’s hatred of women on his murders?” he asked.

  “No, since his victims were not low-class women. You see, Welsh has a real, deep-seated hatred of sexually aware women, like prostitutes. It’s obvious that he had a sick obsession. I think it stems from how he believed his mother rejected him. In his papers, he had to discuss child abuse and how to handle a badly affected youngster, and he wrote a long section about the need to understand how a child reacts to parental rejection. He focused on the loss of a mother and the abusive overcontrolling father. I don’t think he was ever subjected to sexual abuse himself; it was more a mental thing. He talked about how a child will withdraw into his or her own world, and he elaborated on what I presumed were painful memories from his own life. It may have appeared cushioned by wealth, but he consistently underlined the importance of the damage that occurs when a child is excluded from the natural normal love from a parent.”

  “She ran off with a close family friend, didn’t she?” Anna poured herself another coffee. Langton had remained silent, deep in his own thoughts, but Anna was enjoying the conversation.

  “Apparently, but I think it was a woman she ran off with, not a man. I base this on something he came out with when there was a possibility of having a female prison visitor. I got a tirade against the fact that some women choose to become visitors of long-term prisoners. He said they were all lesbians and that he wouldn’t have one clean his shoes. I remember he went on to describe the woman his mother had left him for as an evil bull dyke. Whether or not it was true, I don’t know . . . but the fact remains that he was left at a young age to be brought up by his father.”

  “Do you mind if we call it quits for tonight?” Langton asked shortly afterward, and signaled for the bill.

  Anna was disappointed. She would have liked to spend more time chatting with Ken, but it was late,
and she presumed that Langton would want an early start the following morning. He was fast asleep as they drove back to the bed-and-breakfast.

  Although Ken offered to make more coffee, they both refused and went up to their rooms. Anna used the bathroom first; she had a quick shower and washed her hair and, coming back to her room, found a small hair dryer on the bedside table. She could hear Langton banging around next door as she brushed out her hair. She could also hear him speaking on the telephone but couldn’t make out who he was talking to. Eventually, she went to bed, and no sooner had she drowsily turned off the bedside light than Langton was banging on her door, calling out that he was going down for breakfast.

  Anna had slept better than she had in months. Dressing in a hurry, she opened the curtains and saw Ken outside, getting onto his motorbike. She couldn’t believe it was already eight o’clock.

  Breakfast was a substantial affair of sausages, fried eggs and tomato, and crispy bacon, with a pile of toast. Mrs. Hudson insisted on making a fresh pot of tea, so Langton and Anna were alone in the small dining room.

  “You sleep all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, out like a light. What about you?”

  “Terrific. I’ve been with the incident room again, and judging from the new information regarding John Smiley, he is even more like the description from Cameron Welsh. Married, kids, good job, hard worker, with no one having a bad word to say against him.”

  “That could also be because he is just that, a decent guy. We’ve nothing on which to make an arrest. The only evidence against him is he was parked at the London Gateway Services; plus, we’ve checked out his delivery drops for that period, and they have been verified.”

  “I know. Aren’t you going to eat that sausage?”

  Anna passed it over and watched as he thudded the HP sauce over it and attacked the sausage as if he were ravenous. Anna had started to notice how much Langton ate, wolfing down the sandwiches at tea yesterday afternoon, then the curry in the evening, and now he was piling through his breakfast at breakneck speed, hardly pausing between mouthfuls.

  Mrs. Hudson came in with the tea and more toast.