Anna had requested that Welsh remain in his cell with the door closed as she felt safer that way.
Entering the unit, Anna glanced over at Ken, who gave her a small formal nod and a secret wink as the other officers went down the aisle to tell Cameron that his visitor was ready to see him. Anna waited, aware of Ken and aware of the other inmates walking around the unit. Two went out into the exercise yard, but they kept their eyes on Anna. She was relieved when she was told that she could proceed down the aisle to Cameron’s cell. A chair had been placed outside. Cameron was sitting, as usual, facing out. He was wearing his hair drawn back in a ponytail, a white collarless shirt, and jeans.
“Good afternoon, Detective Travis,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his brooding eyes.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Welsh. Thank you for agreeing to see me again.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it. I think about you all the time. You occupy my dreams, my every waking hour.”
“I thought I might give you an update on our case and see if you have any insights that may assist our inquiry.”
“How very kind of you. What have you done to your hair?”
Anna touched her hair, a little unnerved. “I just washed it.”
“How could you have done that if you drove here?”
“I came on the train.”
“So when did you wash your hair?”
She pursed her lips. “Can we discuss the reason I am here rather than anything personal, please?”
“Are you staying at a hotel?”
“No. I am returning to London.”
“You seem different.”
“Mr. Welsh, I will walk away in one minute.”
“Very well, Detective Travis, you may begin.”
Anna took a deep breath and outlined the Polish connection; she informed him that they now knew all their victim’s identities, which included the new case of the girl found wrapped in a blue blanket. He listened intently and without interruption, as she said that although they had paid close attention to his suggestions, they still had no connection between the three Polish victims and Margaret Potts, and that they had interviewed everyone who knew her again, but without any result. She also explained that the Polish girls were working for a domestic cleaning agency but at different times. It was possible that they might have known each other, but the main problem for the police was that they could not discover where the girls had moved on to, so they couldn’t question anyone who would have information.
Welsh nodded and then turned to his computer table and picked up a notebook. “This woman who hired them brought them into England. Did she also use them as whores?”
“No. They might have gone on to earn money that way, but we have no details. The only prostitute was Margaret Potts.”
“Did this woman have contacts anywhere else in England—you know, to pass the girls on to work for them?”
“No, she did not.”
“So you have three girls who were here, all about the same age, not sexually permissive, but were murdered by the same man? It doesn’t make sense. Your killer had to have access to them; if he didn’t know them, then it is too much of a coincidence that all three went with him of their own free will. He had to know them or know about their situation. So take me through what you know about each girl.”
Anna did so, finding this interview far easier to deal with, as Welsh appeared to be paying close attention to every word she said without any snide references or sexual undercurrent.
“The gaps in between the dead girls—have you reviewed any further cases that might be connected?”
“To be honest, we haven’t. The four cases we have are taking up a great deal of time, not to mention financial resources. If we continue to look for other unsolved cases, it would make it difficult to continue holding on to the entire team allocated to the cases we already have, since we’re under pressure to get a result.”
“There will be more, but I understand that everything in this world today has a price. Justice doesn’t have the finances—very sad, isn’t it? Now, the girl in the blue blanket: tell me how you got to identify her.”
Anna went into detail about the tattoo and what they knew about Dorota’s life. She skirted giving any surnames or naming Olga at all, trying to keep her account as informative as possible without revealing too many undisclosed facts. Welsh jotted down notes and sometimes asked pertinent questions, but always, when he interrupted her, he did it politely.
“The girl who was joining her uncle in Manchester to work in his bakery: did she know either of the other victims?”
“We don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“If these girls were trying to find work apart from turning into whores, maybe that was the reason they were heading for Manchester. But no! I would rule out the possibility that they were all going to Manchester or up north for any reason. They were picked up in London. Whoever picked them up was, as I have said numerous times, someone they trusted. Now, what if they didn’t know him personally? What if he was a police officer or someone wearing a uniform? He would be seen as trustworthy. What if you go back to what I have suggested—that Margaret Potts knew him?”
“We have considered that, but we cannot find the connection to the girls.”
“She didn’t know them, she knew him. Your victim in the blue blanket, her body was found closer to the M6 than the M1. Go back over the press releases at the time of her murder and find out how many photographs were in the papers. I know you said the tattoo was described as a dark blue lizard, but there was one beneath it, correct?”
“I think we are going around in circles. We have considered the possibility of the killer wearing a police uniform that would not make his victims wary of getting into the van or truck he drives. So if they were thumbing a lift or—”
“He kills them in his vehicle, he has his fun with them, and then he dumps the bodies—but only your blue-blanket girl was naked. Why? Was she his first? What did he do with her clothes?”
By the way he was moving his body, shifting his weight, Anna suspected he was becoming aroused as soon as he started talking about the killer, and she was tempted to call the interview off. “She was his first.”
“You have Margaret Potts as his second two years later. I think she picked him up at the service station, she recognized him, and so he had to kill her. The blue blanket was number one, and he got away with it. Next he’s threatened by this disgusting piece of humanity, and he has to kill her. This would have started the excitement building because he’s gotten away with it again.”
He leaned back, and she could see that he had an erection beneath his jeans.
“You have no idea what it does to your sex drive,” he told Anna. “You can’t think straight, you can’t eat, you are permanently in a semi-orgasmic state. Just recalling what you have done, thinking about your victims mewing and pleading with you not to hurt them as you squeeze the living breath out of them, and you come into them with the greatest orgasm imaginable; your own howls as the rush spreads over your body and screams inside your head.” He swallowed. “No, this killer didn’t pick them up and screw them in a field; he spent hours with them, wrapping the cord tighter and tighter—”
“I think that’s enough now, Mr. Welsh.”
“What?”
“My time is up, and I don’t want to miss my train back. You have been very informative, thank you.”
“You can’t leave now—I haven’t finished.”
“Well, I have. Thank you, Mr. Welsh.”
Anna almost knocked the chair to the ground in her haste as she stood up and walked past the cell gate.
“You will have to come back. Do you hear me? You will have to come back!”
She didn’t reply. Hearing Welsh shouting, Ken appeared at the end of the aisle. “You all right?”
“Yes, but I’d like to leave now, Officer Hudson.”
Welsh used his mirror to try and catch a glimpse of Anna as she walked away.
He saw Hudson saying something to her; he also caught his hand touching Anna’s back in an overfamiliar way; and he caught the look she gave him. It was so obvious that Hudson was fucking her—he knew it, he could smell it. That was why she’d come to Leeds alone. It wasn’t to see him, it was to see that blond beefcake of a thickheaded officer, and he fought to keep his rage under control.
• • •
Anna was desperate for some fresh air, so she walked back to Ken’s flat. She debated calling the incident room but decided against it. Opening the fridge, she took out the steaks and prepared a salad, making up some dressing, and then opened the bottle of pinot grigio and poured herself a glass. Welsh still made her feel violated: she loathed him, and knowing that he was sexually aroused while he was talking to her, sickened her.
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The team had obviously discussed the possibility that the killer could pick up the girls wearing a police uniform, but they had no witness; nor did they have any idea where he had picked them up. Going over everything that had been said today, she knew there had been nothing new. Welsh had thought she would never come back.
She lay there thinking about Margaret Potts and whether she had recognized the killer, but as they knew so little about her daily routines, apart from at the service station, they had no idea how she could have known or recognized him—unless she had, as Welsh had implied, deduced something from the newspaper reports.
Anna sat up and sipped some more wine. It was not five yet, so she drained the glass and snuggled under the duvet to have a nap. She woke with a start an hour later when Ken closed the front door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he walked in.
“I’ve been fast asleep,” she said guiltily. “I meant to get the steaks marinated and . . .”
He came over and kissed her, drawing her to her feet. “I need a shower, then we’ll cook dinner together. How did it go with Welsh?”
She told him it had not been of much use, and while Ken showered, she went into the kitchen to finish tossing the salad and start work on the steaks. She used a wooden spatula to whack and soften the meat. She found some microwave french fries and then set the table.
“How do you like your steak?” she shouted to the bathroom.
“Medium, and there are some chips in the freezer.”
“Already got them. How long will you be?”
“Five minutes.”
Anna set the horrible Formica table in the kitchen and then found plates and napkins. By the time Ken came into the kitchen wearing the dressing gown, the steaks were frying.
He leaned forward to kiss her neck, and she sniffed and murmured, “Mmmm—you smell nice. Let me guess, is it Clinique Happy for men?”
He stepped back and flushed.
“I saw it in your bathroom,” Anna explained. “What—did you think I’m an expert on men’s aftershave because I have sex with so many?”
“It was given to me by my sister,” Ken said. “She’d probably bought it for her old man but gave it to me.”
“I like it.”
“Well, that’s okay, then. I’ll splash it all over my body.”
They didn’t waste time clearing away the debris of dinner but went straight to bed. Around midnight, Anna woke up and spent a long time looking at Ken’s sleeping face, leaning up on her elbow. It had all happened so fast, and it was hard to believe that she was so besotted. He slowly opened his eyes as if he had felt her looking at him. She hadn’t touched him because she didn’t want to wake him.
“What?” he murmured.
“I love you,” she said shyly.
He reached out and drew her close to him. “What are we going to do about that?”
She laughed as he slowly moved to lie on top of her.
Anna was still sleeping when Ken’s alarm went off. It was seven-thirty, but he was not beside her. She got up and wrapped his dressing gown around her. There was coffee in the kitchen, but he wasn’t in the shower, so she went into the lounge. He was doing push-ups on a blanket, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” he panted. “Coffee is nearly ready, and there are bagels and smoked salmon, as I know you like them. I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to leave. I’m on early duty.”
By the time she had drunk her coffee, he was dressed and ready to go to work.
“I’ve left a number by the phone of a local taxi firm. Sorry I can’t take you to the station myself, but I have to be on duty due to having strong-armed the other lads to get off early last night. I don’t know if I can swing it for the weekend, but if I can’t, would you be prepared to come here again?”
“Yes, but not to see Welsh!”
Grabbing a quick swig of coffee, he kissed her neck and started to leave. Then he paused and turned toward her, saying, “Last night, did you mean what you said?”
She blushed and pretended not to understand. He came to her and cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, too, Anna Travis.”
Then he was gone and she wanted to cry. She wanted to run after him and wrap her arms around him. Instead, she finished her coffee and ate too much, but because he’d bought the bagels and salmon especially for her, she felt that she should.
She did all the washing up and cleaned the kitchen, took a shower and washed her hair again, then packed. Taxi arranged, she went into the lounge, finding it strange being in his flat alone. He had left a set of dumbbells and the blanket he’d been using on the bricked wood floor. She bent down as if to pick it up, fold it, and put it away when she froze. It was a blue blanket—newer, cleaner, and with a prison laundry mark in the right-hand corner, but she was certain it was identical to the blue blanket found wrapped around the victim Dorota Pelagia.
Chapter Eleven
Anna had a terrible few moments of panic. Her mind went completely blank in a hideous mental block. She took deep breaths, refusing to allow herself to even contemplate the connection between Ken, the blanket, and the killer. She knew she would have to discuss it with him, and immediately, but the fear that he could be involved made her throw up in the toilet.
Afterward, she splashed cold water over her face and then called the prison to ask to be put through to the secure unit, as it was of the utmost importance. She was told that it was against regulations for the officers in the unit to take personal calls. Fighting to keep control of her voice, she explained who she was and said it was imperative she speak to Officer Hudson.
It was a while before Ken came to the phone; the first thing he asked was if she was all right. He was afraid there had been some kind of accident.
“I’m fine, Ken, but just before I left your flat, I noticed that you’d been exercising on a blanket. It’s prison issue—a blue one—and I need to know why you have it.”
“You’re joking?”
“No, I’m not. It’s very important. Ken, can you tell me about the blanket?”
“It was in the flat when I moved in. They give them out, or they did, to the officers in the flats. Most of them bring in their own bedding, obviously. I don’t think they are part of the prison issue anymore, but there must be hundreds still used in cells . . . What’s so important?”
“Can I take it with me back to the station?”
“Whatever for? Are you having me on?”
“No. I wish I were, because I can’t really discuss it with you, but can you call me later when you are off duty and I’ll explain?”
“Explain it now, Anna. I was almost having a heart attack in case you’d been hurt.”
Anna felt her body breaking out in a cold sweat. “All right,” she said, and swallowed. “One of our victims was found wrapped in an identical blanket—the same color, but with no laundry mark. We’ll need to find out if they were also issued to other prisons.”
There was a pause, and then Ken asked if she wanted him to check it out for her.
“No, station will get on to it.”
“Okay, but you be honest now, did you
think I had something to do with it? You didn’t, did you, Anna?”
“Of course I didn’t,” she lied, “but I just needed to check it all out with you. Look, I’ve got to go, the taxi is here to take me to the station.”
She felt terrible that she had, for a moment, had a hideous suspicion that he could in some way be involved. During the taxi ride, she rang the incident room and gave them the blanket discovery, making no mention that she had found it in Ken Hudson’s flat, but insisting that the team needed to find out how many prisons used the blue blankets for their inmates. She also spoke to Mike Lewis about the Cameron Welsh interview, repeating that he was adamant regarding the Margaret Potts connection and that he had even suggested the killer could use a police officer’s uniform to entice the victims to trust him.
“Or it could even be a prison officer’s uniform,” she added, and felt her body break into a sweat again.
The journey to King’s Cross seemed to take forever, as there were faults on the line and delays, so she didn’t get back to the incident room until late afternoon. She immediately passed the blanket over to be sent to the forensic lab.
The team had discovered that the blankets were imported by a company in Wembley and made for them in China. The company had ordered a massive consignment, delivered over four years to five prisons, but had recently lost contracts, as the inmates didn’t like them and preferred duvets. These blankets were also used at police stations in Manchester for prisoners held overnight in the cells. The remainder, since the prisons had stopped ordering, had been delivered to hostels around London. They were looking at hundreds of thousands of these blue blankets, and it promised another lengthy, tedious line of inquiry.
That night Anna had a call from Ken. He suggested that it was possible their killer had worked as a prison officer. Anna agreed but said it was a long shot.
“Do you know if officers keep their uniforms when they leave?”
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