“So how long afterward did it all start up with you again?” Langton asked.
Smiley cracked his knuckles, pondering. “You know, it wasn’t like the previous times. When it started, I got a real rush from the waiting to see what happened, but when nothing did, I felt the need to make something happen, to do it again.”
Anna brought out the photograph of Estelle Dubcek. She passed it to Langton, and he laid it down in front of Smiley, who looked at it and then scratched his head.
“I think that was her. I wasn’t prepared. I’d been to London fixing up a couple of blinds, not for Swell Blinds but for people over in Shepherd’s Bush. They’d already had some fitted by the company, and they liked them, so they wanted to order more. I took the call, and I said that maybe as they were such good customers, I’d be able to make a deal with them—a cash deal. I was a bit pissed off because I had a lot of trouble making the blinds fit, it took me bloody hours, but I got three hundred quid. I was heading back toward the M1, and I stopped off at the Westfield shopping mall, Shepherd’s Bush. It was my daughter’s birthday coming up, so I went there to look for a present.”
They heard him describe how he had chosen a Barbie doll with a riding outfit and a pony. He wagged his finger. “Funnily enough, I remembered Margaret telling me she’d bought her kid a Barbie doll, so I reckoned I got the right present, and they wrapped it all up nice for me.”
He went quiet as if enjoying the memory of his daughter’s birthday and said that she had loved it; it was her favorite toy. He then recalled how Sonja had questioned him about where he had gotten the money and how he’d had a big row with her. “Can you imagine? She questioned me like a fucking Gestapo officer. Where did I buy it, how much did it cost, where had I gotten all the extra money?”
“But you were laughing inside, I bet. You had cash, you were making a lot of cash, and she didn’t have a clue, did she?” Langton was trying to ease him back into discussing Estelle Dubcek’s murder.
“No, I kept that well hidden. I just used to take all the aggravation.” Smiley was still looking angry.
“So when you met Estelle Dubcek, you had bought the present for your daughter, right? So you had a lot of cash to spare?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“You’ve got to understand, this time I wasn’t ready for it. I wanted to get back to Manchester in time for my daughter’s birthday, so I wasn’t intending to pick up another girl. I drove toward the M1, and just before you get onto the motorway, there’s a slip road. A lot of hitchhikers use it, they hold up placards saying where they want to go, and there she was, all on her own. She held a bit of cardboard with Manchester written on it.”
He laughed. “It was on a plate, right? And then talk about coincidence—she was Polish. I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t even have the cap and jacket on, and I just pulled up and said I was heading to Manchester and I could give her a ride.”
Estelle had gotten into the van, he said. Her English was not that good, so he had tried talking to her in what little Polish he could manage. At first she was pleasant, and then she said she wanted to get out at the next service station, as she needed to use the bathroom.
“She’d only bloody gotten in. Next thing you know, she wants to go to the fucking toilet.”
“You think that maybe she’d figured out that you couldn’t be trusted?”
Smiley shrugged. He now seemed loath to continue, biting his lip. Anna glanced at Langton, who gave a small shake of his head for her not to interrupt.
“I knew it was gonna be a problem. I’d thought about dropping her off at the London Gateway and driving on, but then talk about fucking coincidence. She says to me that she’s got an uncle in Manchester and that she’s gonna be working for him in his bakery. So not only was it a coincidence, her being fucking Polish, she’s only gonna work in the bakery that Sonja uses. It’s in the shopping precinct near our house. I couldn’t believe it.”
He was twisting his big hands, saying that it was making him sweat, because if Sonja was to meet her and got chatting, she’d find out he had picked her up, but more important, she would find out about Dillane’s van and also about his earning extra money on the QT.
“So I had to get rid of her. I had too much to lose.”
Smiley described how he had driven past the service station and Estelle had started to get into a panic, asking him over and over why he hadn’t stopped there, as she had asked. He told her that it was a mistake and he knew a slip road he could take and they could drive into the back of the service station. By this time Estelle was crying because she was frightened and didn’t believe him.
“She was really getting on my nerves, screeching to get me to stop to let her out, and no matter what I said to her, she wouldn’t stop. We got close to where Margaret used to hang out by the caravan and the old barns. She started to grab at the handle of the door, and I went crazy. I had one of the cords I use for the blinds, and I just put it round her neck.”
“Still in the van?” Langton asked.
“Yeah. She had her back to me, ’cause she was trying to get out, but the door was locked.”
Smiley lifted his hands to demonstrate how he had placed the cord around Estelle’s neck and tightened it until she fainted. He then carried her into the caravan and raped her before he tightened the cord around her throat and strangled her to death.
“I’m not into that sickness—you know, fucking a corpse—but I think she was dead when I fucked her, and it wasn’t all that pleasurable. It was the first time I knew I’d made a mistake. Anyone could have driven past, and I had to get rid of the body fast. I turned the van around and drove into a field a short distance away, and I threw her body out by a ditch. The traffic was going past on the motorway, and I got the hell out. I didn’t feel the same buzz. I felt sick.”
Langton laid out the victims’ photographs. “You have admitted, John, that you killed each of these women: Margaret Potts, Anika Waleska, Estelle Dubcek, Dorota Pelagia, and now you have also admitted that you murdered Chrissie O’Keefe.”
Smiley leaned back. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Langton looked at his watch. “We will now take a lunch break and reconvene here in one hour. We will need to verify dates and times and clarify a few more details. You will be returned to your cell, and if you require to discuss anything with your lawyer, Mr. Smiley, you may do so.”
Langton then addressed Gregson. “Your client will be charged later with four murders, and we will be consulting with the criminal prosecution service regarding Chrissie O’Keefe. If there is time, he will be taken before the magistrate this afternoon; if not, the following morning. Do you understand, Mr. Smiley?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
Langton stood and thanked him for his cooperation as Anna stacked the files in order. They left as uniformed officers took Smiley down to the station’s holding cells.
In the incident room, the team gave a round of applause. It had been a very long, tedious, and wretched investigation that at last had a conclusion. Langton held a briefing requesting that Anna and Mike Lewis handle the next session to finalize all the details.
Anna could see how tired Langton was; yet again he had impressed her with how he had handled Smiley. She had hardly said two words, but being privy to Smiley’s admissions left her feeling exhausted as well as sickened. She needed to eat to keep up her energy, so when Langton went off to oversee another case, she and Mike had some sandwiches and coffee in his office. They went through the tape of the interview, making copious notes.
“A lot of coincidences,” Mike murmured.
“According to Langton, there are never any, but even Smiley admitted to it being a big one with Estelle Dubcek, her being Polish, and not only that, about to work in a bakery close to his home.”
“Yeah, well, we always reckoned Estelle’s murder was a hurried kill; at least we got that right, but when you think of the hours we’ve put in c
hasing the wrong facts—like we were told Estelle would never hitch a ride, and not only did she do that, but she had a notice up asking for a lift to Manchester.”
“What about the Polish connection? Yet another lengthy wrong avenue, tracking all through the embassy. What a waste of time.” Anna gave a rueful smile.
Mike leaned back in his chair. “Do you think Welsh really did know anything about the murders, or was he manipulating us in order to get to you?”
“I think it’s half and half, really. He was genuinely interested in the case, and he’s gained a lot of self-knowledge during his time in prison, and he was always insistent about Margaret Potts being the link. So in some ways, I suppose, though I’m loath to admit it, he did trigger a response.”
“He’d have triggered one if he’d torn up the files.”
“Come on, they were all copies, and he was never left with them, they were always removed when we left. By now I think he’ll also be removed, as he’s been acting up, gone stir crazy.”
“Langton does take risks, though, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does. Can we get on now? I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s been a very long day.”
It was not until three-thirty that Mike and Anna returned to the interview room. Smiley was morose and often belligerent as he tried to recall the exact dates. Gregson remained silent throughout, and they finished the interview at six o’clock. They still didn’t have full details regarding Chrissie O’Keefe, but due to Smiley’s admissions, the CPS gave authority to charge him with all five murders.
Before being returned to his cell, Smiley was formally charged by the custody sergeant and informed that he would be taken before the magistrate’s court the following morning. The team was going to the local pub for a drink to celebrate, but Anna was too drained to join them. She just wanted to go home.
She had just left the station when Langton returned with a press statement already prepared. Even though he had been working flat out since early morning, having such a positive result had energized him. He was about to leave with the team when Barbara took a call. It was for Anna. Barbara said that she was not available, but then she hesitated and asked the caller to hang on. “Gov, it’s a Mr. Hudson for Travis, says it’s urgent. Is that the name of her boyfriend?”
Langton held out his hand. “I’ll take it. This is James Langton,” he said. “Can I help at all? DI Travis has just left the station and—”
Langton listened and sat down in Barbara’s desk chair. No one was paying that much attention, as they were all getting ready to leave. It was a call he wished he had never agreed to take. The incident room was almost empty by the time he replaced the receiver.
“You coming, Gov?” Mike Lewis asked as he closed his office door.
“No. I have to go and see Travis.”
“Something wrong?”
Langton could hardly speak; he simply nodded.
“Anything I can do?”
Langton picked up his coat. “No, there’s nothing anybody can do. Give my apologies to the team, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mike didn’t know what was wrong, just that Langton’s face had drained of color and he was visibly shaken.
“Good night, then.” Mike walked out.
Langton slowly pulled on his coat. He was dreading what he had to do, but he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.
Chapter Nineteen
I was just going to bed,” Anna said into the intercom.
“Let me in, Anna. I need to see you.”
There was something about his voice. Again he had used her Christian name, which he so rarely did. She opened the front door and returned to her bedroom to put on a wrap over her nightdress. She wondered what could be so urgent that he had called without, as she had requested, ringing her first. She sighed, hoping it wasn’t connected to Smiley. God forbid if he had managed to hang himself in the cell.
As she came out of the bedroom, Langton was closing the front door.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“No, come here.”
She was puzzled. He took her by the hand and led her into her lounge.
“What’s happened?” she asked nervously.
“There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll come out with it directly.”
He was shaking, and she almost went to put her arms around him to comfort him. Then he dropped the bombshell.
“Anna, there was an incident in the prison. Welsh attacked Ken, and he’s . . . he’s dead, Anna. I am so sorry.”
She felt her legs buckle beneath her, and he caught her in his arms. She murmured over and over, “No . . . No . . . No . . .”
Langton held her tightly. “Come on, sit down, there’s a good girl.”
Her breath came in short gasps as he steered her toward the sofa and then sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders.
“What happened?” Her voice sounded even to her as if someone else were talking, asking the question, because she couldn’t focus.
“Apparently, they got the order for Welsh to be removed to Broadmoor this afternoon. They brought him out of his cell, and Ken was putting the cuffs on him. Welsh had somehow gotten a plastic fork, melted it down, honed it into a sharp point, and he stabbed Ken in the jugular.”
He didn’t add that Welsh had also stabbed Ken in the eye; they were unable to stem the blood flow, and he had collapsed and died in the ambulance. Due to the complicated entrance system to the special unit, the ambulance and prison medics had taken longer than usual to get there and assist the officers trying to keep Ken alive.
Anna was trembling all over and deathly pale. She stared ahead as if unable to comprehend what Langton was saying. He wished she would break down and weep, but she remained frozen. He got up and fetched a glass of brandy, bending down in front of her, holding it up to her lips. “I’ll stay here with you.”
The brandy dripped from her pale lips as if she were incapable of sipping it. Langton sat next to her and again placed his arm around her shoulders. He told her that Ken’s father had called the incident room, and he had taken the call. He felt that if he could keep on talking, she would break down and release the tears, but she continued staring blank-eyed.
Langton drank the remains of the brandy himself, at a loss as to what he could do to comfort her. He hadn’t told her that Welsh had screamed at Ken that he could never have his girl, his madness out of control as he repeatedly stabbed and lashed out.
Anna remembered a day when she’d been about five or six years old and her father had taken her to the local public pool. She’d had lessons and was able to float by herself, was almost about to swim, and she had been so excited, wanting to show him. He had placed a towel around her tiny, thin shoulders, saying it was time to get dressed, and she remembered running from him, laughing naughtily as she jumped into the pool. But it was not the shallow end, and as the water enveloped her, it felt like it was sucking her down. She raised her arms but remained deep in the water, unable to breathe, sinking deep down and drowning. Anna felt exactly as she had done all those years ago. Drowning.
“Anna? Anna!”
Langton’s voice sounded like her panic-stricken father’s, willing her to surface, but it was the lifeguard who dragged her to the surface and her father who lifted her from the water and rocked her in his arms as she wept and choked, “I was floating, Daddy, I was floating.”
Langton was at his wits’ end. He carried her into her bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. She seemed totally unaware of him or of where she was. He lay beside her, cradled her in his arms, willing her to break and weep, but she remained oblivious. Langton had known grief himself. He’d kissed his first wife goodbye to go off to work shortly before receiving the phone call informing him that she had collapsed and died of a brain tumor. Nothing had prepared him for the shock, and he had never gotten over the loss of the woman he had adored. He had buried his grief, pressed it so far down inside that he had returned to wo
rk almost immediately. He didn’t want Travis to bury the pain, as he had done, and it was extraordinary that, lying beside her, he felt an uncontrollable need to weep himself. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he held Anna, and still she remained caught in her own world. He squeezed her tighter.
“For God’s sake . . . Anna. Anna!”
He shook her, and she was like a rag doll. It was becoming more and more painful for him, as he had no idea what he could or should do to bring her out of such deep trauma. It was dark in the room, and she remained in his arms. If she was comforted by him, he couldn’t tell, but after what felt like an interminable time, she gave a sigh.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered, her head resting on his chest.
“I’ll stay as long as you need me.” He stroked her hair. He wished he could see her face, but she was pressed against his chest. He could feel her heart beat against him, and then her body shuddered as at last she wept. It was as if he were holding a child; awful, heartbreaking sobs convulsed her, and she continued for so long that she exhausted herself and grew quiet. He eased her away from him; her eyes were closed, and she was sleeping.
Langton gently placed her head on a pillow and then got up and wrapped the duvet around her. Totally drained, he returned to the lounge to pour himself another brandy and sat smoking and drinking, loath to leave. However, he was exhausted, and he, too, slept, sitting upright on the sofa.
It was about five in the morning when he woke with a start; he could hear the shower. His knee hurt like hell, his neck felt stiff, and his back ached, so he went into the kitchen, opened one of his pill bottles, and took a handful of painkillers. He kept on listening, unsure if he should go into her bedroom. He didn’t, but he put on some fresh coffee and waited.
She had combed her wet hair away from her face and was wearing a dressing gown when she appeared. She looked extremely young and vulnerable, and he felt old and crumpled, wanting to open his arms and hold her, but she walked to the percolator and poured herself a coffee.
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