Above Suspicion

by Lynda La Plante

  “Prostitutes,” said Daniels, staring into his cup.

  “Yes, but he may have made a mistake with Melissa.”

  He leaned back, his eyes expressionless.

  “Mistake?”

  Anna nodded and told him they had two witnesses, the Cuban waiter and the husky-voiced call girl.

  “They saw him?” he said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s—that’s good news, surely?”

  It wasn’t enough of a response to be useful. If he was their killer, he was playing his cards very close to his chest. Anna was tired and she felt they had reached a dead end. She stood up, saying she needed to go to the ladies. Alan stood, allowing her to pass him.

  “I should be going home soon, Alan. I have to work in the morning.”

  “I promise, we won’t discuss this topic for another second. Now you go and powder your nose and I’ll sort out the bill. Unless—would you like a brandy?”

  “No, nothing else. Thank you.”

  Anna felt totally drained. She had done her best, letting information out that, in actual fact, he could have discovered from press releases. But Daniels had not slipped up or, in Michael Parks’s words, given her the “leakage” she was hoping for. By the time she returned to the table, he stood waiting for her, holding her wrap. He gently placed it around her shoulders.

  “You don’t think the reason I asked you out was to pump you for information? Please, don’t think that. Because it isn’t true.”

  She said softly, “No, I don’t. I’ve enjoyed being with you very much.”

  He drew her closer. “You’re very special, Anna.”

  As they drove away from the Ivy, Anna began to wonder about the next stage of the evening, but Daniels was ahead of her. He instructed the driver to take Miss Travis back to her flat, adding, “As I’m on the way, he can drop me off first, if you don’t mind?”

  “No, not at all.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, though he sat some distance from her, his face in the shadows.

  His free hand sought hers out in the darkness. “When I first came to the station you work at, I can’t tell you how scared I was. It brought back the time they found her body.”

  “Your mother’s?”

  He sighed. “I was just a teenager, so they held me in the cells overnight and interrogated me for hours and hours. I had no one to turn to. And now—I feel like it’s happening again, but this time, with even more to lose. You saw the press calling out for me. Can you imagine what they would do if it was to be made public that I was even being questioned? You have to help me. Make them understand: I am innocent. How can I still be a suspect? Why are they doing this to me?”

  “It’s just the connection, Alan.”

  “That I was brought up in a stinking brothel, with a bunch of whores? What does that mean?” he said angrily. “I wouldn’t remember a single one of them. I’ve tried my hardest to obliterate them from my mind.” She was perplexed to see tears begin to stream down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, sniffing. “Sorry. I’m sorry, need that handkerchief of yours.”

  She went to open her bag, when he shook his head. “No, no—I’m all right now.”

  “Alan, the reality is you are not under arrest and they have no evidence against you but circumstantial. If they had anything, you’d have been arrested by now. You have to believe me that I wouldn’t have agreed to see you this evening if I thought for one moment that you were involved.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He rested back. “Thank God. Because I need you, Anna. I’m going to rely on you to get me through this. Come here; rest your head on my shoulder.” He closed his eyes.

  Uneasily, she slid toward him. He wrapped his arm round her. She could smell his delicate aftershave, feel the softness of the velvet jacket against her cheek. Her heart was thudding as he tilted her face toward his and kissed her lips: a delicate, sweet kiss. He gently touched her hair. “You are already very special to me and I am sure, in time, we can mean a lot more to each other.” He was tracing her cheek with his finger.

  From the front seat, the driver interrupted. “Queen’s Gate, sir.”

  “Good night, Anna.” Daniels kissed her hand as the driver opened the rear door to let him out. She watched as he walked to the front steps, turning back to wave.

  She was trembling as the car drove away. When it reached her flat, she thanked the driver, insisting there was no need for him to see her to her front door. She was fumbling for her key when Langton opened the door.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  Anna slumped onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes. The lounge was strewn with coffee cups and half-eaten cheese sandwiches. Even his newspaper was in pieces, pages left on the floor by the overflowing ashtray.

  “Did you get anything?”

  “Not much.”

  “Fuck. How come? You were out late enough.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. He could tell she was upset, but he had waited all night for some information and the evening had cost a bloody fortune in overtime.

  “What is it, Travis? Did he try it on in the car?”

  She started to sob. She searched in her bag for her handkerchief and then began tipping everything out as she frantically searched.

  “Daddy’s cufflinks!” She was distraught. “They were in the zip-up pocket.”

  Langton looked at her, puzzled. With her new hairstyle standing on end and her tear-stained face, she looked about ten years old.

  “Shush, it’s OK. You’re safe now.”

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he moved to sit beside her and put his arm round her. She started to sob uncontrollably against his chest.

  “Shush. Just take deep breaths and try and relax. Then go and mop yourself up and get some sleep.”

  She pulled away from him. “Stop telling me what to do. Just leave me alone.”

  Langton took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll do that. But in the morning, I want a report, Travis.”

  She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

  “Just tell me one thing. Is it him?”

  She sniffed.

  “Is it him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He stared after her as she headed for the bedroom. “Well, that’s fucking terrific,” he muttered.

  Underneath the duvet, which she pulled over her head, Anna cried her heart out. She was a failure. Worse, she had allowed her emotions to overrule her logic. She had found herself liking Alan Daniels; the memory of him softly kissing her lips still lingered. She was confused by her feelings for him. How was she going to face everyone in the incident room in a few hours’ time?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Langton listened from the sofa. He had been woken by an odd, scraping sound in the kitchen. He pulled on his trousers and opened the door. There was Anna, clad in her kimono, scribbling away in a notebook, oblivious to the sound that the stool’s legs made on the tiled floor.

  She shot up from the stool in alarm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he said lamely. “Sorry if I scared you. I just heard a noise.”

  She drew her kimono closer, embarrassed. “I was just writing notes for my report. I couldn’t sleep any longer and I didn’t want to forget anything.”

  “Do you want a coffee?”

  She covered her notes with her hand. “Yes, please. There’s some freshly made.”

  “Got a bit of a hangover?”

  “No, I have not!” she said angrily.

  “Did you find the cufflinks?”

  “No. I’ll call the restaurant. I was thinking I may have dropped them in the car.”

  Langton poured two cups of black coffee and put one down in front of her. He glanced at the notebook.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No. I’ll wait for the bri
efing.”

  “OK. By the way, Michael Parks is coming in to see how you dealt with Daniels.”

  Anna wrapped her kimono tighter. “I’ll go and have a shower. Do you need one?”

  “No, it can wait until I get home.”

  She hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be better to just go in together this morning?”

  He grinned. “Travis, are you inviting me to shower with you?”

  “Very funny!”

  “I meant that I’ll shower when I get home tonight.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  Once he heard the sound of the shower going, he picked up her notebook and started to read page after page of her neat, meticulous writing. His heart started sinking. This was going to give him a lot of flak.

  He had finished reading by the time Anna emerged from the bedroom, dressed. He noticed the doleful expression on her face. “You still upset about your dad’s cufflinks?”

  “I remember Daniels taking things out of my bag. Maybe they dropped onto the floor then.” Langton perched on the side of an armchair with his mug. “I kept them in my bag. Silly! Well, you probably think it is, but I took my mother’s favorite evening bag and my father’s favorite cufflinks.”

  “Oh.”

  She hesitated. “My father…”

  “He was a great guy.”

  “Did you know my mother at all?”

  “I met her a few times. Long time ago. I wouldn’t say that I knew her.”

  “I want to show you something. It’s a letter. It was in the photo frame, tucked behind my father’s picture.”

  When Anna was out of the room, he lit a cigarette. She returned with the letter outstretched. “Will you read it?”

  “Of course,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Do you know what Dad’s referring to? I don’t understand it.”

  Langton scanned it quickly, then passed it back.

  “He never told you?” he asked.

  “Told me what?”

  Langton hesitated. “I’m not sure of the details, but before your dad was on the Murder Squad, he was with Vice.” He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift out. “This was before I even joined up.”

  She saw his unease. “Please, tell me. I need to know.”

  “OK. You have to understand that I don’t know all the details.”

  “Just tell me.” She was almost pleading with him.

  “It’s not that pleasant. Your mother was a student at art college. She was found brutally raped in her room. It was pretty shocking; she was so traumatized, she lost the use of her voice. Your dad was brought in to oversee the case. He couldn’t get your mother out of his mind. She was very beautiful, even when I met her.”

  Anna had to sit down; her legs felt like jelly.

  “Anyway, he became obsessed. He was determined to catch the rapist. He eventually picked up a student from a nearby college. He questioned him for sixteen hours without legal representation and then released him, which didn’t make much sense to anyone, since the kid had broken down and admitted he had raped Isabelle. The kid hanged himself.”

  “Did he do it?” Anna persisted.

  “Yep. But instead of case closed, get on with your life, your dad kept on seeing your mother. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her family put her in some kind of therapy and she recovered, gradually. He kept in touch. They were married two years later. Word was she—” He paused.

  “Word was she what?” Anna asked sharply.

  “Well, that she remained of a very nervous disposition and she had basically married her protector. Old Jack would have killed for her. I heard that he had duffed the kid up pretty badly.”

  “Did he?”

  Langton gave her a look. “You tell me. Anyway, Isabelle never returned to art college. They were married and then you came along. By the time I met him he was heading up the Murder Squad. Then I don’t know how long afterward, some thug he was after broke into your house. Though he didn’t touch your mother, I think it triggered something, because…” He sighed, not really comfortable with all this personal stuff.

  “Because what?”

  Langton shrugged. “She started remembering things. She got more fearful about leaving the house. Sometimes, when he was pissed, he admitted—well, he did to me—that being married to Isabelle felt like having an exotic bird of paradise in the house that only he ever saw.”

  “And me. I saw her, too. I never knew.”

  “It wasn’t easy. Like I said, she was very fragile and I think he knew that if his exotic bird had never been wounded, he would never have stood a chance of marrying her. But from what you’ve told me, they were happy and you know, Anna, when you get that hurt or frightened, a protector is important, if it means you carrying on living.”

  Anna stood up, her father’s letter clutched in her hands. “Thank you for telling me this.”

  He held out his hand for hers. “You OK?”

  “I’m fine. Just sad that I never knew what anguish she had suffered. She was a wonderful, loving mother.” She ignored his hand.

  Anna walked into her bedroom. She put the folded letter in her little jewel box on her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind was full of thoughts about Isabelle, trapped inside their home, reduced to painting pictures of the flowers in their garden. She was so sad that she had never been able to talk to her or comfort her, that she had never known the pain that had been in her own home.

  Langton and Anna left her flat in the Mini at half past eight. The atmosphere was strained, the two hardly talking. Anna no longer believed that Alan Daniels was their killer. She had felt his pain last night and responded protectively. She was sure he was not the monster they sought.

  Langton, believing Anna’s silence was due to distress about her mother’s tragedy, addressed the subject eventually.

  “These things happen, Anna,” he said quietly. “You just have to get on with your life. When my first wife died, I kept on working. I kept on pushing myself, so I wouldn’t feel the emptiness.”

  She threw a startled look at him as he continued speaking with an intimacy unfamiliar to her.

  “A month after her funeral, I packed all her things away. They seemed to amount to so little; yet it was her life with me. That was the first time it hit me. I took six weeks off then sold the place; moved on, started again, met my second wife and, well, that was a mistake, apart from Kitty.

  “I’d have liked to have children one day, but I doubt that I’ll ever settle down with anyone again. You have something perfect; it’s wrong to make comparisons, but I probably always will. Now I rent a place. Nothing in it means anything. If it burned down tomorrow, I wouldn’t care.”

  After a lengthy pause, he sighed. “Well, that’s me, Travis. Hope I managed to cheer you up.” They exchanged a mutual grin, then he glanced at his watch. “Better get to work.”

  “I’ll make out my report as soon as we get there.”

  “Good girl.

  “Langton,” he snapped into his mobile as they drove into the station car park. He got out as she paused, looking around for a parking space, continuing his phone call as he headed toward the building, then turning to gesture at an empty space. Anna smiled; at least he still remembered she was with him. The space was next to the old dirty Volvo. She parked as far from it as possible, still unsure who owned it, and wary about any more damage to her Mini.

  Langton called for a briefing at eleven o’clock, which was the time Michael Parks was expected. At her desk, Anna began to type up her report. No one asked how the evening had progressed; it was as if they were expecting failure.

  Moira burst into the incident room an hour and a half late. She looked over at Lewis. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. “Don’t start. I’ve had a very bad morning. I need to speak to the gov ASAP.”

  “He’s busy. What do you want to talk to him about?”

  “It’s personal,” she said curtly.

  Langton and the head of the surv
eillance team were holed up discussing the previous evening. The chauffeur had submitted his report. Anna had, as yet, no idea they had replaced the driver of the Mercedes with an undercover policeman; she had not even known about the usherette.

  Langton thumbed through the reports. He knew he would get a strong-arm response from the commander. He had made a mistake in placing so much responsibility on a twenty-six-year-old’s shoulders.

  Of course, there were still Daniels’s fingerprints to be examined. While the fifty-pound note would probably not be of any use, the glasses he had used at the Opera House and the Ivy would help. If they were a match with the fingerprints on the picture frame, it would be the only result from a very expensive operation.

  Langton dismissed the surveillance chief. Moments later, Lewis called to say Moira wanted to see him. He added in an undertone that she was in a bit of a state. She seemed to have calmed down by the time she walked into his office. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  “Yes. It may be nothing, but then again—you never know.”

  “Fire away.”

  “My daughter Vicky’s been dating this bloody so-called DJ. She’s only sixteen and he’s twenty-seven. He’s right full of himself, he is. I have warned her, done everything possible to stop her seeing him, but she’s been sneaking out. She’s a right little bitch and very hard to handle.”

  Langton winced, wondering what the hell this had to do with him.

  “She’s been going with him since she was fifteen.”

  “Moira, can you get to the point, please?”

  “Right. I was damned sure she was on something, so I grounded her. Well—one night she staggered in, obviously stoned but denying it, then said she’d had too many coco pops, or whatever they serve in the clubs nowadays. Anyway, to get to the point, last night she got out through the window and went off to this club he works at. She didn’t get home until after three, right, but I was waiting for her.”

  Langton closed his eyes. “If you need compassionate leave—”

  “No, listen! She comes creeping back in a terrible state, crying, her top all torn. So right away I went from being ready to crack her one to being really concerned. She was crying her heart out, saying they’d had this row, and then I saw this terrible mark on her neck. Round. Bruise the size of a ten-pence piece, maybe a bit bigger.”