Above Suspicion

by Lynda La Plante

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “I mean, if you get the case solved, you get the credit, right? That’s why I am interested, Anna, that’s the reason.”

  “Yes, but you never seem to understand when I tell you that I could get into trouble for talking to you, because you were a suspect.”

  “Not anymore. I can’t be suspected now. Unless…there is something you haven’t told me?”

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is very important, Anna. If we are to see each other again, I have to trust you.”

  “Of course.”

  “You see, I care about you, Anna. I want to take you to Paris, take you shopping. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  He was moving closer and her heart was beating so rapidly, she was certain he would be able to detect it.

  “You know that dress you wore to the ballet? It was sweet, but it didn’t really do much for you. You’ve got a lovely figure. I kept thinking all night how you’d look in really beautiful, stylish clothes. We could have such a wonderful time together. What’s the matter, Anna?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired, Alan.”

  “You’re not upset about the dress? It just really wasn’t very flattering.” He laughed softly. “Would you like to be made beautiful, Anna?”

  “Yes.”

  “We could go shopping in Bond Street tomorrow.”

  He was now standing very close to her. “Give me your hand.” He took her hand and drew her up toward him.

  “Alan, it’s getting late. I really think you should go.”

  “Are you trembling? You are. Don’t be afraid, Anna. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He put his arms around her. “But I think you like me.” She stood pressed against his chest. His arms were tight around her, like iron clamps. “Don’t you, Anna? I like you.” His hands touched her bra and then slid down her body. She was terrified by the strength of his grip; she literally could not move. At that moment the front door slammed shut, making them both jump.

  When Langton strolled in the room, Anna was hugely relieved. Daniels sprang away from her like a startled animal.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Langton seemed puzzled. “I didn’t know you had company! It’s Mr. Daniels, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Daniels said pleasantly. “I was just passing and thought I’d drop in.”

  Langton turned to Anna: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Daniels seemed very much in control. “You’re working late, Inspector Langton.” He kissed Anna’s cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow. G’night.”

  “I’ll show you out.” Anna followed him to the front door.

  “G’night, Anna,” he repeated pleasantly. But he never looked back, shutting the door behind him as he left.

  Anna returned to the living room, legs shaking.

  “Are you all right?” Langton asked.

  She took a deep breath. “He didn’t like my frock, as you called it.”

  “What?”

  She sat down on the sofa, her legs buckling under her. “He wants to take me to Paris and buy me couture!”

  He sat down next to her. “Come here.”

  “What?” She was stunned.

  “I said, come here. Come on.”

  He held out his arms and, unthinkingly, she rested her head against his chest while he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Tell me everything,” he said.

  She closed her eyes. “I just don’t think I can go through it all right now. I’m exhausted. I’m sorry.” She wanted to ease away from him. “I’m just tired out.”

  His arms tightened. She was reminded of Alan Daniels’s arms tightening like iron bands and how she had felt like helpless prey. She pushed away from him and stood up. “I want to know how in God’s name he was able to turn up here!”

  “Listen, he was monitored. Nothing would have happened to you.”

  “He was here in my flat! He could have killed me!”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I am not stupid!” she said, flushed with anger.

  She had a horrible feeling she was going to cry and the last thing she wanted was for him to see her in tears. She took a deep breath to calm herself down and gave Langton a brief summary of the conversation with Daniels.

  “I managed to leave the phone on speaker, so anything we did say will hopefully have been recorded.” She headed for the door. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Do you want me with you?”

  “What?” She froze.

  He stood up. “I said, would you like me to come with you?”

  “Why don’t you just go home to that blonde?”

  Langton threw his arms out wide. “‘That blonde’ is my ex-wife. Are you jealous? Is that why you’re on the attack?”

  “No! What’s really making me angry is that all your so-called surveillance screwed up and I was left alone with a serial killer, all right? But I played my part and only let him know what I was meant to tell him. So I did my job, didn’t I?”

  When she slammed her bedroom door, her mind was in a jumble of thoughts. Had she heard right? Did he mean what she thought he had meant? Did he offer to come to bed with her? She felt dizzy. Maybe she had taken it all the wrong way; maybe he didn’t mean it in a sexual way; maybe he just meant that he’d look out for her. So, Nina was his ex-wife. She changed into a pair of pajamas and buttoned them to the neck. She then cleansed her face, splashed cold water over it, cleaned her teeth. She thought for a moment, then took a pillow from the bed and fetched a blanket from the cupboard. She went back to the living room.

  He was on her sofa: his tall, lanky frame curled up, his eyes closed. She dropped the pillow onto the floor and shook out the blanket, then gently laid it over him. She stood looking down at him. She turned off the lights and closed the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anna thought that with Langton in the next room, she would at least get a good night’s sleep. But after dozing fitfully, she kept waking up, the conversation with Daniels looping round in her mind. Finally, she threw the duvet aside and turned on her bedside light.

  She thought about what Langton had said, confused about his intention. Or had she misinterpreted? Surely, he hadn’t meant he would sleep with her? It must have been more along the lines of protecting her. But what if he had meant it sexually? She had turned him down flat and he might never make another approach. Did she want him to? She did: a realization that sent her into turmoil. She was being ridiculous; he had an ex-wife who was probably not as much of an “ex” as he made out.

  Anna opened her briefcase. She took out her notebook and sat at her dressing table. She thumbed through most of the book to find a clean page. While she hoped the entire interaction with Daniels had been recorded rather than just the early part, she decided she would make comprehensive notes just in case. As she worked, she realized that the encounter with Daniels had actually been productive. He had made two major slips. In her eagerness to write more, she pushed aside her jewelry box, some makeup and perfume. The jewelry box fell onto the floor. She winced at the sound; the last thing she wanted to do was to wake Langton.

  There was silence from the living room. She bent down to pick up the brooches, earrings and strand of pearls and replaced them in the jewelry box, which had once belonged to her mother. She held up a diamanté clip, remembering the sight of it in her mother’s hair one Christmas. It was inexpensive costume jewelry. A few of the colored stones were missing and the empty claws, where the stones had been, were sharp. She ran her finger over them.

  Langton was sitting up, unsure what had woken him. He listened for a moment, then crossed to check the front door. Underneath Anna’s bedroom door, he could see light. Suddenly there was a strange yelp and a loud bang. He burst into the bedroom.

  “Anna!”

  She whipped round. She had been standing in front of the dressing tabl
e, the stool fallen to one side. Seeing it was Langton, she almost ran toward him.

  “The pink sliver of glass, in the Mercedes’ seats!”

  “What?”

  “I know what it might be!”

  “Slow down. You almost gave me heart failure.”

  She often reminded him of a kid and never more so than now, in her baggy pajamas with the bottoms almost falling down. She dived back to the dressing table, jerking the cord to tighten her pajamas on the way.

  “Melissa Stephens’s T-shirt. The pink diamanté logo”—she was back, waving her notebook in front of him—“had one stone missing.”

  “What?”

  “Forensic found a shard of pink glass. It was caught in the stitches, right down in the driver’s seat. What if, when Melissa struggled, it fell out, got crushed? Forensic didn’t know what it was. What if it was off her T-shirt?”

  Langton sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Christ, what time is it? But weren’t those things sequins?”

  “No. Don’t you remember? I told you. It was expensive. They use these clipper things to stick the stones onto the fabric.”

  He blinked, trying to take it in. He had been in a deep sleep, one he really needed. He fell back on the bed, sighing. “Shit. Why couldn’t you let me sleep, Travis?”

  Anna knelt on the bed beside him. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I was making notes and I knocked my jewelry box onto the floor and—”

  “Come here,” he said softly.

  She hesitated.

  “Your pajama bottoms are falling down.”

  She hitched them up again, moving away a fraction. He looked up at her and opened his arms. “Come here.”

  Slowly she put one knee on the bed.

  “I could be right, don’t you think?”

  “I think it was an inspiration. Just lie beside me. Come on.”

  She couldn’t help it. She found herself inching further toward him. He was on his side, facing her, and when she was almost there, he caught hold of the pajama cord and pulled her in close beside him. He slid one arm beneath her to turn her so that she nestled against his body while his other hand gently stroked her.

  “Travis,” he said, under his breath.

  She loved being enveloped by him, the feel of him around her. It felt like the safest place in the world. Her head was buried against his neck, which she found herself kissing, again and again. She could feel his heart beating against hers, and the next minute he had turned her onto her back and she was beneath him.

  “Can I take this off you?” he murmured, as he began to ease one button after another from her pajama top. He moved it aside and looked at her small firm breasts, then bent his head and started kissing one, then the other. She gave a soft moan, and then used both her hands to draw his face down to hers. They kissed. It was a long, passionate kiss, and when they broke apart she had to gasp for breath.

  He began to loosen his shirt from his trousers, pulling at it. There was just a beat before she began to loosen his belt buckle, then he rolled away and ripped off his clothes, tearing off his shirt as she eased down his trousers, feeling the elastic of his jockey shorts waistband. He was very aroused, and he moaned as she slipped her hand around his erect penis. She bent down and started to kiss him and he closed his eyes, moaning softly.

  The alarm, set for seven, woke them both. She was cradled in his arms as he jolted upright, jerking her aside as if he didn’t even know where he was, or who was beside him.

  “Jesus Christ, what have you got there, Travis? It sounds like a fire alarm.” She turned off the alarm clock and rested back against the pillows. She could see in the cold light of day her pajamas and his clothes strewn around the bedroom. He lay back beside her and yawned, rubbing his head.

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven,” she murmured, hardly able to look at him.

  He hooked one arm around her and drew her close. “You know what I feel like? Eggs and bacon. I am starving hungry.”

  “Me too,” she said, feeling shy about getting up naked from the bed, relieved when he tossed the duvet aside and jumped out.

  “Right, I’ll have a shower, you start the fry-up, then I’ll take over and you can get dressed. Is it a deal?”

  “Yes.”

  He grabbed his clothes and headed into her bathroom. After a moment she got up, fetched her dressing gown, glad he was not watching her, and went into the kitchen. She could hear him singing away as she busied herself getting out eggs and bacon and the frying pan and putting on fresh coffee.

  He appeared dressed, hair washed, and shaved; he slipped his arms around her waist. “Right, go and get yourself ready, and I’ll have this all done when you are through.”

  “OK. Coffee’s on, but watch out for the toaster; it’s got a mind of its own.”

  She was glad there was no embarrassment between them; to the contrary, he was totally relaxed and made her feel at ease. He was also as good as his word, apart from the smell of burning toast: he had found the cutlery, set the small bar area she used to have her meals, and was pouring coffee when she walked in.

  “That toaster is crazy. I’m going to buy you a new one.”

  “It’s OK, just idiosyncratic: when you put it on five, it means three, but two means five.”

  Anna fetched the plates, keeping herself busy as he watched over the bacon in the frying pan.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Runny.”

  “Me too.”

  They sat side by side on the bar stools, and he ate like a starving man, dipping his toast into his eggs.

  “You eat too fast,” she said.

  “I know; it’s because I’m always hungry.”

  He pushed his plate aside and then cocked his head to watch her. After a moment he leaned over and kissed her neck. “You OK with what happened last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  He got up, carrying his dirty plates. He almost put them in her washing machine before he located the dishwasher. Then he checked his watch.

  “I’m just going to make some calls, and get them to check this diamanté stone, then we should leave.”

  “OK, I’m ready,” she said, looking at her plate. She’d hardly touched her eggs and bacon.

  Langton went into the lounge and started making his calls. She ate a couple of mouthfuls, then put the rest in the bin. She put her plate into the dishwasher and went to clean her teeth.

  Her bathroom was a sea of wet towels, toothpaste left uncapped; the razor he’d used was left on the side of the sink. She looked at herself, and then bowed her head. She was hardly able to believe what had happened last night.

  “Travis, let’s go!” he bellowed.

  She looked at her reflection a moment, ran a comb through her still-wet hair, and put on some lipstick.

  “Travis!” came another bellow.

  “I heard you!” she shouted back.

  As Langton slammed her front door closed behind him, she winced.

  She drove the Mini to his house and double-parked outside. He hurried out in a suit and clean shirt. He was still knotting his tie as he got in beside her.

  “Right, let’s go. Good news is, we’ve still got the bastard on tape. After you put the phone down.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Your ex-wife do the laundry for you?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Nope. I have a good cleaning lady. She’s a dab hand with the spray starch.”

  He then made one call after another until they arrived at the station. It seemed to be business as usual as he strode ahead of her into the station; she was clipped by a set of swing doors when she wasn’t close enough on his heels.

  “Watch it, I’m behind you,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear. He headed straight for his office and slammed the door behind him. It was as if the night before had never happened.

  At a quarter past nine, Michael Parks arrived. He sat with the team to listen to
the taped call between Daniels and Anna. She was flushed with embarrassment at having to listen to herself. However, no one even alluded to the fact that there seemed to be a sexual interaction. Parks replayed the tape a couple of times, making copious notes, then gave them his take on what they’d heard.

  “One: he trips up not once, but twice. He refers to your suspect McDowell as a drunk, which implies that he has seen him recently. It was twenty years ago that he saw him in the alley with his mother.”

  Langton glanced at his watch.

  “Two: there’s another leak, when he says handbag in the plural, even though DS Travis made a point of saying there was only one handbag discovered at McDowell’s.”

  This had also been noted by Langton, who was becoming impatient.

  “Three: we can almost feel his anger and frustration as DS Travis constantly focuses on how intelligent and clever McDowell is. If he did, indeed, plant the incriminating evidence, imagine his confusion. Again, he repeats that McDowell is virtually a waste of space.”

  Parks flipped through his notes, chewing at the end of his pencil. “What does show very clearly in how he tries to manipulate DS Travis is the pattern of the classic sociopath. For instance, he is only making these calls ‘to help’ her, see him planting the idea that she should be grateful to him, as it could mean promotion. Note again, he cannot refer to his mother by name, or cannot say the word ‘mother.’ It is always ‘she,’ despite the fact he uses his mother as an emotional reason for his curiosity about the progress of the inquiry.”

  He tapped his notebook and then chuckled. “The sequence when referring to DS Travis’s clothes and saying that she didn’t look attractive is classic manipulation. He’s tempting her: trip to Paris, buying expensive clothes in Bond Street; he can make her attractive. He is, in other words, undermining her confidence and placing himself in a controlling role.”

  He turned to Travis to tell her how well she had teased out the information; he was certain Daniels felt she was trustworthy. If he had found out they were still being taped, it could have been the exact opposite. Anna had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She raised her hand slightly.