Blind Fury Page 10

  “I think we should see Mr. Welsh now,” she interrupted as Barolli was asking about what kind of woman would want to be married to such a man.

  “You’d be surprised,” Hardwick told him, ignoring Anna’s request, “but as I have said, we monitor everything that is sent in to them. There are children’s toys sent into a pedophile, if you can believe it—sickens me, but they come in by the sackload. Teddy bears, little dolls.” He shook his head. “We have a clearout every few months and pass them on to children’s homes.”

  In the incident room, Langton, accompanied by Mike Lewis, had tracked down the ex–police officers. Mike was virtually silent throughout the interviews as he watched Langton work each man over, repeating that he wasn’t there to get them into trouble with the law, even though he was aware they had broken it. All he wanted was the name of any person they had traced for Margaret Potts. They could either comply, or if not, he could get unpleasant, implying that as ex–police officers, they could go to prison for illegal use of classified information. He pointed out that it could have a chain reaction, as every person they had asked favors from, employed with the Met or working at DVLA, could lose their jobs.

  By midmorning they had gained only four names and addresses, and these were not felt to be of much use, as they covered a period of six years. By midday the team had traced a lorry driver and a traveling salesman. Both had agreed to come in to the station to be questioned. The police were unsuccessful with the other two, as they no longer lived in England.

  “I really think we should go to the secure unit,” Anna interrupted Hardwick again, and this time she got her way. Two officers took them through the maze of corridors, out past the main prison exercise yard and into the secure unit. They went through security checks, as before, to reach the secure unit’s recreational area. Four officers were present, reading newspapers, and they stood up to meet Anna and Barolli. They had arranged a table with one chair on one side and two on the other, near the exit into the unit’s exercise area. They offered tea or coffee, but both declined, Anna eager to get on with the talk.

  Anna sat beside Barolli, removing files, a notepad, and pencil from her briefcase. The guards did not return to reading their papers but stood at various points in the room.

  “He obviously knows we’re here,” Anna said, irritated by the delay.

  One of the guards positioned by the aisle leading to Cameron’s cell announced that he was coming.

  The prisoner strolled toward them.

  “Good afternoon,” Welsh said, smiling as if joining friends in a tearoom. He carried a notebook and loose foolscap pages. “I presume I sit here.” He gestured to the vacant chair opposite Anna and Barolli.

  Welsh was as perfectly groomed as before and this time wore his hair loose. It was thick and silky-looking, and he had a habit of tossing his head back and running his fingers through it to move it away from his face.

  “Did you have a good trip up here?” he asked, sitting down and placing his notebook and papers in front of him, along with four sharpened pencils. These he laid out in a neat row. “There’s not a lot in the papers about our case,” he said, pointedly looking at Barolli and not at Anna. “All gone quiet, I suppose. Well, let’s see what we can do about that. Have you any developments that I should know about?”

  “We’ve been following your suggestions after our last visit,” Barolli began.

  Anna could barely stand it. Barolli appeared to be inflating Welsh’s already enormous ego.

  “Good. Now, what I’ve been doing is studying maps of the motorway and circuitous routes, specifically focusing on ones possibly used by your killer.” Welsh laid out in front of him printed pages of maps, placing them side by side along the length of the table. “The red markings pinpoint the CCTV cameras.”

  “We are aware of these routes and their security cameras,” Anna said coldly.

  For the first time Welsh turned to look at her, but she held his gaze, and he turned back to pick up his notebook.

  “It is imperative you discover how Margaret Potts traveled to the service stations. It’s possible she knew her killer, had even serviced him before.” He gave a soft laugh, amused by his wordplay, but as neither Barolli nor Anna reacted, he shrugged.

  “Have you talked to any other women working the same way as your victim? They would certainly know her routine.” He glanced up. “Well—have you Anna?”

  “We have interviewed a number of girls, but none knew her well or could give us her usual routine.”

  Welsh’s pleasant manner dropped, and he pointed at Anna. “You should stop being so protective of your precious position, Detective Travis, and start listening to me. I believe the killer knew Margaret Potts. She was not a young woman; she’d worked the service stations for years, correct? She wasn’t a young druggie, wasn’t stupid enough to go with any punter, she’d check them out first. You think about getting up into a trucker’s cabin and giving him a blow job, even traveling with maybe more than one so she’d give it to both of them. They have beds or bunks for long haul, so she’d know which of the vehicles were a safe bet and not visible to the coppers or security guards. On the other hand, if it was just some punter in a car she’d clocked in the car park, she’d suss them out before plying her trade.” Welsh sniggered. “Let’s face it, the sort of punter that wants to do business with an old slag in a service station car park or on the hard shoulder of a motorway is more than likely to be a married man who isn’t getting it at home. Who’s to know what he’s been up to? His family couldn’t find out, as there’d be no trace on his credit cards; she was paid cash and not a lot, so they go on their way, and nobody is any the wiser.”

  “That could possibly fit the profile of Margaret Potts, but we have two other victims, both young.”

  “True enough,” Welsh agreed, “but as you don’t even have these two girls identified, you have no alternative but to concentrate on the first victim. I have another idea that you should look into because it’s possible, as I have said, that Potts knew her killer. What if he was closer to home than you have contemplated?”

  “She was almost living rough,” Barolli said.

  “She couldn’t live rough all the time—she had to have some bolthole she’d go to, and if you go back and check for someone she knew, you may find a motive to kill her.”

  “What could be the motive?” Anna asked. She was reluctantly intrigued, as she was the only person who had met the ex-husband and his brother.

  Welsh rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Excitement, if it was someone who had a grudge against her, even hated her for what she was, a cheap whore. He knew how she earned her living, and he waited, tracking her moves, becoming more sexually aroused by what he was intending to do. Stalking her, watching her picking up clients, enjoying the risk it would be to surprise her. This excitement can last for months, and . . .”

  He opened his eyes. His face was impassive, but his eyes were alert like an animal’s. “I know this excitement,” he said. “I’ve experienced it, and it is very, very pleasurable to keep your victim in sight, knowing what you intend to do to her: wrap your hands around her neck and strangle the life out of her, rape her. She will be yours to do what you want with, and that is also a sexual turn-on, to know what is coming.”

  Anna opened her briefcase, replacing her notebook. She’d heard enough. She suspected he had an erection beneath the table, as all he was describing was his own sickness, his own pleasure in committing the murders for which he was in prison.

  “He watched her,” Welsh went on, “and could even have offered her a lift to go to work. It seems no one saw her on the night of her death, correct? So this would be the night he planned to kill. He could have made some excuse that he needed to go up north on business. She might even have known that he wasn’t living in London. So that could be another clue: did she know someone who traveled around a lot? It could even be someone close to her—a husband, a lover, someone from her past.”

 
Anna felt the chills; could it have been one of the brothers? But she remained silent.

  “You say she had no place to live, but if she was working the stations night after night, then she had to have earned quite a substantial amount. Did she pay it over to a pimp? Have you found any bank accounts, post office savings accounts? Did she have money? Was it worth killing her for? Any jewelry? It’s a motive that could link with the possibility that she knew her killer and they knew what she was worth.”

  Again, Anna recalled that Emerald had said Margaret worked alone and had no pimp but relied on her contacts, her brother-in-law, looking out for her. There was also the stylish tracksuit that Emerald was wearing, the suitcase full of clothes that she had said were not worth anything. What if there had been more, like the diamond ring her husband had said belonged to his mother. Could Margaret Potts have had more possessions than they had estimated? She had the sense that Cameron Welsh was able to read her mind, and he was touching on possible motives that no one else on the team had considered.

  Barolli had started to act edgy, as they were constantly being monitored by the other inmates. They would come and stand a few feet away from them, staring at Welsh and then Anna. The officers would gesture for them to move away. None of them spoke, which was also unnerving. If anything, they appeared to be slightly afraid of Welsh, who would glance at them and toss his hair away from his face. None of the officers seemed to like the fact that the three of them at the table occupied a lot of the space in the recreation room. Twice, one or another prisoner had walked out into the exercise yard and stood gazing into the room, leering at Anna.

  “Do you have anything further to discuss? We don’t have much longer,” Barolli said. Anna had kicked him under the table. She wanted to leave, but by this time so did he.

  “I would appreciate it if you left me the files on the investigation to date, as I need more to work on,” said Welsh. “So much of what I have said is pure conjecture, and I think I could be of further assistance.”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Anna said, placing her briefcase on her knees, ready to go.

  “Why not?”

  “They are highly confidential, and I think we have given you more than enough time. The reality is that you have given us nothing that we are not already privy to and working on.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said angrily.

  Anna stood up. “Whether or not you believe it is immaterial, but thank you for your time.”

  Barolli rose to his feet. “We do appreciate the trouble you’ve taken, Mr. Welsh. You have done a considerable amount of work, and I feel sure, although the team is working along similar lines, we will be taking on board all your suggestions.”

  Barolli signaled for the unit guards to call the main prison so they could be led out. Welsh was furious. He swept all his papers onto the floor and yet remained sitting. “That’s it, is it?” he demanded.

  The officers moved closer, and one told him to pick up the papers. Instead of doing so, he got up and walked swiftly away, returning to his cell.

  Driving back, Anna was unable to keep her anger in check.

  “Whatever you may think, it was another waste of time. As if we haven’t considered everything he told us.”

  Barolli glared at her. “I disagree. What about the possibility that she knew her killer and—”

  “I have already questioned her husband and her brother-in-law. In the meantime, because I did trace them, Langton is checking in to the possibility. We’ll get the information about who harassed our victim.”

  Barolli shook his head. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

  “He gives me the creeps, and you weren’t the one subjected to the ogling by the other prisoners. Twice he touched my foot under the table, and if you can’t see it, that’s all he is doing—making himself out to be numero uno in the secure unit.”

  “I think he already is.”

  “Now we’ve given him even more kudos. Well, you did—talk about stroking his ego!”

  “Maybe if you did, we’d get more out of him.”

  “He doesn’t have anything,” she snapped, hands gripping the steering wheel.

  “You think what you like. I beg to differ.”

  Anna was completing her report when Mike Lewis came over to tell her they had a Tom McKinney in the interview room.

  “He’s a truck driver that Margaret Potts had dealings with. He still works for the same delivery company, which supplies watercoolers. His firm is based in Scotland and Manchester, but he does the long haul back and forth to London twice a week, delivering to Bayton grocery stores.”

  “Did he admit to getting beaten up by her contacts at the bailiffs?”

  “I’ve not talked to him yet, and there’s another bloke coming in later this evening—a salesman for a cosmetics company. Both of them had dealings with her, so we may be able to get a lead at least on how she worked her area of the service station. I want you in on the interview.”

  “Can you give me a few minutes while I finish up the report?” asked Anna, pleased that she would be working on a line of inquiry unconnected to Cameron Welsh.

  “Sure. How did it go?”

  “Well, Barolli and I have different takes on it. Welsh did bring up the fact that maybe Potts knew her killer, could have been stalked by him. I might go and interview her brother-in-law and husband again, but to be honest, I didn’t get a feeling from either of them that they would want to kill her.”

  “Okay. When you’re ready, I’ll see you down there—interview room one.”

  Anna was eating a sandwich and carrying a cup of coffee as she headed for the interview room. Mike was already there, explaining to Tom McKinney the reasons they had requested him to come in for questioning. The man was huge, very overweight, and his body odor was so pungent that the small room reeked. He was sweating profusely, with his big hands laid flat on the table, as Anna was introduced to him.

  “You do understand that you are simply assisting our inquiry?” Mike said.

  Tom nodded, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I thought at the start it was about me driving license. I had a bit of a prang a few days ago, not my fault, but that’s why I came in.”

  “But you now know we are asking you about a woman called Margaret Potts.”

  Anna sipped her coffee. Tom looked from one to the other. “I don’t know who she is.”

  Mike glanced at Anna. “She was a prostitute, and she was murdered.”

  Tom’s mouth gaped. “You want to talk to me about that? I dunno her, I’ve never heard of her.”

  “But you did know her, Tom,” Mike said quietly.

  “No, no, I never even heard of her. I don’t understand what this is all about. I mean, why? Why you got me in?”

  “Because we know that you picked her up at a service station and—”

  “Hang on, when was this? I’ve been off sick for months and only just got back to work, and then I had this problem with a bloke in a Transit van. He bloody gave me a false address and—”

  Anna showed him the mug shot of Margaret Potts, laying it flat in front of him. “This is Margaret Potts.”

  He squinted at it and licked his lips, then shook his head, saying, “I don’t know her. I swear on my life I never met this woman.”

  Mike explained patiently that they had a witness who had described contacting him for a specific reason: he had refused to pay Margaret Potts for her services and had been abusive toward her, and as a result, the witness had traced him via his license plate to his place of work and had a confrontation with him on behalf of Margaret.

  “You paid him fifty pounds, didn’t you?”

  Mike paused as Tom puffed out his cheeks, sweating even more, but eventually, he admitted to meeting Margaret Potts. “She called herself Maggie. I didn’t know her other name, but she didn’t look like that photo; she was all made up and fancied herself. She was an old bitch and with a mouth on her, and I did shove her out of m
e cab because first she said it was a tenner, then she said it was twenty-five quid. My wallet was on the dashboard, and she grabbed it, so that’s why I slapped her around and kicked her out. She wasn’t hurt, ’cause she stood there screaming abuse at me.”

  “She has been murdered, Tom.”

  “Fuck me, you can’t get me for nothin’ more than what I just said. She was a dirty whore that was always hanging out at the London Gateway Services. I’d seen her there loads of times on my way back to Glasgow. I used to make my deliveries and then grab a bite to eat there before I drove up the motorway.”

  “How many times did you pick up Maggie?”

  “Just that once. I swear before God it was just the once. I’m married, and if my wife knew I’d been with such a slag, she’d kill me. It was just that one time, and she set that bastard on to me.”

  It took another half hour before they got the exact details of how he had been contacted by a big bodybuilder type. McKinney never even knew his name, but the man had called his company, and when he was next delivering to London, the guy had found out his destination and was waiting there for him.

  “He threatened to tell me bosses about that tart and said if I didn’t cough up the cash, he’d make sure I’d never even be able to pick up a pack of fags. So I paid him, never heard nothing more.”

  From his description of the bodybuilder, Anna was certain it was Eric Potts who had threatened him.

  McKinney was released without any charges, and they opened the window to get some fresh air into the room.

  “What do you think?” Mike asked, wafting a file in front of his face like a fan.

  “I think I need to talk to Eric Potts again.”

  “But that incident took place almost a year before she was murdered.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Anna repeated to Mike her talk with Cameron Welsh and went into more detail about her meeting with Eric, who was now a possible, but doubtful, suspect.

  “Would the brother-in-law have been stalking her? Doesn’t sound likely to me.”