Blind Fury Page 6

  The secure unit was a large square building with cameras trained on the main entrance. The two officers gave their names and the names of Anna and Barolli before it clicked open. One officer walked in front of them, the other behind as he relocked the gate. They strode along a narrow windowless corridor before they entered the main area. This was surprisingly light, with large glass doors opening onto a small walled exercise yard. There was a room with high windows almost at ceiling level, and they were told that this was the inmates’ workroom. The open space contained a Ping-Pong table and a snooker table. Here the four guards sat around a small table reading the morning papers with mugs of tea, while a large television set attached to the wall was turned to Sky Sports. All stood to be introduced. Anna noticed that they were young, fit, and all about six feet tall.

  The two accompanying officers left Anna and Barolli with the four guards, with instructions that as soon as the visitors were ready to go, they should contact the main gate. A fresh-faced blond officer who introduced himself as Ken Hudson offered tea or coffee and gestured toward a small, well-equipped kitchen. It amused Anna that he directed his conversation toward Barolli rather than to her, as he had confused the rank and was unaware that she was actually Paul’s superior.

  “That’s where they can cook their meals if they want,” he was telling Barolli.

  “If you don’t mind, we’d just like to talk with Cameron Welsh and not take up any more of your time than necessary,” Anna interrupted. She was keen to get started.

  Hudson realized he had misjudged the situation and blushed. He told them that all the inmates were in their cells. “They’re not happy about it, but we felt it better that you have no interruptions. They’re all nosy sods and would have pestered the pair of you. Especially you.” He smiled at Anna, and it was her turn to blush.

  “So the sooner we get through, the better,” she said stiffly.

  “Okay—follow me. We have two aisles with the cells off them, and Cameron’s off the first one. We were instructed to keep the cells on either side empty, so there’s no other prisoner in aisle one.” The young man was protective of her, explaining that she would have no cause for concern, as he would be watching from the monitors.

  “Thank you.” Anna smiled and then paused. “Can I just ask you about Welsh for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you find him?”

  Hudson shrugged. “He’s no trouble if he’s left alone; he doesn’t mix with the other blokes, and we hardly ever get a word out of him unless he’s complaining about something or other. He’s a fussy eater, and due to having cash sent in by his solicitor, he’s allowed to order his own food from the prison shop; mostly, it’s vegetarian. He even gets that sushi sent in, and he likes a lot of fruit drinks, but we have to always make sure the kitchen is clear, as he won’t cook in there unless it’s empty. The other blokes didn’t like it. To begin with, you know, they tried to start up conversations with him, play cards, whatever, but he wasn’t having any of it. He even works out in the yard alone; anyone else goes out there, he walks back in. If it’s sunny, he gets a chair and places it with his back to us and sits sunbathing for hours.”

  “Does he watch television?”

  “Yeah. Not in the main area, though; he’s got his own portable one, and he’s also got his computer, and gets sent in books every month. His cell is wall-to-wall books, but he won’t let any other guys read them, none of us, either. They’re mostly hardbacks. He’s got quite a selection.”

  “What does he do all day—when he’s not sunbathing, that is?” Barolli asked, and Anna wished he didn’t sound so sarcastic.

  “Reads or writes. He’s also particular about his laundry. They’re allowed to use their own sheets and bedlinen in here, and his are pristine Egyptian cotton. He also never uses the barber, but we sit and watch him cut his own hair; he’s particular about that, and it takes him forever. We also have his cell searched frequently. That includes checking his computer hard drive and making sure he’s not abusing the fact that he’s allowed to use one.”

  “Does he get a lot of letters?” Anna asked.

  “Yes. There’s lots of mail for him, mostly to do with his writing. He’s doing various courses and Open University stuff, as he’s intelligent, but . . .”

  “But?” Anna prompted.

  “He’s a weirdo—you know, his obsession with everything being perfect. I think he’s got that obsessive-compulsive thing, as everything has to be lined up exactly to his liking in his cell, and he’s fussy about hygiene. He’d be in the showers five times a day if we allowed him, washing his hands all the time, scrubbing his nails, washing his hair twice a week, and he’s got God knows how many expensive shampoos and creams. If any of the inmates or us get a cold, he’s paranoid about coming anywhere near and has this face mask and uses Vicks up his nose to ward off catching germs.”

  Hudson stopped at that point and asked them to wait. Again he directed his gaze to Anna and hesitated, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. He bent down to speak softly. “I’d button your blouse to the neck, if I were you,” he advised her. “If he’s got some perverted reason for wanting you to visit, don’t allow him a second of satisfaction.”

  She put her hand up to her blouse immediately. It wasn’t unbuttoned to reveal any hint of cleavage, but it was nevertheless showing off her slender neck. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Let me go and tell him you’re here.”

  Anna and Barolli were midway along aisle one. She quickly buttoned her blouse to the neck. Hudson walked past an empty cell and then stopped.

  “Cameron, you’ve got two visitors.”

  They heard a murmur but could not detect what was said.

  “No, two. Detective Sergeant Paul Barolli and a Detective Inspector Anna Travis are here.”

  Again they heard a murmur, and Hudson looked back at them and then back at the cell.

  “Well, you’ve got two. If you refuse to see them, then you’d better tell me now, as I’ll have to take them back to the main prison.”

  Hudson listened for a moment, then came to rejoin Anna and Barolli. “He said he only agreed to talk to Detective Travis, and he doesn’t want to meet you.” He nodded to Barolli.

  “Tell him we’re leaving, then,” Barolli said. Hudson nodded and made to return to the cell, when they saw a hand with a small round mirror positioned outside the cell bars.

  “He’s checking you out,” Hudson said quietly.

  “Please tell him we don’t have time for games. We’re leaving.”

  Hudson walked back to Cameron but said nothing as the hand was withdrawn. Again there was a low murmur.

  Hudson walked into the cell beside Cameron’s, took out a chair, then went into the cell on the other side and took out a second chair. He placed them both in front of Cameron’s bars and gestured for Anna and Barolli to join him, saying he wanted Anna to sit on the right and Barolli on the left.

  Anna kept her eyes down as she took her seat and Barolli sat in his.

  “Okay, Cameron? You’ve got Detective Sergeant Barolli and . . .”

  “Anna. Anna Travis,” she said, taking charge. “Good morning.”

  Hudson left them, and Anna looked up and into the cell. Cameron was sitting on a similar chair facing forward, his legs crossed casually. She was shocked to see him, because he looked so refreshed and pristine. His dark hair was silky and cut to just above his shoulders, with a part in the middle. His face was tanned, and he looked to her even younger than when she had last seen him. His blue prison-issue shirt was pressed and his trousers creased, and he was wearing leather open-toed sandals.

  “Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Barolli said coldly.

  Cameron pointedly ignored him as he stared at Anna, saying, “Well, well, you have grown up—and you are wearing your hair in a different style. It’s very flattering.”

  She found it difficult to meet his eyes, but looking at a spot above his head, she began: “You said you had informat
ion—”

  “Please, one moment, let me first offer you a drink. I have still or sparkling water: which would you prefer?”

  “Neither, thank you.”

  He didn’t address Barolli, turning his own chair a fraction so that he wouldn’t even have to see him. His cell, although small, was immaculate. The cot was made up in military fashion, the sheet folded over the blanket and his two pillows stacked. One wall of the cell had bookcases from floor to ceiling, mostly hardbacks, arranged by size. The opposite side of his cell contained a small computer desk with a laptop and printer; there were packs of A4 paper, notebooks, and envelopes all stacked in a neat order. Beneath the desk was a crate of bottled water and a box of biscuits, and a shelf high up on the wall contained pristine white towels. Lined up were various shampoos and creams, a brush and a comb, and shaving equipment.

  The barred section had an interlocking mechanism that would move the gate sideways, leaving the cell open. It was a strange feeling sitting opposite him and looking into the immaculate cell, but Cameron appeared to be totally relaxed, leaning back in his chair.

  “You wrote to me—” Anna began again, and again, he interrupted her.

  “I did, and I have on three other occasions written to you, but I have never received a reply.”

  “I am here now.”

  “Indeed you are. May I call you Anna?”

  “No. My name is Detective Travis. Mr. Welsh, this is not a social visit, and I am here to discover if in fact you do have information regarding the murder inquiry. Please don’t waste either my time or Sergeant Barolli’s.”

  “Time,” Cameron repeated softly, and then he smiled. “I want you to know, Detective Travis, that I have no grudge against you whatsoever. You did what you had to do, and I think you did it rather well. So . . .” He turned and gestured at his cell. “I certainly have the time, and obviously, I have spent many hours pondering my own situation, my own case. What interests me, and I am sure will interest you, too, is trying to understand what drove me to commit murder. I have retraced my life in detail, never allowing myself to feel self-pity, but more fascinated by what moment—was it madness or desire—that drove me to kill. This self-contemplation has opened up many areas about which I truthfully had been in denial; I now believe that I have two personalities, and only when committing murder are they joined.”

  “Mr. Welsh, we are not here to discuss your case,” Barolli said curtly.

  Cameron didn’t glance at Barolli but continued as if there had been no interruption. “This self-contemplation and self-analysis proved to be unsatisfying, since I have only myself as a template, so I subsequently broadened my research to delve into other killers’ minds. The outcome is the reason why I wished to see you, Detective Travis. My attempt to understand why I committed murder has enabled me to get inside the general mind of a killer, because I have been inside my own.”

  Barolli sighed with impatience, and again Cameron gave no reaction to his presence.

  “Have you brought in documents pertaining to your inquiry?” Welsh went on.

  “No.”

  “Well, that is a waste of time, isn’t it? For me to help you, I will need the postmortem photographs and reports and the forensic details. Without access to these, I doubt if I will be able to assist you in capturing the killer.”

  “That won’t be possible, Mr. Welsh,” Anna said.

  “Then you should make it possible,” he snapped, “because if you give me access to this material, I will be able to guide you toward your killer.”

  Barolli banged back his chair and stood up, and Cameron for the first time turned his attention toward him.

  “This is a waste of time,” Barolli growled.

  Cameron stood up, and Barolli got to see for the first time how tall he was—well over six feet. He was also exceptionally fit, his body lean and muscular.

  “Is that what you think, Sergeant Barolli—that I am wasting your time? I guarantee that I will not have any further meetings with you. Impatient little man, aren’t you?”

  Barolli glared at Anna to get out of her seat to return to the main area.

  Cameron moved closer to the bars and addressed Anna. “Let me get into his mind. I will become the man you want and give you an insight into who he is.”

  Anna stood up, still refusing to look at Cameron directly as he continued. “You have three dead girls—one prostitute and two unidentified victims. You have no suspect and no witness, no DNA—you have nothing! But I guarantee I will be able to help your inquiry. Trust me. However, I need to have access to all your files to date on all three cases, the pathology and forensic details and statements and . . .”

  Anna at last plucked up the courage to look at him directly.

  Their eyes locked for a moment, then she turned away, picking up her chair to walk back down the aisle following Barolli. All the hair on her body was standing up, as if she had stepped into an ice-cold room. Cameron Welsh was the last person she would trust, and she swore that she would not subject herself to another visit. Due to the prison security they had to wait for the guards to take them back into the main prison. She could sense that Cameron Welsh was looking at her via the small hand mirror.

  Chapter Three

  Anna was writing up her report on the incident board and couldn’t help overhearing Barolli chatting with Mike Lewis.

  “Bloody drove all the way to Leeds to sit and listen to this egotistical bastard telling us that he could help crack our case. He only wanted all the forensic and postmortem reports and the photographs . . . sick fucker.”

  “If we want an insight, we could always bring on board a profiler,” Mike said.

  Anna joined them. “But not one of them is a killer,” she pointed out.

  Barolli was surprised, asking if she was having second thoughts.

  “No. I think he just wanted us—or me—there for his own kudos in the prison system. He will brag how he was able to get Met officers to come to him.”

  “You should have seen his cell,” Barolli fulminated, “lined with hardback books like a library; he even offered Anna still or sparkling water! I dunno about it being a prison within a prison. It’s more like a ruddy holiday camp, and he was as tanned as if he’d been to the South of France.”

  Mike looked at Anna and grinned. “Must be out of a bottle, as it’s not exactly sunbathing weather. So, wasted journey?”

  She was about to agree when Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton walked in. They all turned, and he gave them a brief nod of acknowledgment, then came over to survey the incident board. He read Anna’s note about the prison visit and indicated for her to join him, tapping the mug shot of Cameron Welsh.

  “How did you find him?”

  “As arrogant as ever. In fact, he looked even younger than his mug shot.”

  “Shows what three meals a day and no stress can do. You want to take me through the meeting?”

  “It’s all there. He didn’t have anything, and we think it was a ploy to entertain himself.”

  “So he wrote to you.”

  “Yes. That’s a copy of the letter he wrote—you’ve already seen it.” Anna pointed to the board.

  “Taken a fancy to you, has he?”

  “I would say he’s too in love with himself to fancy anyone else. He makes my skin crawl.”

  Langton looked at her and smiled. “What if he could get inside our killer’s head?” he said.

  “I truthfully think his own head is stuck so far up his arse that he’d be incapable. He just wants to pull our strings. All this is a sick game, and I don’t want to see him again.”

  “Got under your skin, did he?”

  “Yes—and Barolli’s. Ask him what he was like.”

  “I will. Okay, thanks.”

  Anna returned to her desk as Langton went into Mike’s office. They were there for quite a while. Meanwhile, the incident room was quiet, as the officers had no new evidence and still no identification on their victim. Both Jean and Ba
rbara had been working through all the Mispers on file but had no result.

  Emerald Turk’s address had been searched while Anna was at Barfield, but no suitcase had been found. Barolli had also started looking for any ex–police officers who might have known Margaret Potts, but his inquiries fell on stony ground. It was depressing; the case was grinding to a halt.

  Barolli came up to Anna’s desk and pulled at his tie. “I’ve been on to bailiff companies, but so far I’ve had no luck in tracing anyone who knew Potts or anyone who was an ex-copper. I dunno how far back I need to go in checking out retired Flying Squad guys, because they’re usually the ones that take up security or bailiff work. Maybe we need to talk to Emerald Turk again.”

  Anna shrugged. They were grasping at straws, but to date, Emerald had been the most informative person with regard to the first victim.

  “I don’t know if she can be any more help, but I don’t mind doing it,” Anna said. She wished they at least had the victim’s suitcase, and even better, her notebook with the license numbers.

  Barolli ran a hand through his hair. It was hard to believe that they had no ID on two young beautiful girls and were still concentrating on Margaret Potts because they had little else to go on. Joan had been working on the possibility that they could identify their girl from dental records, but even though they were able to show on Crimewatch the two unusual front-teeth implants, they had not received a single call.

  Mike came out of his office and signaled to Anna for her to join him and Langton.

  Langton was sitting behind Mike’s desk, flicking through reports. He looked up and smiled at Anna as she came in. She was slightly thrown, although he had promised that their relationship would be more relaxed. She sat down and waited for him to finish glancing through the reports. Eventually, he let out a long sigh. “Not good, is it?” he said.

  She knew he was referring to their inquiry, and she nodded.

  “We have nothing, which is worrying,” he went on. “Pity the team didn’t get Potts’s suitcase—even better, the bloody notebook with the license-plate numbers. That’d have been really helpful.” He smiled at her again, and she started to find it unnerving. “Shame you didn’t question Emerald Turk first time round and not that impatient bugger Barolli. Knowing you, I doubt you’d have let it slip past you.”