Blind Fury Page 8

  “You want to sit down?” He gestured to the armchair and sat in the center of the sofa. “Not found who done it, then?” he added.

  “Sadly, no, we haven’t.”

  He lit a cigarette, his fat fingers nicotine-stained and with black nails.

  “You were married to Margaret?”

  He nodded.

  “Can you recall anyone who might be able to help me get to know her?”

  “No. The prison governor told me she’d been bumped off. I read about it in the papers as well.” He didn’t sound particularly sad.

  “During your time together, surely you must have met some of her friends, or someone she was close to and would have remained friendly with after you separated?” Anna suggested.

  “No. What she did was her own business. She was useless. My kids were always filthy, and she never cooked, gave ’em Kentucky Fried Chicken morning, noon, and night. They was out of control—that’s why I kicked her out, then my kids got taken away. Best thing for ’em, ’cause she was no bloody good with them, and I was workin’, so I never knew they weren’t going to school.”

  “Did you know Emerald Turk?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone you can think of that might be able to help me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you still keep in touch with your children?”

  “No.”

  “What about men your wife might have known?”

  “She knew a lot, but I wouldn’t call ’em friends. She was a tart,” said Stanley matter-of-factly.

  “I am especially interested in men she might have used to help her get her own back on a punter who didn’t pay. A couple of times she was beaten up, so she needed some help—you know, to pay them back.”

  Stanley shook his head. The ash from his cigarette drooped to over an inch long. “Listen, love, me and Maggie parted ways and not on friendly terms. I was glad to see the back of her.”

  “But you had feelings for her once. You paid a fine when she was in court for prostitution.”

  He frowned and sucked in a lungful of smoke, then flicked off the ash onto the carpet. “Maybe I did—don’t remember. That’d be some time ago, and it could’ve been me brother. He might have helped her out, but not me.”

  “Your brother?” asked Anna with interest.

  “Yeah. He used to have a thing with her.”

  “Would he have given your name to the court? It was a five-hundred-pound fine.”

  “She probably paid him in kind, if you know what I mean.”

  “Do you have his address?”

  “No. We don’t get on—it’s obvious why. He’s a bastard, and he never helped me out. I’ve not seen him for more than five or six years.”

  “What work does he do?”

  “Works for a bailiff company, or he did. Like I said, I’ve not seen him. He was shagging her, though, like every man that come into the house.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Eric.”

  Anna stood up, eager to get away from the cigarette smoke and the stench of the flat. Stanley looked up at her and then jerked a thumb at a sideboard. It was hard to see anything for old newspapers and used food cartons. He shuffled over to it, throwing papers aside, opening drawers.

  “Hang on a minute . . . I was wonderin’, was there anythin’ of value found after she was murdered?”

  “Value—like what?”

  “She had some nice jewelry. She got me mother’s diamond engagement ring, and by rights I should have it back, unless she sold it. Knowing her, she’d take the pennies off a dead man’s eyes, but it was a nice stone worth a bob or two, and I gave her a gold bracelet that cost me a few quid.”

  “There was nothing. She didn’t have her own place when she was killed, but I think she left a suitcase with some contents, so I’ll make inquiries for you.”

  Stanley opened a drawer and rooted through it, bringing out a dog-eared brown envelope. “You can have this—I got no use for it. It’s her birth certificate and crap.”

  He passed Anna the envelope, but she didn’t open it.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Potts,” she said as sincerely as she could.

  In reply, he plonked himself back down on the sofa, not bothering to show her out.

  In her car, Anna opened the envelope. There was, as he had said, a tattered birth certificate, along with a few old photographs. Some were stained and creased. There were pictures of Margaret aged about seventeen, others of her holding two small toddlers. There was also a Valentine’s card. Anna was surprised by the scrawled writing and the flowery verse that said how deep their love was. It was signed, Loving you with all my heart, Stan.

  Later that evening, Anna sat eating her supper at her kitchen table, looking at the contents of the envelope, the faded photographs especially. Her kitchen was compact, with a small breakfast bar and a more comfortable high stool than the one she had sat on at Emerald’s. She used her microwave oven more than her new gas one, and her fridge was small, fitted with a freezer compartment on the top. She’d made an omelette with salad and had stuck a list of groceries to the fridge door with a magnet. Her fitted cupboards had mostly tins of tomato soup inside. She was out of milk so had her coffee black.

  She finished eating and placed her dirty dishes in the sink, washing them up before returning to look over the photographs. It was hard not to feel saddened by the knowledge of what had happened to these people. In one photograph, a young Stanley Potts stood with his hand resting on his wife’s shoulder. Her face had been scribbled over, perhaps by one of her children. Anna replaced everything in the envelope to take into the incident room the following morning. She was eager to get the team tracing Eric Potts; it was too much of a coincidence that he worked for a bailiff company. Perhaps this was the man to whom Margaret had turned when she needed help. He might also have contact with the ex–police officers. It could be the lead they so badly needed, at last.

  After taking a shower, she checked her laundry basket, adding to the note on the fridge door that she had to remember to take in her laundry and collect the fresh sheets in the morning.

  Anna had not been living in her flat that long, yet long enough to have made some kind of effort to make it less austere, but it never seemed to be a priority. There was the photograph of her beloved father by her bedside, and her dressing table contained a neat row of cosmetics and perfumes, but Anna even put her hairbrushes and combs in a drawer. In some ways the neatness was a comfort; it wasn’t obsessive, because when a case occupied her day and night, the laundry basket overflowed and she did leave clothes on the back of her dressing-table chair and the floor. Her lack of interest in any culinary attempts made her slack on her food shopping. The stations’ canteens were good enough. The one luxury she always made an effort with was pristine laundered cotton sheets and white duvet covers, with a matching white pillow; she also had numerous white cotton nightdresses. She delighted in slipping between the chilled, sweet-smelling sheets, and on this night, having felt she had made some breakthrough in the case, she fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  First thing in the morning, Anna set the wheels in motion at the station to trace Eric Potts, before she headed out to visit Emerald Turk again. It was a gray day; dark clouds were gathering, and heavy rain had been forecast. As she parked a short distance from the high-rise block, she saw Emerald herself carrying two carrier bags filled with groceries, heading straight toward her.

  “Morning.”

  Emerald stopped and stared at her, then continued walking toward the entrance. Anna followed, making her way up the filthy stairs and along the corridor to Emerald’s front door.

  “What you doin’ here?” the woman said aggressively. “Hoping to see you.”

  “Well, now you have.” Emerald opened her front door and tried to shut it again at once.

  “Please don’t,” Anna said. “I just want to talk to you. I can do it here or down at the station—it’s up to yo
u.”

  “What do you want now, for chrissakes! This is fuckin’ harassment.”

  “Let me in, please.”

  In total contrast to the previous visit, the kitchen was a mess. Dirty crockery was stacked in the sink, and there were numerous empty wine bottles lined up on the floor, with more dirty glasses on the draining board. Emerald took off her raincoat and chucked it aside. Beneath it, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with flip-flops.

  “Have a party last night, did you?” Anna asked.

  “What’s it to you? It was me bloke’s birthday, if you must know. And I’ve got a fucking terrible hangover.”

  “Do you know Eric Potts?”

  “Who?” Emerald massaged her brow.

  “Eric Potts. He’s Margaret’s brother-in-law.”

  “No. Never heard of him, but if he’s anything like that fat slob of a husband of hers, I wouldn’t go near him with a bargepole.”

  “So you knew Stanley?” Anna asked, recognizing the description.

  “No, I never knew him, but he used to beat the shit out of Maggie. She told me what he’d done to her for years, and she got the hell out because she reckoned that one day he would kill her. She said he used to take all her money, spend it down the bookies, and she had to hide her handbag, as he’d nick her purse and take every penny so she couldn’t feed her kids.”

  “She never mentioned Eric?”

  “No.”

  “He was a good friend—paid her fine once.”

  “Well, maybe that was before I knew her.”

  “Did you know her children were taken into care?”

  “Yeah, I knew that. She used to cry about them but reckoned that they were better off without bein’ around her husband. When he was drunk, he’d knock them about as well as her.”

  Emerald walked out of the kitchen. She snapped that if it wasn’t a problem, she was going to the toilet. Anna cleared a space around the breakfast bar, moving a stack of dirty children’s clothes and dropping them onto the overflowing laundry basket. She waited, heard the toilet flushing, and then Emerald returned.

  “This suitcase—” Anna began.

  “For chrissakes, your mob came looking for it yesterday! I told you I’ve not got it, is that why you’re back here? Didn’t you believe me? I’ve not got Maggie’s fucking suitcase.”

  “Her husband reckons that it might have had some jewelry in it, specifically a diamond ring.”

  “There was nuffink in it but shit, I told you. I never found no diamond rings, and if he’s saying they was in the suitcase, he’s a lying bastard. Christ, she didn’t even have a room of her own; she had fuck-all, and if it wasn’t for me, she’d have been sleeping rough on the street.”

  “Who else used to put her up besides you?”

  “I dunno. She used to just turn up and ask to doss down wiv me. I’ve told you all this, I told you last time you was here.”

  “The last time I was here, you brought up the fact that Margaret used to keep a record of the men she’d picked up,” Anna reminded her.

  “Yeah, I told you that she’d get the numbers off their vehicles.”

  “You said that she had friends, ex-coppers who could trace the addresses of those who ripped her off or hurt her.”

  “Yeah, but who they were, I dunno. I got no interest in hirin’ heavies to look after me, ’cause I got a bloke, and I don’t do service stations, all right?”

  “You never heard her talk of her brother-in-law, Eric Potts?”

  “No, and I never met her prick of a husband, either. All I know is what she told me about him.”

  “This notebook—are you sure you didn’t find it?” Anna pressed her.

  “Fuck me, I told you I’ve not seen it! For chrissakes, why would I lie about somefink like that? It don’t make sense.”

  “You didn’t find any jewelry in Margaret’s suitcase?”

  “No, I fucking didn’t!”

  Emerald was getting so angry her face was red, and she kept waving her hands around. Anna decided not to push it any further. Emerald hurled items out of the laundry basket until she found the tracksuit jacket, snatching it up and almost shoving it into Anna’s face.

  “I got this, this T-shirt I’m wearin’, and some other gear, and that was all. And I don’t like you accusin’ me of lying, so why don’t you get the fuck out of here. Go on—GET OUT!”

  Anna apologized as she headed down the hallway. “Thank you for seeing me. I wasn’t implying that you had done anything illegal.”

  The front door was slammed after her, and she heard the chain link being put into place.

  Alone, Emerald felt as if she was having a panic attack. She couldn’t get her breath. As she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, she had to sit on one of her stools to calm down. She was still holding on to the track-suit top and was about to toss it aside when she felt for the book. It had been left inside the pocket since Anna had last been there, and she took it out, swearing to herself. It could have easily dropped to the floor during the interview, but then if it had, she’d have made up some excuse that she hadn’t even known it was there. Yet she did know, and she was scared that she’d lied. But it still didn’t make her want to do the honorable thing. Instead, she threw it into the bin.

  “Fucking coppers. Bastards.”

  Anna had just reached her car when she got a call from Barbara in the incident room. They had traced an Eric Potts. He worked for a bailiff’s company with offices in Hendon. Whether or not it was Margaret’s brother-in-law, they were unable to confirm, as he was out on a job and wouldn’t be back in the office until lunchtime. Anna had been pondering whether to return to the station but now decided she’d have an early lunch and make her way over to meet with Eric.

  Back at the station, the team continued slogging through the list of ex-prisoners, placing to one side possible suspects who might have had information for Cameron Welsh. The officers questioning everyone at the service stations were having no luck, with no one able to recall their redheaded victim. Barbara received yet another call from Cameron Welsh. He said he wished to speak to DI Travis, but when told she was not in the station, he said he would speak with Paul.

  “Paul, your friend Cameron’s on the line!”

  Barolli took the call, but this time Cameron was distinctly unfriendly and quite cold about DI Travis not taking his calls.

  “She’s out working, Mr. Welsh, so if you have anything to say, please go ahead. I’m all ears.”

  “I have more details I wish to discuss with you and Anna, but I find the cell door being closed very constricting. I want you to get permission for us to sit outside in the recreational area.”

  “That may not be possible.”

  “Then I won’t see you. Pass on my message to Anna.” The phone went down, and Barolli tutted.

  “He’s really pushing himself, cheeky bastard.” He turned to see Langton standing by the incident-room board, which unnerved him slightly.

  “What did he have to say for himself?” Langton asked, turning to face Barolli.

  “Claims to have more information but wants us to talk without the bars.”

  “Ignore him. Let’s see how long it’ll be before he calls again.”

  “He was peeved that Travis wasn’t here to talk to him.”

  “Really. Well, if this is all down to him having the hots for her, he can go and stuff himself. Where is she?” Langton demanded.

  Barbara signaled to him. “She may have got a trace on a relative of our first victim, Margaret Potts. He works for a bailiff company and could be the person Maggie Potts used to track down punters who knocked her around.”

  “Where did Anna get him from?”

  “She traced Potts’s husband—it came via him.”

  Langton threw a cool look at Barolli, who squirmed in his seat.

  “Got to hand it to her,” the detective said sheepishly. “Always busy, busy . . .”

  When Langton moved off to Mike’s office, Bar
olli turned to Barbara and asked in a different voice, “When did all this go down?”

  “About an hour ago. She’ll be on her way to interview this brother-in-law. You never know, he might have some information we could use. Nothing else is happening, is it?”

  Barolli pursed his lips. Yet again Anna had trampled over him, and he knew that if she was able to get this information now, he should have been able to find it months ago.

  The office was above a fish-and-chip shop. The name of the company appeared to be Debt Collectors, with no other sign—just a small arrow in red felt-tipped pen on the card stuck to the door. Anna climbed up a narrow staircase, where the pungent smell of fried food hung in the air. From outward appearances, at least, the business didn’t look as if it were exactly flourishing.

  At the top of the second staircase, a makeshift partition with a frosted-glass door had been built across the landing. Anna rang the bell, and the door was opened by a thin-faced woman in her late fifties with iron-gray hair and a matching suit.

  “Yes?”

  Anna showed her ID, and the woman stepped back.

  “Come in.”

  The small reception area was cramped. A desk and two chairs and a large old-fashioned filing cabinet were all that could fit into the small space. Two doors led off from the reception, and Anna was politely asked to sit, and the woman introduced herself as Mrs. Kelly.

  “I am a sort of general dogsbody. We have two offices, and my husband owns the company. We’re unusually busy right now, with a lot of people wanting their debts sorted. It’s strange, isn’t it? Bad times for some and good for others.”

  “Is Mr. Potts in?”

  “Not yet, but he’s due any moment. He’s training two new employees, and they were out early, but I told someone who called wanting to get particulars from him . . .”

  “That would have been from my station.” Anna passed her card to Mrs. Kelly.

  “Yes. I said he was expected back at lunchtime, but sometimes there may be a problem that needs sorting. My husband is in his office, if you’d like to talk to him.”