Lynda Plante - Blind Fury

“A lot of coincidences,” Mike murmured.

“According to Langton, there are never any, but even Smiley admitted to it being a big one with Estelle Dubcek, her being Polish, and not only that, about to work in a bakery close to his home.”

“Yeah, well, we always reckoned Estelle’s murder was a hurried kill; at least we got that right, but when you think of the hours we’ve put in chasing the wrong facts — like we were told Estelle would never hitch a ride, and not only did she do that, but she had a notice up asking for a lift to Manchester.”

“What about the Polish connection? Yet another lengthy wrong avenue, tracking all through the embassy. What a waste of time.” Anna gave a rueful smile.

Mike leaned back in his chair. “Do you think Welsh really did know anything about the murders, or was he manipulating us in order to get to you?”

“I think it’s half and half, really. He was genuinely interested in the case, and he’s gained a lot of self-knowledge during his time in prison, and he was always insistent about Margaret Potts being the link. So in some ways, I suppose, though I’m loath to admit it, he did trigger a response.”

“He’d have triggered one if he’d torn up the files.”

“Come on, they were all copies, and he was never left with them, they were always removed when we left. By now I think he’ll also be removed, as he’s been acting up, gone stir crazy.”

“Langton does take risks, though, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does. Can we get on now? I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s been a very long day.”

It was not until three-thirty that Mike and Anna returned to the interview room. Smiley was morose and often belligerent as he tried to recall the exact dates. Gregson remained silent throughout, and they finished the interview at six o’clock. They still didn’t have full details regarding Chrissie O’Keefe, but due to Smiley’s admissions, the CPS gave authority to charge him with all five murders.

Before being returned to his cell, Smiley was formally charged by the custody sergeant and informed that he would be taken before the magistrate’s court the following morning. The team was going to the local pub for a drink to celebrate, but Anna was too drained to join them. She just wanted to go home.

She had just left the station when Langton returned with a press statement already prepared. Even though he had been working flat out since early morning, having such a positive result had energized him. He was about to leave with the team when Barbara took a call. It was for Anna. Barbara said that she was not available, but then she hesitated and asked the caller to hang on. “Gov, it’s a Mr. Hudson for Travis, says it’s urgent. Is that the name of her boyfriend?”

Langton held out his hand. “I’ll take it. This is James Langton,” he said. “Can I help at all? DI Travis has just left the station and—”

Langton listened and sat down in Barbara’s desk chair. No one was paying that much attention, as they were all getting ready to leave. It was a call he wished he had never agreed to take. The incident room was almost empty by the time he replaced the receiver.

“You coming, Gov?” Mike Lewis asked as he closed his office door.

“No. I have to go and see Travis.”

“Something wrong?”

Langton could hardly speak; he simply nodded.

“Anything I can do?”

Langton picked up his coat. “No, there’s nothing anybody can do. Give my apologies to the team, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mike didn’t know what was wrong, just that Langton’s face had drained of color and he was visibly shaken.

“Good night, then.” Mike walked out.

Langton slowly pulled on his coat. He was dreading what he had to do, but he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.

I was just going to bed,” Anna said into the intercom.

“Let me in, Anna. I need to see you.”

There was something about his voice. Again he had used her Christian name, which he so rarely did. She opened the front door and returned to her bedroom to put on a wrap over her nightdress. She wondered what could be so urgent that he had called without, as she had requested, ringing her first. She sighed, hoping it wasn’t connected to Smiley. God forbid if he had managed to hang himself in the cell.

As she came out of the bedroom, Langton was closing the front door.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked.

“No, come here.”

She was puzzled. He took her by the hand and led her into her lounge.

“What’s happened?” she asked nervously.

“There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll come out with it directly.”

He was shaking, and she almost went to put her arms around him to comfort him. Then he dropped the bombshell.

“Anna, there was an incident in the prison. Welsh attacked Ken, and he’s... he’s dead, Anna. I am so sorry.”

She felt her legs buckle beneath her, and he caught her in his arms. She murmured over and over, “No... No... No...”

Langton held her tightly. “Come on, sit down, there’s a good girl.”

Her breath came in short gasps as he steered her toward the sofa and then sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders.

“What happened?” Her voice sounded even to her as if someone else were talking, asking the question, because she couldn’t focus.

“Apparently, they got the order for Welsh to be removed to Broadmoor this afternoon. They brought him out of his cell, and Ken was putting the cuffs on him. Welsh had somehow gotten a plastic fork, melted it down, honed it into a sharp point, and he stabbed Ken in the jugular.”

He didn’t add that Welsh had also stabbed Ken in the eye; they were unable to stem the blood flow, and he had collapsed and died in the ambulance. Due to the complicated entrance system to the special unit, the ambulance and prison medics had taken longer than usual to get there and assist the officers trying to keep Ken alive.

Anna was trembling all over and deathly pale. She stared ahead as if unable to comprehend what Langton was saying. He wished she would break down and weep, but she remained frozen. He got up and fetched a glass of brandy, bending down in front of her, holding it up to her lips. “I’ll stay here with you.”

The brandy dripped from her pale lips as if she were incapable of sipping it. Langton sat next to her and again placed his arm around her shoulders. He told her that Ken’s father had called the incident room, and he had taken the call. He felt that if he could keep on talking, she would break down and release the tears, but she continued staring blank-eyed.

Langton drank the remains of the brandy himself, at a loss as to what he could do to comfort her. He hadn’t told her that Welsh had screamed at Ken that he could never have his girl, his madness out of control as he repeatedly stabbed and lashed out.

Anna remembered a day when she’d been about five or six years old and her father had taken her to the local public pool. She’d had lessons and was able to float by herself, was almost about to swim, and she had been so excited, wanting to show him. He had placed a towel around her tiny, thin shoulders, saying it was time to get dressed, and she remembered running from him, laughing naughtily as she jumped into the pool. But it was not the shallow end, and as the water enveloped her, it felt like it was sucking her down. She raised her arms but remained deep in the water, unable to breathe, sinking deep down and drowning. Anna felt exactly as she had done all those years ago. Drowning.

“Anna? Anna!”

Langton’s voice sounded like her panic-stricken father’s, willing her to surface, but it was the lifeguard who dragged her to the surface and her father who lifted her from the water and rocked her in his arms as she wept and choked, “I was floating, Daddy, I was floating.”