Lynda La Plante: Clean Cut

By two o’clock, she was driving back to Glebe House to see Langton, refreshed and feeling a whole lot more in control.

If he was pleased to see her, he didn’t show it. He looked more morose than ever and said he’d had a terrible night: he’d hardly slept a wink. Instead of complimenting her on how she looked, he seemed almost petulant. ‘You’ve had your hair cut.’

‘Thank you — surprised you even noticed,’ she said, making light of it, as she produced grapes, vine tomatoes and some smoked salmon.

‘They do feed me here. I thought you were coming for lunch.’

‘I know, but I had things to do and I just thought if you needed a snack…’

He plucked at one of the grapes; she saw that his hand was shaking.

‘So, when do you go back to work?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Probably next Monday.’

‘Mmm, suppose you can’t wait; give you an excuse not to have to drive out to this godforsaken place.’

‘It isn’t godforsaken. You know I only come because I want to see you, so it would be nice if you showed that you wanted to see me.’

He shrugged. ‘Just seems a long schlep out here and I’ve nothing really to say — well, not as yet. I’ve not met any of the inmates, though I’ve heard them; you wouldn’t believe how many of them are bawling their eyes out. Night nurse said they get a lot of it — call it post-traumatic stress syndrome now. Well, I’ve got a better word for it: nutters! It’s not as if they’ve been out in Iraq, for Chrissakes.’

Anna listened as he ranted on; then there was a pause. He seemed to have exhausted himself.

‘You know,’ she said carefully, ‘after a tragic event or, say, a particularly gruelling enquiry, some of our guys really suffer. It’s actually called hyper-arousal or hypervigilance.’

‘Oh, really! You been reading up on it, have you?’

‘No. I was waiting for one of the nurses, to ask how you were getting on; she kept me waiting and when she did see me, she was a bit tensed up, so I asked her what was wrong. She said one of the patients had been very worrying; he would only sit with his back to the wall. All night, this was; he was in constant fear that something beyond his control was happening.’

‘Seeing aliens next,’ Langton said, like a grumpy old man.

Anna was able to change the subject by asking if she should go round to his place and see if there was any mail for him, or if there was anything he needed from there; she could then bring it in the next time she came to see him.

‘Oh, ready to leave already, are you?’

She wanted to snap back at him; he was like a naughty child, trying anything he could to get her temper up. ‘No, but I don’t have a key, and if there is anything that might be important…’

‘There won’t be. I’ve nothing of any importance anyway.’

‘Is there anyone you would like me to contact, to come and see you?’

‘No.’

‘How about Kitty?’

His face went red with anger. ‘I don’t want her anywhere near this place.’

‘She might be worried about you; you’ve not seen her for so long.’

‘I know exactly how long it’s been, and no, I do not want to see her — nor anybody else for that matter.’

‘Oh, I see. Does that include me?’

‘Yes. You’ve no need to come out here; it’s a long drive.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Yes, I do.’

There was an uneasy pause; he appeared more like a petulant child than ever. ‘Well, you can come when you’ve nothing better to do,’ he added eventually.

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, not looking at her.

‘I’ve made out a list of things you might need me to bring in.’ She opened her bag and took out her notebook.

‘God, you and your lists,’ he said, but he sounded more like himself. Anna passed over her notes: books, pyjamas, shaving items.

‘Yeah, I need all these.’

‘Anything else?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Yes, a miracle would be nice — one that will get me out of here fast, so I can track that bastard down who did this to me.’

‘You might have used your quota up,’ she said, smiling, and he gave a soft laugh. He knew just how close to death he had been; thankfully, he was at least able to see the funny side of his request.

Anna stayed for the rest of the afternoon. He talked about the amount of physio he was down to have for his knee, which pained him greatly. He was still unable to walk. The only good thing that had come out of the attack was that he could not smoke; he had been warned that, if he started again, it would create breathing problems, as his chest was still very weak.

By the time she left, he had added numerous items to her list, mostly books, and he had also given her his house keys. This was quite a big step as, although he had keys cut for her flat, he had never at any time suggested she have access to his. He had such a private and controlling nature, Anna had never even suggested it. To her astonishment, he even said that, given a week or so, maybe Kitty could be brought to see him by his ex-wife, but only when he was able to stand up straight and walk; he didn’t want her to see him wheelchair bound. He wrote down their contact numbers. Again, this was a first; Anna had never even known where Kitty or his ex-wife lived. He sat scribbling in her notebook, before snapping it closed and handing it back to her.

It was not until she had driven home that she read what he had written. It was at the end of his list, and underlined. She burst into tears.

I’m a moody bastard, but I’ll get better. Don’t move anyone else into that box flat of yours. I will be coming home soon.

Beneath it, he had drawn a small heart with an arrow, and a small round smiley face. She had wanted to hear him say it to her so many times, but now he had written it: I love you. For all his bad temper and anger, those three words made up for it.

Anna had not applied for her special leave to continue, as she felt that she really needed her own space to be able to cope with him. She didn’t know how she would deal with him coming home, especially if she was back at work, as she would be any day soon. She just hoped to God he would recover, because if he were a bad patient now, God knows how he would react if he had to quit the force.

Anna was contacted early Monday morning: she was to join a new murder team in Brixton. The Senior Crime Officer was DCI John Sheldon, whom she knew nothing about and had never met. The murder team had taken over the second floor at the station and already shipped in were the obligatory computers and clerical staff. Sheldon had two officers who had worked with him many times, DI Frank Brandon and DS Harry Blunt; added to these were two more DIs, four more DSs, and fifteen Detective Constables. Anna was instructed to join Sheldon at the victim’s flat.

Irene Phelps was thirty-nine years old and worked at the local public library. She was a quiet, studious woman with long blonde hair. She had been very pretty. The crime scene was still being worked over by the forensic teams; her body remained in the small study where she had been discovered. The room had been ransacked; there was overturned furniture, smashed ornaments and vases. She lay face down on the carpet. The wounds to her upper torso had left her blouse slashed and heavily bloodstained. Her skirt had been drawn up and her panties thrown to one side; she had terrible wounds to her throat and face. Irene had put up a fight for her life, but it had obviously been a very brutal and frenzied attack. Her twelve-year-old daughter had found her body.

Anna hovered in the doorway, not even entering the room to keep contamination down to the minimum. She looked over to the white-suited forensic officers; then physically jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder.