Lynda La Plante - Above Suspicion

Langton looked over to Anna. ‘We had a good break last night. Travis tracked down the gravel-voiced caller. Her name is Yvonne Barber; she has a record for soliciting as long as my arm. She was certain that Melissa knew her killer. So, let’s get moving. At long last, we’re getting a few breaks.’

After Langton had slammed his office door shut, the office manager asked who had volunteered for Spain. There were a lot of sidelong glances as Anna put up her hand.

‘You won the ticket, Travis. Come and see me; we’ll make arrangements.’

Anna quietly smiled. She wondered if Langton had pulled a few strings on her behalf.

Later that morning she took him the updates on calls to his office.

‘Tomorrow you’ll come to the lab with me, they’ll be testing the tongue and—’

‘I can’t. I’m going to Spain. Majorca, actually,’ she said, surprised.

‘What?’

‘To interview Barry Southwood in Palma. I got lucky.’

Langton grinned. ‘You got suckered in by the rest of the team.’

‘I’m sorry?’ she said, stunned.

‘Never mind, you’re the best person for it. I can’t afford to lose any of the others.’

Perplexed, she returned to her desk to find her itinerary for the following day already marked up, with a note that the ticket was to be collected at the Easyjet desk.

As she read the instructions, she caught her breath. She had to be at the airport two hours before takeoff? This meant she would have to leave home at four o’clock in the morning. Reading further, she had to take a deeper breath. The return flight was the same afternoon! The plane would land at Luton at nine o’clock at night. When Anna looked up, bewildered, she caught a lot of naughty-boy grins. She laughed involuntarily.

‘You bastards really got me. There and back in a single day?’

‘It’s Professor Henson.’

Langton snatched at his desk phone and snapped, ‘Put him through.’

‘DCI Langton?’

‘Speaking.’

‘I had the “tooth fairy” in to look over the details.’

‘What?’

‘Just a joke name we use for the odontologist. You were right and I was wrong. He agreed with you, it was a human bite. Although we have only the top row of teeth, we should be able to make a good impression and get a set made up.’

‘Human?’ repeated Langton.

‘Yes,’ Henson admitted rather sheepishly. ‘So, all you need to do now is find him.’

‘Well, I’m working on it. Thanks for getting back to me so fast.’

Langton replaced the phone. This was a step forward, though deeply worrying.

Though they still had no suspect, they now had confirmation that their killer was becoming more sadistic. He was not dormant, far from it. The monster who murdered Melissa Stephens was active and would kill again, unless they stopped him in time.

Anna stood in the long line of passengers at Luton airport, waiting to board from Gate 4. The plane was half-empty and it was no wonder, she reflected, given the ungodly hour of the checkin. She sighed; it was going to be a very long day.

In London, Langton was watching as Henson carefully splayed a section of tongue cut from Melissa’s mouth in order to record and photograph every detail. He placed one ruler along the side of it and another lengthwise. The angle of the camera had to be precise, exactly perpendicular to the bite mark. These photographs would later be enhanced by computer technology using an infrared camera. The painstaking procedure would take a long time.

Henson was using a sterile cotton swab, moistened with distilled water and gently taking swabs from the tongue. The hope was to find traces of the killer’s saliva and therefore his DNA.

‘It’s got clear indentations,’ remarked Henson. ‘The odontologist was able to get a good impression.’

The airport at Palma was so stiflingly hot that Anna was thankful she had travelled light. Exiting the terminal, she found the taxi rank and gave her driver Southwood’s address: Villa Marianna, Alcona Way. The taxi driver wore a baseball cap, a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He seemed to be sweating, an indication the taxi had no air conditioning, though it was a registered cab, with a radio.

‘Do you know the area?’ Anna asked the driver. He turned, grinning, and with a broad Liverpudlian accent, said he knew the whole place like the back of his hand. He informed her that Southwood’s address was on the outskirts of Palma. Anna leaned back and opened her window for some air as the driver, whose name was Ron, gave her his life story. He had met his wife in Palma on a package holiday. Now he had turned his hand part time to carpentry and also helped in real estate deals.

Without drawing a breath, he focused on Anna now. ‘So, what you over here for? Lookin’ fer property, are you? See ya got no luggage, like. How long you stayin’? I can show you some nice places, dependin’ on the price range. There’s some good bargains still to be had, but yer gotta know where to look, like.’

‘I’m a police officer,’ she said.

‘Gerraway. A cop! Christ, they’re gettin’ younger! What you over ‘ere for, then?’

‘Just an enquiry. Is it much further?’

Unfortunately, it was. The midday sun beat down relentlessly. Even with the window down, Anna was sweating.

‘What’s the enquiry about, then?’ Ron asked. Not for the first time, Anna caught him watching her in the rear-view mirror rather than the road ahead.

‘Can’t discuss it, I’m afraid,’ she said, hoping it would shut him up. It didn’t.

‘Drugs, is it? We get a lorra junkies over ‘ere, ‘specially in the high season. Is it drugs?’

‘No, it’s not drugs.’ To distract him from this line of questioning, she asked the driver to give a rundown of the area. For the next half hour Ron gave an informed commentary on the best restaurants, hotels, clubs and pottery factories.

‘Me brother-in-law works in the biggest pottery factory, in the centre of Palma. Got some lovely plates. You should make a trip of it. I can give you a guided tour; just call anytime. Call me direct and not through the company. I’ll give you a good rate!’

His hands left the wheel. The taxi veered across the road as Ron produced various cards for his other careers.

‘Please concentrate on the road,’ Anna instructed.

‘What I’ll have to do is pull over. Check me map.’

The taxi lurched to a stop. ‘Right. What was the name of the area?’

‘Alcona Way.’

He turned the pages, frowning, flicking from one page to another. It was obvious Ron didn’t have a clue where the villa was. Anna was gritting her teeth as he got out of the car. He crossed the road to a traffic policeman. Sighing, Anna watched them confer, look at the map dubiously, up and down. Then followed lots of arm gestures and hand flapping before Ron eventually returned to the taxi. Anna looked at her watch. It was almost two o’clock.

‘Right, I just gotta turn round. Head back towards the marina, then go left, up behind the old town.’

‘That’s the opposite direction,’ Anna snapped, on the verge of losing her temper.

‘It’s quite hidden. Part of a new development … that’s not quite developed,’ he laughed. ‘If you know what I mean.’

Fifteen minutes later, they left the old town behind them. Some distance further on, they came to well-cut hedgerows and good roads. The villas were now very exclusive, walled properties with glorious coloured bushes in full bloom. For a moment, Anna wondered how a retired ex-Vice cop could afford to live in this area; then the roads became uneven. Suddenly, she saw a lot of half-built properties and then Ron turned up a dirt track.

‘Should be up at the top here. Look for the road sign. It’s gotta be up here somewhere.’