Above Suspicion (23 page)

‘I am aware of that,’ Langton said coldly.

‘I do understand the reasons for focusing on Alan Daniels, but the evidence is totally circumstantial. There is nothing corroborating it and even though intuition is something we can’t dismiss, we nevertheless have to seriously contemplate how you intend to take this further. Now is the time to give me - everyone here -details.’

‘Results, so far, are these: we have a serial killer on the loose and, as you’ve read the reports, you know as well as we do that he could also have been committing the same crimes in the United States.’

Langton opened the file on the American victims.

‘I read it, James,’ Commander Leigh said curtly. ‘But that brings up the possibility that the perpetrator could be American.’

Exasperated, Langton threw up his hands. ‘That isn’t feasible. Daniels was in the States: filming in Chicago, in Los Angeles and San Francisco. That is too bloody coincidental. We also know there were two periods when he was in New York. I am getting them checked and—’

She interrupted him. ‘I am aware of the latest report. But being in the same place does not automatically mean he was involved. That said, it could let us off the hook if the killer turns out to be an American. We could feed that information to the press.’

He knew what she meant.

‘If you can take it, Ma’am. I wouldn’t want the responsibility of closing us down and then another victim being discovered,’ he said. ‘Because I am damned sure he’s not stopped.’

‘It’s not a question of me taking it,’ she snapped. ‘The costs to date outweigh the results. I have to present my report to the assistant commissioner. That means making a decision about bringing in a new team, which I am loath to do, as it will spiral the cost even further.’

‘Give me more time, then. Let me take a trip to the States; check out their records of the victims. They’ve sent over only case reports and the fact they have the same MO, but if I could get more details, I would, at least for my own satisfaction, eliminate Alan Daniels.’

She sighed, impatiently. ‘Eliminate him? You don’t have one scrap of evidence to implicate him, for Christ’s sake, and definitely nothing to link him to the Melissa Stephens murder. All you have is a group of women who may or may not have known him and who may or may not have known each other! I have read the reports.’ She was fighting to retain her temper. ‘You have had every possible opportunity. You have not, I am sorry to say, given me anything today that warrants keeping an entire murder team here in Queen’s Park.’

‘You’ve already halved the team. I won’t let this go,’ he said firmly.

‘It is not a question of what you want,’ she said angrily. ‘Look, let’s not get into a shouting match over this. I will consider giving you two more weeks.’

‘Give me three days. That’s all I need to go over there and check out these cases.’

The commander looked at Chief Superintendent Thompson, who, till then, had not said more than a few words. ‘I trust James.’ He carefully placed his coffee cup on the desk. ‘If he feels there is a possibility of gaining a result, I’d send him to Alaska, if necessary.’

Langton gave him a grateful look. The commander collected her briefcase and walked to the door.

‘Three days and keep me informed. Because we are going to have to prepare a press release.’

The team watched curiously as the procession of brass walked out, but could find nothing in their manner to indicate what had happened inside. A call from Lewis lifted the gloominess in the atmosphere. Barolli yelled out the news: Lewis had a son, weighing in at seven pounds, six ounces. After a moment of quiet conversation, he replaced the receiver.

‘He’s going to put in for maternity leave,’ he said, surprised.

‘I think you mean “paternity” leave,’ Jean commented wryly.

‘What did you tell him?’ Moira asked.

‘I just said that from what has been going down here, I didn’t see why not.’

Langton appeared. He called out to Jean, who was printing material from the internet. ‘You get the information I wanted?’

Jean gathered up all the pages. ‘Mike Lewis has just had a baby boy,’ she informed him.

He looked puzzled for a moment; then gave a half smile.

‘Moira, send him a bottle of champagne and some flowers for his wife. From all of us.’

He returned to his office, Jean following on his heels.

‘Christ, Jean, is this the cheapest deal you can get?’

‘Yes. I checked with all the airlines and the Virgin Atlantic flight is the cheapest, direct to San Francisco.’

She passed him another sheet. ‘I would suggest you hire a car from San Francisco and drive to Los Angeles, then get an internal flight from there to Chicago.’

‘Thanks,’ he said curtly. Then he reached for the phone.

When Jean returned to the incident room, she grinned at Anna conspiratorially. ‘He’s having kittens about the price, but it’s not that bad: round trip for under six hundred quid.’

Moira had taken a call from the NYPD in New York. ‘No joy in New York; they’ve not got anything on the dates Daniels was over there.’ She buzzed the message through to Langton’s office.

She took a couple of notes and looked over to Jean. ‘Jean, can you get on to CAP in San Francisco. That’s the division that handles the murders of prostitutes: Crime Against Prostitutes, it’s part of the Vice Division in the San Francisco Police Department. You need to ask for Captain Tom Delaware.’

Moira leaned on Jean’s desk, watching her write it all down. ‘He wants a hotel. Somewhere in a place called Tenderloin.’

‘Tenderloin?’ Jean asked. ‘You sure you got that right? Tenderloin?’

‘That’s what he said. Tenderloin.’

Having just walked in, Langton overheard the conversation: ‘It’s called that because during the Depression era, only police officers earned a good steady wage and could get a decent steak.’ The two women turned to him, astonished and he shrugged. ‘Now you know!’

Jean and Moira seemed to return to their work in hand, though when they noticed Langton lean on Anna’s desk, neither of them was averse to watching from a corner of her eye.

‘We’re on the eleven o’clock flight tomorrow. Heathrow direct to San Francisco. Can you drive an automatic?’

‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘San Francisco!’

Langton straightened up. ‘Jean, check out the visa situation ASAP, for Travis and myself.’ He returned to his office.

Moira and Jean threw a glance at each other. Barolli pushed back his chair, irritated. It wasn’t that he wanted to go to San Francisco; it was just that it would have been ethical to ask him, since he’d been there longer. He also wanted to know what the hell was going to happen in London when his gov jetted off to the States.

Langton looked round the corner of his door at the sight of an uptight Barolli and added, ‘With Mike out being a daddy, I need you to run the incident room.’

‘So, we still have one,’ Barolli said moodily.

‘We are hanging on to it by our fingernails. We only have two weeks. I’ll be giving a briefing in fifteen minutes.’

‘Right,’ Barolli said, still not mollified.

‘And I know you bloody hate flying. I’ve got a long drive from San Francisco to LA, then an internal flight to Chicago. And only three days to do it, there and back.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Barolli whistled.

‘It’s make-or-break time.’ Langton rubbed his chin, which was really in need of a shave. ‘So whilst I am gone, you need to dig harder; find anything that’ll get that woman off my back.’

‘Right. Will do.’

Anna was so excited she could hardly contain herself. She had never even been to America, let alone to three of its major cities. Secretly, she also liked the fact that she would be travelling with Langton alone: just the two of them.

In the flat, Anna spent most of the evening selecting what to pack. She had arranged to meet Langton at the airport at half past nine the next morning. She took out her passport and made sure she had some money to change into dollars at the airport. All done, she put her wheelie suitcase by the front door, ready for the morning’s departure. It was just after ten when her phone rang. She ran to pick it up, thinking it might be Langton.

‘Anna,’ a man said softly.

‘Yes. Who is this?’

‘Come on. Don’t you recognize my voice?’

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t,’ she lied. ‘Who is this?’

‘OK, play hard to get. I don’t mind,’ he laughed. ‘It’s Alan Daniels.’

She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘You’re in the book, of course.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Do you want to know why I am calling?’

‘Yes, it’s late.’ She wished she could tape the call.

‘Do you like ballet?’

‘Yes. I do. Very much.’

‘I have been given two tickets. I would love it if you could join me; perhaps we could have a little supper afterwards, at the Ivy?’

‘Oh, well, er, yes. I love ballet.’ She swallowed hard. ‘When are the tickets for?’

‘Tomorrow night. Very short notice I know, but—’

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Daniels—’

‘No, no, no - Alan,’ he interrupted.

‘Unfortunately, I will be away.’ She almost said she was going to America, but stopped herself. ‘Thank you very much for thinking of me, Alan.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To Manchester,’ she lied.

‘What are you going to Manchester for?’ he asked.

‘Erm, on business.’

‘We might still be able to get together. What time do you get back?’

‘The thing is, I might have to stay over. My chief said it was possible.’

‘Ah, well, perhaps another time, then. Would you like me to call you again?’

‘Yes, yes, I would. Thank you for thinking of me.’

‘Of course. Goodnight, Anna.’ He replaced the receiver.

Her phone number was not in the book. How had he got it? In the shower, she went over every word of their conversation. No way had Alan Daniels simply speculated that she might like ballet. She adored ballet. How did he know that?

She made herself a sandwich and a cup of tea. The call had really taken the edge off her excitement at leaving for the States. Eventually, she got into bed. Reaching for the bedside lamp, she stopped and withdrew her hand. The photograph of her father had been turned out to face the room. She touched it every night before she went to sleep. It was always facing towards her, towards the bed, not away from it.

She squeezed her eyes tight shut. She was scared. Had she moved the frame when she was tidying up that morning? She tried to recall exactly what she had done, but inside she knew she hadn’t moved it. She had left her front door open when she went down to the bins, but only for a few minutes. Had he been in her home?

Anna got up and walked round her small flat. After making sure that nothing else had been moved, she double-locked her front door, throwing the bolt across it, which was something she rarely ever did. She returned to bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. In the darkness, what had felt safe before now felt frightening: the way the dressing-table mirror reflected the street-light through the curtains and the sight of the wardrobe door left slightly ajar all of a sudden made her heart pound. Could someone be hiding in there? She told herself not to be such a wimp, but she turned on her bedside lamp all the same. She looked at her father’s strong face in the photograph and whispered: ‘Was someone here, Daddy?’

At the airport next morning, Anna spotted Langton immediately. He carried a lightweight, folding suit bag and no other luggage. She joined him at the Virgin desk with her suitcase.

‘Can you carry that on the plane?’ he said sceptically.

‘I can put the handle down,’ she insisted.

‘Good. The less time we waste hanging around for luggage, the better.’

After they were checked in, they headed through to Departures. Langton did his usual fast-paced walk; Anna, wheeling her case after him, had to trot to keep up.

‘I want to buy a camera,’ he said, hastily heading towards duty free. She waited in the background as he trailed from counter to counter, musing and picking up one camera after another. He eventually decided on a small zoom-lens job and after he had paid for it, set off at his usual fast pace, this time to buy cigarettes and a bottle of malt whisky. Next, he was inspecting perfumes and asking her which one she preferred, since he was at a loss.

‘It depends on who you are buying it for,’ Anna replied, itching to know.

‘Just give yourself a spray of that and let me smell it.’

She sprayed her wrist with a tester bottle. When he held her hand and sniffed, it was like an electric shock.

‘Right, that’ll do.’ As he sniffed her wrist again, she started to redden.

‘She’ll like that,’ he said, meeting her eyes. Then, as an afterthought, he added, ‘It’s for Kitty,’ before he was off to the counter to pay for the bottle of perfume.

She watched him go. He was wearing a grey suit she had never seen before and a pale blue shirt with white cuffs and collar. All that and a close shave; he was looking very attractive.

Eventually they were on board. She sat herself into the window seat and fixed her safety belt while he removed his jacket, folding it neatly to place above him in the locker. When he sat beside her and drew his belt closed, they were so close her shoulder touched his.

‘Did you know Barolli hates flying?’ he said, reaching to take the in-flight magazine from the seat pocket in front.

‘Daniels called me last night,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’ He put his magazine down and turned to face her.

‘He called me at home, after ten. He said my number was in the book, but it isn’t.’

He stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? What did he say?’

She repeated the conversation, almost word for word.

‘That it?’ he said, when she had finished.

She hesitated. When she woke up that morning, she was less sure that she had not moved her father’s picture herself. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me something, Travis. Do you fancy him?’

‘No, I do not!’ she said sharply. ‘Speaking of which, I don’t know what you told Barolli went on at Queen’s Gate, but I don’t find his jokes very funny.’