“No, listen! She comes creeping back in a terrible state, crying, her top all torn. So right away I went from being ready to crack her one to being really concerned. She was crying her heart out, saying they’d had this row, and then I saw this terrible mark on her neck. Round. Bruise the size of a ten-pence piece, maybe a bit bigger.”
Langton leaned back. His patience was just about up.
“I said to her, ‘What’s that? Did he hit you?’”
“I’ve had a late night, too. Can you get to the fucking point, Moira!” Langton snapped.
She went straight back at him. “I am fucking getting there, sir! Hang on and listen, all right? She said he pushed her head down on his lap. She’s sixteen years old, for God’s sake. This mark was crimson! Really nasty. I said, had he like, forced her to go down on him? And then she started howling, ‘No! It had nothing to do with him!’”
Now Moira leaned forward, indicating her own neck and pushing a finger in it.
“Just here, it was. She said she got it from the gearstick of his car. It was the same size, same mark that Melissa Stephens had on her neck. This DJ, he drives a Mercedes-Benz drophead, 280 SL. It’s in filthy condition, but…it’s automatic.”
Langton was staring, onto it now.
“The identical mark,” Moira said with conviction. “Maybe the killer was trying to get her to do what my bloody daughter’s boyfriend was after, to give him a blow job, but Melissa struggles and hits her neck on the gearstick.”
Langton and Moira studied the board set up in the incident room. She pointed to the blown-up picture of the bruise on Melissa Stephens’s neck. “It’s the same, I swear to you. That is what that mark is on my daughter’s neck.”
Langton turned to Mike Lewis. “Was the suspect’s Mercedes automatic?”
“I dunno.”
“Get onto his insurance company. Check it out.”
“Will do.”
Seeing Michael Parks walk into the incident room, Langton called to his team to be in the briefing room in fifteen minutes. He stopped by Anna’s desk. “You typed up your report yet?”
“Yes, sir.” She passed him four copies.
“Thank you.”
Langton ushered Parks into his office and passed him Anna’s report. “You’ll see she didn’t get us much, but when you discuss the report this morning, can you go a bit easy on her? She’s emotionally on edge. She was just too inexperienced. I blame myself for not seeing she wasn’t up to the job.”
“All right.” Parks nodded and put on his glasses in preparation for reading Anna’s report.
Lewis confirmed that the Mercedes driven by Daniels had been an automatic. The bruise to Melissa Stephens’s neck could have occurred during a struggle in the car that resulted in her neck hitting the automatic gear lever. If the suspect was holding her down in the struggle, this would explain why a clump of hair had been dragged out by the roots from the back of her head. In front of the team, Langton acknowledged a debt to Moira for coming up with this theory. Moira gave a nod; she was very pleased with herself.
Langton went on to report that they were still awaiting the development of prints on a glass used by Daniels, which they would match against those from a picture frame removed from DS Travis’s flat. If they matched, Daniels could be brought in on suspicion of burglary. It was by no means enough to hold him for any length of time, but it might unnerve him; a threat to go public on the burglary charge would really make his life hell.
At that moment Michael Parks walked in. Langton described Anna as having done a good job the previous evening and thanked the driver of the Mercedes. Anna flushed with embarrassment to learn that he was a plant. She was mortified, not least because she had not mentioned in her report that their suspect had kissed her and her omission would be obvious in the driver’s report. She sat, her head bowed, making notes, almost afraid to meet Langton’s eyes. She felt like an idiot: inexperienced, incompetent and, now that she had learned of the cost of the operation, completely frivolous and wasteful.
Michael Parks drew up a sheet of big paper and pinned it on the notice board. She recognized her report in his hands and saw with horror that it was covered with red ink markings.
“I will take DS Travis’s report section by section and break down each of them. It shows classic signs of the profile I had drawn for you of the sociopath. First example: Daniels sends his driver to bring DS Travis to the waiting car, then he steps out and helps her into the backseat. He is reassuring her she will not be confronted with the possibility of being alone with him, but there will be a third person present, the driver.”
Anna looked up, attentive, recognizing that was exactly how she had felt at the time.
“The suspect takes a call on his mobile phone, reminding her at the same time to turn her own off. This simple interaction had a dual purpose. One: he was assured she was not in contact with her superiors. Two: to show that Daniels at no time anticipates not being able to leave England due to a murder case pending against him. He is heard refusing to go to Paris, preferring his wig to be brought to London. If he is to go to Paris, he will want payment.
“Now to the arrival at the Opera House. He pays scant attention to the press, focusing instead on DS Travis. He gives a fifty-pound note to the usherette, showing how rich he is, how important he is. This man is a real player. After he has made sure DS Travis is at her ease with him, he rests his hand at her back, then on her shoulder. He still can’t be sure that she isn’t wired, so he asks to see the contents of her evening bag. Only now, when he is satisfied there is no hidden microphone, does he really get down to business.”
Parks wrote on the board: I will get in trouble for talking to you about the case.
He turned to the room. “Travis repeats this numerous times. He assures her that he does not want to get her in trouble, that he has asked her to spend the evening with him because he has felt a connection between them. This is where he gets ready to tease information from her. When he appears distressed regarding his dental X-rays, he is putting on a brilliant act of the innocent man being hounded.”
CAN YOU HELP ME? Parks wrote in block letters.
“It is because he’s alone with no one to help him that he needs Travis. He was constantly drawing on her sympathy. Twice he explains to her how his career would be shattered if news that he was under suspicion for murder was ever leaked to the press. As emotionally charged as he seems to be, nevertheless he is able to gain the information that the police have two witnesses, but it is interesting to note that he didn’t ask more detailed questions about them.
“Finally, let’s focus on the journey home. Daniels suggests he should be dropped off first. Considering he had behaved like the most charming courteous escort all evening, this could seem out of character. He does it to make her feel sexually unpressured by him. Then he produces his biggest draw-card. He provides a small glimpse into a wretched past: the starving little boy in the brothel. He cries. He conjures up for Travis a tragic picture. And she, wisely, allows him to think she has been suckered in. She allows him to draw her in his arms, where he will ask for her protection, that she will help him. Then, he adds that he will try and help her, that he will think how he could possibly be a help to the inquiry. Consider the audacity he displays here!”
Parks leaned forward. “I can guarantee you that at some point, relatively soon, DS Travis will hear from him again and that this time he will suggest a suspect. I believe we have him worried. The danger is that he might take off, but I doubt he will now. By having what he believes to be contact with an insider, Daniels’s ego will cloud over his anxiety. Do you see now how the entire evening was a ploy by Daniels to gain DS Travis’s trust?”
Parks extended his congratulations to Anna for consistently maintaining, throughout the evening, a facade of such endearing openness and innocence that Daniels at no time seemed to perceive her as a threat.
Anna flushed as they gave her a smattering of applause. She felt a bit better af
ter Parks’s breakdown of the evening. The meeting broke up and Langton called Anna into his office.
“I’m going to have a tap put on your phone. Is that OK with you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Last night, you said you didn’t believe Alan Daniels was the killer. Do you remember?”
“Of course I do.”
“He got to you, didn’t he, Travis?”
She didn’t reply.
“You had a lot to drink.”
“I know. He just kept on ordering more and—”
“I suppose you noticed Parks didn’t bring that up, or the fact you kissed him! Jesus Christ, Travis, what the fuck did you think you were doing? It was bloody unprofessional. You want to read the driver’s report?”
“It would have been helpful to me if I’d known about the driver.”
“Bullshit! I said we would take care of you.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Look at me.”
She looked at him.
“He’s going to contact you again. You know that, don’t you?”
Her jaw tightened. “I thought that was the point.”
“Well, there’s not going to be a next time, Travis. I’m not putting you out there in the field. You’ll probably get in bed and screw him next.”
Her instinct was to punch Langton in the chest and scream abuse at him, but somehow she managed to control her anger. She did not respond, even as he continued: “You have got to straighten out and stop behaving like a ten-year-old.”
“Sir, I will do my best,” she said sarcastically.
“So far your best has not been good enough. Now get out.”
She exited wordlessly, but she was swallowing hard and trying not to break down in tears. She made it to the ladies and, once inside the cubicle, covered her mouth so that no one would overhear her sobs.
In case Daniels tried to get to either witness, Barolli was sent to check on the Cuban waiter, while Mike Lewis tried unsuccessfully to contact their “Deep Throat.” In the meantime, Daniels was put under round-the-clock surveillance.
Langton was called to Scotland Yard, where he detailed Parks’s report on the previous evening. The commander was not impressed; they had made no significant progress. While it might be interesting to hear a profiler confirm his suspicions, it moved them no closer to making an arrest. In fact, it was her opinion they had now given their suspect too much information. She was extremely dismissive about the part played by DS Travis and hauled Langton over the coals for depending on a young, inexperienced detective for the success of the operation.
With the carpet being tugged from under his feet, his budget now way out of control and still no result, Langton was dependent on matching fingerprints to haul Daniels into police custody. There again, he had only disappointing news for the commander. The prints had still not been verified. Since the water glass had been chilled, the condensation had made the fingerprints too smudged to be any good. There were numerous prints on the fifty-pound note that had to be separated, though there was the possibility of digitally enhancing the ones on top of each other.
Even this was greeted with skepticism by the commander. She knew where Langton was going and said she did not want a feeding frenzy from the press. “Arresting your Alan Daniels for suspected burglary does not give you enough to keep him longer than a few hours.”
Daniels was under observation all day. It was reported that he had spent an hour with his agent at the Wardour Street office. Then he caught a taxi to Harrods, where he spent time browsing in the gents’ clothing department; from there he strolled along Beauchamp Place, window shopping. He disappeared into San Lorenzo’s restaurant at one o’clock and lunched with a woman in a silk turban, who appeared to be conducting some kind of interview.
Daniels walked back to Harrods and got in a taxi, returning to Wardour Street, where he went to his agent’s office. That’s where they lost him.
Anna let herself into her flat. By now, the phone tap was on, but she didn’t give it too much thought. She was depressed; after calling the Ivy, she had been told nothing had been handed in. She wondered about calling the hire-car company, but instead made herself a cup of coffee and sank into the sofa. She closed her eyes, trying to recall Daniels pulling items from her evening bag. She was certain she had seen him replace the cufflinks.
She didn’t hear it at first, it was such a light tap. Then she listened and heard it again.
At the front door, Anna moved the spy hole a fraction: it was Daniels. She had a moment of panic and returned quickly to the living room to pick up the phone. But the door was rapped harder. There was no time to make a call. Should she answer the door, or stay silent? She made her mind up and called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s only me, Anna. It’s Alan.”
When she opened the door, he was standing there smiling. With a mischievous look, he opened the palm of his hand.
“These are yours, aren’t they?”
“I thought I’d lost them. I was frantic; I even called the restaurant. Where did you find them?”
He grinned like a naughty schoolboy. “In my pocket.”
“You took them?”
“Yes. I needed an excuse to see you again.”
She forced herself to smile. “You could have just called me.”
“But what if you hadn’t wanted to see me again? I was too embarrassed about breaking down in front of you last night to risk the rejection. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
She hesitated.
“Anna, remember I said I was going to think back and see if I could come up with anything that might help you find the murderer?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I might have something.”
She closed the door and gestured toward the lounge. “I’ve just made myself a coffee. Would you like one?”
“No, I’ve only got a few minutes.” He looked around the living room. “This is very nice.”
“Not compared with your flat. Yours is much more sumptuous.”
He sat down on the sofa. “It was a wreck when I bought it. Some of the rooms hadn’t been used for twenty years. They stank of mildew and birds’ droppings. When I was a child, I used to sleep in a little back room. Actually, it was more like a closet; it didn’t have a window. There was a mattress on the floor: no sheets, but a couple of blankets and a pillow with no pillowcase; it was striped and stained and smelled of cats.”
He went over to look out of the window. “I bought the flat because of the fantastic stained-glass windows. They’re original William Morris. They hide the fact I have no views in a very elegant, wondrous way. In the mornings when the light shines through them, it’s like a magic lantern.” He turned to her. “I’ve been thinking about some of the things we discussed. In fact, I hardly slept last night.”
She perched on the arm of a chair to listen. He sat back on the sofa and frowned, looking down at his hands. “There are things I remember, things I have tried hard not to think about. Anyway…” He leaned back and licked his lips.
He went on to explain that, as a child, it was always difficult to stay asleep, because of the constant noise of partying in the early hours of the morning. The police were often called to the house to break up drunken brawls. Then one day, Social Services took him away and put him in a foster home. His life changed dramatically: there were three meals a day, clean clothes. But he was always sent home. “She would demand me back. I never knew why; she didn’t appear to want me. I’d be dragged back screaming and crying.”
Anna noticed that his voice was unemotional. He never discussed his feelings, just the facts of what happened: how he had been moved backward and forward until one day he ran away. Then Social Services took him to a care home and from there he was relocated to his second set of foster parents.
“Away from that hellhole, I started to do well in school. I even won a scholarship to a good public school. And in all this time I didn’t hear a word from her, not a le
tter, or a phone call. When I was about fifteen, I looked out of a bus window and saw her. She looked hideous. Her face was bloated from booze, her tits were sagging and she was wearing a miniskirt, staggering about in high-heeled shoes with her veined legs bare. She disgusted me.”
For the first time he appeared unsettled; he took a deep breath before continuing. The boys he was with caught sight of her and not knowing she was his mother, they started laughing. Soon they were yelling abuse out of the bus window, calling out “slag” and “whore.” He shook his head. “And I joined in.”
Langton was in a blazing fury. He had just been told that Daniels had “disappeared.” The surveillance officers surmised that the suspect had used AI Management’s side entrance to cross Wardour Street and had gone into the garage that way. His car was still parked. Langton swore and cursed their incompetence. The exit from the underground garage stairs would have brought him back onto the street and from there it was just a short distance to Oxford Street, where there was no shortage of buses and taxis. He could even have caught the tube at Tottenham Court Road.
Langton immediately ordered a car to take him to Anna’s flat.
Anna was wondering about the reason for the visit. But she knew she had to be patient.
Daniels said he had taken the bus, alone this time, and got off at the place he had last seen his mother. He found her in an alleyway, leaning against a wall, her skirt up round her waist, being slapped around by a man in a pale blue suit. She was shouting drunkenly, but he only slapped her harder until finally she started to slide down the wall. “I charged, started to punch him, but he took out a knife. She got in between us and started to scream at me, telling me to go away and mind my own business! He warned me that if I didn’t, he’d kill her. So I ran away. Later, she was picked up by the cops. She said she had been raped, as well as beaten up, and she wanted to press charges.”
He explained how he had gone to the old house in the morning to see if she was all right and the man in the pale blue suit opened the door. Running away down the street, he was arrested and thrown in a patrol car.
Above Suspicion (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 1) Page 28
