Above Suspicion

by Lynda La Plante

  It was almost nine o’clock: the skeleton night shift was on duty. Langton stood in the center of the room. They hadn’t had a break for weeks. It seemed the case was drying up. Anna burst into the room, her face flushed.

  “Oh, good, you’re still here.”

  Langton smiled. “I’m thinking of moving in.”

  She took off her coat. “I found the witness.”

  “What?”

  “At King’s Cross station. One reason we had no luck is that she’s a weekender; gets the train in from Leeds every Friday, leaves on the Monday. She’s not a transsexual, by the way, she’s female, but one of her punters—” She had to gasp to catch her breath; she was so excited.

  “Take a deep breath, Travis, then give me the details.”

  Anna got out her notebook and began flicking through the pages. Langton perched on the edge of her desk. “Her name is Yvonne Barber. She’s a prostitute; she shares a room with two other girls above a bondage shop in Old Compton Street. Yvonne was certain the car Melissa got in was a Mercedes, an old one.”

  Anna had shown her a clutch of vehicle pictures and she had picked it out, unhesitatingly.

  “It was this one, drophead Mercedes SL; the color was pale blue.”

  Langton clapped his hands. Anna beamed.

  “Her description of the driver is still vague: mid-to late thirties, clothes well cut, short, pale brownish or blond hair, wearing dark glasses. But here’s the most interesting thing: she said it looked as if Melissa knew him.”

  “What?”

  “She said Melissa didn’t look afraid; she was smiling and talking to him as she moved round to get in the passenger seat. She said it really looked like she knew the driver.”

  “Knew him?” Langton was still frowning.

  “Yes,” Anna said. “That was why Yvonne walked away. She had been going to have a go at her because that stretch of Old Compton Street is her patch, right?”

  “Well, that opens a big can of worms.” Langton reached out and touched her shoulder. “Totally unexpected. Good work.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was after half past ten by the time Anna had written up her report. As she left, she saw that Langton’s light was still on in his office. She didn’t get home until half past eleven. As she got into bed, she touched the photograph of her father and whispered, “I found her, Dad!”

  When Anna went in the following morning, Lewis held up her report.

  “You got lucky.”

  “Yes, I guess I did.” It wasn’t exactly the reaction she had hoped for. She sat at her desk and asked Moira, “Where’s the gov?”

  “At the lab. You know this trip to Spain: do you want to put your name down for it? The gov will choose who goes, but there could be a bit of Euro shopping up for grabs.”

  “Spain? Why Spain?”

  “Call in from an ex-policeman; says he has information on the killer. We think it’s bullshit. He was as bent as a hairpin. So you want to go on the list or not?”

  “Yes, sure.” There were sly glances around the incident room. No one else wanted it. It meant an EasyJet budget flight, there and back in a day, not to mention the schlep out to Luton Airport.

  Meanwhile, Langton was impatiently pacing up and down outside the lab. Eventually a gowned-up Henson came out, removing his mask. “You can get me at the end of a telephone, you know.”

  “I wanted to see for myself.”

  “See what?”

  “Melissa Stephens’s body.”

  In the cold-storage area, Henson slowly pulled out the drawer containing her body.

  “We are still waiting for the insect infestation details.”

  Langton shook his head. “It’s not that. At the postmortem, you said the tip of her tongue had been bitten, possibly by foxes. Correct?”

  “Yes. We have examined her stomach contents; she didn’t swallow it.”

  “What size is the bite?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Henson withdrew the sheet covering her head. He used a spatula to open the mouth and then, with an object resembling flat-edged tweezers, he gently pried forward Melissa’s tongue. “As you can see, it’s the tip and a fraction more that’s missing.”

  Langton cocked his head to one side, then looked at Henson.

  “You sure it was a fox or a dog?”

  “To be honest: no, I am not. I understand where you’re going with this, but I am very doubtful.”

  “Can you run a test?”

  “I’ll get the odontologist to test it for you. We might need to cut her tongue out, so you will need her parents’ permission. They continue to call around the clock; they very much want to bury her. It’s been weeks.”

  Langton stared at Henson. “I’ll get the permission; maybe say they can have their daughter back if they allow us to do these tests.”

  Henson re-covered Melissa’s head with the cloth and slid the drawer back.

  “I want this done today,” Langton said.

  Henson nodded. He didn’t like to admit fault, but he knew he should have explored the possibility that it was a human bite even if, as he still believed, it turned out to have been the work of an animal.

  Langton was smiling when he banged into the incident room. As he bellowed for attention, Anna anticipated that he was going to tell everyone she had traced Yvonne. She sat back nervously in her chair and heard Langton’s words: “We have a big development this morning.”

  There were murmurs; everyone gave him their full attention. Expressions of shock showed on their faces when he announced that Henson was doing tests on Melissa’s tongue.

  “If our killer bit off the tip, we might have dental impressions. The family has given permission to remove the tongue. So, we wait. In the meantime, we go back to Melissa’s family: did anyone they know own a blue Mercedes-Benz? We go back to Rawlins, the boyfriend, and we tap into all her friends and see if they know of anyone.”

  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.

  Chapter Five

  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 check-in. 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 traveled 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 you 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 inquiry. Is it much further?”

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

  “What’s the inquiry about, then?” Ron asked. Not for the first time, Anna caught him watching her in the rearview 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 center 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 toward 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-colored 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.”

  Stones flew as the taxi bumped along the road, swaying and dropping into the occasional pothole. The sign “Alcona Way” was lying on its side. Ron backed up a few yards and turned in to what was little more than a cart track. At the end of the track there was a large, electronically controlled gate. “Villa Marianna” was picked out in scrolled wrought iron with a Spanish dancer beside it.

  Anna climbed out of the backseat of the car and pressed the security button. Before she could say a word the gates opened, revealing a paved driveway curving to the right. The taxi passed a large swimming pool with various sun loungers nearby, all in a bad state of repair. A ripped canopy hung limply, providing limited shade to the pool area. And there, behind the flowering bougainvillea, was a sprawling villa: two stories high, with white shutters, many of them hanging loose.

  Ron had been silent until they drove to the front porch, where a number of very expensive cars were parked: a Porsche, a Saab convertible and a yellow Corniche, its white roof pulled back to reveal creamy white leather seats.

  “Bloody hell! Very nice. Very nice,” Ron muttered, pulling on the hand brake.

  “Can you wait to take me back to the airport?” Anna asked.

  “I’ll have to charge fer waitin’ time.”

  “Charge me. But don’t leave, I have a plane to catch.”

  Anna got out of the car and pressed the intercom. She waited a good few minutes before she pressed it again and then had to jump backward quickly as a man swung open the door. He was tanned, with dark, silky, shoulder-length hair. His washed-out denim shirt was open to his navel.

  “Yes?” he said, bored.

  “I’m here to see Barry Southwood.”

  He hardly glanced at her again as he led the way into a large tiled reception area.

  “Barry! Barry!” he shouted up a sweeping wide marble staircase. “BARRY!” Without another word, he ran up the stairs two at a time, disappearing past a landing.

  Anna stayed in the hallway, only turning as she heard the sound of an electric wheelchair behind her.

  Ex-detective Barry Southwood wheezed as he brought the chair to a standstill. He was grossly overweight, his belly almost resting on his knees.

  “Barry Southwood?” she asked.

  H
e stared at her, red-faced, with thinning, greased-back hair.

  “I am Detective Sergeant Anna Travis.” She was about to open her bag and show her identification.

  “Jesus Christ! How old are you, for God’s sake?”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  “Twenty-six and a DS? Fucking ridiculous! My day, you’d have to have been in the force a good ten years. You come out of university a pen pusher and they bump you straight up through the ranks!”

  “Could we go somewhere to talk?” Her jaw felt tight.

  Southwood shook his head, sweat drops flicking like the spray from a shower. “They took their fucking time, then they send me a fucking kid! Disrespectful load of shits. Well, you can fuck off, tell them to send me a real copper.”

  “Mr. Southwood, I’ve come a long way to talk to you. I am on the murder inquiry and you said you had some information that might help us.”

  “Well, you can just go back and tell them to fuck themselves.”

  Stepping closer, Anna could smell the alcohol.

  “Moira Sedley sends you her regards. She spoke very highly of you,” she lied.

  “Who?”

  “Moira Sedley. She was with the Vice team you used to be on. Blonde.”

  “Oh yeah, big tits. Slag.”

  From above came the sound of moaning, then a high-pitched howl, followed by further moaning. Southwood started to turn his chair round, wheezing as he did so.

  “Don’t pay any attention. Come on through.” His chair disappeared through two open double doors at the end of the hall.

  Anna could identify the sound of a girl’s moans and groans and then, as she entered the massive open drawing room, the sound behind her changed to shrieks of laughter.

  Southwood was pouring himself a drink. “Used to have a view of the marina before the cunts built up that block of flats.” He indicated the bottle of Scotch.