He was back on the mobile again to the incident room as he asked them to check out John Smiley’s army record and to question any employees who had worked with him in London.
Barolli replaced the receiver.
“Langton again,” he told the others. “We’ve got to arrange for a check on John Smiley’s army record, dig out anyone we can find who knew him or knows him from when he worked in London.”
Mike Lewis was busy orchestrating the search team to go to the farm that owned the outhouses and barns, and Joan and Barbara continued their trawl through records of dead cases that could be connected to the current investigation. Two officers were out talking to the Thames Valley detectives who had been on the four-year-old murder inquiry, requesting all of their files.
Barolli passed a cup of tea to Mike, saying, “Looks like he’s placing John Smiley in the frame.”
“Yeah, seems so. Can you do the check on his army pals and get over to their regimental HQ at Colchester?”
“I’ll be gone all day,” Barolli said reluctantly. “It’s a fair old journey over there.”
“Just do it. Meanwhile, I’ll be going back to the landlord of his previous house, and we need to get from Smiley’s employer anyone who knew him when he worked in London. If the company moved lock, stock, and barrel to Manchester, some employees might not have gone up there with them.”
Barolli had left by the time Barbara had been able to contact Arnold Rodgers, the boss at Swell Blinds. Barbara was diplomatic, first thanking the man for his assistance in giving details of John Smiley, then saying that they now required lists of any employees who had not moved to Manchester with the company. She had already checked with Companies House, she told him, but they had no record of how many staff were working for Swell Blinds. Arnold became agitated and admitted that some people were paid cash in hand. Basically, he was worried about not paying National Insurance and kept repeating himself.
Finally, Joan was able to get the names of three ex-employees, although Rodgers had no address or contact phone numbers for two of them. The first was a woman called Wendy Dunn, a part-time receptionist, who agreed to be interviewed. It turned out that she lived in Feltham, southwest London, not far from Barbara, so Mike gave her the go-ahead to leave the station early. He himself was feeling frazzled. The peremptory stream of orders issuing from Langton meant a lot of checking and organization, and he was loath to let anything slide, because he knew he would be grilled on his boss’s return.
Langton had slept for the latter part of the journey. He woke up as soon as they drove through the prison compound and ran his fingers through his hair before straightening his tie. Anna warned him that the governor liked to talk but had so far been accommodating.
They went through the usual security details before being led into the staff building, where the governor was waiting with fresh coffee and biscuits. Langton accepted, and soon they were chatting like old friends. Anna was impressed by the way Langton appeared so at ease and in no particular hurry to interview Welsh. She herself was eager to get it over and done with, but Langton, to her annoyance, accepted a tour of the prison.
She felt very much the second-class citizen, trailing behind as the two men walked side by side, talking nonstop. They went to the gym, they went to various cell blocks and canteens and the huge visitors’ section, stopping over and over again to talk to the prison officers. Langton constantly asked questions, showing genuine interest as Anna hovered after him.
The gates between each new section of the corridors had stringent security measures. On each occasion, the governor would speak to a surveillance camera, one of the locks on the gate would click open, and he would use his personal set of keys to open the second lock. They eventually reached what looked like something from a Doctor Who episode. It was a high-tech glass capsule that housed all the monitors for the prison’s exterior, wards, and corridors. Altogether, the tour took over an hour. It was by now three o’clock, and Anna knew that after interviewing Welsh, the drive back would be a long one. She probably wouldn’t get home until after ten.
Wendy Dunn was in her mid-seventies, older than Barbara had expected. She immediately offered her visitor tea and biscuits, and not until they had settled themselves in her living room in the neat and tidy council flat did she begin to talk. She had worked for Arnold Rodgers for twenty years on a proper, employed basis and had then retired. However, she had returned to work for him on a casual basis for three years before he packed up the company and moved to Manchester. She admitted that she was paid in cash so she did not have to pay tax; it was only a small amount, but under the counter. She had mostly taken the orders and sometimes made cold calls for the company when work was slack. She was sweet and, Barbara felt, an honest woman. She was a widow with four grandchildren, and after Swell Blinds moved, she had not done any other work.
Barbara eased the conversation around to John Smiley.
“Oh, he was a lovely man,” Wendy said immediately. “Help anyone, he would, and he was a very good, hard worker. He had two young children.”
Barbara asked about his wife, Sonja.
“Well, I only met her a few times, once at a Christmas party, and she was lovely looking, then I think I met her at Mr. Rodger’s drinks party. The last time was when I went round to say goodbye to John. I’d got him a little something. He was a kind man, and when I needed some of my own blinds fixed, he did them for me — never would take a penny.”
Wendy gestured at the wooden slatted blinds on her kitchen window as they walked through to put the tea tray down. “They’re lovely, aren’t they, and very light and easy to draw up and down.”
Barbara agreed that they were stylish, and she tried drawing them closed and pulling them up again.
“Was he happily married?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I think Sonja ruled the roost, though; she was houseproud and kept him on a tight rein. He was always short of money.” She laughed.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, she’d pack up a lunch for him; he never went to the cafés with the others and said he was saving for a house of their own. The children were well behaved and always dressed well, and John worshipped her, was always talking about his Sonja.”
Wendy would have chatted on for hours and was even able to give another employee’s contact number. He was Portuguese, she said, and did a lot of the paint-spraying and was working at a factory. Barbara had heard enough. She thanked the older woman profusely, then went off home.
Mario Gespari lived in Hounslow, Mike Lewis learned when he gave him a call the next morning. Gespari was also able to give yet another name — Graham Gregory — as the two of them were both now employed in the same paint factory.
Mike looked over to Joan and grimaced. Here were two more to interview, and if they were as glowing about John Smiley as Wendy Dunn had been, it could all be a big waste of time.
Joan was sifting through dead files of cold-case murders. “How far back do you want me to keep going?” she asked.
“Keep it to five years, which is when Smiley left for Manchester.”
“Well, I’ve done that. I found the one we’re checking out, the body wrapped in the blue blanket.”
“In that case, leave it for now.”
“If you say so, but I don’t want to get it from Langton if he thinks I’ve not done what he wanted.”
“All right, all right, go back eight years, then.”
“Go back eight years?”
“Yes! Just get on with it. Jesus!”