The following morning the postmortem details still had not come through. Anna did not get asked to join Mike Lewis and Barolli when they went over to the mortuary, so she spent the entire morning examining the extensive files, reading the thousands of statements culminating in no arrests. She constantly looked up at the incident board, where the two dead women’s faces had been joined by their new victim’s crime-scene pictures.
It was after lunch when Mike Lewis called a briefing. Their victim had died from strangulation, he announced. She had been raped and had extensive bruising to her vagina and abdomen. There were no signs of drug use. Her last meal had been a hamburger and chips and Coca-Cola. She was in good health. A fingerprint search had proved negative, but it was hoped that dental work would bring a result, as she had very good teeth, with two caps that appeared to have been done recently. These were her two front teeth, so she could have been in an accident; that again might narrow the field. Her hair was in good condition, and she had no broken nails or defense wounds.
The dead female’s T-shirt was from Miss Selfridge, and her skirt from Asda. Her white sandals, the second of which had been found under the body, were hardly worn and still had the price tag on the left sole. Again, this would mean they might get a clue to her identity. Mike Lewis said that her age was between sixteen to twenty-five, and they would be going to the press to try and get a result.
By late afternoon the press office had sent out cleaned-up photographs of the victim and requests for anyone with information to come forward. The details were also passed on to the television news, while officers armed with the victim’s photograph were still questioning everyone at the nearest service station. They had given out a direct line for anyone with any information to call. Usually, after such press coverage, they would be inundated with callers, but though they had a small number, none gave a clue as to who the young woman was. Many were time-wasters, but the team nevertheless had to take the personal details and information of every single one.
Two days later, and with continued requests for anyone able to identify the victim to get in touch, the team still had no clue. It was unbelievable to think that, like the second case, the third girl appeared to have no one reporting her missing, no one seeing her at the service station or perhaps thumbing a lift. As the team continued to question drivers and service-station personnel in an attempt to identify her, they felt deeply disappointed that they were getting no result.
On the fourth day, Anna received a letter. Barbara placed it on her desk, raising her eyebrows as she did so. “Fan mail?” the DC asked.
Anna turned over the envelope; stamped on the back was the address of Barfield Prison. She looked up at Barbara and joked, “It’s probably from someone I helped get locked up.”
Anna slit open the envelope and took out a blue-lined thin sheet of writing paper. Typed in the right-hand corner was the prison’s address and the name CAMERON WELSH, Prisoner 6678905 Top-Security Wing.
She knew who it was immediately: Cameron Welsh was an exceptionally evil sadistic killer given two life sentences — with no possibility of being released — for the murder of two teenage girls five years previously.
Anna had been on the case with the then-DCI James Langton. The latter was now detective chief superintendent, and as usual, whenever his name cropped up, she felt a surge of emotion. Having been in love with him, lived for a short time with him, helped him recover from a terrible wounding, and then split up with him, she had been through a lot of hurt and painful self-analysis. His intensely strong hold on her had been almost impossible to get over for a long time — in fact, up until the last case they had worked on; however, they had at last reached a more amicable relationship, one born out of her admiration for him, even though at times the situation was still tough for her to handle. It was only during the last year that she had truthfully been able to put their past relationship behind her and to treat Jimmy Langton as a confidant. And he had, as he had promised, been supportive at all times during her recent cases.
Barbara rocked back in her chair. “Who’s it from?” she asked.
Anna wafted the letter in the air, saying, “As I suspected, from a real shit bag. I’ve not read what he wants yet.”
She opened the single folded page. Written in felt-tip pen, the writing was looped and florid. It read:
Dear Detective Travis, Anna,
I don’t know if you remember me, but I recall you were very attractive when you were part of the murder team that arrested me. I have written to you before but you have never replied, though I do not hold that against you. I am not sure if you are attached to the present hunt for the killer of the girl found close to the M1 motorway. If you are, then I think I can be of assistance to you. I have been following the murder inquiry and I have made copious notes, as I am certain the same killer has two previous victims. I believe it would be very beneficial for you to have a meeting with me.
Yours faithfully,
Anna’s blood ran cold. Welsh had made her skin crawl when she had been present at interviews with him. He was extremely well educated, and she knew he had gained a degree in child psychology while in prison. She also knew he had been held in solitary, as he had refused to be placed on a wing. He had been moved into the prison within a prison at Barfield due to his constant antagonism of other inmates. While in prison, he had also had many altercations with officers, and even in the small secure unit, he still managed to be a loner. Anna knew because she had received three previous letters from Welsh and had even called the prison to gain further details about him. But there had been no contact for at least a year — until this letter.
She was about to toss it into the rubbish bin beside her desk but then stopped herself. She stared at the blue-lined paper and the looped felt-tipped writing, flattening the crease out with her hand. Could this creature really have something that might be, as he said, beneficial? She doubted it. In the end, Anna decided that she would discuss the letter with Mike Lewis. On previous cases, she’d been warned by Langton that she hadn’t acted like a team player — and she had no intention of making that mistake again.
Mike Lewis was not in his office, so Anna returned to her desk just as Barbara came past, wheeling the tea trolley with some donuts and buns.
“You want a coffee?” the DC asked. “It’s fresh.”
“Yeah, thanks, and I’ll have one of those,” Anna said, pointing to a bun.
“I’ve lost four pounds,” Barbara said, turning to indicate her flat stomach. She was still a little overweight, with a round, pretty face, and she had lightened her blond hair and had it cut short.
“You look good.”
“Thanks. It’s been hard. I’ve got my old man working out with me as well. He’s lost half a stone, but he doesn’t have the canteen goodies where he works. It’s the donuts that do me in.”
Anna helped herself to the pink-iced bun and placed it on a napkin on her desk as Barbara poured her coffee and passed it over.
“What did the letter-writer want?”
“It was, as I suspected, from someone I played a small part in putting away for the rest of his life.”
“Gets me, you know, how they are allowed to write letters. In the old days they’d never let a prisoner have a stamp, never mind bloody phone cards. Was it something unpleasant?”