“Thinks he can help with our inquiry. Cheeky sod wants me to visit.” Anna bit into her iced bun.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere near him. Go on, chuck his stupid letter in the bin.” Barbara started to move off.
Anna stopped her. “There was a lot of press about the two previous victims, wasn’t there?”
Barbara nodded. “All we could get, to try and find out the second woman’s identity — but nothing. Beggars belief, doesn’t it, that not one person has come forward. I think she was maybe an au pair or foreign, you know, over here on some kind of work... Still, didn’t make sense that no one recognized her, and she was lovely looking. Not the kind you’d forget.”
Barbara went off to give Joan her morning coffee as Anna finished her iced bun and sipped her drink. Unlike a lot of the stations she’d worked in, the canteen here was well-organized, with a good breakfast and lunch menu. While it didn’t solve cases, it certainly helped with morale.
It was over lunch with Barbara and Joan that Anna told them more about Cameron Welsh and his imprisonment at Barfield.
“That place is all new and streamlined, isn’t it?” Joan asked.
Barbara shook her head, saying in disgust, “It’s bloody better equipped than my son’s secondary school. They’ve got computer courses, exercise classes, gymnasiums, and it was at Barfield that one of the feckin’ prisoners almost caused a riot because he said that being forced to wear the colored shoulder band that shows who’s a prisoner and who’s a visitor was an invasion of his privacy. The world’s gone bloody mad.”
“Cameron has gained a degree in child psychology,” Anna said thoughtfully.
“See what I mean? Don’t tell me he murdered kids?”
“No, they were two teenagers.”
“Boys?”
“No, girls — and apparently, he’s held in the secure unit inside the main prison, refused to ever go on the wing, and keeps himself to himself.”
“So what can he tell you if he’s shut away in that unit?” Joan queried. “I mean, what can he know about the cases? If I were you, I’d contact the prison governor and say that no more letters from Welsh are to be forwarded to you. Sick buggers, all of them.”
Anna nodded, still undecided whether she should try to bring it up with Mike Lewis.
“What was he like, this Welsh?” Barbara asked curiously, then gave a laugh. “Apart from being a scumbag, that is.”
Anna tried to recall what Cameron looked like physically. “I remember he was very tall, sort of gaunt almost, and his face was very pale. Well, he’d been hiding out for some time, so whether that was why he was so thin, I’m not sure. All I can really remember clearly about him was that he had very penetrating dark eyes. I hated the way he looked at me. He was well spoken, though, and he held his own throughout the interviews. I never heard him raise his voice — he had this cool manner, as if we were almost beneath him. That was until DCI Langton came on board.” Anna sighed. “Langton was heading the inquiry, and he had a really hard time cracking him. In fact, I don’t even recall that he did, but we had enough evidence against the bloke — DNA, clothes fibers, and eventually even a witness — to go to trial, and although he still maintained he was innocent, thankfully the jury found him guilty.”
“How did he react to the sentence?”
“He smirked and shook his head, Joan. That was about all the reaction he gave.”
Joan pulled a face. “I’d stay well clear of him,” she advised. “Remember what’s-her-name from Hannibal Lecter, the way he tormented her?”
Anna laughed. “Cameron isn’t exactly in the same category,” but then she thought again and added, “Well, perhaps not far off. He tortured his two victims but used them for sex slaves rather than his dinner menu. When he tired of one, he went and found another. But I couldn’t compare him with Hannibal or myself with Jodie Foster, and anyway, after what we’ve just discussed there is no way I would agree to seeing him.”
By the time they returned to the incident room, Mike Lewis was in his office, so Anna decided to see what he thought.
Mike had only recently gained promotion, and Anna knew he was playing it strictly by the book. His office was very sparsely furnished, with a number of photographs of his twin boys and one of his wife in a leather folding frame. A row of sharpened pencils and a large notepad sat beside his computer and telephone. She often didn’t notice that Mike was in actual fact rather good-looking, with thick, close-cropped blond hair. If she had to describe his looks, she would use the words nice and ordinary, because he was both. He had also been a strong right-hand man for DCS Langton. Mike was quiet and methodical and a calming influence. Anna knew he was a dedicated officer, if not an exceptional one.
She watched him reading the letter without much enthusiasm. As he handed it back to her, he asked, “How long has he been inside?”
“Five years, almost six.”
“Mmmm. Well, I can’t see what he would know about our case, unless he talked to another prisoner and got some information via him, but I doubt it. You say he’s in solitary?”
“No, he’s in the secure unit at Barfield. That’s the prison within a prison; usually, they are only placed in there if they have been trouble or they’re terrorists. I think they also place heavy drug dealers in there, but there are only about six cells.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but like I said, I doubt he has anything to offer us. He’s probably just after getting a visit from you.”
Anna agreed and folded the letter. “So I ignore it?” she said.
Mike sighed. “It’s really up to you, Anna.”
“I’d prefer not to see him.”
“Okay, just make a note of it, file the letter, and thanks for bringing it to my attention.”
Anna returned to her desk and put the letter in her briefcase. Barolli caught her eye. “The postmortem’s in on our Jane Doe.”
Anna went over to the incident board to read up on the details as Barolli joined her.
“Doesn’t give us much, does it? Just that she was dead about twelve or so hours before the body was discovered.”
“Still no ID?”
“Nope, but we’re getting a lot of coverage on the case, and we’re looking into dental records. Mispers have also been contacted, but no female of her description has been reported missing. You’d think with that red hair, someone would recognize her, wouldn’t you?”
Anna stared at the victim’s pictures and bit her lip. “Unbelievable. Someone somewhere has to know who she is.”
“Right, but we held out hopes on that last case, the brunette, and we got zilch back. We’re covering the nearest motorway service stations to see if anyone remembers her, see if she was hitchhiking, exactly as we did before, but it’s bloody time-consuming.”
“She doesn’t look the type to me,” Anna murmured.
“Type of what?”
“Girl who’d hitchhike or hang out, like Margaret Potts. I don’t think she was on the game.”
“Well, we didn’t think our brunette was a tart, but nowadays you never know.”
“How about Interpol?”
“On to it, but so far nothing’s come in.”
Barolli sucked in his breath. Both of them could see the truth from the notes on the board, the arrows joining each victim’s injuries. They knew they had a serial rapist killer. But what they couldn’t ascertain until the last two girls were identified was if there was a connection apart from their murders. If the victims had known each other, it would help the police to focus their inquiries. All they had were three dead women, all tossed aside like garbage close to the M1, and yet no witnesses.