‘The Scottish DNA database sent a copy of Corinna’s DNA profile to Pete Jenkins and he’s still working on a bone sample from the body for a direct comparison and match.’
‘This just gets better and better, Travis! So you made Oates think in interview that Corinna was his daughter without a full DNA match?’
‘No, I said that a comparison with his ex-wife Eileen’s DNA has identified the body as his daughter.’
‘You lured him into a confession with a lie. If Kumar picks up on this that whole interview will be out the window, case over.’
‘I didn’t lie to him. Yes, I took a calculated gamble, but it paid off.’
‘You seem to have forgotten that I was blind in that interview. I had no idea what you knew or where you were going. You accused him of murdering his own flesh and blood when she wasn’t. The defence will call it oppression and ask for the interview to be thrown out!’
She stood up to face him. She sensed her control was on the verge of slipping.
‘I only got the result ten minutes before I came into the interview room. Yes I had the photographs of the boots, yes I had the photographs of the underwear, yes I had her identified when nobody else bloody had, and I can’t understand why you are interrogating me as if I have acted or conducted myself in an unprofessional way. Everything I requested from the lab was logged and listed, everything I wanted from forensics was logged and listed – do you want to see the reports?’
‘Sit down.’
‘No I won’t. You know maybe, just maybe, you should be giving me a fucking pat on the shoulder. The connection between Oates and the murder of his daughter was what opened him up: after he was accused of having sex with her, abusing her, he hated it! I DIDN’T DO THAT! From then on he started telling the truth. Now you maybe don’t like the fact that it was me and not you that brought the evidence to the table, but facts are facts.’
‘Sit down, Travis, don’t you dare yell at me.’
‘I am not yelling!’ She was. ‘I am telling you the facts. You brought me onto this team because of Rebekka Jordan, a case from five years ago that you headed up. Do I hear “Congratulations, Travis”? I have been out there working my arse off, so EXCUSE me if I have not marked up a couple of items on the board.’
Still refusing to sit, she faced him across the desk.
‘Maybe, sir, I should also have added to the incident board that the victim Rebekka Jordan’s doll’s house was discovered in your flat! Not on the incident board, why not? Oh, it wouldn’t look very good, would it? WOULD IT?’
She leaned across the desk, pushing her face towards him, spittle forming at the edge of her mouth in her rage.
‘If it hadn’t been for me, Chief Superintendent, we’d never have got the Cherokee Jeep connection. You want me to list how much I have brought to this case, do you? DO YOU?’
The slap was so hard it sent her reeling sideways, but she managed to stay upright, her fists clenched. She lunged at him across the desk, swinging a punch; he was so shocked he stepped back, away from her. She picked up the telephone and threw it at him, then anything she could lay her hands on she hurled with as much strength as she could. He dodged sideways and the next moment she was round the desk and fighting like a wildcat, kicking and punching. He didn’t defend himself, just tried to catch hold of her arms.
He was amazed at her strength, and it took all of his to grip hold of her and lift her off her feet. Then her right foot kicked him viciously in his injured kneecap, and he was forced to let go of her as he crunched over in agony.
She paced up and down, wrapping her arms around herself, muttering almost inaudibly that if it wasn’t for her they would never have gone to the quarry, if it wasn’t for her they would not have uncovered the fact that Bradford’s mother was already dead. He leaned with one hand on the desk, the other rubbing at his knee as she opened her briefcase and began ripping up pages from her notebook, hurling them into the air as she continued, ‘Did anyone else bring up the excavation of the Jordans’ property? NO! Here’s my notes, want to read my notes about the way I pieced together that the Jordans’ house extension had to be a lead? What about Andrew Markham? He only employed Oates to work for him, who got that lead? ME. All on the board, sir, everything written down.’
One of her high-heeled shoes had fallen off, her hair had come loose from its band, and two buttons on her blouse had come undone. She was panting, her chest heaving, and there was a pitiful pain-wracked expression in her eyes. Slowly the rage calmed and she gave a helpless look around the office as if only just aware of what she had done.
‘It’s okay,’ he said softly.
He gently took her in his arms, her heart was beating so rapidly he could feel it against his chest.
‘It’s okay,’ he repeated.
‘Why wasn’t I able to stop it? I didn’t do enough.’
Her voice was muffled and he couldn’t quite make out what she said.
‘Why did he have to die? I didn’t do the work, it was my fault, I should have been more aware that it might happen.’
Then he understood. What he had just witnessed was the rage he had long suspected lay hidden, and had finally erupted, all this time after the trauma of losing her fiancé. Anna blamed herself for not being more aware of the danger Ken Hudson had been in, as a crazed prisoner who’d had a fixation on her had murdered him. Her obsession with the Oates murder case had really been fuelled by her guilt, and her refusal to grieve.
He stroked her hair as she calmed.
‘I want you to take a couple of weeks off, while we get ready for the trial, are you listening to me?’
She nodded.
‘Then you get back to work.’
She nodded again.
‘Now I think we’d better clear up Mike’s office.’
She moved away from him, picked up her shoe, and watched him bending and wincing as he collected all her torn scraps of paper from her notebook.
‘Now we have to be singing off the same hymn sheet, Travis. What happened here is over and done with. I guarantee that crew out there were all ears, so I will tell them we just had a bit of an argument and you accidentally threw the telephone at the wall!’
She laughed then went to him and held him, resting her head on his shoulder.
‘Thank you.’
‘Think nothing of it, button up your blouse, and what went on we put to bed, I mean it… it’s over. That said, it was a very low blow, kicking an injured man where you knew it would hurt.’
‘I wasn’t aiming for your knee.’ She gave him a wonderful smile.
‘Don’t push your luck with me, Travis, I’ll be limping out of here now.’
He didn’t; they both went back into the incident room and behaved as if nothing had happened. Langton quietly joked with Barolli about Joan bringing him her mother’s home-cooked meals in hospital. He noticed Anna walking out, briefcase in her hand and back straight; she didn’t say goodnight to anyone.
‘Everything all right, guv?’ Mike asked.
‘Everything’s fine, but you might need to order a new desk phone – tripped on the wire and hit my bloody knee.’
‘Travis has gone, has she?’
Langton gave him a cool dismissive glance and helped himself to a glass of wine.
‘Well, she certainly did her homework,’ Mike observed.
‘Yes she did, Mike.’
He held up his glass.
‘Cheers.’
He turned towards the incident board as he sipped his rather tepid white wine. The faces of the victims all appeared in shadows – it was late, the main lights turned low. He walked slowly from section to section, victim to victim. Lastly he paused in front of the photographs of little Rebekka Jordan. He more than anyone knew the toll this enquiry had taken on them all, especially Travis. She was a loner, like himself, and he knew that she was probably one of the best detectives he had ever worked with. He turned to the room and raised his glass.