Welsh nodded and then turned to his computer table and picked up a notebook. “This woman who hired them brought them into England. Did she also use them as whores?”
“No. They might have gone on to earn money that way, but we have no details. The only prostitute was Margaret Potts.”
“Did this woman have contacts anywhere else in England — you know, to pass the girls on to work for them?”
“No, she did not.”
“So you have three girls who were here, all about the same age, not sexually permissive, but were murdered by the same man? It doesn’t make sense. Your killer had to have access to them; if he didn’t know them, then it is too much of a coincidence that all three went with him of their own free will. He had to know them or know about their situation. So take me through what you know about each girl.”
Anna did so, finding this interview far easier to deal with, as Welsh appeared to be paying close attention to every word she said without any snide references or sexual undercurrent.
“The gaps in between the dead girls — have you reviewed any further cases that might be connected?”
“To be honest, we haven’t. The four cases we have are taking up a great deal of time, not to mention financial resources. If we continue to look for other unsolved cases, it would make it difficult to continue holding on to the entire team allocated to the cases we already have, since we’re under pressure to get a result.”
“There will be more, but I understand that everything in this world today has a price. Justice doesn’t have the finances — very sad, isn’t it? Now, the girl in the blue blanket: tell me how you got to identify her.”
Anna went into detail about the tattoo and what they knew about Dorota’s life. She skirted giving any surnames or naming Olga at all, trying to keep her account as informative as possible without revealing too many undisclosed facts. Welsh jotted down notes and sometimes asked pertinent questions, but always, when he interrupted her, he did it politely.
“The girl who was joining her uncle in Manchester to work in his bakery: did she know either of the other victims?”
“We don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“If these girls were trying to find work apart from turning into whores, maybe that was the reason they were heading for Manchester. But no! I would rule out the possibility that they were all going to Manchester or up north for any reason. They were picked up in London. Whoever picked them up was, as I have said numerous times, someone they trusted. Now, what if they didn’t know him personally? What if he was a police officer or someone wearing a uniform? He would be seen as trustworthy. What if you go back to what I have suggested — that Margaret Potts knew him?”
“We have considered that, but we cannot find the connection to the girls.”
“She didn’t know them, she knew him. Your victim in the blue blanket, her body was found closer to the M6 than the M1. Go back over the press releases at the time of her murder and find out how many photographs were in the papers. I know you said the tattoo was described as a dark blue lizard, but there was one beneath it, correct?”
“I think we are going around in circles. We have considered the possibility of the killer wearing a police uniform that would not make his victims wary of getting into the van or truck he drives. So if they were thumbing a lift or—”
“He kills them in his vehicle, he has his fun with them, and then he dumps the bodies — but only your blue-blanket girl was naked. Why? Was she his first? What did he do with her clothes?”
By the way he was moving his body, shifting his weight, Anna suspected he was becoming aroused as soon as he started talking about the killer, and she was tempted to call the interview off. “She was his first.”
“You have Margaret Potts as his second two years later. I think she picked him up at the service station, she recognized him, and so he had to kill her. The blue blanket was number one, and he got away with it. Next he’s threatened by this disgusting piece of humanity, and he has to kill her. This would have started the excitement building because he’s gotten away with it again.”
He leaned back, and she could see that he had an erection beneath his jeans.
“You have no idea what it does to your sex drive,” he told Anna. “You can’t think straight, you can’t eat, you are permanently in a semi-orgasmic state. Just recalling what you have done, thinking about your victims mewing and pleading with you not to hurt them as you squeeze the living breath out of them, and you come into them with the greatest orgasm imaginable; your own howls as the rush spreads over your body and screams inside your head.” He swallowed. “No, this killer didn’t pick them up and screw them in a field; he spent hours with them, wrapping the cord tighter and tighter—”
“I think that’s enough now, Mr. Welsh.”
“What?”
“My time is up, and I don’t want to miss my train back. You have been very informative, thank you.”
“You can’t leave now — I haven’t finished.”
“Well, I have. Thank you, Mr. Welsh.”
Anna almost knocked the chair to the ground in her haste as she stood up and walked past the cell gate.
“You will have to come back. Do you hear me? You will have to come back!”
She didn’t reply. Hearing Welsh shouting, Ken appeared at the end of the aisle. “You all right?”
“Yes, but I’d like to leave now, Officer Hudson.”
Welsh used his mirror to try and catch a glimpse of Anna as she walked away. He saw Hudson saying something to her; he also caught his hand touching Anna’s back in an overfamiliar way; and he caught the look she gave him. It was so obvious that Hudson was fucking her — he knew it, he could smell it. That was why she’d come to Leeds alone. It wasn’t to see him, it was to see that blond beefcake of a thickheaded officer, and he fought to keep his rage under control.
Anna was desperate for some fresh air, so she walked back to Ken’s flat. She debated calling the incident room but decided against it. Opening the fridge, she took out the steaks and prepared a salad, making up some dressing, and then opened the bottle of pinot grigio and poured herself a glass. Welsh still made her feel violated: she loathed him, and knowing that he was sexually aroused while he was talking to her, sickened her.
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The team had obviously discussed the possibility that the killer could pick up the girls wearing a police uniform, but they had no witness; nor did they have any idea where he had picked them up. Going over everything that had been said today, she knew there had been nothing new. Welsh had thought she would never come back.
She lay there thinking about Margaret Potts and whether she had recognized the killer, but as they knew so little about her daily routines, apart from at the service station, they had no idea how she could have known or recognized him — unless she had, as Welsh had implied, deduced something from the newspaper reports.
Anna sat up and sipped some more wine. It was not five yet, so she drained the glass and snuggled under the duvet to have a nap. She woke with a start an hour later when Ken closed the front door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed when he walked in.
“I’ve been fast asleep,” she said guiltily. “I meant to get the steaks marinated and...”
He came over and kissed her, drawing her to her feet. “I need a shower, then we’ll cook dinner together. How did it go with Welsh?”
She told him it had not been of much use, and while Ken showered, she went into the kitchen to finish tossing the salad and start work on the steaks. She used a wooden spatula to whack and soften the meat. She found some microwave french fries and then set the table.