‘When did she say it was her son?’
‘I’m not sure. To be honest, none of us was that interested in her; she was a real pack of trouble. She would have been seen by a female officer on the rape team. She came back, saying how she wasn’t going to press charges. She wants to change her statement and when we have a go at her, she starts howling, saying it was all a mistake, it wasn’t a punter. It was her son and she didn’t want to get him in trouble.’
Langton held up his hand. ‘Do you think when she was attacked she didn’t know it was her son? Maybe she found that out later?’
‘I don’t know. Could be. She lived in a house full of old slags, all as bad as each other. Shallcotte Street, it was; number 12. Place was a hellhole. There were so many fights and beatings, the ambulance could practically find its own way to the house without a driver.’
Langton leaned forward to change the subject. ‘When was the next time Anthony Duffy’s name came up?’
Green pursed his lips. He took out a small notebook with jottings in it and flicked the pages backwards and forwards.
‘You got to remember, I was on Vice, not the Murder Squad. Oh, here we are. I don’t have the exact date, but it was maybe fifteen, twenty years ago. It was on some waste ground. There were a lot of old junked cars, fridges that had been dumped and the council ordered the place to be cleared. That’s where they found Lilian’s body. She hadn’t even been reported missing. Murder team is called out. Been dead at least six months. I saw the morgue shots when they called me in. It was a mess: dogs and foxes had been at it. She had been strangled with a stocking, her hands tied behind her back with her bra. They called in the Vice Squad and there were the notes about the assault charge. I think Barry Southwood gave them some details. Next thing I heard was they arrested her son, Anthony Duffy.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No, I didn’t. One of the girls said they couldn’t believe that a tart like Lilian could have such a good-looking boy. Seems he was well dressed, quietly spoken. He was at some college or other. Anyway, after questioning him, they released him without charges.’
‘And? Anything else?’
Green shrugged his shoulders.
‘That’s about it. I had a few pints after, with his arresting officer. He said the consensus was Duffy might have done it.’
‘What do you mean, “might”?’
‘Because of the way he was. It was weird, they said. He was so quiet, so unemotional.’
‘Why did they release him if they had suspicions? Did he have an alibi?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Listen, she’d been dead a long time. There was no witness, no weapon. The girls who had seen her last were all screwed up. They couldn’t remember where she had been, or who she had been with. She hadn’t even been reported as missing.’
Langton looked across to Anna.
‘You want to ask anything?’
She hesitated.
‘Do you recall any of the names of the other girls that lived at the house?’ She opened her notebook.
‘You’re asking the impossible,’ said Green, scratching his head.
‘If I was to read out a few names, can you tell me if any are familiar?’
‘Sure. But this was a long time ago. Most of them are probably in the cemetery.’
Langton gave her a brief nod.
‘Teresa Booth?’
He shook his head. She continued at random through the list of victims and got the same response to Mary Murphy; he shook his head for Beryl Villiers, again for Sandra Donaldson, but when she said the name ‘Kathleen Keegan’, he hesitated.
‘I think she was at the house. Name sounds familiar.’
‘And Barbara Whittle?’
‘Yeah. That sounds familiar too.’ Green could not elaborate on whether or not the two women were residents, claiming he just recognized their names. ‘There were all sorts, different ages, living at that place. Lot of kids too, just running wild. Social services wore out the path to the front door.’
The house had been demolished. This would mean another extensive search of past records. And the Keegan and Whittle families would have to be questioned again to see if they recalled either victim living at 12 Shallcotte Street.
Langton weaved his way down the aisle of the carriage, carrying two cups. He set the coffees down on the table between them. He lit a cigarette.
‘How much do I owe you?’ she said.
‘On me. Really.’
Langton took out his mobile phone and began to scroll through his calls. He went to stand by the door and Anna watched him through the glass partition, talking. He made call after call, his face concentrated and unsmiling. He did have, she thought, quite a handsome face. His nose was too thin and hooked slightly, but his eyes were nice, expressive, as were his hands. The dark shadow round his chin gave it a bluish hue, both attractive and not. For a police officer, he also didn’t dress that badly, she decided. His suit was quite stylish; so were his shoes. She turned quickly to stare out of the window as he returned.
Langton drained his cold coffee and slid back in his seat.
‘Good work, Travis, listing the victims. Good thinking.’
‘Thank you.’
He leaned back, loosening his tie. ‘It’s been one step forward, two steps back. But today, I think, we paced a bit ahead. What do you think?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I think if he is our killer, something happened to him at that house in Shallcotte Street. The picture of him screaming at being forced to leave Mrs Morgan’s care is tragic. The cat incident shows how scared he must have been. From four to eight years. That’s a long time for a child to be in a hellish place. That would have shaped his character, if he is our killer.’
Langton said something so quietly that she missed it.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’d put money on it. It’s him.’
They remained silent for a while. When she stared at her reflection in the window, she saw her hair was standing up on end, like a kid’s.
‘How’s your stomach?’ he said, yawning.
‘It’s fine. Thank you for asking.’ She was trying to think what she could talk about. ‘How old is your daughter?’
‘Kitty? She’s eleven; lives with my ex-wife.’ He patted his pocket and took out his wallet. He sifted through receipts and crumpled banknotes before withdrawing a small photograph.
‘This was taken a few years ago. She’d just lost her front teeth.’
Anna looked at the photograph. Kitty had dark curly hair, big bright eyes and was giving a wide grin to the camera.
‘She’s cute.’