‘I don’t suppose there’s an option then, is there?’
‘He will be getting a kick out of being close to the investigation, close to someone involved in trying to capture him. It couldn’t be better, Travis.’
‘So, you still think it’s him?’
He ignored the question and delved into the arm of his seat, bringing up the video screen,
‘But if you’re wrong?’ she persisted. ‘What if he’s innocent?’
‘You mean what if he just fancies you?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Really? This movie star who could have any woman he wants falls for DS Anna Travis. Somehow he gets hold of her number and calls, hoping for a date? That sounds plausible? Come on, grow up!’
‘All I said was: what if you’re wrong?’
He stubbornly fixed his earphones on to his head.
‘Conversation over!’
‘I have had men ask me out in the past,’ she said with pursed lips.
He half lifted his earphones. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I believe you. But how many of them were under suspicion for murder? Date any serial killers lately? Get real, Anna. The guy is dangerous. He’s coming on to you because it’s a game he gets a kick out of playing.’
‘What about the fact his dental X-rays don’t match the bite mark from Melissa’s tongue?’
In response, he sat back and closed his eyes to listen to the in-flight music programme.
She stared out of the window. What if he was right? At the same time, what if he was wrong? Why couldn’t the truth simply be that Daniels liked her? After a while, she too eased her seat back and tried to sleep, but she kept thinking about Daniels: remembering the picture he had shown her of himself as a child. Was it true that he had never shown it to anyone before?
She needed to use the toilet. Unfastening her seat belt, Anna climbed over the reclining Langton. He did not sit up when she left, nor as she clambered back to her seat, though he did turn over in his sleep. She watched, alarmed, as his head lolled closer to hers, then came to rest on her shoulder. It was a strange feeling: to have him so close. What a pity she didn’t like him any more. And it was quite obvious he didn’t think very much of her.
Somewhere on the flight, she too closed her eyes. Their positions changed. Anna woke up to find her head was now on his shoulder and he was gently stroking her cheek. She sat bolt upright.
‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘That’s OK. I was trying to wake you. We’re landing in fifteen minutes.’
‘Right.’ She felt disorientated, even more so when he leaned closer.
‘You were catching flies and snoring,’ he said, amused.
She looked at him, perplexed. ‘So were you! But I was too polite to tell you.’
He laughed. ‘Well, fingers crossed we get a result today.’ He eased his seat forwards into the upright position. Then he smiled at her. ‘You sleep like a little girl. I was just teasing.’
She said nothing, but she decided she liked him again.
It was much warmer in San Francisco than either had anticipated. The temperature had reached the mid-seventies by two o’clock. Langton ordered the taxi driver to take them to the Super 8 Motel on O’Farrell Street, which was a forty-minute drive from the airport. The motel was situated in the Tenderloin district close to the police station. This area was the red-light district, probably the worst neighbourhood, with a flood of drug dealers and drug addicts and prostitutes patrolling the streets. The driver explained: ‘It’s a great place, but you gotta be careful: the streets ain’t the cleanest and you gotta watch out for oddballs coming up to you. So stay alert and don’t let ‘em get to you, but the ‘Loin is a great place, an’ you got the greatest diners and restaurants.’
When they arrived at the motel, Langton said he would meet Anna in the lobby in twenty minutes. There was hardly time to unpack, so she had a shower and quickly changed her shirt. In the lobby, she found him talking to the concierge. He had maps and was already on first-name terms with the man, who handed him the car-hire documents and keys.
They went into the car park. When Langton located their rental car, he was taken aback by the size of it. It was a bright blue Chevrolet Metro; inside, it smelt like a rose garden.
‘Right. You drive, I’ll direct,’ he said, getting into the passenger seat and opening the map. Anna took a deep breath. ‘You take a right out of the gates and remember, you are on the other side of the road. Keep driving and then it’s left, right, right and another left and we should be there.’
He told Anna they would be meeting the deputy chief first, at the Bureau of Investigations; then on to Captain Tom Delaware, who headed up the CAP division, attached to the Vice Squad.
Anna managed to get them to the Police Department without a major accident. Whenever Langton rapped out his instructions en route, she just gritted her teeth. Finally, as they were driving round the large car park in front of the San Francisco Police Department, Langton snapped at her to ‘just park the car’. She pulled on the brake and fumed at him.
‘Do you want to drive? Or will you let me do it?’
She finally parked the car in a space marked ‘visitors’. She and Langton walked in silence towards the main entrance of the San Francisco PD.
It was freezing inside the air-conditioned building. Their meeting with the deputy chief, thankfully, was short and to the point. When he checked their credentials and passports he seemed almost apologetic, reassuring them it was just a necessary procedure, since they were being given access to files and case reports.
A young female officer led them to Captain Delaware’s office. She tapped and ushered them inside.
Tom Delaware was a rotund, beefy man, with a gut hanging over his pants and a big personality to go with it. He greeted them warmly and offered coffee. They refused. Langton passed over the duty-free malt whisky. Delaware grinned. ‘You touch my heart.’ He examined the bottle then put it into his desk drawer.
‘I know you’re on a tight schedule, so let’s get started.’
From a thick file on his desk he withdrew a photograph of the victim: Thelma Delray, aged twenty-four. Langton thought she looked older, but he said nothing. Her sad story mirrored the British victims’ pasts. ‘Trixie’, as Delaware referred to her, was a well-known hooker, having worked the red-light district since she was a teenager. Every time they placed her into a foster home, she ran back to her pimp and was subsequently out on the streets. She was a drug addict and Anna also thought she looked older than her age.
The mortuary shots were very reminiscent of their own victims. The close-up photos showed her murder had the same MO. The way her bra was tied looked the same. The tights were wrapped around her neck, three times.
‘What about suspects?’ Langton asked.
Tom said her pimp had no apparent motive: Trixie was earning good money for him. Why kill his golden goose? He also had a strong alibi. He was in their apartment in Bay View, with two witnesses, on the night she was last seen alive. Three weeks later she had been found face down in John Macaulay Park, very decomposed. It had been a hot summer.
‘One of the park keepers discovered the body here. Son of a bitch dumped her that close. Any one of the little kids could have found her.’
On the last night Trixie was seen alive, a number of girls recalled her talking to someone in a car. It was midnight; she never came back to her patch.
‘Who identified her body?’ Langton asked.
‘Her mother.’
Langton put Alan Daniels’s photo on the desk.
‘You ever seen this guy?’
Delaware frowned. ‘Nope. No, can’t say I have.’
The captain drove them to the park, to show where Trixie’s body was discovered.