‘He was a great guy.’
‘Did you know my mother at all?’
‘I met her a few times. Long time ago. I wouldn’t say that I knew her.’
‘I want to show you something. It’s a letter. It was in the photo frame, tucked behind my father’s picture.’
When Anna was out of the room, he lit a cigarette. She returned with the letter outstretched. ‘Will you read it?’
‘Of course,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘Do you know what Dad’s referring to? I don’t understand it.’
Langton scanned it quickly, then passed it back.
‘He never told you?’ he asked.
‘Told me what?’
Langton hesitated. ‘I’m not sure of the details, but before your dad was on the Murder Squad, he was with Vice.’ He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke drift out. ‘This was before I even joined up.’
She saw his unease. ‘Please, tell me. I need to know.’
‘OK. You have to understand that I don’t know all the details.’
‘Just tell me.’ She was almost pleading with him.
‘It’s not that pleasant. Your mother was a student at art college. She was found brutally raped in her room. It was pretty shocking; she was so traumatized, she lost the use of her voice. Your dad was brought in to oversee the case. He couldn’t get your mother out of his mind. She was very beautiful, even when I met her.’
Anna had to sit down; her legs felt like jelly.
‘Anyway, he became obsessed. He was determined to catch the rapist. He eventually picked up a student from a nearby college. He questioned him for sixteen hours without legal representation and then released him, which didn’t make much sense to anyone, since the kid had broken down and admitted he had raped Isabelle. The kid hanged himself.’
‘Did he do it?’ Anna persisted.
‘Yep. But instead of case closed, get on with your life, your dad kept on seeing your mother. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her family put her in some kind of therapy and she recovered, gradually. He kept in touch. They were married two years later. Word was she ’ he paused.
‘Word was she what?’ Anna asked, sharply.
‘Well, that she remained of a very nervous disposition and she had basically married her protector. Old Jack would have killed for her. I heard that he had duffed the kid up pretty badly.’
‘Did he?’
Langton gave her a look. ‘You tell me. Anyway, Isabelle never returned to art college. They were married and then you came along. By the time I met him he was heading up the Murder Squad. Then I don’t know how long afterwards, some thug he was after broke into your house. Though he didn’t touch your mother, I think it triggered something, because …’ He sighed, not really comfortable with all this personal stuff.
‘Because what?’
Langton shrugged. ‘She started remembering things. She got more fearful about leaving the house. Sometimes, when he was pissed, he admitted — well, he did to me — that being married to Isabelle felt like having an exotic bird of paradise in the house that only he ever saw.’
‘And me. I saw her too. I never knew.’
‘It wasn’t easy. Like I said, she was very fragile and I think he knew that if his exotic bird had never been wounded, he would never have stood a chance of marrying her. But from what you’ve told me, they were happy and you know, Anna, when you get that hurt or frightened, a protector is important, if it means you carrying on living.’
Anna stood up, her father’s letter clutched in her hands. ‘Thank you for telling me this.’
He held out his hand for hers. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine. Just sad that I never knew what anguish she had suffered. She was a wonderful, loving mother.’ She ignored his hand.
Anna walked into her bedroom. She put the folded letter in her little jewel box on her dressing-table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind was full of thoughts about Isabelle, trapped inside their home, reduced to painting pictures of the flowers in then-garden. She was so sad that she had never been able to talk to her or comfort her, that she had never known the pain that had been in her own home.
Langton and Anna left her flat in the Mini at half past eight. The atmosphere was strained, the two hardly talking. Anna no longer believed that Alan Daniels was their killer. She had felt his pain last night and responded protectively. She was sure he was not the monster they sought.
Langton, believing Anna’s silence was due to distress about her mother’s tragedy, addressed the subject eventually.
‘These things happen, Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘You just have to get on with your life. When my first wife died, I kept on working. I kept on pushing myself, so I wouldn’t feel the emptiness.’
She threw a startled look at him as he continued speaking with an intimacy unfamiliar to her.
‘A month after her funeral, I packed all her things away. They seemed to amount to so little; yet it was her life with me. That was the first time it hit me. I took six weeks off then sold the place; moved on, started again, met my second wife and, well, that was a mistake, apart from Kitty.
‘I’d have liked to have children one day, but I doubt that I’ll ever settle down with anyone again. You have something perfect; it’s wrong to make comparisons, but I probably always will. Now I rent a place. Nothing in it means anything. If it burned down tomorrow, I wouldn’t care.’
After a lengthy pause, he sighed. ‘Well, that’s me, Travis. Hope I managed to cheer you up.’ They exchanged a mutual grin, then he glanced at his watch. ‘Better get to work.’
‘I’ll make out my report as soon as we get there.’
‘Good girl.
‘Langton,’ he snapped into his mobile as they drove into the station car park. He got out as she paused, looking around for a parking space, continuing his phone call as he headed towards the building, then turning to gesture at an empty space. Anna smiled, at least he still remembered she was with him. The space was next to the old dirty Volvo. She parked as far from it as possible, still unsure who owned it, and wary about any more damage to her Mini.
Langton called for a briefing at eleven o’clock, which was the time Michael Parks was expected. At her desk, Anna began to type up her report. No one asked how the evening had progressed; it was as if they were expecting failure.
Moira burst into the incident room an hour and a half late. She looked over at Lewis. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. ‘Don’t start. I’ve had a very bad morning. I need to speak to the gov asap.’
‘He’s busy. What do you want to talk to him about?’
‘It’s personal,’ she said curtly.
Langton and the head of the surveillance team were holed up discussing the previous evening. The chauffeur had submitted his report. Anna had, as yet, no idea they had replaced the driver of the Mercedes with an undercover policeman; she had not even known about the usherette.
Langton thumbed through the reports. He knew he would get a strong-arm response from the commander. He had made a mistake in placing so much responsibility on a twenty-six-year-old’s shoulders.
Of course, there were still Daniels’s fingerprints to be examined. While the fifty-pound note would probably not be of any use, the glasses he had used at the Opera House and the Ivy would help. If they were a match with the fingerprints on the picture frame, it would be the only result from a very expensive operation.
Langton dismissed the surveillance chief. Moments later, Lewis called to say Moira wanted to see him. He added in an undertone that she was in a bit of a state. She seemed to have calmed down by the time she walked into his office. ‘You wanted to see me?’ he asked.