Blind Fury (45 page)

Langton slowly pulled on his coat. He was dreading what he had to do, but he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.

Chapter Nineteen

I
was just going to bed,” Anna said into the intercom.

“Let me in, Anna. I need to see you.”

There was something about his voice. Again he had used her Christian name, which he so rarely did. She opened the front door and returned to her bedroom to put on a wrap over her nightdress. She wondered what could be so urgent that he had called without, as she had requested, ringing her first. She sighed, hoping it wasn’t connected to Smiley. God forbid if he had managed to hang himself in the cell.

As she came out of the bedroom, Langton was closing the front door.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked.

“No, come here.”

She was puzzled. He took her by the hand and led her into her lounge.

“What’s happened?” she asked nervously.

“There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll come out with it directly.”

He was shaking, and she almost went to put her arms around him to comfort him. Then he dropped the bombshell.

“Anna, there was an incident in the prison. Welsh attacked Ken, and he’s . . . he’s dead, Anna. I am so sorry.”

She felt her legs buckle beneath her, and he caught her in his arms. She murmured over and over, “No . . . No . . . No . . .”

Langton held her tightly. “Come on, sit down, there’s a good girl.”

Her breath came in short gasps as he steered her toward the sofa and then sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders.

“What happened?” Her voice sounded even to her as if someone else were talking, asking the question, because she couldn’t focus.

“Apparently, they got the order for Welsh to be removed to Broadmoor this afternoon. They brought him out of his cell, and Ken was putting the cuffs on him. Welsh had somehow gotten a plastic fork, melted it down, honed it into a sharp point, and he stabbed Ken in the jugular.”

He didn’t add that Welsh had also stabbed Ken in the eye; they were unable to stem the blood flow, and he had collapsed and died in the ambulance. Due to the complicated entrance system to the special unit, the ambulance and prison medics had taken longer than usual to get there and assist the officers trying to keep Ken alive.

Anna was trembling all over and deathly pale. She stared ahead as if unable to comprehend what Langton was saying. He wished she would break down and weep, but she remained frozen. He got up and fetched a glass of brandy, bending down in front of her, holding it up to her lips. “I’ll stay here with you.”

The brandy dripped from her pale lips as if she were incapable of sipping it. Langton sat next to her and again placed his arm around her shoulders. He told her that Ken’s father had called the incident room, and he had taken the call. He felt that if he could keep on talking, she would break down and release the tears, but she continued staring blank-eyed.

Langton drank the remains of the brandy himself, at a loss as to what he could do to comfort her. He hadn’t told her that Welsh had screamed at Ken that he could never have his girl, his madness out of control as he repeatedly stabbed and lashed out.

Anna remembered a day when she’d been about five or six years old and her father had taken her to the local public pool. She’d had lessons and was able to float by herself, was almost about to swim, and she had been so excited, wanting to show him. He had placed a towel around her tiny, thin shoulders, saying it was time to get dressed, and she remembered running from him, laughing naughtily as she jumped into the pool. But it was not the shallow end, and as the water enveloped her, it felt like it was sucking her down. She raised her arms but remained deep in the water, unable to breathe, sinking deep down and drowning. Anna felt exactly as she had done all those years ago. Drowning.

“Anna? Anna!”

Langton’s voice sounded like her panic-stricken father’s, willing her to surface, but it was the lifeguard who dragged her to the surface and her father who lifted her from the water and rocked her in his arms as she wept and choked, “I was floating, Daddy, I was floating.”

Langton was at his wits’ end. He carried her into her bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. She seemed totally unaware of him or of where she was. He lay beside her, cradled her in his arms, willing her to break and weep, but she remained oblivious. Langton had known grief himself. He’d kissed his first wife goodbye to go off to work shortly before receiving the phone call informing him that she had collapsed and died of a brain tumor. Nothing had prepared him for the shock, and he had never gotten over the loss of the woman he had adored. He had buried his grief, pressed it so far down inside that he had returned to work almost immediately. He didn’t want Travis to bury the pain, as he had done, and it was extraordinary that, lying beside her, he felt an uncontrollable need to weep himself. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he held Anna, and still she remained caught in her own world. He squeezed her tighter.

“For God’s sake . . . Anna. Anna!”

He shook her, and she was like a rag doll. It was becoming more and more painful for him, as he had no idea what he could or should do to bring her out of such deep trauma. It was dark in the room, and she remained in his arms. If she was comforted by him, he couldn’t tell, but after what felt like an interminable time, she gave a sigh.

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered, her head resting on his chest.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me.” He stroked her hair. He wished he could see her face, but she was pressed against his chest. He could feel her heart beat against him, and then her body shuddered as at last she wept. It was as if he were holding a child; awful, heartbreaking sobs convulsed her, and she continued for so long that she exhausted herself and grew quiet. He eased her away from him; her eyes were closed, and she was sleeping.

Langton gently placed her head on a pillow and then got up and wrapped the duvet around her. Totally drained, he returned to the lounge to pour himself another brandy and sat smoking and drinking, loath to leave. However, he was exhausted, and he, too, slept, sitting upright on the sofa.

It was about five in the morning when he woke with a start; he could hear the shower. His knee hurt like hell, his neck felt stiff, and his back ached, so he went into the kitchen, opened one of his pill bottles, and took a handful of painkillers. He kept on listening, unsure if he should go into her bedroom. He didn’t, but he put on some fresh coffee and waited.

She had combed her wet hair away from her face and was wearing a dressing gown when she appeared. She looked extremely young and vulnerable, and he felt old and crumpled, wanting to open his arms and hold her, but she walked to the percolator and poured herself a coffee.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No, but you need to go home and get some rest.”

“I had enough. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“We have Smiley before the magistrate’s court this morning,” she said, sitting on one of the bar stools.

“Mike and the team can take care of that. I hope you are not thinking of going in to the station.”

“I have a lot of reports to finish up.”

“Anna,” he said sternly. “Listen to me. You take time out. There is no need for you to be at the station. I am giving you a warning: you can’t bury this with work, you have to give yourself time, you can’t heal—”

“Please don’t tell me what I can or can’t do,” she snapped.

“I bloody well will tell you. I am not going to allow you to start work until I am satisfied that you’ve had enough time.”

“I don’t want it. We will have to prepare for the trial, and I have a lot of reports to finalize.” She glared at him; her eyes were overbright, and she was shaking.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I’ll handle it. I mean it. You are not to even think about coming in.”

She turned on him in a fury. “I can handle this, and I know exactly what I need to do, so don’t lecture me. I can’t stay here, I can’t be on my own.”

Her mouth turned down like a child’s and he reached for her hand. “Listen to me, Anna. I know what grief is like, loss, I’ve been there, and I did exactly what you are attempting to do. I went straight back to work, I hardly gave myself time to bury my wife. I did anything I could to stop or stem the grief, but you know what happened? It never goes away. It sits inside you, and just when you think the pain is over, it sneaks up and grabs your heart and squeezes it. You can’t let this happen to you. Please, just take my advice, will you? Look what it did to me.”

She drew his hand closer to wrap herself in his arms, and then she hugged him tightly. She smelled of shampoo and Pears soap, and he rested his head on her shoulder. From the comforter, he became comforted, and she wasn’t like a child but all woman.

“You have to let me deal with this in my own way. I can’t be alone, because without Ken, that’s what I am, and I am going to have to face it. Staying here in the flat by myself won’t help me, so please, you go now. I’ll take the time I need, I promise.”

They remained together, her arms around him and his head resting against her slender neck. She was kissing him sweetly and patting him, and all the love he had felt for her returned and overwhelmed him.

“I will always be here for you, Anna. You’re not alone, believe me. You call me, come to me, whenever you want.”

“I will,” she said, and moved away from him. He ached to draw her close to him again, but he didn’t. Instead, he eased his complaining body into a stretch and drained the remains of his coffee.

“I’ll call you later, all right?”

She nodded, needing him to go, wanting desperately to be by herself. When the front door closed behind him, she went back to the bar stool. He’d left his cigarettes and lighter on the kitchen bar. She took one and lit it and inhaled the smoke. It made her head spin, but she continued smoking, sitting and sipping her coffee, willing herself to do what she knew she needed to do.

All the bridal magazines she put into a black bin liner and left it with the garbage for collection. She cleaned and Hoovered the flat and remade the bed and then dressed. She drove to the jewelry shop to reclaim her engagement ring. She slipped it onto her finger and returned home after stopping to buy groceries. As if in a trance, she put away the groceries, cleaned up the kitchen, and then sat by the phone.

She was about to ring Ken’s parents when the phone rang. It was Lizzie, Ken’s sister. Anna felt the emotion well up inside, and she could hardly speak.

“I’m so sorry. We are all in shock, but I wanted to tell you that I will always want to keep in touch with you, and I know how much Ken loved you.”

Anna swallowed but still couldn’t talk.

“I’ve been talking to Mum and Dad. Mum’s taken it very badly, and with her heart condition, I’m going up to stay to oversee the funeral with Dad and . . .” Lizzie stifled a sob. Then she sniffed. “Thing is, Anna, Mum sort of blames you. You know that if Ken hadn’t met you, this would never have happened, as the bastard who killed Ken had this obsession with you. So Mum doesn’t want to see you at the funeral.”

“That’s all right,” Anna whispered.

“No, it isn’t, and I feel terrible about it. I know she’ll come round eventually, it’s just so painful right now.”

“I understand.”

“Well, I feel terrible. Our brother, Robin, is flying in from Australia, so that should help her, but we have to take care of her. I’m so sorry about this, but if there is any change of plan, I’ll call you. I am thinking of you, and . . .”

Lizzie broke down crying, and Anna couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She just replaced the receiver. She returned to the kitchen and lit another of Langton’s cigarettes, sitting smoking. It was odd, she thought, about Ken’s brother, unable to come to their wedding but making the effort to come to the funeral. She remained sitting, feeling as if she were caught in thick dense fog, unable to take in anything, yet slowly realizing that it was a reality. Ken was never coming back. No wedding, no living together, no nothing.

She stubbed out the cigarette and went back to the phone. Should she call them? She decided she would write, and she spent a long time writing and rewriting a letter to his parents and ripping it up and starting again. She constantly looked at the ring on her finger. It didn’t twist and turn; it fit perfectly now.

Langton called, and she let the machine answer. She couldn’t talk to him, talk to anyone. Instead, she went into her bedroom and lay down.

On her bedside table was the forever-present photograph of her beloved father, and beside it was the only photograph she had of Ken. It was the one he had sent her, aged eight, dressed as a clown. She lay with her face turned to the two photographs of the most beloved people in her life, and she cried.

Anna did not go to the funeral; nor did she send the letter to Ken’s parents. She spent most of the time looking over the notes for the forthcoming trial. Every night she slept turned to the two photographs and left her machine on, refusing any calls. Lizzie had called numerous times, Langton up to three times a day. She had told Langton she wouldn’t be able to cope being alone, but now she found the solitariness helped her remain calm, and gradually, she knew she couldn’t cry anymore. She even practiced controlling the surges of grief that would overtake her when she least expected it.

Her flat was immaculate, and those extra pounds she had intended to lose had gone, as she hardly ate, but she smoked a lot. Cigarettes no longer made her feel dizzy when she inhaled. Lighting and sucking in the smoke gave her a strange energy and made her aware of her shaking hands. Always glancing at her engagement ring, she had decided she would never take it off.

The day she decided to return to work, she dressed carefully, putting on black suit with a crisp white shirt and a pencil skirt, shedding the old tracksuit she had worn most days. She had washed and blow-dried her hair and made up her face carefully, adding lip gloss. She stood staring at herself in the wardrobe mirror and felt she was ready, her armor in place. She knew that the first day back was going to be difficult, and she intended to make it as unemotional as possible. Not for herself; she knew the team would find it hard to approach her.