‘Why did you feel that Anthony Duffy was the killer?’
Southwood wiped his face with the cuff of his shirt.
‘Just a gut feeling. He was a real odd kid, very calm. He had been brought up in foster homes, but around fifteen he traced his mother. She was living with this Jamaican pimp. Had a whole string of girls living in a shit hole in Swinton, on the outskirts of Manchester.’
‘So, was he well brought up? Had he been abused?’
Southwood was shaking. ‘Nah. Good education … very intelligent. Come on, now, wheel me back inside. I gotta have a drink.’
Anna had to really jerk the chair hard to free it from the rut. Southwood yelped with fear, sure she was going to tip him into the pool, but she managed to ease the chair round. He fumbled with the controls, but the battery was now very low. She had to push him back up the ramp. He weighed at least twenty stone, but at last she got him back into his drawing room.
Anna went behind the bar and poured him a glass of water. He almost snatched the glass from her and gulped it down.
‘Gimme some of that vodka. I’m out of Scotch. That’s why I let you in. I thought you was Mario, the guy that delivers for me. And can you plug in the battery recharger? It’s by the coffee table.’
Anna switched on a lamp and found the recharger. She then fixed him a drink as he watched her with angry, watery eyes. She calmly took out her notebook and, leaning against the bar, made notes of everything he had told her. Southwood remained silent, drinking thirstily, before holding up his glass for a refill.
‘I’ll check all this out,’ she said, pouring more vodka. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Nah, that’s it. Like I said: it might mean fuck-all. There was just something about him.’ He hesitated. ‘Made you feel uneasy. I think it was his eyes. He’d got these big, wide-apart eyes.’
‘Anthony Duffy,’ Anna said, softly.
‘Yeah, he was a really handsome boy. Christ knows where he is now. That was twenty years ago.’ Southwood looked pitiful: hunched in his chair, clutching his glass. ‘It’s all I have, swear on my dead mother’s grave. That’s it.’
Anna put her notebook away. ‘We’ll check it out. Thank you.’ She started to walk to the door.
‘Why don’t you stay and have a drink with me?’
She glanced at him and shook her head. The big, foul-mouthed man looked vulnerable. Though he was obviously lonely, she couldn’t stand to be in his presence a moment longer.
‘No. Thank you.’
By the time Anna left the villa a crate of Scotch had been deposited on the doorstep by the front door. Southwood called after her from his chair. ‘Good night,’ she said, and walking outside, closed the door behind her. They had a possible suspect. Anthony Duffy. She’d finally got what she came for.
Ron jumped out of the waiting taxi and opened the passenger door.
‘You all right?’ he said. ‘I was getting worried.’
‘I’m fine. Just find me somewhere quiet where the food is good and cheap, and has some decent sangria to go with it. And then I need to find a hotel.’
‘On our way,’ he said as the taxi swerved down the hill, away from the decaying villa and its equally decaying, drunken occupant.
‘Did you get the information you wanted?’ Ron asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, repeating the name ‘Anthony Duffy’ to herself. It might prove to be unconnected. But if it didn’t, they had, at long last, a suspect.
Chapter Six
Langton kept staring at the memo. ‘Anthony Duffy?’ He looked at Lewis. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Travis sent a text message to Moira. Here’s the printout.’
‘This is it?’
‘Yeah, that’s all she said. And that she should be back this morning.’
‘So what’s with this Anthony Duffy?’
Lewis scratched his head. ‘We don’t have any record of him; he’s not on any files. I guess we have to wait until we get the details from Travis.’
Langton pursed his lips in anger; he returned to his office.
Moira looked over. ‘I told you to wait until she got here.’
Lewis whipped round on Moira. ‘This is a fucking murder enquiry, Moira! She needs to get herself organized: sending bloody text messages! She never even contacted the Spanish policeman we arranged to help her.’
It was a nightmare journey home for Anna. Ron’s friend with the B and B, was in fact the proprietor of a seedy, rundown hostel. The room was cramped and damp and she had to share the dubious bathroom. That, with the after-effects of the awful sangria, greasy hamburger and french fries from Ron’s favourite cafe, had kept her up most of the night before she re-boarded the plane. She staggered back and forth to the toilets throughout the trip. She wasn’t exactly sick, but she did feel like someone with a cement mixer in her stomach.
When she arrived at the station just after two o’clock, she wasn’t feeling any better. The cement mixer kept on churning, but now she was feeling light-headed, too. Moira came to her desk.
‘Gov is very spiky about your text message,’ she whispered. ‘You wanted me to pass it on, right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, he’s ready to have a go at you.’
‘Go at me? My God, I’ve had no sleep, I have worked my butt off and Southwood is even worse than you described. He’s got no idea what I had to go through to get the information out of him!’
‘Travis!’ There was a bellow from inside Langton’s office.
Anna made her way there.
‘Sit down,’ he snapped. ‘What the hell were you doing? You did not contact the authorities. You did not use the patrol car provided.’
‘Nobody told me to contact anyone,’ she spluttered.
‘It’s fucking procedure, Travis! You think we’d just let you loose without any backup? Then I get handed this text message! Lost your voice, did you? Couldn’t call in?’
‘It was very late when I got the information.’ The cement mixer was churning faster, making her break out in a sweat. ‘I think I’ve got a bit of food poisoning,’ she added.
‘Take some Bisodol! You going to be sick, is that it?’
‘No. I just don’t feel very well.’
‘Neither do I. So, let’s have it! Who is this Anthony Duffy? This suspect? Jesus Christ, who the fuck is he?’
It took Anna over fifteen minutes to explain how she had eventually been able to gain the information from Southwood. Langton listened without interruption; though he made a few notes, his anger was palpable.
‘So, if the profiler is right about our killer taking his revenge against his mother, then Southwood’s suspect could be the man we are looking for.’ Anna swallowed audibly.
Staring at her, Langton now held up his hand.
‘You think this cab driver saw what you did by the swimming pool?’
‘No, sir. I am sorry if it was unethical, or against usual procedure, but I did get a result.’
‘True. Well, I hope to Christ it doesn’t have any repercussions for us. Go and fix your stomach and we’ll get on to this.’
‘Thank you.’
Langton’s expression softened a fraction. ‘I’m sorry I sounded off at you, Travis. You look terrible, by the way.’
‘I feel terrible.’
Lewis was standing by the computer. Having run the name Anthony Duffy through the ‘known felons’
