‘I think it was an inspiration. Just lie beside me. Come on.’
She couldn’t help it. She found herself inching further towards him. He was on his side, facing her and when she was almost there, he caught hold of the pyjama cord and pulled her in close beside him. He slid one arm beneath her to turn her so that she nestled against his body while his other hand gently stroked her.
‘Travis,’ he said, under his breath.
She loved being enveloped by him, the feel of him around her. It felt like the safest place in the world. Her head was buried against his neck, which she found herself kissing, again and again. She could feel his heart beating against hers, and the next minute he had turned her on to her back and she was beneath him.
‘Can I take this off you?’ he murmured, as he began to ease one button after another from her pyjama top. He moved it aside and looked at her small firm breasts, then bent his head and started kissing one, then the other. She gave a soft moan, and then used both her hands to draw his face down to hers. They kissed. It was a long, passionate kiss, and when they broke apart she had to gasp for breath.
He began to loosen his shirt from his trousers, pulling at it. There was just a beat before she began to loosen his belt buckle, then he rolled away and ripped off his clothes, tearing off his shirt as she eased down his trousers, feeling the elastic of his jockey shorts waistband. He was very aroused, and he moaned as she slipped her hand around his erect penis. She bent down and started to kiss him and he closed his eyes, moaning softly.
The alarm, set for seven, woke them both. She was cradled in his arms as he jolted upright, jerking her aside as if he didn’t even know where he was, or who was beside him.
‘Jesus Christ, what have you got there, Travis? It sounds like a fire alarm.’
She turned off the alarm clock and rested back against the pillows. She could see in the cold light of day her pyjamas and his clothes strewn around the bedroom. He lay back beside her and yawned, rubbing his head.
‘What time is it?’
‘Seven,’ she murmured, hardly able to look at him.
He hooked one arm around her and drew her close. ‘You know what I feel like? Eggs and bacon. I am starving hungry.’
‘Me too,’ she said, feeling shy about getting up naked from the bed, relieved when he tossed the duvet aside and jumped out.
‘Right, I’ll have a shower, you start the fry-up, then I’ll take over and you can get dressed. Is it a deal?’
‘Yes.’
He grabbed his clothes and headed into her bathroom. After a moment she got up, fetched her dressing- gown, glad he was not watching her, and went into the kitchen. She could hear him singing away as she busied herself getting out eggs and bacon, the frying pan and putting on fresh coffee.
He appeared dressed, hair washed, and shaved; he slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Right, go and get yourself ready, and I’ll have this all done when you are through.’
‘OK. Coffee’s on, but watch out for the toaster; it’s got a mind of its own.’
She was glad there was no embarrassment between them; to the contrary, he was totally relaxed and made her feel at ease. He was also as good as his word, apart from the smell of burning toast: he had found the cutlery, set the small bar area she used to have her meals, and was pouring coffee when she walked in.
‘That toaster is cra2y. I’m going to buy you a new one.’
‘It’s OK, just idiosyncratic: when you put it on five, it means three, but two means five.’
Anna fetched the plates, keeping herself busy as he watched over the bacon in the frying pan.
‘How do you like your eggs?’
‘Runny.’
‘Me too.’
They sat side by side on the bar stools, and he ate like a starving man, dipping his toast into his eggs.
‘You eat too fast,’ she said.
‘I know; it’s because I’m always hungry.’
He pushed his plate aside and then cocked his head to watch her. After a moment he leaned over and kissed her neck. ‘You OK with what happened last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
He got up, carrying his dirty plates. He almost put them in her washing machine before he located the dishwasher. Then he checked his watch.
‘I’m just going to make some calls, and get them to check this diamante stone, then we should leave.’
‘OK, I’m ready,’ she said, looking at her plate. She’d hardly touched her eggs and bacon.
Langton went into the lounge and started making his calls. She ate a couple of mouthfuls, then put the rest in the bin. She put her plate into the dishwasher and went to clean her teeth.
Her bathroom was a sea of wet towels, toothpaste left uncapped; the razor he’d used was left on the side of the sink. She looked at herself, and then bowed her head. She was hardly able to believe what had happened last night.
‘Travis, let’s go!’ he bellowed.
She looked at her reflection a moment, ran a comb through her still-wet hair, and put on some lipstick.
‘Travis!’ came another bellow.
‘I heard you!’ she shouted back.
As Langton slammed her front door closed behind him, she winced.
She drove the Mini to his house and double-parked outside. He hurried out in a suit and clean shirt. He was still knotting his tie as he got in beside her.
‘Right, let’s go. Good news is, we’ve still got the bastard on tape. After you put the phone down.’
She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Your ex-wife do the laundry for you?’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘Nope. I have a good cleaning lady. She’s a dab hand with the spray starch.’
He then made one call after another until they arrived at the station. It seemed to be business as usual as he strode ahead of her into the station; she was clipped by a set of swing doors when she wasn’t close enough on his heels.
‘Watch it, I’m behind you,’ she said, but he didn’t seem to hear. He headed straight for his office and slammed the door behind him. It was as if the night before had never happened.
At a quarter past nine, Michael Parks arrived. He sat with the team to listen to the taped call between Daniels and Anna. She was flushed with embarrassment at having to listen to herself. However, no one even alluded to the fact that there seemed to be a sexual interaction. Parks replayed the tape a couple of times, making copious notes, then gave them his take on what they’d heard.
‘One: he trips up not once, but twice. He refers to your suspect McDowell as a drunk, which implies that he has seen him recently. It was twenty years ago that he saw him in the alley with his mother.’
Langton glanced at his watch.
‘Two: there’s another leak, when he says handbag in the plural, even though DS Travis made a point of saying there was only one handbag discovered at McDowell’s.’
This had also been noted by Langton, who was becoming impatient.
‘Three: we can almost feel his anger and frustration as DS Travis constantly focuses on how intelligent and clever McDowell is. If he did, indeed, plant the incriminating evidence, imagine his confusion. Again, he repeats that McDowell is virtually a Waste of space.’
Parks flipped through his notes, chewing at the end of his pencil. ‘What does show very clearly in how he tries to manipulate DS Travis is the pattern of the classic sociopath. For instance, he is only making these calls “to help” her, see him planting the idea that she should be grateful to him, as it could mean promotion. Note again, he cannot refer to his mother by name, or cannot say the word “mother”. It is always “she”, despite the fact he uses his mother as an emotional reason for his curiosity about the progress of the enquiry.’
He tapped his notebook and then chuckled. ‘The sequence when referring to DS Travis’s clothes and saying that she didn’t look attractive is classic manipulation. He’s tempting her: trip to Paris, buying expensive clothes in Bond Street; he can make her attractive. He is, in other words, undermining her confidence and placing himself in a controlling role.’
He turned to Travis to tell her how well she had teased out the information; he was certain Daniels felt she
