Read Online Blind Fury by Lynda La Plante - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynda La Plante
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doesn’t want to meet you.” He nodded to Barolli.
“Tell him we’re leaving, then,” Barolli said. Hudson nodded and made to return to the cell, when they saw a hand with a small round mirror positioned outside the cell bars.
“He’s checking you out,” Hudson said quietly.
“Please tell him we don’t have time for games. We’re leaving.”
Hudson walked back to Cameron but said nothing as the hand was withdrawn. Again there was a low murmur.
Hudson walked into the cell beside Cameron’s, took out a chair, then went into the cell on the other side and took out a second chair. He placed them both in front of Cameron’s bars and gestured for Anna and Barolli to join him, saying he wanted Anna to sit on the right and Barolli on the left.
Anna kept her eyes down as she took her seat and Barolli sat in his.
“Okay, Cameron? You’ve got Detective Sergeant Barolli and . . .”
“Anna. Anna Travis,” she said, taking charge. “Good morning.”
Hudson left them, and Anna looked up and into the cell. Cameron was sitting on a similar chair facing forward, his legs crossed casually. She was shocked to see him, because he looked so refreshed and pristine. His dark hair was silky and cut to just above his shoulders, with a part in the middle. His face was tanned, and he looked to her even younger than when she had last seen him. His blue prison-issue shirt was pressed and his trousers creased, and he was wearing leather open-toed sandals.
“Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Barolli said coldly.
Cameron pointedly ignored him as he stared at Anna, saying, “Well, well, you have grown up—and you are wearing your hair in a different style. It’s very flattering.”
She found it difficult to meet his eyes, but looking at a spot above his head, she began: “You said you had information—”
“Please, one moment, let me first offer you a drink. I have still or sparkling water: which would you prefer?”
“Neither, thank you.”
He didn’t address Barolli, turning his own chair a fraction so that he wouldn’t even have to see him. His cell, although small, was immaculate. The cot was made up in military fashion, the sheet folded over the blanket and his two pillows stacked. One wall of the cell had bookcases from floor to ceiling, mostly hardbacks, arranged by size. The opposite side of his cell contained a small computer desk with a laptop and printer; there were packs of A4 paper, notebooks, and envelopes all stacked in a neat order. Beneath the desk was a crate of bottled water and a box of biscuits, and a shelf high up on the wall contained pristine white towels. Lined up were various shampoos and creams, a brush and a comb, and shaving equipment.
The barred section had an interlocking mechanism that would move the gate sideways, leaving the cell open. It was a strange feeling sitting opposite him and looking into the immaculate cell, but Cameron appeared to be totally relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
“You wrote to me—” Anna began again, and again, he interrupted her.
“I did, and I have on three other occasions written to you, but I have never received a reply.”
“I am here now.”
“Indeed you are. May I call you Anna?”
“No. My name is Detective Travis. Mr. Welsh, this is not a social visit, and I am here to discover if in fact you do have information regarding the murder inquiry. Please don’t waste either my time or Sergeant Barolli’s.”
“Time,” Cameron repeated softly, and then he smiled. “I want you to know, Detective Travis, that I have no grudge against you whatsoever. You did what you had to do, and I think you did it rather well. So . . .” He turned and gestured at his cell. “I certainly have the time, and obviously, I have spent many hours pondering my own situation, my own case. What interests me, and I am sure will interest you, too, is trying to understand what drove me to commit murder. I have retraced my life in detail, never allowing myself to feel
“Tell him we’re leaving, then,” Barolli said. Hudson nodded and made to return to the cell, when they saw a hand with a small round mirror positioned outside the cell bars.
“He’s checking you out,” Hudson said quietly.
“Please tell him we don’t have time for games. We’re leaving.”
Hudson walked back to Cameron but said nothing as the hand was withdrawn. Again there was a low murmur.
Hudson walked into the cell beside Cameron’s, took out a chair, then went into the cell on the other side and took out a second chair. He placed them both in front of Cameron’s bars and gestured for Anna and Barolli to join him, saying he wanted Anna to sit on the right and Barolli on the left.
Anna kept her eyes down as she took her seat and Barolli sat in his.
“Okay, Cameron? You’ve got Detective Sergeant Barolli and . . .”
“Anna. Anna Travis,” she said, taking charge. “Good morning.”
Hudson left them, and Anna looked up and into the cell. Cameron was sitting on a similar chair facing forward, his legs crossed casually. She was shocked to see him, because he looked so refreshed and pristine. His dark hair was silky and cut to just above his shoulders, with a part in the middle. His face was tanned, and he looked to her even younger than when she had last seen him. His blue prison-issue shirt was pressed and his trousers creased, and he was wearing leather open-toed sandals.
“Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Barolli said coldly.
Cameron pointedly ignored him as he stared at Anna, saying, “Well, well, you have grown up—and you are wearing your hair in a different style. It’s very flattering.”
She found it difficult to meet his eyes, but looking at a spot above his head, she began: “You said you had information—”
“Please, one moment, let me first offer you a drink. I have still or sparkling water: which would you prefer?”
“Neither, thank you.”
He didn’t address Barolli, turning his own chair a fraction so that he wouldn’t even have to see him. His cell, although small, was immaculate. The cot was made up in military fashion, the sheet folded over the blanket and his two pillows stacked. One wall of the cell had bookcases from floor to ceiling, mostly hardbacks, arranged by size. The opposite side of his cell contained a small computer desk with a laptop and printer; there were packs of A4 paper, notebooks, and envelopes all stacked in a neat order. Beneath the desk was a crate of bottled water and a box of biscuits, and a shelf high up on the wall contained pristine white towels. Lined up were various shampoos and creams, a brush and a comb, and shaving equipment.
The barred section had an interlocking mechanism that would move the gate sideways, leaving the cell open. It was a strange feeling sitting opposite him and looking into the immaculate cell, but Cameron appeared to be totally relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
“You wrote to me—” Anna began again, and again, he interrupted her.
“I did, and I have on three other occasions written to you, but I have never received a reply.”
“I am here now.”
“Indeed you are. May I call you Anna?”
“No. My name is Detective Travis. Mr. Welsh, this is not a social visit, and I am here to discover if in fact you do have information regarding the murder inquiry. Please don’t waste either my time or Sergeant Barolli’s.”
“Time,” Cameron repeated softly, and then he smiled. “I want you to know, Detective Travis, that I have no grudge against you whatsoever. You did what you had to do, and I think you did it rather well. So . . .” He turned and gestured at his cell. “I certainly have the time, and obviously, I have spent many hours pondering my own situation, my own case. What interests me, and I am sure will interest you, too, is trying to understand what drove me to commit murder. I have retraced my life in detail, never allowing myself to feel
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