Free Clean Cut by Lynda La Plante

and you know what? The Home Office pays forces nearly four hundred quid for each prisoner, that’s if you count it up; a bill to the tax payers of over ten bleedin’ million, and are they building new prisons? Are they hell as like. That’s how fucking pricks like Murphy get out early. And now you know they are giving inmates friggin’ keys to their cells, so they gain respect? Jesus Christ, I dunno what the world is coming to.’
    He drained his coffee and stood up. ‘Sorry,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘Just needed to get it off my chest.’
    ‘Do you ever talk about your work with your wife?’
    ‘No, I try to close down when I walk out of here, but on this, with my daughter being the same age…I kept on looking at her, then looking at my wife and thinking, what if it had happened here, in my house? My home invaded by that madman, and one that should never have been let out on the streets? Well, look at poor old Jimmy.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Langton. Fucking illegal immigrant got him and nearly killed him, and from what I’ve heard, he’d have been better off.’
    ‘What do you mean by that?’
    ‘Well, he’s not going to walk again, is he?’
    Anna flushed. ‘Yes, of course he is. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but he’s making a remarkable recovery.’
    ‘Just a bloke I knew who was at the rehabilitation home, released a few days ago; he told me. May have got it wrong, sorry.’
    ‘Yes, you have got it wrong, Harry.’
    ‘Well, I’ve said I’m sorry, love. I know you and he are–what exactly? Living together?’
    Anna stood up, packing her files. ‘I hope you will put your friend right. James is really hoping to get back to work soon.’
    ‘Oh well, good on him.’ Harry moved away, leaving her feeling tense and angry, but thankfully no longer thinking about Arthur George Murphy. She would not allow him to invade her life. Langton already had.
    She felt so protective towards Jimmy and, moreover, so upset that rumours were spreading that he would never walk again.

Chapter Three
    A s soon as Anna had been released from duty, she called the rehabilitation home to see if she could speak to Langton to confirm that she would, unlike the previous night, be there to see him.
    ‘Hi, how you doing?’ He sounded unlike himself.
    ‘Well, we caught the killer and he’s admitted it. He couldn’t really get out of it; we had enough evidence.’ She listened. ‘Hello, are you still there?’
    ‘Yeah, but listen, I’m feeling really whacked out, been doing a lot of work in the gym. I’m just going to crash out and have an early night. Let’s say you come tomorrow?’
    ‘Well, it’s up to you.’
    ‘So, see you tomorrow. I’m glad you got a result. G’night.’
    The phone went dead. She sat holding the receiver, feeling wretched. He really hadn’t sounded like himself–not even his moody self. She waited a while and then called again, this time to speak to the nurse. By the time that call ended, she felt even worse.
    Langton had not been working out in the gym–far from it. He had overstretched himself the day before andnow had an infection in his knee joint; he was unable to walk and in great pain. The swelling was the size of a football and they were very concerned; having already had septicaemia once, they were worried there might be a recurrence. He had been given morphine to dull the pain and was, as they spoke, being taken back to his room to sleep.
    Anna wanted to weep. Had this so-called friend of Harry Blunt’s been right, and would Langton never walk again? She went over everything the nurse had said and was certain that if Langton did rest, did not push himself, the infection could be controlled and he would be able to return to exercising, in moderation.
    She cooked herself an omelette but hardly touched it, and was about to go over to Langton’s flat to collect his mail, when the doorbell rang. It was Mike Lewis; he apologized for not calling her and just