Wrongful Death

by Lynda La Plante

  Donna said nothing, but merely shook her head and looked bewildered as Mike put a picture of the Ferrari on the desk.

  ‘This car was recovered from Esme Peters’ garage and registered in the name John Peters, flat two, Brandon Walk,’ Mike said.

  ‘That can’t be right. I never—’ Donna’s voice was high-pitched with nerves as Mr Holme interrupted her.

  ‘We can ask for a break to discuss the CCS money transfers.’

  Donna nodded and said she’d like to do that. Mike Lewis made a wide-handed open gesture, saying he was happy for a break to take place but that there were two bits of further information he felt he should disclose first.

  ‘A man matching Josh Reynolds’ description collected the Ferrari from the garage a few days later.’ Mike looked at Donna, inviting her to give him some form of explanation. Mr Holme gave her a stern look and she said nothing.

  ‘Let me tell you what I think happened. When Josh’s business began to fail and he needed money to prop it up the two of you hatched a plan.’

  Donna was shaking her head and clasping and unclasping her hands.

  ‘You knew that your mother would never give you money to support Josh’s business. But working for the Lynne Foundation, stealing thousands here and there out of a multi-million-pound account would be a drop in the ocean and never missed.’ Mike cocked his head to one side as if saying ‘I’m right,’ but then Holme patted the table with the flat of his hand.

  ‘So why should my client murder her husband?’ the lawyer said.

  ‘From the love nest we found at your client’s mother-in-law’s, it is clear that Josh was having an affair. I believe that Donna knew this and in a fit of jealousy decided to murder him and make it look like a suicide.’

  Donna half rose out of her chair and then sat back down again. ‘No, I never knew about any affair. I loved him, I still do, I could never kill him, never.’ Donna burst into sobs, her whole body shaking, and quickly became an incoherent wreck.

  Mike suggested she cut the act and confess to Josh’s coldblooded murder.

  Mr Holme stood up, demanding an end to the interview. Mike Lewis then announced he would be contacting the Crown Prosecution Service to ask for permission to charge Donna with the murder of Joshua Reynolds.

  Anna sat back in her seat, quite stunned by what she had just seen. She couldn’t believe that Donna had managed to fool everyone, both at the time of the murder, and over the near seven months since. Was she really such an accomplished actress, or the victim of circumstances beyond her control? For Anna, it still didn’t add up, because at times Donna’s actions didn’t make sense. Her gut feeling told her that Donna wasn’t lying, but the circumstantial evidence and the woman’s own naïvety had made it seem that she was. This Donna, like the distressed one in the 999 call, was in Anna’s eyes, telling the truth.

  Anna recognized that even if Donna stole the CCS charity money it didn’t mean she killed Josh. There was also now the clear possibility that someone other than Samuel decorated their flat and could be the real killer. Anna mulled it over: what if Samuel did decorate Josh’s flat? It meant Marisha was lying or mistaken about when her brother left the UK. If Samuel had been the decorator Josh would probably have given him keys for his own and his mother’s flats, especially as he was one of the family. What didn’t make any sense was why he would be involved in his nephew’s murder. Anna threw her pen down, irritated that she could not make sense of the interview and all that was going round and round in her mind. ‘Enough,’ she said to herself, realizing that she was spoiling what should be an enjoyable flight and that her doubts could wait until later. She packed away her laptop and settled down to enjoy her in-flight meal with a glass of wine, followed by a relaxing nap.

  The next thing Anna knew, she was being roused by a flight attendant asking her to fasten her seatbelt as they were about to land. She looked out of the window at the ground below, wondering if the FBI Academy was in amongst the houses, buildings and woodland she could make out. Filled with optimism at the prospect of working alongside FBI agents at the prestigious Quantico headquarters, Anna could not recall a previous moment in her career when she had felt so excited.

  Twenty-Three

  Thanks to the assistance of an immigration officer, Anna and Langton quickly cleared Dulles passport control and collected their bags. Langton needed to nip to the gents and Anna agreed to keep an eye on his bags. As he left, she looked at her watch and calculated it was early evening in London, so she took the opportunity to phone Joan’s mobile.

  After thanking Joan for the DVD files, Anna admitted that even having watched the interviews she was still not convinced of Donna’s guilt and raised the possibility that there was another decorator besides Samuel or that Marisha was lying. Joan told her that Paul Barolli had said the same thing and he had made an appointment for Marisha Peters to come in to the station so they could ask her more about her brother Samuel.

  ‘I need you to find out who the official photographer was at the Lynne Charity Ball on the fifth. Then get digital copies of all the photographs he took and upload them onto my Dropbox.’

  ‘Why?’

  Anna looked up and saw Langton returning. ‘I’ve got to dash, I’ll call and explain tomorrow.’

  ‘Have you read the Gardeners’ World article yet?’

  ‘Not yet, but I will,’ Anna assured her, and slipped her phone in her pocket as Langton approached, worried he’d throw another wobbly about her fixation with the Reynolds case. The result was that she didn’t hear what Joan said next:

  ‘It’s called “These Plants May Kill” – a bit creepy but very interesting. You never know what dangers lie in a garden . . . Hello, Anna? Hello?’

  Having passed through US Customs they noticed a man dressed in a dark-blue polo shirt that had the FBI crest on it. He was dark-haired, aged about forty, very handsome and incredibly fit-looking with broad shoulders, large chest and muscular arms. On seeing Anna and Langton, he came over and with a warm smile and firm handshake introduced himself as Special Agent Don Blane. Anna recalled Dewar saying Blane was the course instructor and she hoped that Don would not be Dewar’s clone.

  ‘Hi. It’s real nice to meet you. You look just like the photos our London office sent over. Transport is just outside so if you’d like to follow me,’ he said as he took hold of Anna’s case for her.

  Outside, Don Blane opened the sliding side door of an old weather-beaten, FBI-logo’d, minibus and put Anna’s case inside. Before Langton could add his own case, Blane told him that the car behind would take him to Lake Ridge where he was staying. Anna turned and saw a shiny black Lincoln with a suited chauffeur standing beside it. She glanced at Langton and shook her head in disbelief, to which he retorted that he hadn’t pulled rank this time.

  ‘So, you’re not staying at Quantico?’ Anna asked with raised eyebrows, knowing that he was hiding something.

  ‘Um, no, but I will be working from there,’ Langton breezily replied. ‘By the way, what I said on the plane about Fitzpatrick is strictly confidential. Only the Commissioner and Deputy Walters know why I’m here. Walters tried to put the kibosh on it but the director of the FBI spoke personally with the Commissioner who overruled Walters.’

  Anna immediately responded that she had no intention of telling anyone, and though she didn’t say it she was miffed at his implication. ‘Another thing, about the Josh Reynolds case—’ Langton started, but Anna interrupted him.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m over it.’

  ‘Rubbish, I came back to see you again on the flight. You were sound asleep and your notebook was open on the seat with all your observations about Donna’s interview.’

  ‘You looked through my personal belongings? How—’

  ‘Before you get on your high horse, just listen to me. If you really think something’s wrong, find it, but be sure you have the evidence to back it up. If there’s no evidence, accept it and move on. Tell Mike Lewis what’s worrying you – he respects
you and he’ll listen.’

  Langton got into the Lincoln but before closing the door, he leaned out: ‘I’ll see you at the FBI Academy tomorrow. We can have dinner together.’ Anna nodded and he closed the door.

  Don Blane informed Anna that the journey time to the Academy was about forty-five minutes and that he was the class tutor, so if there was anything she wanted or needed she should feel free to ask. Anna was struck by how pleasant and well-mannered the man was and sensed he was being genuine. Blane remarked that Jessie Dewar had told him Anna would be the one to watch out for. Anna asked what Dewar had said and Don explained that she had been singing Anna’s praises and thought she could well be the top student. Anna was extremely surprised by this and guardedly said that she had enjoyed working with Jessie.

  ‘How did you find her?’ Blane asked.

  Anna said that she hadn’t really had much of a chance to get to know her but she seemed okay. She paused briefly as she thought about Blane’s question. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing really, just curious – she was telling me about your Reynolds case and what she’d uncovered and how she thought it was the wife that murdered the husband.’

  ‘She’s not slow in voicing her opinion,’ Anna remarked, and he laughed.

  ‘That sounds like the Jessie I know. She’s not afraid to speak her mind, but the problem is she gets a fixation about something and she won’t let it go.’

  ‘We’re all guilty of that sometimes,’ Anna said, knowing that her clash of swords with Dewar came from both of them holding strong views.

  ‘Jessie’s heart’s in the right place, but as I’m sure you know, there’s no substitute for years of front-line investigative experience.’

  ‘She seemed pretty confident to me,’ Anna said.

  ‘Jessie came to the Behavioural Unit with very little experience as a field agent, so she feels the need to prove herself. The problem is, she latches onto facts that support her theory and unintentionally ignores evidence to the contrary.’

  Anna thought that Don Blane was very shrewd. He clearly knew that Dewar must have ruffled a few feathers while she was in London, yet he was defending her in a kind and respectful way. With a sense of relief, she began to feel that they might get along after all.

  As they drove to the Quantico base, Blane gave Anna a guide to the area, telling her that the Academy had opened in 1972 and was situated on a US Marine Corps base, surrounded by over 400 acres of woodland and lakes. The Forensic Science Research and Training Centre were also based on the same site along with outdoor and indoor firearms ranges and a mock town called ‘Hogan’s Alley’.

  They eventually arrived at a checkpoint, where two armed Marine guards examined Blane’s ID and Anna’s papers as well as searching the minibus before allowing them to pass. It was at least another two miles through woodland before Anna could see the honey-coloured buildings of the Academy.

  Blane parked by the main building, got out and hurried round to Anna’s door to open it. He carried her case and laptop bag into the reception area, where he introduced her. She handed over her course invitation paperwork and was given a room key, and an FBI badge with her picture on it hanging from a lanyard, which she was told must be worn at all times when on the Academy grounds but was not to be used or shown off the premises. Blane then took her down a long glass corridor and pointed out that similar glass corridors throughout the complex came together and met in a glass-covered quad that linked all the buildings. He explained that you didn’t ever need to go outside between buildings but it was easy to get lost when you didn’t know the place.

  Anna followed him into the lift to the top floor of the dormitory building as he explained that the rooms were not exactly the Hilton, but adequate and comfortable. On entering her room, Anna saw that it had a threadbare red carpet and a single bed in one corner, with a small workstation-come-desk next to it and a lamp. The bed consisted of white sheets, a blanket and a grey bedspread. The wardrobe was tiny and there were only about half a dozen coat hangers. Next to the wardrobe there was a small chest of drawers and a wooden armchair that looked rather rickety. Anna told Blane that it was exactly like the rooms at the Hendon Police College in London, only with a better view, as looking out from the window the woodlands and lakes were quite stunning. She noticed an assault course that stretched as far as the eye could see into the woods. It had high brick walls, rope climbing frames and balance beams along the way.

  ‘Is that part of the FBI training?’ Anna asked, pointing from the window.

  ‘That’s the Yellow Brick Road, a six-mile obstacle-course run. It’s part of the fitness regime and if and when you can complete it then you are awarded with a yellow brick to honour the achievement.’

  ‘So what does an FBI training day entail?’ Anna asked with trepidation.

  ‘We start at seven a.m. with physical exercise, push-ups, pull-ups and a smaller assault course. Then it’s into the classroom learning about profiling, latest forensics, leadership and media. Day finishes about five p.m. and then there’s your case research to work on in the evening.’

  Anna felt exhausted just listening to the daily routine. She had not really contemplated what the course would consist of, only that it was a good career move, but now it sounded extremely daunting. She asked Blane if there was Wi-Fi in the room, only to learn that that for security reasons it was not allowed, and the only Internet access was from the computers in the library. He suggested that she unpack and he would meet her downstairs by the elevator and take her to the supplies store to get her training uniform and other course equipment.

  Having emptied her bags and used up every inch of storage space, Anna set up her laptop on the desk and put her notepad down beside it. She then went to join Don Blane in the reception area, from where he took her to the stores and supplies room. She was given a large blue holdall with the FBI logo and crest on it, a pair of brown cargo trousers and three blue FBI polo shirts to be worn during class. A grey FBI tracksuit, matching T-shirts and blue windcheater jacket were also provided, along with books relating to her course. As Blane, ever the gentleman, picked up the holdall to carry it for Anna, she glanced to see if he was wearing a wedding ring and noticed he wasn’t. She really liked him and if her first impression was accurate she thought she’d like to spend some of her ten weeks at Quantico getting to know him better. Blane suggested that she drop the holdall off in her room and then they could have a bite to eat in the canteen as it closed at seven.

  As they sat eating their food, Anna told him that she had expected the canteen food to consist of pizzas, hot dogs and hamburgers but was pleasantly surprised to see how healthy it actually was.

  ‘The motto “A healthy mind in a healthy body” is a big thing here,’ Blane said as he ate his chicken salad.

  Anna had opted for the tuna fish with fresh vegetables.

  Blane took the opportunity to explain more about the course, informing Anna that two hundred US law-enforcement officers and fifty international students would attend it and that each class consisted of twenty-five students. The name of the game was to make contacts and get to know as many fellow students as possible. He went on to say that the course would officially begin at two p.m. tomorrow afternoon in the lecture theatre where the aims and objectives would be set out.

  Anna smiled. ‘That’s good news. I can sleep in a bit. I was naïve to think that the jet lag wouldn’t get the better of me.’

  They finished their meal and Blane asked Anna if she would like a look round.

  ‘I’d really like to see the library and use one of your computers for some research,’ she replied at once.

  ‘Damn, you’re keen, and I haven’t even allocated you a case project yet,’ he said jokingly.

  ‘Actually, it’s something to do with the Reynolds case. I’m hoping to get background and travelling details on a Jamaican citizen called Samuel Peters.’

  ‘I might be able to help you there. I’m a good friend with a US drug enforcement
agent on the island called Bill Roberts. I can have a chat with him if you like and see what he can find out.’

  ‘Thanks, Don, that would be really helpful.’ Anna smiled.

  ‘Off the record, I take it?’ he asked.

  ‘For now, yes, but if anything comes of it, I can get one of the team back home to draw up the necessary paperwork and make it an official enquiry.’ Anna took out the notebook she usually had with her and jotted down what she knew about Samuel.

  ‘Well, it’s the same time in Jamaica as here, and there’s no point in hanging around.’ Blane grinned, getting out his mobile to ring Bill Roberts. He turned away from her as he caught up with his friend but Anna could see from his body language that he was conveying the urgency of the enquiry.

  Anna thanked him profusely before confessing that she hoped he didn’t think she was being rude but she was very tired after a long day, and then deliberately added that she didn’t want to keep him from his partner any longer.

  ‘No worries, just me at home now; my wife passed away three years ago from cancer. No kids either, but I spoil my nieces and nephews something rotten.’ He looked at her with amusement.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Anna said, wishing she’d not been so sneaky.

  ‘Not at all. What about you, anyone in your life?’

  ‘Not at the moment. My fiancé passed away two years ago – he was a prison officer and a violent inmate attacked him.’ Anna had never been so matter-of-fact and open with anyone about Ken’s death; she didn’t know why but it just felt right to be unguarded and honest with Don. There was so much about his manner, smile and the way he spoke that she felt attracted to.

  Blane stood up and, looking into Anna’s eyes, shook her hand. ‘If there’s anything at all you need, please call me,’ he said, handing her his business card. ‘And I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?’