Deadly Intent (Anna Travis Mysteries)

by Lynda La Plante

Anna frowned. “I know you believe their story, but Delroy said that he had tried to find out who Frank was. Maybe Donny just ran, then Delroy took a look at the dead man, maybe searched his pockets. Frank had his old ID card, which would scare the shit out of him, so possibly it was Delroy who fired the next shots with the silencer to make sure he was dead.”

  Anna decided that she would check out the vehicles again. How had Donny got to the squat? On foot? She doubted it; they knew that Frank had driven up in the Mitsubishi. She was trying to fathom out when Frank had taken possession of the Mitsubishi that they knew was connected to Julius D’Anton and Stanley Leymore. She wanted to talk to Frank’s girlfriend Connie again. She looked up: Langton was bringing up exactly what she had just queried in her mind. He was pointing to the incident board and the arrows linking the jeep to the dead men; then he moved along to ring Julia Brandon’s name.

  “So far, we have nothing of interest from the surveillance teams. She takes her daughters to school and picks them up, either with or without the au pair. She does grocery shopping, accompanied by the two heavies, and that’s about it. We’re still trying to get an ID on them from this company they work for, but we’re getting no response from the box number their Range Rover’s registered to. She remains at home every night; the only visitor is slimeball Simon Fagan—he has called on her three times, stayed for a few hours, and then left.” Next, he moved on to the Oxfordshire farm. Damien Nolan went to work every day at the university. Honour Nolan remained at Honey Farm or went grocery shopping on a bicycle; there had been no visitors.

  Langton twisted his pen in his hands, then tossed it aside. “Let’s go through a possible scenario. Donny Petrozzo may have recognized Alexander Fitzpatrick at the airport; he could have even driven him, or was hired to drive someone else and saw him. Did he then follow him, approach him? I dunno. Next, we have Frank Brandon working for Donny. It’s possible that he could have driven Fitzpatrick, or even collected something for him: the package of drugs. We do know that Donny had in his possession a package of Fentanyl—we know he died of an overdose of it; we also know that Julius D’Anton died in the same way. What we don’t know is if this is what Fitzpatrick is handling, was handling, or even if he fucking features in all this! Travis is keen on the idea that he does, but we still have no evidence that confirms he is back in the UK and involved in all this mess. What we do have are four dead men who all link together; and then we have these two ladies, Julia Brandon and Honour Nolan.”

  Next, he drew a line under the name Anthony Collingwood. No one had been able to trace Julia Brandon’s ex-partner, nor had they had any joy with the other aliases used by Fitzpatrick; passport control were taking their time. Langton removed his jacket and tugged at his hair. For the first time, Anna noticed that he seemed to be tired and in pain. He rubbed his bad knee and asked for a chair. “So, as we are going round in circles, I think we have to kick some ass; put some pressure on both our ladies. We use the search warrants now. I have a feeling we’ll come up empty-handed, but it’s about the only way we can proceed.”

  Gordon went to answer a call, as Langton continued, saying that Eddie Court’s statement had been taken and he had been released; he had withheld evidence, but it was too much paperwork to waste time on prosecuting him. He went on to say that they should give some kind of commendation to Jeremy Webster. Then came the breakthrough from the police station in Oxfordshire. Gordon had taken the call and returned to the incident room even more flushed in the face than usual.

  Alexander Fitzpatrick had been arrested for drunk driving while still at college. He had also been charged with disorderly conduct. The local Oxfordshire station, for some unknown reason, had retained the file dating back to the seventies. They now had a set of Alexander Fitzpatrick’s fingerprints. These were on their way to the lab for testing, specifically against the blood swipe in the Mitsubishi and the part-thumb and palmprint.

  Langton looked at Anna with renewed energy and smiled. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we will now see if DI Travis has been correct all along: that the kingpin is back in the UK. If we get a result, then the search of both women’s homes is going to be very interesting.”

  The day concluded with checking on the thefts of Fentanyl. There had been no report of any in the UK. The FBI had no suspects for the thefts from the three factories in the U.S., but they had done a check on four properties known to have been owned by Fitzpatrick. It had taken some time, as they were buried in layers of aliases and companies. The Florida property had been repossessed by Bank of America. The other three had also been repossessed, as recently as a year ago, due to the properties being heavily remortgaged, their leases held by a bank in Germany that had collapsed with massive debts.

  Langton was keen to get more information, now privy to the fact that Fitzpatrick had lost millions when the BCCI bank had collapsed. He wondered if the man had switched to laundering money via the German bank, which like BCCI had gone belly upward. This could be a reason for his possible return to the UK: their kingpin might be needing cash. This would coincide with Julia Brandon’s release of the four million. It was possible. But they still needed confirmation that they were hunting for the right man.

  Anna was in her office, preparing her reports, when she got the call from Pete. He wanted her to be the first to know. “The part palmprint—the one from the Mitsubishi—is no go, but the small section from one left-handed index finger is a match with the ones sent to us from Oxford. You’ve been right all along, Anna: that bloody guy is back in London.”

  Anna wanted to yell, she was so thrilled. She banged her desk with the flat of her hand. “Fabulous.”

  “Come over later, will you?”

  She doubted she could. With this new information, none of them would be released until late. She was just replacing the phone when Langton banged in and leaned over to grip her by the arms and kiss her.

  “Fucking brilliant—we just had verification that a print matches Alexander Fitzpatrick!” She sat back in her chair as he made a big expansive gesture, grinning like a schoolboy. “You’ve never let this go, have you? And you’ve been on the ball from day one!”

  She was flushed, not just from the kiss; she was so chuffed about being proved correct.

  Next to congratulate her was Phil. “I guess I owe you an apology.” She smiled as he came to her desk and held out his hand. “Sorry!”

  “That’s okay. It’s certainly making this a really big case.”

  He leaned closer. “That’s why Langton’s hovering around. I think Cunningham could cheerfully wring his neck, but with this new development, he’s going to want a slice of the kudos. They’ve been after this son of a bitch for over twenty years.”

  “We have to find him first.”

  “Yeah, Langton’s arranging a dawn swoop.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “On both Julia’s and Honour’s homes. I’m off now. Back at the crack of dawn, so I want some sleep.” Phil walked out, hands stuffed into his pockets, whistling.

  The news of this step forward had given everyone a buzz, but it irritated Anna that she had not even been told the dawn raid was going down. She was about to call Cunningham when she, like Phil, appeared in the doorway. “Langton is over everything like a bloody rash. We have instructions to go into both women’s homes at dawn.”

  “That’s good,” Anna said quietly.

  “So which one do you want to head up?”

  Anna smiled. She wanted the Oxfordshire farmhouse.

  “That means you are going to have only a few hours’ sleep.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Cunningham tapped the edge of the door with her foot. “Good work, Travis. You’ve had this bee in your bonnet about Fitzpatrick from the start.”

  Anna gave a rueful smile. Cunningham was about to walk out, when Anna asked if Langton was taking part in the raids. “No. I know it looks like he’s running this inquiry, but he’s just overseeing it and on my back like the proverbial mo
nkey. At least he’s not poking his nose in tomorrow, so go get some sleep and I’ll see you there.”

  “Good night.” Anna was disappointed. She would have liked him there. She had liked him being around; he somehow spearheaded the team, and gave it the thrust and energy that Cunningham could not.

  She had just packed up her briefcase when he walked in. “You up for a drink?”

  She hesitated, and then nodded.

  “Good. The Huntsman—it’s a pub in Hampstead by the Heath, far enough away from this mob. Do you know it?”

  Anna nodded, not really certain of the address but she’d check it out.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  “Okay, see you there.” She knew it was stupid—she knew she shouldn’t have agreed—but she had been unable to stop herself. It would be just one drink, then she would have to leave; tomorrow was going to be quite a day.

  The first person Anna saw as she entered the bar was Langton; he was leaning against the counter with a pint in his hand. He turned toward her and smiled. Standing beside him was Pete. Anna could have kicked herself; of course this would be his local pub! He only lived a few minutes away.

  “Do you know Pete Jenkins from forensic?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Pete leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Hello, there. Many congratulations.”

  “On the print?”

  “What else? It’s proof that you’ve been right all along. I hope the rest of the team make apologies, especially Phil,” Pete said. She felt herself blush as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Let me buy you a glass of champagne,” he continued, and signaled to the barman.

  “It’s only a partial print, maybe not good enough to stand up in court, but it was a match.” He held up his hand to indicate the small section the match had been made from.

  Langton looked from her reddening face to Pete, who still had his arm casually around her shoulders.

  “Did you go over to my place?” Pete asked.

  “No, I just needed to talk over a few things here with Detective Superintendent Langton.” Her face was even hotter.

  “Oh, right!” Pete released his arm and asked the barman for a glass of champagne. He leaned against the bar, looking at the pair of them.

  “Anna and I have worked on a few cases together,” Langton said.

  “I should leave you to it, then.” Pete took out his wallet as if to pay, but Langton rested his hand over it.

  “This is on me. You want another, Pete?”

  “No, no, I’ll be getting off.” He gave Anna a strange look and then leaned forward to kiss her neck. “You can pop over later, if you like.”

  “No, thanks. It’s just one drink, then I need to get off home ready for the morning.”

  Pete downed the rest of his pint as the barman appeared with her glass of champagne. “Keep me updated,” he said as he headed past them.

  Langton passed Anna her champagne. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  Langton looked around for a place away from the noisy bar. Anna suggested they go outside, to the garden area with its chairs and tables.

  “Not too cold for you?”

  “No, and it’s more private.”

  They headed out and sat on one of the benches. It was cold, but it was also quiet.

  “Listen, Anna, I know you want to be on the Oxford stakeout, but I think you might get more of a result from Julia Brandon. You’ve been the one interviewing her, and probably have a better relationship with her.”

  “I wouldn’t say I have a relationship with her.”

  “Just one with Pete, huh?”

  She sipped her champagne, looking away from him. “That’s my business.”

  “I know; I was just curious. He seemed put out at my presence. He’s a good guy, if he stays off the wacky tobacco.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve known him for a while; he’s very good at his job, but I know he’s a bit of a groover—nothing against it, unless it interferes with work. Sometimes the pressure gets to him.”

  “Really?”

  “Does to us all.”

  “Can we talk about the case?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t think my having interviewed Julia is that beneficial. I would prefer to do the search of Honour and Damien Nolan’s farmhouse.”

  “I want you at the Wimbledon house.”

  “Cunningham actually gave me the choice.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  She hesitated. “The henhouse at Honey Farm: when I was there, Honour was very keen to point out why it was locked—foxes getting to the hens, she said—but maybe there’s something else inside.”

  “I’m sure the lads will cover everything.”

  She finished her glass of champagne.

  “You want another?”

  “No, I should get as much sleep as possible.”

  Langton shrugged; he still had half of his pint left. “Julia Brandon, from reports, seems very keen to get Frank’s body released for burial.”

  “Well, he was her husband,” Anna said.

  “Maybe it’s the death certificate she wants. Something just sort of niggles if, as you believe, it was a marriage of convenience.”

  “Well, she does come into half a million life insurance.”

  “I know.” Langton drank his beer, then placed the glass down carefully on the table. “She’s also got quite a tidy sum, right? Even though she took out four million quid?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wonder if this is all down to money.”

  “I don’t quite follow. What is?”

  “The reason Fitzpatrick is back. What if he’s running out of cash? To stay on the run costs; he’s lost houses all over the U.S., sold his boat a few years back. If he was the partner who left her all the dough—and it’s looking as if this Anthony Collingwood could be Fitzpatrick—he could be putting pressure on Julia to release her cash back to him. Maybe she doesn’t want to lose it.”

  Anna smiled. As always, Langton was putting his finger onto the motive that had not even been brought up by the investigation. She pulled her coat around herself to keep out the chill. “You know, the house in Wimbledon might not reveal any evidence that Fitzpatrick was there. She only moved into it about eight months ago.”

  “Which would coincide with her hiring Frank Brandon.” Langton pulled at his hair. “I need you to get the bloody time frame ironed out. It’s important we know the exact dates Frank started to work for her, and we need the date that Donny Petrozzo died. It has to have been after the murder of Frank, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Julius D’Anton died after Petrozzo?”

  “Maybe. It’s not been verified; they’re not sure how long he was in the water. All we know is that both of them died from an overdose of Fentanyl.”

  “Yes, I know that,” he said impatiently. He continued trying to coordinate the series of murders. If Donny had died first, then D’Anton, Stanley Leymore was shot when? They had found the Glock pistol used to kill Frank Brandon still in the possession of Delroy Planter! Therefore his statement, along with Silas Roach’s, didn’t add up.

  Anna closed her eyes, sighing. Yet again, Langton was coming up with queries that even she had overlooked.

  “Get me the coordination ironed out,” he said.

  Anna agreed. Both dealers were still being held by the Drug Squad, so it wasn’t as if they could do a runner.

  Langton stood up, buttoning his jacket. “I’m cold. We should either go back inside or…”

  “I should get moving,” Anna said.

  They walked in silence to the car park, Langton deep in thought, Anna equally so. She wasn’t thinking about the case, but why he had wanted to see her alone. She got to her car and bleeped it open.

  “You’ve moved,” he said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Where to?”

  “Over by Tower Bridge.”

  Langton hel
d the car door open for her. “Thanks for coming to see me. Sorry if I chose the wrong pub, but I’m sure you’ll iron it out with Pete.”

  “There is nothing to iron out,” she said tetchily.

  He cocked his head to one side, stared at her, then looked at his watch. “You’d better go. Good luck tomorrow.”

  She was about to close the door when he leaned in. “This guy Fitzpatrick is a real nasty piece of meat. Christ knows how many people he’s used and abused. He’d kill anyone who stands in his way, so I’m warning you, Anna, behave yourself. No going off if you get the scent of him. Work as a team, and make sure you have backup, understand me?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Good night.” Then he slammed her door and walked off toward his old brown Volvo.

  She started the engine and reversed past him, but he didn’t acknowledge her; he was talking on his mobile phone. She felt depressed. Had he really asked to meet her to warn her to behave herself? If that was the only reason, he could have told her in the office. She couldn’t suppress her mixed emotions, yet he had not shown her any.

  She went over everything they had discussed, first the case, then when he had asked if she had moved. She wondered if he had tried to contact her. If he had wanted to, he could have done so easily. Had he been jealous about her friendship with Pete? Just thinking about it made her feel as if she owed Pete some kind of apology. She had refused to see him that evening, saying she was working late; then he had been confronted by her with Langton.

  Anna was close to where Pete lived in Hampstead, so, instead of heading for home, she turned off toward his house. She thought she would just drop by and say she was sorry but, as she turned into his road, she saw Daniella, the attractive blond girl he had introduced her to in the coffee shop paying a taxi driver outside Pete’s house. Anna had to pull over, or she would have driven past just as Pete opened his front door. Pete ushered Daniella inside, closing the door.

  “Bloody men,” Anna muttered, angry that she had even felt bad about bumping into him. She felt angry the entire drive back across London to Tower Bridge. Angry with Pete, angry that Langton had asked to see her for a private drink but had made no reference to their previous time together. Then angry with herself. What was it she wanted? For him to make an approach, and try to rekindle their love affair? As her anger subsided, she felt a strange sadness. She was not going to even contemplate the fact that, deep down, she wanted Langton to give her some indication that he still cared. He had behaved merely as her superior officer. It finally dawned on her that he was never going to be anything other than that.