She crossed to the Aga and checked on the slices heating in the toast rack; she had never used an Aga before and was amazed how fast it had toasted the bread. She turned the rack over as Damien took out a tray of crisped bacon and then opened a jar of mayonnaise.
Anna removed the bread, joining him at the table. “I’ve just come from your mother’s.”
He spread the mayonnaise over the toast. “Yes, she said you were there.”
Anna laughed; Mrs. Eatwell must have sussed that Anna would be coming to see Damien, so had called him.
“Now then, would you like a nice glass of Merlot or a coffee?”
Anna asked for a cup of tea. He placed the big Aga kettle on the burner, uncorked an open bottle of wine, and poured himself a glass. He moved quickly and decisively, very much at home, fetching plates, glasses, and cutlery and placing them onto the table with napkins. Then he gestured for Anna to sit as he made her a cup of tea. “Do you take sugar?”
“No, thank you.” Anna was itching to start eating, but waited until he sat down and handed over her tea; he then raised his wineglass.
“Cheers!” He sipped the wine and let it linger in his mouth. “Mmm, bit rancid, but it’ll do; I could open a fresh bottle if you changed your mind.”
“No, the tea is fine.”
He sat opposite her, and took a large bite of his sandwich. Anna tucked into hers, feeling in a quandary as to how she should begin questioning him.
“Will she have to go on trial?” he asked quietly.
“Probably. She seems able to deal with it. I doubt that she’ll be badly treated, but she did lie about the whereabouts of her other son. Even though I don’t believe she knew what the crates contained, she nevertheless knew they were there.”
“She’s in her eighties, for God’s sake!”
“I am aware of that, but allowing her son to hide out in her cottage is an offense. She obviously knew he was wanted by the police; then there is the fact that, by not being honest with us, her son has now gained access to a large sum of money.”
Damien took another bite of the sandwich. She noted that he gave no reaction to the fact that Fitzpatrick had withdrawn money.
“Seven hundred thousand,” Anna said as she too continued eating, then licked her fingers, as the mayonnaise had dribbled.
“Will she be taken into the station in London?” he asked, still not referring to the money.
“Possibly. We have an officer with her and she is aware she is under house arrest; at least she has not been uprooted from her home. Did you know about the account in Anthony Collingwood’s name, with your mother as a signatory?”
“No.”
“So how did you think she was able to renovate the cottage over the years?”
“I presumed she had been left money by her husband.”
It felt like they were just making conversation but, by the time she had finished her BLT, she picked up her briefcase and took out her notebook. “I’m here to confirm a few outstanding things. From your statement, you denied meeting Fitzpatrick.” She glanced up at him; he was scraping around his plate with the crusts from his toast. “The handwritten note with directions to the farmhouse: we have verified that it is your handwriting—”
He interrupted her. “This is stupid. My lawyer made it clear that, as evidence, it was rather pointless, as there is no proof of exactly when it was written. But I have actually given it a bit more thought.”
He got up, collected her dirty plate and his own, and crossed to the dishwasher. Anna waited as he stashed their dishes and then ran water over the oven tray he had used for the bacon. He was wearing jeans and a fawn cashmere sweater, with brown suede loafers and no socks. He was, she could tell, very fit; his lean stomach and long legs made him attractive physically, and he had an easygoing, unaffected manner. She had liked him from the first time she had met him.
She flushed at herself even thinking about his attractiveness. “You said you’d been thinking about the note?”
“Yes. It had to have been about two or three years ago, maybe even more, but I wrote the directions for Julia. I mentioned she stayed once; well, she didn’t actually stay at the farm—she hated it—and so moved into the cottage.”
“With your mother?”
She saw a small glimmer of a reaction. He smiled and returned to the table to pour himself more wine. “I said you were very intuitive, didn’t I?”
“Why didn’t you admit it when I asked?”
“I didn’t think it was any of your business. My mother has been very protective about her private life. It was a period when she regrets many of her decisions.”
“You were adopted?”
“Yes. I didn’t even consider trying to trace my birth mother, as I had no real reason to; my adopted parents were a very caring couple. It wasn’t until they passed away that I contemplated trying to find her. They never made any secret of my adoption. After they died, I found many letters. They had always kept in touch, so it was very simple for me to make contact.” He sat opposite Anna again. “My mother had been through some very hard times, especially after my birth. I think Alex suffered from the divorce; one moment he had everything any child could want, and a father, then it was all taken away. It probably warped him for the rest of his life. He was in trouble with drugs from a very early age; not as an addict, but he discovered that it was a very easy way to make a lot of money. This was before I knew him, obviously. He made headlines when he escaped from court, but I had no reason to even think about our being related. I just always knew about him.”
“When did you contact your mother?”
He shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Be about fifteen years ago. Another reason was, Honour and I hoped to start a family, so it was understandable that I should want to know more about my background.”
Anna nodded; it was all so easily acceptable, everything he said. “Did Honour know Mrs. Eatwell before you discovered she was your mother?”
He nodded. “I believe so.”
“So she also knew about Julia and Alexander Fitzpatrick?”
He became evasive, turning away. “It’s a very small world.”
“Did Honour suspect you were related?”
“Not really.”
“But she had to know her sister was being kept by him?”
“Obviously, but she had little to do with Julia.”
“We have verified that her second child is yours.”
“Really? Well, that’s something I didn’t know.”
Anna suspected he was lying, not that his manner had changed; he was still appearing very relaxed and at ease. “According to Julia, at this time, Honour was living with Alexander, so you had to have been aware of who she was seeing—she was your wife.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
“So you knew who he was.”
“Yes, obviously.”
“Why didn’t you contact the police? You must have known he was a wanted criminal?”
“Ah, well, it’s slightly more complicated. By this time, I knew he was my brother. Something I haven’t really told you was that Honour was Alex’s girlfriend before I met her; he met Julia through her. Julia was, as you know, a lot younger—twelve years—and it was very painful for Honour when he took up with her sister.”
Anna jotted down notes. The complicated marital situation between the two brothers and sisters was like something out of a soap opera. She asked if he could repeat how Alexander had made contact. She was told that he simply just turned up; first at his mother’s and then he came to the farmhouse.
“Did he know about you?”
“I suppose he did. As you saw, we do look similar—well, more so now since he’s had so much plastic surgery. He’s also taller and older.”
“And you knew he was a wanted criminal from the moment he surfaced?”
“Yes, as I just said, but it was impossible for me to shop him. I had to consider Honour.”
“Consider your wife?”
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“Yes. Her sister was his mistress and had been for years; in fact, I think she was only sixteen or seventeen when he took up with her. I was not aware of how often he returned to London, nor what Julia’s relationship with him entailed. All I knew was that Julia had a very luxurious lifestyle and, on the rare occasions she visited, it wasn’t all that pleasant.” He gestured to the kitchen. “We live a very simple life; Julia was jetting around the world and dripping in jewels.”
“But surely you knew how she came by this lifestyle?”
He shrugged.
“Alexander Fitzpatrick was an international drug dealer. He was on the U.S. Most Wanted lists, yet you say he was often in London with Julia, and visited here?”
“No, that is not correct; he did not visit here. As I have said, I did not have any personal contact with him until about nine months ago. I was aware that he continued to see Julia, and that she joined him all around the world when he sent for her. As to whether or not he came in and out of the UK, I had no idea.”
“But Honour knew?”
“Possibly, but the sisters were not on good terms with each other. As I explained, Honour had been Alex’s lover before Julia and he dropped her. I think it happened when he took them both on his yacht to the South of France.”
“The painting.”
“I’m sorry?”
Anna said that she had seen a painting of the boat, Dare Devil, but that it had been removed by the second time she had been to the farm.
“Well, that would have been Honour. It was while she and Julia were away with Alex that he took up with Julia, then it was years before they contacted each other again. By that time, Honour and I were married. We used to live in Oxford, and only moved here to be close to my mother.”
Anna flicked through her notebook. “So Honour always knew about Alexander Fitzpatrick?”
He sighed, becoming irritated. “Yes, I’d say it was pretty obvious, but she was not likely to tip off the police. Besides, he came and went for years on end, usually taking Julia with him. He lived in Florida for a time, and I think in the Bahamas and also in the Philippines, but I had no interest in him. My wife was not likely to tell me if she had seen him.”
“Did you like him?”
“Like him?” He shrugged. “He was very charming. I never really got to know him—well, not until recently. He was rather desperate as he had got into financial trouble; he said he’d lost a fortune, all his investments.”
“So did he mention to you what his intentions were?”
“No.”
“He never brought up the subject of importing drugs?”
“No.”
“But Honour knew?”
“I doubt it.”
Anna tapped her notebook with her pen. “So he turns up, desperate?”
Damien leaned forward and patted the table with the flat of his hand. “No, that isn’t quite what I said. He may have been desperate for money, but he was not a desperate man. You have to try and understand the type of person he was. Alex had millions stashed all over the world; I doubt if he could recollect half the places he’d got hidden accounts. The bulk of his fortune was tied up in Germany and the U.S. The recent mortgage fiasco over there had closed the German bank, and all his investments went belly-up on Wall Street. The amount of money he lost must have been staggering for him to take such risks, coming back here to do business. I only ever saw him really angry once, and that was when he tried to explain how Julia had done some kind of fraud against him. Apparently, she had switched over his accounts into offshore banks. Don’t ask me how or what it entailed, because I don’t have the slightest idea. All he said was that she had really screwed him over and he needed to release a lot of money to pay off some people in Miami.”
“So, the time you say he appeared angry, would have been before he picked up the drugs? Did he discuss that he had a shipment coming into Gatwick—”
Again, she was interrupted. “No, he did not. I have answered this at the station. I was not privy to him turning up here with any drugs, nor did I see anyone else with him. I was at work. I had no idea that Honour had agreed to stash the crates in the henhouse. To be honest, if I had known, I would not have allowed it to happen. I was not here when she moved them to my mother’s; I would not have allowed that either. All I did know was he turned up and was staying at my mother’s because he was injured. I never saw him or spoke to him during that time.”
“And you never thought to contact the police?”
He said that he thought of it, but he couldn’t, because of Honour and his mother.
“Even when you had seen the papers, the news broadcasts, the crime shows? You had to have known that he was wanted—and, not only that, but he was dangerous?”
Damien got up and stuffed his hands into his pockets, standing with his back to the fire. He became quite tense, his voice harsh. “Why don’t you try putting yourself in my position? My wife in love with him and now embroiled in his drug dealing, my mother unwittingly involved, and Julia terrified about what he would do to her. Then there are the children—my child! How in God’s name could I do anything but behave like the proverbial ostrich? I did nothing. I am starting to get really irritated by your persistent attempts to make out that I was in any way involved.”
“I am only attempting to get to the truth,” Anna retorted sharply.
“The truth is exactly as I have described: he had us all caught like rabbits in the spotlight, afraid to make a move. You asked me if I liked him—liked him? I hated his guts. He was a vain, egotistical bastard; he would use anyone, and that included his kids and my wife.”
“Your wife claimed that you had an open marriage.”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. Turning to put more logs on the fire, he kicked at the burned wood with the toe of his shoe. “I don’t know what she claimed. You could say it was open on her side; she never stopped loving him.”
“Did you have a sexual relationship with Julia to get back at her?”
“No, I did not. I had sex with her once.”
“To get back at him?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “It was years ago. It wasn’t connected to the drug deal. I had Julia calling me and crying about some woman who had moved into the house in St. John’s Wood. I didn’t even know he was in the country, and I hadn’t even met him. This was the time I gave Julia the directions to come here. As soon as she told me Alex had another woman, I knew it had to be Honour, because she was not at home; she’d made some excuse about a friend being ill. Julia turns up here and…” He gave an openhanded gesture. Then he walked back to the table and sat, stretching his long legs in front of him. “That’s life, isn’t it? Honour desperate for a child; I spend one night with Julia and she’s pregnant.”
“How did your wife react to that?”
“Honour is a bit like a homing pigeon; settled back here and just accepted it. I am going to see her later today. She’s called and asked me to take in some clothes. She’s wearing the same ones she was arrested in.”
Anna closed her notebook and reached down for her briefcase. “Have you any idea where he is?” She opened her case on the table and put in her notebook.
“I hope wherever he is, he rots in hell.”
Anna snapped the locks on her case. “So no more brotherly love between you?”
“My wife is in prison because of him; my mother may even be subjected to a trial. He’s taken every cent out of her account; she was hoping she’d get custody of Julia’s children. He’s hurt everyone he came into contact with.”
“He killed a lot of people, or they died because of him,” Anna said, standing.
“If he surfaced here, or even tried to contact me, I’d strangle him.”
She smiled. “Well, that would be a mistake. I’ll give you my card and contact numbers; if he does try to see you, call me.”
He flicked at the card, holding it between thumb and forefinger. “Can I call you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Maybe for dinner one night? I sometimes have to lecture in London. I would enjoy your company when all this is over.”
“It won’t be over, Mr. Nolan, until we find him.”
“But I can call you?”
She smiled as she crossed to the back door. “I don’t think it would be very ethical, but thank you anyway. I appreciate the time you have given me, and the sandwich.”
He joined her at the stable door and reached over her head to open it, swinging the top part back. Langton stood there, framed by the half-open door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Nolan and Detective Travis.”
“I was just leaving,” she stuttered.
“Really? Well, I was just arriving. You mind if I come in?”
“Not at all,” Damien said pleasantly enough, “but, dear God, don’t tell me I have to go over everything again!”
Langton waited as the lower part of the stable door was open and he stepped inside. Anna could feel his contained anger as he passed her.
Rather nervously, Anna reported that she was satisfied that Mr. Nolan had answered all her queries, and she had been about to leave and meet up with Langton.
Langton glared at her and then looked at Damien. “Maybe I’d like some answers.”
Damien gestured to the table. “Sit down.”
“I’ll stay standing, if you don’t mind.”
“Please yourself.” Damien sat.
Anna hovered, unsure whether to remain by the door or sit back at the table.
“Where’s your brother, Mr. Nolan?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Damien turned to Anna. “I have explained to Miss Travis that, quite honestly, if I did know where he was, I’d probably be arrested for trying to strangle him.”
“Really? Could I see your passport, please?”
Damien walked to a sideboard and opened a drawer; he searched around inside it, and then opened another. “That’s odd. I always kept it in here. Perhaps my wife has put it somewhere else.”
“I suggest you gave it to your brother, Mr. Nolan.”
“I did not.”
“Really. Can you look at this, please?” Langton passed over a search warrant.
Deadly Intent (Anna Travis Mysteries) Page 50