CHAPTER 10
Anna did some sporadic unpacking before having an early night. Just as she was turning her bedside light off, she remembered something: the scrawled writing found inside the map from the glove compartment in the Mitsubishi. The torn piece of notepaper had only numbers and odd letters written on it. She had copied the information down, but done nothing about it. She doubted if anyone else had, because it had not been brought up; the forensic team still had it to check for fingerprints along with the map. She closed her eyes, trying to recall what area the folded map was for, but couldn't remember. It was already after eleven-thirty; there was nothing she could do but wait until morning.Anna was the first of the team in the station. She went back over the incident board. There were the lists of items removed from the Mitsubishi, but no further details. Frustrated, she went into her office and called the forensic lab. She waited for what seemed an age before Pete Jenkins came onto the phone."Morning, Pete. I'm sorry to be such an early bird, but can you give me any details on the map removed—""What?""It was sent over to you for fingerprints.""Christ, I don't think we've got round to it yet.""Is it at hand? Can you just check something for me?""Sure, like what?""Where is it for?""The map?""Yes, it's very important."She waited another few minutes before he came back on the phone. "It's still bagged up.""Can you just tell me if it's for Oxfordshire, that area?""Hang on."Again Anna had to wait; then Pete was back on the line. "That's right.""What about the note that was sent in?""Do you know it's only eight-thirty? I've not had my coffee yet."Anna hadn't had any breakfast herself. She was getting impatient; even though she was certain she was correct, she wanted verification. Five minutes later, she got what she wanted. She gave Pete instructions to work on both items as soon as possible. He sounded tetchy, but she didn't care."Do you want to have dinner with me again?" he asked."Yes—yes, I do." She was eager to get rid of him."Talk to you later, then."Anna replaced the phone and almost hugged herself. Before she could go up to the canteen, Gordon knocked on her office door. "You got a minute?" he asked."Just one, what is it?""I've had the photographs printed up.""What photographs?"Gordon held up his mobile phone. "From when you went upstairs with Honour Nolan and I did a snoop job."Anna looked impressed and then laughed. "Good for you, Gordon!"He laid out six photographs. She didn't say anything because they were of the kitchen, the outhouses, the henhouse .. ."These are of the rooms off the study." He placed down three more.Anna picked one up and scrutinized it. "What's this?""His books and papers on the desk, computer, and—"Anna held the photograph closer. "No, no, not on the desk—the picture on the wall behind it.""Oh. I dunno.""It's a painting of a boat." "Oh, is it?" "Listen, get this blown up, will you? I want to see the picture more clearly." "Okay, will do. When do you want it for?" "Like now!"As the team grouped for the briefing, Anna ate a bacon sandwich. When Cunningham asked for any developments, it was painfully obvious that they were getting nowhere, until it was Anna's turn. She took great pains to cover the interactions with Honour and Damien Nolan. At the end, she left a theatrical pause; she had learned a lot about delivery from Langton, and she had everyone's attention."I think they were lying. 1 believe they are involved. Their farm is a perfect hideaway; you could stay there for weeks and not be discovered. If Alexander Fitzpatrick has returned, he could be living there. Found in the Mitsubishi jeep was a map: it detailed the area in which the farm is located, and the numbers on the scrap of torn paper that we recovered, I think, are actually directions to Honey Farm. It's not easy to find."With perfect timing, Gordon joined the team. It would have been even better if he had had the blown-up picture to show, but he had been unable to get it done in time. Anna described the painting of a large yacht in the farm office. It could mean that the Nolans had been in touch with Fitzpatrick. Cunningham was impressed.Coming up after Anna was Phil Markham. He had also been busy. He gave a mock bow as he listed his new developments. First up was the verification that a set of prints from the squat, found on a crumpled plastic takeaway carton, belonged to Donny Petrozzo. There was no evidence as to the time or date the prints were left. They could have been there from before the night of the murder. From the residue inside the carton, however, they could perform further tests. Second, there was at long last a set of prints from the squat that came up on the database, identifying Shane Browne, a known addict with a long record for drug abuse, a Bernard Murphy, and Julius D'Anton. The last two had record sheets for theft and housebreaking, D'Anton for domestic violence as well.As Phil continued to detail the trace on the three men, which was already under way, Anna jotted down their names. None were big-rime, and none had a record for using weapons. The forensic teams still had many more items to check for prints before they started on the Mitsubishi, which had now been taken apart. The number plates were false and the vehicle identification number had been destroyed by acid. It had also been customized, the black windows tinted darker than was legal. It was no more than a year old, so it was probable they would get a trace on it through dealers quite quickly.Phil reported that the blood swipe did match the blood spattering from the squat, so it must belong to the man who was standing behind Frank Brandon, but, as yet, forensics had no further evidence for them. Tests were still being done on the road map and the scrap of paper, as Anna had mentioned. He then turned over a page in his notebook and grinned."Saving the best for last ...We suspected that, after the shooting, either the shooter or his cohorts left via the back window of the squat. This had been nailed down, so they'd used a wrench to get it open. We have a right-hand print, half the palm and four fingers; the tip of the right index finger is missing. They did not have a match, but we started sifting through any known drug dealers with similar injuries, specifically before the database was compiled. We were coming up with a big fat zero, until we got a break from chatting to a few blokes from the Drug Squad—and we got a name."Phil looked around the incident room, really milking it. "Stanley Leymore, secondhand car dealer. No previous, but known to the squad because at one time he was a useful informer—this was until eighteen months ago. His connection is to Donny Petrozzo, as he sold him the Mercedes; we know this from Donny's documents. I wouldn't be surprised if we found out that the Mitsubishi also came from his garage."There was a buzz around the incident room; at long last, they appeared to be making some headway. Cunningham gave out the details for tracking down and bringing in the men named by Phil, and the search for Shane Browne, Bernard Murphy, and Julius D'Anton went into overdrive.Phil, accompanied by DC Pamela Meadows, left to pick up Stanley Leymore at his garage. This was situated behind Kings Cross Station and occupied three of the old railway arches. They had sent someone to his home address, but with no luck. As they parked up, it also looked as if the garages were not in operation either: the three massive double doors on each of the arches were locked and bolted. They made inquiries on either side of the garages and talked to the mechanics, who said they hadn't seen Leymore for days. Armed with warrants, Phil used a crowbar to force open the center of the three arches. The dark, damp caverns went back under the arches for at least sixty-yards. There were numerous cars parked nose to tail in various degrees of repair. They looked like wrecks that Leymore had probably bought for the parts. Finding nothing but vehicles in the first garage, they went to die next. This was cleaner, with a few vehicles that looked polished and in working order; two even had canvas covers to protect them, as the ceiling was dripping water. Paint-spraying equipment, vacuums, and hosepipes were coiled along the brick walls. It looked as if this was where Leymore prepared the vehicles for sale. The last garage was filled with old cabinets and spare tires. They could see a small kitchen with two gas burners and a filthy sink, and a makeshift office sectioned off with metal sheeting. Inside was a desk propped up with telephone directories; one leg was broken. There was a telephone and an outdated computer, and old diaries and ledgers. Phil and Pamela looked over the dusty, oil-streaked office, then Phil paused, lifting his head to sniff. "You smell it?" he asked Pamela. "Yeah. I thought it was the damp, but it's st
ronger in here." Phil looked around, then walked out of the office. At the back of the garage, there was a portable toilet, the type used at building sites. He and Pamela walked cautiously toward it. The door was shut but, as they got closer, the stench was stronger. Phil took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose as he tried the door, then inched it open. The smell hit them like a vile blanket—so pungent, Pamela had to turn away. Stanley Leymore was sitting on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, his head resting back. The bullet wound was in the center of his forehead. His eyes were wide open. They knew it was him: his right-hand index finger was minus the tip. "Shit." Phil muttered.Anna was in her office, checking over Petrozzo's diaries, when the news came in. The team had. so far, located two of the suspects: Shane Browne and Bernard Murphy. They were being questioned by Cunningham and Gordon in the interview rooms. Anna had seen the two boys being brought in and somehow knew they would not be of importance. Both wore gray anoraks with hoods, dirty trainers, and baggy pants. The third suspect, Julius D'Anton, was still being hunted. She was not finding anything of interest in the diaries; it was tedious, trying to fathom out Donny s scrawled writing, and the series of dots and dashes that represented the users for whom he had scored. There was no reference to Fitzpatrick, nor any clue to Julia Brandon's connection.She put in a call to Pete to ask what he had found on the map and scrap of paper. The news was also disappointing. Whoever had handled the map recently had worn gloves, and these had smudged any prints that had been on the paper. However, Pete was sure, like Anna, that the scrawled letters on the note were directions to the farmhouse. It was likely the Mitsubishi driver had either been intending to go there, or had been there already. Anna asked for the tires to be checked for mud, or any other evidence that could be matched to Julia's sister's rented farmhouse."Do you know if the toxicology report is anywhere near ready?" Anna added."Ask Fielding, but these things always take at least six weeks.""Yes, 1 know. Thanks anyway." Anna replaced the receiver as Cunningham walked in."The kids admit to using the squat, and scoring dope from there, but have alibis for the night of the murder."It was as Anna thought. She asked about the third guy, Julius D'Anton, but as yet they still had no trace of him."You heard about the bloody garage owner?" Cunningham grunted. "Been dead a few days, judging by the stench.""Yes, I heard.""Phil's bringing in all the ledgers to sift through. It's possible this guy had the Mitsubishi." Cunningham hesitated, then, as an afterthought, said they had also found Frank Brandon's VW parked in one of the garages. "I dunno. We get these links, and then it flatlines," she said angrily."Have we still got surveillance on Julia Brandon?""Nope, had to pull it off, invasion of friggin' privacy; that bastard Simon Fagan's been onto the boss. To be honest, I don't think we'd get anything out of her." She looked at Anna. "What?""I disagree. I think she knows a hell of a lot more than she is coughing up—ditto her sister and her husband."Cunningham folded her arms. "Well, we need something to indicate what that is, Travis."Anna told her about the map and the directions.Cunningham ran a hand over her short hair. "Yeah, well—if Donny Petrozzo drove out there, or Frank, we don't have any evidence."Anna felt otherwise, but declined to say so.Cunningham was edgy, stepping from one foot to the other."Leymore was shot between the eyes, close up; blew the top of his head almost through the portable toilet. Fielding's going to work on him as soon as he's delivered, but it looks like a very professional job. Judging from the fact he was taking a crap, he either knew the shooter, or they came in and caught him unaware.""What about the Mitsubishi? Was it from his garage?""Don't know yet, but I'd say so. I think Frank Brandon drove there in his VW, parked up, and took the Mitsubishi—but thinking isn't good enough. We need to ..."Phil opened the office door. "From what we've been able to check, Leymore was dealing in stolen cars: respraying, doctoring plates and engine license numbers. We've got a sales receipt for Donny Petrozzo's Mercedes eighteen months ago—Leymore took another one in part exchange—and, last but not least, we have the Mitsubishi. We've got some intelligence that it may have been stolen eight months ago from Brighton, but we're still checking it out. "Anna repeated that she had asked for forensics to check out any soil particles on the tires to see if they could match it with soil at Honey Farm."That'll take effing weeks," Phil said tetchily. "You know they gotta send it out to a different lab. We're still waiting for the toxicology report on how bloody Donny Petrozzo died."Cunningham shrugged. "Yeah, well, that's the way it is. We wait."Anna watched them both leave her office. She noted that Phil, the golden boy at the briefing, was seeing his hard work result in bugger all. They had a few more pieces of the jigsaw, but none of the corners, just a small section. Those pieces in a jigsaw that were always the most difficult, like the sky or the sea, were still missing.Thinking about the sea, she went into the incident room to ask if Gordon had the blown-up picture of the yacht from the farm. He passed it over. Back in her office she took out an old eyeglass that had belonged to her father and checked over the painting. It was quite good quality—the painting, not the enlargement. The boat had both sail and engine, and was enormous, with a speedboat winched onto the stern and two jet skis. She squinted at the small section of black writing on the bow, then took the painting over to the small dirty window, trying to get more light. There was a D and then an A. a clear R and something she couldn't make out... but then another D,E,V... She put the eyeglass down. Could it be Dare Devil? Even if it was, she wasn't sure what it meant.She logged onto the computer, looking up Alexander Fitzpatrick again. She scrolled through the various newspaper articles written at the time of his arrest, and found a short paragraph about his prowess as a yachtsman when he had escaped via his boat back in the eighties. She kept scrolling through, to see if there was ever a mention of what the yacht was named, but found nothing. She sat back. Could the painting be of his boat? It would, she doubted, be in his possession now, as it was many years ago and ocean vessels had become much more sophisticated since then. However, if this was Fitzpatrick's boat in the painting, it gave an obvious link to Honour Nolan. She surely knew Fitzpatrick a lot better than her noncommittal "never met him."Ballistics were able to ascertain very quickly that the bullet taken from Stanley Leymore was a match for the bullets that had killed Frank Brandon: it came from a Glock weapon. Pathology estimated that he had been dead for at least four days. He left a widow and three teenage children. Mrs. Leymore had not reported her husband missing, because she said he had told her he was going to be away on business.Anna physically jumped as someone rapped on her door. Gordon poked his head in. "You heard the latest?""You mean about Stanley Leymore?""No, Julius D'Anton.""What about him?""Fished him out of the Thames four days ago.""What?!" "Boss wants you and me to go over to the Richmond mortuary."A fisherman had seen the bloated body of Julius D'Anton floating over the weir in Teddington, caught in weeds beneath Richmond Bridge. Wrapped around one ankle was a rope; it appeared to have been attached to something at some point, but it must have broken loose and the body floated to the surface, aided by the gases trapped in the swollen belly. Anna stared at the hideous face.D'Anton was not like the other kids they had interviewed. A mature man, he had been wearing a tweed sport jacket, polo-neck shirt, and cord trousers; even his shoes looked good quality. He had no wallet or identifying papers in his pockets, and cause of death was listed as unknown! No water had been found in his lungs, so he had not drowned, and was therefore presumed dead before being tipped or falling into the Thames. D'Anton had been initially ID'd by his fingerprints, due to previous arrest sheets. His wife, Sandra, had also identified him. Anna and Gordon went to interview her.The house was in Chiswick, a substantial property on three floors. Sandra D'Anton was an attractive blonde in her early forties. She had decorators in, and apologized for the mess in her hallway. She had large, sad brown eyes, and a weight of depression clung to her. She was wearing slacks and a loose sweater with old leather slippers .She led them into a pleasant kitchen and offered them tea, but both declined."I am very sorry about your husband. I really appreciate you agreeing to t
alk to us," Anna said quietly."I've wondered if someone else would come—you know, after they came to tell me they had found him.""I need to ask you some questions."Sandra shrugged and sat down at the kitchen table."When was the last time you saw your husband?""Over a week ago.""So were you worried when you didn't see him?""Not particularly; he often went off for days on end. He was in the antique business, so frequently traveled up north or wherever.""Do you have a shop?""No, he had regular customers he bought and sold for. We sort of worked doing up properties, like this place; soon as it's all finished, we sell and start all over again. Well, we did ...""So you own this house?""Yes, but it's mortgaged up to the hilt.""So you believed he was buying antiques?""I presumed he was.""He used to just take off?""Well, yes. This time he said that he was..." She threaded her fingers together. "It's the way he was, you know, always going to find something that would get us off the treadmill. Out of debt, to be more exact.""So you are in debt?""You could say that. I don't think we have ever not been, not for the past ten years.""Before that?""He was successful; we had a shop on the King's Road, but that went." She sighed. "My husband was arrested for dealing drugs. He served time, but always said when he came out, it was over. He tried to straighten out, but it was hard and he was always chasing the dream. When he did deal drugs, he had money he could throw around.""Do you know Donny Petrozzo?""No.""How about Stanley Leymore?""Never heard of him.""Julia Kendal?""No."Anna hesitated. "Frank Brandon?""No. I don't know any of these people.""Anthony Collingwood?""No.""Alexander Fitzpatrick?"Sandra closed her eyes. "Well, I know who he is. I never actually knew the man but Julius knew him years ago—I mean years, like thirty, maybe even more." "How well did he know him?""They were at Oxford together—Balliol. I think he was pretty infamous. Julius used to dine out on stories about when they were undergraduates." "Did he keep in touch with him?" "Good God, I doubt it.""Did he mention recently that he might have seen him?""No. Look, if you must know, and I see no reason why I shouldn't say it, my husband was quite a sad character. He came from a very good family but blew his inheritance before I even met him. Then he got caught up in drugs.""Was he still using?"Sandra nodded. "He tried to quit, but then he'd make some money and go on a bender. It drove me to distraction, but he wouldn't listen to me. He was a very sweet guy, so generous. For all his faults—and there were many—he was always kind to me." She sighed. "Even though he was older than me, he just never grew up."I‘m sorry."Yeah, but you know, all the time we've been together, I always felt something bad would happen to him. In the end it did, didn't it?"It was strange. Sandra didn't seem that distressed; there was just a sad resignation. Perhaps, just as she said, she had always been expecting this.Anna knew that one of the charges against him had been for domestic violence, but she didn't feel that this was the time to bring that up. She didn't have to."He hit me, you know," Sandra said. "It was a long time ago. He was high on crack and he lost it, started wrecking the house—not this one, another place we had. Anyway, when he attacked me, 1 called the cops and they arrested him. I never meant it to be such a big thing. 1 mean, he had punched me around, but they found his stash of drugs, so he got a six-month sentence. He was in Ford Open Prison; in a way, it was the best thing, because he got clean whilst he was there. When he came out, we started over. For a while, he was on his best behavior but then, as always, he started using again. You know, recently, he'd been trying to stay straight. Then, when he said he'd got this big thing going down ...""Did he ever hint at what this was?" Anna asked.Sandra got up and went to the fireplace. It was being rebuilt; there were tiles and bricks stacked beside it. She looked along the dusty mantelshelf and sifted through some letters. "You get so fed up that you don't really ever believe someone like Julius. You know the promises— he was always going to sort himself out, go into rehab, when he came out of prison things would be different... but you get used to empty promises. They sort of deaden any real feelings.""But you loved him," Anna said softly."I guess so, but the terrible thing is, I feel a kind of relief. That may sound awful, but it's the truth. I mean, we lived together but he was impotent—had been for years—and I was getting tired out from propping him up.""Are you looking for something specific?" Anna asked, watching Sandra hunting through the papers."Yes. It was a few months back—he said he was onto something. He'd been away for a couple of days antiquing, going to odd fairs up and down the country ...""Something he wanted to buy?""I'm not sure. All he said was, things were going to turn around and he would be able to buy the lease on a shop he had seen—you know, really start afresh. But if you knew how many times he'd saidthat..." Sandra held on to one opened envelope and placed the others back onto the mantelshelf. "Those arc mostly bills, unpaid, and will have to stay that way until I know what I'm doing." She opened the envelope; tucked inside was a pink flyer with lists of antiques fairs. "This is the flyer they leave at the London fairs, giving details of the ones out of town. He bought a few things, but it was after that trip he said he was onto something. Whether or not he went back there, I really don't know.""May I see it?""Yes, take it."Anna glanced at the advertisement. A couple of fairs had rings around them and were underlined. One, Anna paid particular attention to: a trade fair in Shipston on Stour. "Isn't this near Oxford?"Sandra looked over her shoulder. "Yes, but it's not a big one: just a village hall. Sometimes you can pick up good stuff if you're lucky. I doubt if Julius would have found anything of great value there, but I think he was going back to one of the shops.""Not the antique fair?""I think the guy may have had a stall there; often shop owners take stalls at these fairs. You get to see a regular bunch of people.""Did he stay in hotels?""No, he used to sleep in the back of the van. He never had enough money to stay in hotels. Drink in them, maybe ...""The van, do you know where it is?"Sandra shook her head. "It was a wreck. Julius drove it into the ground. I think the back end or something went, so he might have dumped it somewhere.""What was he driving the last time you saw him?"Sandra puffed out her cheeks, trying to remember. "I don't know. He said he'd borrowed someone's jeep, I think. Whose, I have no idea.""Did you ever see this jeep?""No.""Could it have been a Mitsubishi?""I don't know, and he could have been lying. All I remember is, he said he was going to pick it up."
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