Pete started up the engine; they reversed and drove out. Honour watching them leave. "What did you think?" she asked."About what?""The setup here?""Rather pleasant, if you like this kind of thing, but its really out of the way. I wouldn't like it.""What did you think of her?""Seemed nice; must have been a real beauty, very friendly."Anna nodded and then asked Pete to stop at the ivy-covered cottage. He stayed in the car as she walked up the tiny pathway to the front door. It was a long shot, but nevertheless, she wanted to make sure of something. The same elderly lady opened the front door who had given Gordon the directions to the farm. Anna introduced herself and Mrs. Doris Eatwell patted her arm rather than shake hands, as she was very arthritic. Anna told her that she was making inquiries about an antiques dealer called Julius D'Anton. Mrs. Eatwell said she had never heard of him, but knew Michael Sudmore, as he had bought a number of items from her.Anna was invited inside, and knew she had the right place."Oh, this is nice," she said as she was shown into a small sitting room with a very modern sideboard and table."Thank you. I've got a new bathroom too—1 sold off all the old things I had.""Did you recently sell a table to Mr. Sudmore?""Yes, I did. He's a lovely man—he came by to see some china I was selling, and he saw it outside the back door."Anna was gone for over half an hour."Guess what?" she said when she returned to the car. "Michael Sudmore buys the table, does it up, and puts it into his shop, I would say asking a hell of a lot more than he paid for it. Julius D'Anton goes to the fair—as Sudmore said, he had a real eye for antiques—puts a down payment on the table, and sniffs out where it came from."Pete started up the Morgan and they drove on down the lane."So, this is what I think might have happened: Julius D'Anton drives here to see if Mrs. Eatwell has any other antiques that he can buy for peanuts. It's not far from here to the farmhouse, right?" "Right," Pete said, concentrating on maneuvering the car around the potholes once more."What if he pays a visit and was, according to Mrs. Eatwell, driving a van? She had no idea what make or color, but she said it was a van— you with me?""Yeah."Anna leaned back; it was all supposition yet again."Go on," Pete said, all ears now."Okay, what if he ran into trouble—maybe hit one of the ditches? I don't know, but what if he continued on from Mrs. Harwell's to the farmhouse? Nobody answers at the front door—the bell doesn't work, so again this is just possible—what if he walks around to the back of the farmhouse to the kitchen?""Yes, still with you.""It's a big coincidence, but Julius D'Anton would know Alexander Fitzpatrick from his days at Oxford. What if he saw him here? What if he was hiding out here and Julius recognized him?""Then what?""Well, I don't bloody know," Anna snapped."So this guy Fitzpatrick is hiding out. and up comes someone from his past:'! say, I say, I say, I recognize you, matey'—and then what? 'My van has broken down and do you have a vehicle I can borrow, like the Mitsubishi'?""Oh, shut up. It's possible.""Sure, anything is—but you'll need to match the dates this Julius was seen in the Mitsubishi to when he went belly upward in the Thames.""Yes, I know. Let's just ask around any garages and repair shops in this area and see if we can find the missing van."Anna was doubting herself; she was certain that Pete thought she was adding two and two and coming up with Christ knows what. However, an hour and a half later, in McNaulty & Sons crash repair shop and restoration yard, they found the van.
It was an old post office van, resprayed a dark navy blue, with more dents and bangs than a stock-car racing vehicle. The entire bodywork was a mismatch of filler; it didn't look remotely roadworthy. The backend had indeed gone. The van had been towed into their yard, but remained in the same condition, as the owner had given them a dud check to repair it. The check was signed by Julius D'Anton. Anna gave instructions to the garage that they should leave the van as it was; she would have someone tow it to London.
Pete had shaken his head; yet another vehicle the forensic lab had to check over. It was filthy, mud-spattered, and inside were used coffee beakers and takeaway food cartons, mounds of newspapers, and a few odd pieces of bookcases and ornaments. These could possibly have been bought at the antiques fair, as there were also some of the flyers on the passenger seat, along with an old T-shirt and jeans, and a rolled-up sleeping bag. In the ashtray were also some roaches. They left everything as it was. Anna knew she would have to work out a time frame of when D'Anton was last seen alive by Michael Sudmore, with what looked like quite a wedge of cash, to when his body was discovered in the Thames. She would need to go back to talk to Sandra, his widow, about the exact dates when Julius had said he was onto something big, and the fact that his fingerprints were found in the drug squat in Chalk Farm. They knew when his van had been taken into the breaker's yard at Mc Naulty's: it was two weeks before the murder of Frank Brandon.
Anna and Pete found a table for dinner in a small Italian bistro in Oxford city center. They had not bothered to drive any farther a field to the famous, Michelin-starred eateries outside the city. The food was delicious and, apart from a few rowdy students, they had an enjoyable meal without mentioning the case once. Anna relaxed, helped by a very good bottle of Merlot and Pete's equally good company. Anna told him about her student days here, and how she had rarely ever had enough money to dine out further than a McDonalds. She never brought up the times she had driven back and forth to see Langton in the rehabilitation home. In fact, it never crossed her mind, and she enjoyed telling Pete about her old bicycle that she had ridden around the city until it had been stolen. From then 011 she had walked, even though she had been certain she'd seen another student whizzing past on it.
The case finally reared its head when, as they left the restaurant, Pete had asked for some tinfoil. From his glove compartment, he took out a plastic knife, then took copious scrapings of mud from around the hubcaps, wheels, and sides of the Morgan. "I'm impressed," Anna said, watching him."Yeah, well, it looks like it may rain, so better to do it now."The rain started coming down about half an hour later. Pete had put the roof up, and despite a few areas where tape covered some cracks, they could hear each other. They ran into heavy traffic on the motorway, as a truck had overturned, and spent over an hour inching along. They found themselves discussing the case, all Anna's theories and suppositions. Pete queried many of them, but became fascinated and also slightly in awe of her productive detective mind."I take after my father," she said. The conversation turned to her personal life, and she found herself telling him more than she could recall telling anyone else. How her father had been such a powerful force in her life, and her delicate mother such a loving support to them both."You are lucky," Pete said. He gave a few details about his own childhood. He had been brought up mainly by his grandmother, who had doted on him, until he was twelve years old. After she passed on, he went to live with his father in Devon. He was a builder and carpenter, who would spend whatever he made in the pub. His mother had been a nurse, who had left his father for a doctor, and emigrated to Australia. The broken promise of her sending for him had hurt him deeply, but thankfully his grandmother had always made him feel very loved. When he did eventually fly out to Australia to meet his mother and stepfather, she was a stranger."It's odd. I went out there with every intention of forming a bond with her—you know, wanting her to be special—but she was a strange, cold woman. Maybe she regretted leaving me, but I don't ever recall her holding me in her arms.""That's awful," Anna said, remembering how her mother would be at the gate waiting for her to come home from school: always there, always with her arms out for a hug."The way I was brought up made me wary of relationships. Women Were either like my granny or the type my father used to bring homefrom the pub—and he had a real variety. He was never too particular: blond, brunette, fat or thin. I don't think he liked to sleep alone, or cook or do any household things like washing up, so whenever I got back from school, there was always a strange woman hoovering and dusting.""Is he still alive?""Nope. He committed suicide eighteen years ago. Went out to his hut, where he would supposedly do his carpentry, and threw a rope over a beam.""Did you ...""Yeah, I found him—not a pretty sight. But I called the
police and they took care of everything. From then on, I was sort of on my own. I inherited what little he had—the cottage and a couple of outhouses and fields. I got about fifty grand. I went to university in Liverpool; no idea why I chose that one, because I could have had the pick of a number, but off I went, money in the bank, good digs, and a sort of freedom I had never really felt before. I had a terrific time—there's nothing like the Liverpool sense of humor—and I made great friends there; we still keep in touch.""Did you meet your wife there?""No, I was back in London when we met. In fact, we only really knew each other for a few months before we moved into the house in Hampstead, and then got married a year or so later."Anna stared from the window as the rain lashed down."Have you ever been married?" Pete asked her."No. Not even close.""How come?""Well, I'm not that old for one thing—I'm only twenty-eight." And yet it did sound old to her, and she was shocked."You ever lived with anyone?"Anna suddenly didn't want to talk. "Not really.""Oh, I see. You can pump me for my seedy background, but you don't seem to want to go into yours." "Your background didn't sound seedy to me. I told you, I had a great relationship with my parents." "But what? You gave everything to your career?" "Yes."He laughed and gave her a sidelong look. "You must have got hurt hard.""No, I didn't." She really didn't want to get into the Langton relationship, and was beginning to get irritated by his persistence. At last, the traffic thinned out and they could pick up some speed.He reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Sorry. I just want to get to know you—I suppose that's obvious."She smiled and released her hand. "Well, I've never been very good at expositions, so let's just say maybe I will give you the gritty details some other time.""Gritty?"She sighed and then shook her head. "I was joking. There's really nothing else to know about me.""You going to stay with me tonight?""No, I'd like to get home—but how about I cook you breakfast tomorrow at my place?""Okay, it's your call."Anna still didn't really understand why she was keeping Pete at a distance. She did find him attractive, and she was getting fond of him and enjoying his company.She was still pondering it when she drove herself home after collecting her Mini from Pete's garage. He had kissed her briefly—it had felt good, but not passionate—not like she had felt with Langton. The "gritty" truth was that she was unable to let Langton go. She hadn't wanted to continue the relationship, and she was certain that he didn't either, but why was she so tentative about making more of her friendship with Pete?Undressing and getting ready for bed, she felt terribly sad. She curled up like a child in her big new bed. The few sexual relationships she had had in her past had meant nothing compared to her infatuation with Langton. In many ways, that was what it had been: never a steady or serious affair. He had never been a friend, but a demanding lover. She wondered if that was why she couldn't move forward with Pete. He was just too damned nice! He didn't excite her. Langton had certainly done that. In bed, at work, in every way, he had dominated her—at times, really frightened her—but she had thrived on his ability to make every nerve in her body tingle. She wondered if she would ever feel the same way about anyone else, even knowing what a dangerous creature Langton was. Instead of making her reject everything about him, it made her long for him to wrap her in his arms and make love to her. She didn't think about what had gone on that day with Pete, the discovery of D'Anton s van, the possibility he had met Alexander Fitzpatrick at Honour Nolan's farm. All she thought about, as she cried herself to sleep, was how much she missed James Langton.
CHAPTER 12
Pete arrived at nine o'clock with croissants and fresh fruit. Anna made them both omelets and brewed up some coffee. Once again, they were totally at ease with each other. Pete helped unpack her boxes and put up the plasma TV; he was helpful and considerate, and very adept at checking plugs and carrying all the cardboard boxes down to the bins in the basement.He worked alongside her, washing china and ripping off the bubble wrap from various pieces of furniture. He loved her new flat and, when they took a coffee break, they sat on the small balcony looking out onto the river. Anna was wearing old jeans and a stained T-shirt with sneakers. He was similarly dressed; they could have easily been mistaken for a loving couple. But he didn't make any moves on her; in fact, apart from a kiss on her cheek when he arrived, he had not touched her.She was surprised how disappointed she felt when he checked the time and said he should be making a move. "Do you have to go? I owe you dinner.""I'll take a rain check. I'll probably be pretty tied up next week."She smiled. "Okay. Thanks for helping me out this morning."She watched him leave, feeling at odds with herself. She was unwrapping the few items still left to put into the kitchen when she came across a painted mug. It was nothing special to look at, but what made Anna sit back, thinking, was its shape. She had seen one similar—far better painted, and with a more professional glaze—in Michael Sudmore s antiques shop.Honour Nolan had said she was a beginner at pottery, and twice had mentioned that she had a small kiln in one of the barns. What if that was a lie? What if there wasn't any kiln, but perhaps a stove: something to give heat to the barn, if someone was living in it? It would be a very good cover. After looking over the farmhouse, Anna was pretty certain there-was no one else living there—but what if one of their barns was being used? She again went over the possibility that Julius D'Anton might have had problems with his van and somehow inadvertently come across Alexander Fitzpatrick. He could have given D'Anton money and the Mitsubishi to drive, yet knew he would have to get rid of him, so dumped him in the Thames.Anna showered and changed, and drove to Chiswick to talk to Sandra D'Anton. She really needed to get her time frame in order. She knew the dates of the antiques fair and how many times D'Anton had visited the shop, but had no clear date for when he returned to London. His fingerprints were matched to ones found in the Chalk Farm squat, but were they there before the murder? Had she been wrong about the passenger in the Mitsubishi with Frank Brandon: could it have been Julius D'Anton? That didn't quite add up. D'Anton was tall, but not six feet four. However, she made a mental note to test his shoes against the prints in blood at the scene of crime.Sandra was surprised to see Anna, who was wearing casual trousers and a sweater, rather than her usual suit. She invited her into the kitchen, which was in even more disarray, with most of the windows removed. There was a burly guy working in there, and Sandra asked if he would take a break for fifteen minutes. He put down his tools and took himself over to the pub.In response to Anna's questions, Sandra found a rather moth-eaten- looking diary that was two years old. All she could recall clearly was that Julius had said he was going to the antiques fair. The next time she had spoken to him was when he had called to say he had found something special, and was going to check out some possible buyers. The next call was to tell her he had trouble with his van. "He was onto something really promising, but he didn't say what it was. He was, in his words, 'hanging out with some friends.'"Sandra shrugged. Usually, this meant he was getting stoned, but she had no idea who these friends were or where he was. When Anna asked it she had seen him after that, Sandra sighed. "Look, I've honestly told you everything I know. He could have returned here, but I wasn't around."Anna looked up from her notebook."Julius and I were really just sort of cohabiting, if you know what I mean. I'm living on and off with Hal, the builder you saw. With all the work going on in the house, I stay over at his place. Jules could have come home. I don't really know, but 1 never saw him again.""Did your husband know about your relationship with Hal?""Yeah—he didn't mind.""So he could have come back here?""Yeah. I didn't check his clothes or anything. I mean, as far as 1 knew, he was still off scouting for antiques, which is why I never mentioned any of this when you first came to see me.""But when you did talk to him, he said he was onto something special?""That's right, but he was always onto some scam or other, so I didn't give it much thought. He said it was going to make us a lot of money, maybe he even said he had some money already. I don't really remember, he just sounded a bit high; you know, he gabbled a bit. I have got so fed up with these promises over the years, 1 just said, 'Yeah, yeah, see
you when I see you.' 1 told you this.""He said his van had broken down?""Yes, he was waiting to get it fixed. It was a dreadful old thing, an old post office van he got for peanuts; he used to drive it into the ground. He said he'd gone into a ditch or something. I honestly didn't pay that much attention."If the damage to D'Anton's van had been caused by driving it on the narrow lane by Honour Nolan's farm, this would place him close to the farmhouse. From there, he might have walked farther up the lane and toward the farmhouse. He could then perhaps have seen Fitzpatrick. Anna knew that, without proof, all her stitching together of this information was supposition; nevertheless, she had traced the old post office van and she did now know for sure that D'Anton had called into the ivy-covered cottage. So, he had to have been very close to the farmhouse. The significance of all this hinged on whether or not she was correct about Alexander Fitzpatrick being there.Anna drove into the car park at the Lambeth laboratories and went into the building to see if Pete was around. She was disappointed, and a trifle confused, to be told that he hadn't been in. She could see by the extra assistants that work was being done over the weekend. The number of trestle tables with victims' clothing laid out for testing made it look like a jumble sale. She asked a young Asian scientist if she could look over the clothing from the body of Julius D'Anton.The polo-neck sweater was cashmere, but very worn and frayed around the neck. The socks had holes in them, and the old tweed jacket had leather patches over the elbows. They had not as yet begun testing and retaining fibers. Anna asked if the shoes had been matched to the bloody footprints left at the drug squat in Chalk Farm. There and then, the scientist, whose name was Shara, picked one up and carried it over to the far side of the room. The footprints had been transferred onto sheets of white paper with markings showing the stitching on the soles. It was obvious that D'Anton's shoe did not make the imprint; it was nowhere near the same size.Anna decided that, as she was at the laboratories, she would see if the pathology lab had any results. Passing the office, she saw that Ewan Fielding was sitting eating a sandwich at his desk; he looked up with annoyance when she tapped and entered.Apologizing for interrupting, she asked if it would be possible for her to see the corpse of Julius D'Anton. Fielding sighed, muttering that it was his weekend off; he was already tired and planning to leave, having had to work long hours to accommodate the extra workload."I don't know if your boss is collecting every corpse from all over London and dumping them on my lap. but the body count supposedly connected to your case is becoming ridiculous," he grumbled. "I've had to ship in another pathologist to give me a few hours off"They walked to the cold storage section. Fielding still complaining. "No one seems to understand that until I have tests completed, there is nothing I can report.""Did he drown?""No, and I believe you've already been told this," he snapped as he walked to drawer four and gestured for an assistant to open it up."Have you any thoughts on how he died?""Thoughts? Thoughts? We don't surmise, Detective Travis, we get everything tested. We don't think, but produce the facts."D'Anton's body was uncovered down to his chest."I don't know what you'll gain from this," Fielding said, looking down at the dead man."So what killed him?" Anna persisted.Fielding shook his head. "I am not one hundred percent sure. I'm waiting for the toxicology department to finish their tests. I'm also waiting on them from the body of Mr. Petrozzo. All I can tell you is that this chap was not a very healthy specimen, far from it. He had at one time been injecting himself, as we have a lot of broken veins—probably heroin—and he was, I would say, a heavy cocaine user, as his nostrils have almost collapsed. His heart was also enlarged, probably due to his drug intake. Basically, all I can verify is that he stopped breathing!""Before he was dumped in the river?""Yes. There is no water in his lungs, but..."Anna turned to him. "But?""I discovered a similar injection mark beneath his tongue as found on the body of Petrozzo. I am not able to confirm what drug was used.""But you have an idea?" Anna knew that Fielding had called Pete to say he had found a trace of a drug. "With Petrozzo, did you have any clue as to what had killed him?""I am not confirming anything. All I can say is, like this poor chappie, Petrozzo stopped breathing! You will have, Detective Travis, all the information from toxicology in due course. I am not in a position to give you any details."Anna could not bring up what Pete had told her, as she knew it could get him into trouble, so she thanked the disgruntled Ewan Fielding and returned to her car. Adding to her "stitching" was the possibility that both Petrozzo and Julius D'Anton had been killed by an overdose of a drug she couldn't remember the name of .It was after four when Anna drew up outside Pete's little terraced house. She rang the doorbell and waited. She was about to give up, when the door opened."Wow, twice in one day! I am flattered," Pete said, beaming."I was just passing," she lied."Really? Well, you had better come in, as to just pass is quite a drive from your place to here."Anna laughed and followed him into the sitting room. Newspapers and coffee mugs were spread all over the floor, and the fire was lit."Coffee is on," he said, fetching a clean mug and carrying the dirty ones to the sink."I dropped by the lab, but they said you hadn't been in.""Ah, I got back here and needed a shower, as I'd built up a sweat moving your boxes around. Anyway, after the shower, I felt knackered, so I had a snooze and then decided to read the papers and take my day off."Pete handed her a mug of steaming black coffee."You didn't see much inside the antique shop, but there were mugs in there that Sudmore said had been made by Honour."Pete sat on the floor and placed another log onto the fire, trying to straighten out as fast as he could: he was stoned, hence he had taken so long to open the front door.Anna explained about the mugs she had painted as a child with her mother. He was finding it all hard to follow. "What if she didn't have a kiln? What if it was a cover?" Anna was saying."Right, yes," he said."The barn would be a perfect place to hide someone, but it would need to be heated—so what better excuse than to say she had a kiln in there?"Pete couldn't help himself; he started to giggle."What's so funny? It's possible.""I know, I know—yes, it is." Pete tried to look serious, but was having a hard time not only keeping his face straight, but also trying to understand what she was talking about.Anna was in full flow, but she was getting such an odd response from Pete that she eventually gave up. "Well, I'm obviously not getting through to you," she said, sipping her coffee, which took her breath away it was so strong."No, I'm sorry. It's just it's so much to take on board. I am sure you must be onto something!" Again he chuckled."Why is it so funny? You know what I found out from Fielding? Both Donny Petrozzo and Julius D'Anton have injection marks beneath their tongue and, in both cases, he is unable to give the postmortem report on how they died—apart from saying sarcastically that they stopped breathing!""Well, that's pretty conclusive," Pete said, trying to look serious."You told me about the drug Fielding thought he'd found traces of—what was it called?"Pete licked his lips—they felt bone-dry. He sipped his coffee. "I've forgotten, but you know he said that he wasn't certain what it was, and not to repeat it to anyone. Did you bring it up?""No, because, as I just said, I couldn't remember what it was called.""Nor can I."Anna sighed and drained the coffee mug. "I wouldn't have asked him anyway, and got you into trouble.""Would you like a glass of wine?" Pete got unsteadily to his feet.Anna looked up at him. "Are you all right?""Yes, perfect. I'm going to open a bottle."She watched him weave his way to the fridge and select a bottle of chilled white. He then rummaged in drawers to find the bottle opener. Anna took a look around the room and saw the ashtray; it was partly shoved beneath a chair. She looked back to Pete as he took down two wineglasses from a cupboard. "Are you stoned?"Pete placed the glasses onto the counter."You are, aren't you?""Well, Your Honor, I do admit to having a large joint this morning. I can't deny it."Anna stood up. "A joint?" "Yes, ma'am! Can't you smell it? It's very, very good grass.""Is this a regular thing?"Pete poured the wine."Pete, it's illegal! You must be crazy.""It's just weed, for God's sake! Any day now they'll make it legal. It's not as if I am shipping it in by the ton." He passed her the wine. "Don't look so shocked.""Well, I am. I mean, do you ever smok
e it when you are at work?""Don't be so crass. I just use it to unwind; it helps me sleep."Anna sat down again. She was unsure what she should do."Cheers," he said as he sipped the wine and then put another log on the fire. "What are you going to do, Anna—arrest me?""Now you're being crass. I just think someone in your position shouldn't take such a risk. I mean, if anyone was to know, you could lose your job!""Have you ever had a joint?"Anna looked flushed."You haven't, have you?""I've never felt the need to.""Even when you were at university?""No! It was not for lack of opportunity. To be honest, the crowd that got stoned every night were not my type, and if my father had ever found out, I think he would have throttled me.""Daddy's girl!""That has nothing to do with it. I respected him and wouldn't do anything that could not only upset him, but have repercussions: he was a very well-respected police officer.""You sound so self-righteous.""Maybe I am, but I also take my job very seriously. If I was foolish enough to start smoking dope. I could jeopardize my career. You only have to be caught once, you know.""I daresay that is true, but I'm in my own home and I use it to relax. And, may I say, it would do you a hell of a lot of good to try it. It would maybe let you relax and get off this case for a few minutes." "What you don't take into consideration is that you have to score it from someone, which means that he or she is also aware of your addiction.""1 am not a flicking addict.""Nevertheless, the risk of it being known to another party means they could have a hold on you.""In what way, for Chrissakes?""Well, for example, say you get some evidence that is detrimental to one of these people you score your dope from—they could get in touch with you and say that they would like you to lose the evidence.""Blackmail me?""Yes, that's a risk."Pete leaned back against the sofa. "Well, I'll have to warn my brother.""What do you mean?""He grows it."Anna finished her wine. "You don't have a brother; you told me about your family.""Ah, this is my Australian stepbrother. He lives in Dorset.""You get it from him?"Pete turned to look at her. "This is getting really boring, Anna. I smoke dope, and I will continue to do so. I am at risk only because I let you in and you are a policewoman—a detective, no less! Any risk I am getting into will probably come from Miss Super Sleuth. Now. can we change the subject?""I'm going home." She stood up.Pete remained lying on the floor, his head resting back on the sofa. He watched her put her empty wineglass on the counter."I'll show myself out.""Fine."Tight-lipped, Anna walked to the front door. Pete made no effort to get up, so she let herself out. He stayed on the floor for a while longer, then crawled to the ashtray and took out the half-smoked joint. He was about to light up when the doorbell rang again."It's me," Anna shouted.Pete opened the door and stood back in mock horror. "Oh Christ! You've come to arrest me!""Very funny. I've got a bloody clamp on my car." She slammed the front door closed. "I'll have to call and get it taken off. How long will it take?""I have no idea. Could be hours—depends on where the clamping buggers are."Anna sat down and opened her briefcase, taking out her mobile. Pete poured her another glass of wine and topped his own up.Keeping her voice controlled, she explained that she wanted the clamp taken off her car immediately. She was a police officer interviewing a suspect and required her vehicle to return to the station.She snapped off her phone in a fury. "They said it'll take at least an hour! I don't believe it.""Am I the suspect you told them you were interviewing?" Pete said, grinning."Oh, shut up. They won't let me off the fine because it's a private vehicle. It's bloody outrageous.""Double yellow lines, sweetheart—you know about the parking. You should have driven round to the garage at the back of the house."Anna accepted a fresh glass of wine and sat on the sofa.Pete lay prone beside her. "I was just about to light up.""For Chrissakes, don't do that! If they come, they'll smell it.""I'm not going to let them in! Your car is outside—they won't smell it from there. Besides, they're clampers, not police."Anna sighed with frustration.Pete lit up the joint, took a big lungful and then held it up. "You know, you should just try it at least once, so you're experienced in the field of marijuana smokers. It will give you a better insight into the farce of it being illegal. You know as well as I do the cops go easy on it; it's the hard stuff they are trying to stop.""Well, they say it's the stepping-stone to hard drugs.""Bullshit." Pete leaned on one elbow and held out the joint. "Go on.try it. Heave in the smoke, just as if you arc smoking a cigarette and let it out slowly.""No way. I'll go and stand by my car." Anna drained her glass."You're over the limit," Pete said, grinning."I am not.""Yes, you are. Women can only drink two very small glasses of wine and you've had a large double measure.""I also had that glue coffee you made.""Ah, it won't count, sweetheart.""I wish you wouldn't call me that.""It's just a term of endearment.""1 hate it.""Well, dearest, I won't call you sweetheart again."Langton had always called her sweetheart. He probably called most of his women that.Anna reached forward. "All right, let me try it."She coughed a lot to begin with. Then Pete rolled a smaller and thinner joint, without tobacco. The clampers arrived and Pete dealt with them as Anna was unable to stand up straight.He left her lying on the sofa, listening with headphones on to the Doors. She said, very loudly, when he returned, "I really like this band!"He grinned and opened up a bar of chocolate from the fridge. Anna was lying back, eyes closed. She wafted her hand, singing, "I'll never look into your eyes again, my friend." He popped a slice of black, ice-cold chocolate into her mouth and then rolled another joint. The room was hot and the fire blazing, as he kept on stacking more logs onto it. They opened another bottle of wine and finished the bar of chocolate. The curtains drawn, Pete lit scented candles and then lay beside her on the sofa. She was loath to part with the headphones, but he switched discs and put on his favorite compilation of seventies and eighties rock music. They lay together, wreathed in smiles. He found her adorable, as she burst into song, singing the odd lines. The first kiss was light. She eased her body around to face him, pressing herself against him. She cupped his face in her hands and they had a long, lingering, passionate kiss. There was no thought of James Langton, no jigsaw puzzle of facts and suppositions of the case. In the warmth of the room, wrapped in his arms, Anna felt incredibly happy. She also felt safe and, he was so gentle and considerate, she felt loved.The following morning, Anna knew they had made love—in fact, a number of times—but wasn't too clear about how she came to be in his bed. She remembered talking about mundane things like childhood memories of holidays with her parents. She had never had this experience of sharing so much of herself, nor had she ever been stoned, and with more wine than she had ever drunk in one session before. She didn't, at first, regret a moment but, as she slowly woke up to exactly where she was and who she was with, she had terrible misgivings and, when she tried to sit up, and her head felt as if it was about to explode, she questioned how she could have allowed herself to be so foolish.Pete lay beside her, still deeply asleep; she eased back the duvet and inched to the edge of the bed. Slowly, she swung her legs over and got to a sitting position. This made the room spin and her head throb. Wrapped in a towel, Anna moved slowly down the narrow staircase into the living room. She drank some water and then started to collect her clothes, which were strewn around the room. Each time she bent to pick up an item, she felt dizzy and, by the time she had managed to track down her knickers and bra, she had to sit down on the sofa. It took her even longer to dress, and when she caught sight of herself in a mirror, she had to look away fast.Her hair was standing up on end and she had black rings beneath her eyes from her mascara. She looked really wretched. She splashed cold water over her face and used a dishcloth to pat it dry. She combed her hair and. with her head still throbbing, brewed up some coffee. There was not a sound from above, for which she was thankful, because she wasn't sure if she could talk. By the time she'd downed two cups of black coffee and found a bottle of aspirin to ease her headache, she at least felt as if she could function. She cleared the room, washed upthe wineglasses, emptied the ashtray of its roach stubs, and was about to pour her third cup of coffee when she heard movement from the bedroom."Anna?" Pete called out. He came thudding down the stairs; his hair,
like Anna's, was standing up on end, and he had pulled on a pair of jeans but was bare-chested and barefoot."I've made some coffee," she said, not looking at him."Great. Don't you want a shower?" he said as he looked around the room."No, I'd better get back home to change."He peered at the clock on the mantel. "Is this the right time?"Anna looked at her wrist watch, at least she hadn't taken that off. "Oh my God—it's half-past eight. I'm going to have to go straight to work.""Me too. Do you want some toast?""No, I'll get something from the canteen."He came to stand behind her, reaching around her for his mug of coffee. "You okay?""Yes, my headache is fading fast. Want an aspirin? I found some in your cupboard.""Nope." He slurped his coffee, then wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. "Any regrets?""No, of course not," she said, but still turned away from him."Look at me," he said gently, and turned her to face him. "What's the matter?""I haven't cleaned my teeth," she said."I've got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.""I'd better just get going.""Not until you've looked at me. Stop turning away."She sighed, and slowly turned to him, looking up into his face. He bent down and kissed her softly. "Last night was special," he said, and cupped her face in his hands. "No regrets?""You already asked me that.""Well, have you?""No.""Good, I'll call you this evening." "Okay."He turned away and picked up his coffee; she moved quickly to collect her briefcase and handbag."You sure you don't want to have a shower with me?"Anna lifted up her coat. "I really have to get going, or I'll be late. As we had the weekend off, I don't think Cunningham would appreciate it. She's sort of got it iii for me anyway.""You going to give her the update from what we picked up at the farm?""Not straightaway.""Well, if you want that van towed in to be checked over, you'll have-to give details.""Yes, 1 know, but just let me get sorted and I'll call you later this morning."Anna made her way to the front door, where the Sunday papers protruded out of the letterbox."It's Sunday," she said."What?""I said, its Sunday!" She felt such relief, she laughed."Christ, it's bloody Sunday!" he repeated."I don't have to go into work until Monday!""Nor do I." He laughed. He then came to her and picked up the papers. Tell you what. Put your stuff down, I'll go out and get some fresh bread, and we'll have bacon and eggs or bagels and smoked salmon.""No, I think I should get home.""I can't tempt you? How about we meet for lunch?"She hesitated. She still had a load of clearing up to finish.He shrugged. "Up to you. I could come over and help you out?""Let me think about it." She opened the front door."Well, you know where I am," he said.Anna took a long shower, trying to get her head around exactly what had happened the night before. She changed into a tracksuit, made herself some tea and toast, and sat on her small balcony. It was after eleven when she began to unpack some more cases and it took her by surprise: she washumming. Suddenly, she realized that she felt really happy. Was it because of Pete? Because they had made love all night? Or was it because it felt as if she was, at long last, freeing herself from Langton's domination?At just after one, Anna called Pete. It had to be telepathy, he said, as he had his hand on the phone to call her. They agreed to meet for a late lunch at San Frediano's, just off the King's Road. Anna dressed in jeans and a pale blue cashmere sweater that she knew always made her eyes seem bluer. Again, she felt a sort of warm glow: she was eager to see Pete again. She had a new relationship blossoming. For someone like Anna, who had had so few, it gave her confidence in herself—a confidence that had been lacking for so long.By the time she had driven to Chelsea, it was exactly two-fifteen. Pete was already there waiting; she noticed he had shaved and washed his hair. He had on a denim jacket and check shirt, tight jeans, and cowboy boots. When he saw her, he opened his arms to give her a big hug. "You look fabulous," he said. Arm in arm, they went into the restaurant and were directed to a small corner table for two.As they were perusing the menu, a lovely tall blond girl came over. "Pete, how are you?"He lowered the menu and half rose from his seat. "Daniella, good heavens! It's been ages.""I'm living in Spain," she said. Judging by her golden tan, she was taking in a lot of sun."This is my girlfriend, Anna.""Nice to meet you," Daniella said, then gestured toward her table, where there were several young men with sweaters slung around their necks. "We're all going to a funfair on Wimbledon Common after lunch.""Sounds fun," Pete said, smiling."Well, look me up. I'm here for a month before I go back.""I will—you look terrific!"Daniella gave Anna a smile before she sashayed back to her table."You chosen what you want to eat?" he said, picking up his menu."She was very glamorous.""Yes, and her sisters are even better-looking. I've known them for years, but I'm not really in their league. They are stinking rich and just want to party. They have a big yacht...""Pete, if someone has a boat, do they have to record ownership? You know, like a racehorse?" she asked when they had ordered their food. "How do you mean?""Well, no two racehorses can be called the same name—they have to be recorded at Wetherby's. I wondered if it was the same with a boat. Do owners have to register the name for permits and things, or when they come in and out of this country?""I don't know. I can ask Daniella, but I doubt she'd know." "Never mind—I just wondered."Pete sat back as the waiter brought their wine. He picked up his glass and tapped Anna's. "Cheers. To us?"She smiled and sipped her wine. She had felt so touched when he had introduced her as his girlfriend; in fact, she could not recall anyone ever doing so before. Certainly not Langton—he was even loath to admit he was having an affair with her."What are you thinking about?" he asked softly. She flushed and shrugged her shoulders. "You introduced me as your girlfriend." "I'm sorry." "I liked it."He cocked his head to one side, then he gave that lovely warm chuckle, reaching over to take her hand. "That's good. You know something? I have never been so grateful for a Sunday before. I think if it hadn't have been for you, I would have gone off to work like a grouch, and I would have had a hard time persuading you to agree to ever see me again.""I called you, remember," she said."So you did. Maybe I underestimated myself. I have in the past. So why do you want to know this stuff about a boat registration?"As their lunch was served, Anna described the oil painting of the yacht at Honour Nolan's farmhouse and how Gordon had taken a photograph of it. It was not clear if it did have the same name or was in fact the boat that they knew Alexander Fitzpatrick had previously owned.but there was, she felt, a possibility that it could link him to Honour and Damien Nolan. They had no way of checking as the painting had been taken down when Anna had returned with Pete to the farmhouse. Which in itself was suspicious, as both had denied knowing Anthony Collingwood, the man Anna believed to be Alexander Fitzpatrick.Throughout, Pete listened and threw in the odd suggestion. Anna loved being able to talk about her work with someone who understood it. Though his own connection to the police was scientific, they nevertheless had so much in common.Anna and Pete were one of the last couples to leave the restaurant. Hand in hand, they walked to her car and he agreed, without any pressure from her, to let her go home and have an early night, so as to be refreshed for the morning.She hesitated, unsure how to approach the subject but, yet again, he seemed to intuitively know she wanted to say something. "Go on, what is it?""Well, this situation between us. I want to see you and 1 think you feel the same way, but, Pete, I can't if you continue to smoke. It would be unethical for one, never mind illegal, and I am not prepared to take the risk or try it again. So really, it's up to you.""1 hear you, and I promise no more. I think I want you more than any gear—agreed?""Thank you."He stood on the pavement and waved her off. then returned to his Morgan. He lit up a joint, smoking it in his car, before deciding that a night at the funfair in Wimbledon might be entertaining.
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