Deadly Intent

CHAPTER 17

It was 4:30 A.M. when Anna drew up outside Julia Brandons house. The surveillance team, parked some distance away, said that there had been no movement.The two heavies were inside the house. Anna gave instructions for two officers to move around to the back of the house, and two to stay beside her. Armed with search warrants, she waited for radio contact to confirm that the men were in posidon outside the back door. Security lights had come on: the gardens and garage were almost floodlit. Also waiting was a team of three forensic officers, parked directly outside the house. As soon as Anna gained entry, they would follow her inside. Anna pressed the doorbell, then lifted the knocker and let it bang hard five times. Lights came on in the house; the door was opened by one of Julia's bodyguards. When shown the warrant, he backed into the hallway. Julia, in a satin nightgown, appeared on the landing, looking terrified. The children's au pair started screaming; from the nursery, Emily and Kathy started howling for their mother. Anna asked that everyone remain calm. She showed the warrant to Julia, and told her to bring the children downstairs with the au pair. They were all to stay in the lounge together with the two bodyguards.Julia screamed at Anna over and over: "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to me? Why, why? What have I done?" She was like a needle stuck on an old 78 record; it was as if she could not stop repeating herself. Anna insisted that Julia remain with the children.The officers were to search every drawer and cupboard, taking back to base anything that appeared to connect to the case, including possible bloodstains, fingerprints, unusual fibers. Anna was to supervise the search, on occasions agreeing whether or not to remove items. It was a very large house; the garage was to be searched too, as well as thegarden and small garden shed. It would be a long, painstaking process. Anna was like an army officer watching the progress but, after an hour, she could see nothing that aided their inquiry.She herself worked her way through drawer after drawer of documents in the kitchen: kitchen appliance insurances; household bills, telephone, gas, and electricity; gardener's invoices; invoices for electrical work and carpet laying; a thick wad of invoices from furniture stores; delivery arrangements ... She had to check ever)' single one of them. She was sitting at the kitchen table when Julia barged in, demanding to speak to her."My lawyer is coming. I want to know what right you have to do this. Emily and Kathy woken up and taken out of their beds, it's outrageous! I still don't know why you are here."Anna didn't look at her, but kept on going through papers. "Well, Mrs. Brandon, we don't think you have been totally truthful with us. As a result we need to make sure that—""I have told you everything I know! I just don't understand. I mean, my kids are crying in there.""Feel free to heat up some milk or cereal, whatever you need."Julia banged open the fridge, took out some milk, and filled a jug; she banged open another cupboard to take down cereal packets. Anna had to check them; she got one packet of cornflakes hurled at her head, the contents spilling over the kitchen floor.In total contrast, Julia's sister. Honour, was sitting in the kitchen with toast and jam; she had brewed up coffee, proffering cups to the officers. She had merely been taken aback when they herded into the farmhouse at four-thirty that morning. Due to the size of the farm, there were double the officers handling the search, with cooperation from the local force. Damien Nolan had appeared more irritated than afraid. He had checked over the search warrants carefully and then, seemingly satisfied, returned them to Phil.Fingerprints were being taken from obvious areas and the place was being turned over. Phil orchestrated a room-by-room inventory as they sifted through desk drawers, but found only mounds of old receipts.bank statements, income tax returns, and used checkbooks, all bound casually with rubber bands.Damien eventually joined his wife to eat breakfast. He asked how long the officers intended to be at the farm, as he was to leave later that morning to give a lecture. He was arrogant and dismissive; laughing when he saw them dismantle an old Hoover, saying it had never worked. He was only tetchy when they removed his computer, saying that he needed it for his work and that he wanted to know exactly why it was being taken. Honour tried to be equally dismissive, but didn't like the way they were searching through all her homemade jams in the pantry.Phil was in the bedroom, checking over the duvet and the bedclothes, beneath the bed, and behind the headboard under the mattress. He was not finding anything other than the dust that was making his eyes water. They checked every garment in the wardrobe, pocket flaps and trouser turnups. Honours clothes were not fashionable, but hippyish in style: long skirts, embroidered blouses and brightly colored waistcoats. Her husband's suits were equally worn: tweedy, many with leather patches where they were threadbare. Riding jodhpurs, boots; nothing Phil looked at gave any hint that either was involved with their Mr. Big.The officers searching outside were faring no better. The barns were filthy and falling down; in one, they discovered a small kiln with broken bits of pottery on an old bookshelf. The kiln didn't appear to be in use. In the stable, the horse seemed about the only thing that wasn't crumbling with age. The roof and the stable walls were in need of repair, as were the barns and outhouses. The henhouse had fifteen hens in dire need of a new building; the hut was about to collapse. There was a small ladder leading up to it and a lock to keep out the foxes, just as Honour had described to Anna. The loft of the farm was filled to capacity with junk: old iron bedsteads and chairs, paintings, broken umbrellas, buckets, old kitchen equipment, and, stacked against the walls, broken kitchen cabinets. They had to sift through every item, and they were all filthy.Phil was very aware of the couple sitting in comfort at their big pine kitchen table. They chatted to each other, buttering their toast and pouring cup after cup of wonderful-smelling fresh coffee. He couldn't understand why they would want to live in this dump; apart from the kitchen, the whole house smelled of mildew. Damien had lit a fire, and he kept it blazing by throwing on logs. To Phil, the views and the stunning countryside surrounding the farm may have been picturesque, but the lane to the farm was a virtual bog; he reckoned that, in winter, they would be very isolated, and this isolation was abhorrent to him. The longer he searched, the more certain he became they were on the wrong track.

He walked into the library, a small room off the dank hallway, and sighed. It was filled with hundreds of books, some old and worn, others stacked in piles around the threadbare carpet like stalagmites. There were also stacks of newspapers—some brown with age, others quite recent. The thought of having to go through the room, leaving no book unturned, made him feel physically ill.Anna was also not turning up anything she felt was useful. It was frustrating, to say the least. One of the officers asked if they were to search the au pair's bedroom. Anna hesitated, and said she'd like to look through the room. She didn't really know why at first but, as soon as she entered the small clean bedroom, she knew what she was looking for. Recalling that the girl had said how fond of Frank she was, and had gestured to the wedding photographs, Anna hoped there might be one that Julia had not destroyed. She was disappointed; the room was devoid of anything connected to Julia or her family.Clean sweaters were stacked neady in her wardrobe alongside dresses, shoes, and coats. There were some letters from Mai Ling's family, but in Chinese, so Anna put them aside. She opened a bedside drawer; there was a Bible and some beads, but nothing else. She sat on the bed, looking over the room, and then picked up Mai Ling's handbag, which had been left on her bed. She found a wallet with a driving license, some receipts, and three five-pound notes. She then took out a mobile phone and skimmed through the few numbers—home, Julia's mobile, dentist, doctor—and was about to replace it, when she clicked onto the icon for photographs.There were over fifty pictures: many of the two children, some of Mai Ling with her friends, and, lastly, wedding pictures. Anna scrolled through all the photographs: more of the children; one of Frank, cleaning Julia's car; another of Julia; one of Mai Ling holding a bouquet and smiling; more were possibly from the wedding, but showed no bride or groom. One Anna looked at closely was rather blurred: a man, aged around fifty to sixty, with long gray hair in a ponytail, was partly hidden by a large willow tree, but was leaning toward the two children with an ice-cream cornet. It was an innocent, almost sweet photograph; Anna was unsure where it had been taken, possibly at the wedding?Anna scrolled on to the next: it was of the two children, one holding an ice cream. The man was standing beside them. All that was in shot were his jeans and his shoes. Anna stared at the photograph, trying to calculate how tall the man must have been; the eldest child didn't even come up to his hips. The next picture was black, with a hand across the lens, as if someone had not wanted their photograph taken. Anna scrolled on to the end, finding more shots of the children, the Wimbledon house, and Mai Ling's bedroom, but no other shots of the gray-haired man with the ponytail.

She went down the stairs and looked into the drawing room. Julia was sitting, facing the window; the two children sat by a coffee table eating their cereal. She asked for Mai Ling to join her in the kitchen.

Anna explained that she was not in any trouble: all she wanted was for her to say who was in the photographs. She eased the nervous girl into describing where and when the earlier photographs had been taken, lastly showing the tall man with the ponytail handing an ice cream to the children.

"Oh, that was taken long time ago. I never printed any of them."

"Who is he?"

"Mrs. Brandon's partner."

"This is Anthony Collingwood?"

"I did not know him; I did not speak with him."

"But he is handing one of the children an ice cream."

"Yes, he gave it to her, but I did not speak with him." "Thank you. I will need to retain your phone, but it will be returned to you.""Thank you."Anna then asked the dates of the photographs featuring the man with the ponytail. None were recorded on the phone. Mai Ling thought that they had been taken before they had moved to Wimbledon."That would be, what, about eight or nine months ago?""Yes.""And this man just came up to the children and offered them an ice cream? Didn't that seem odd?""No, Mrs. Brandon was with him.""Ah, thank you. Again, you have been most helpful.""He did not like me to take a picture; he told me not to do so.""And you are sure this man has never been to this house?""Not when I have been here."There was the sound of loud voices in the hallway. Simon Fagan had arrived, and was being very abusive to the officer at the front door. "What the hell is going on? I cannot believe, after what I have discussed with you—"Anna excused Mai Ling and walked back into the hall. "Mr. Fagan, as I mentioned to you before, we are investigating the murder of Mrs. Brandon's husband—""I am aware of that, for Christ's sake, but why all this? What on earth are you looking for?""Evidence. If you wish to see the warrant?""I don't, but I am going to make a formal complaint. You have persistently harassed Mrs. Brandon without, as far as I can ascertain, a shred of evidence that implicates her in the unfortunate and tragic events surrounding her husband's death." He was so pompous, and his voice so loud, that everyone could hear.Anna asked him to join her in the kitchen to continue their conversation. Fagan refused to sit, but paced around the room. She quietly informed him that her inquiry not only focused on Brandon's death, but on three others they believed to be connected."What? And you think my client has something to do with them?""Please sit down, Mr. Fagan."He leaned against the table and glared at Anna. "My client has requested the release of her husband's body numerous times; this has been refused. She wishes to bury him, and try to forget this horrendous situation. Now, please, what exactly are you suggesting? What other deaths are you trying to implicate my client in, because I am losing my patience?""I suggest you try to hold on to it! Or perhaps it is Mrs. Brandon you wish to hold on to? It appears to me that you are being overly protective—"Anna was interrupted as he banged down a chair. "How dare you! How bloody dare you make insinuations that I have anything but a professional relationship with my client?""Please sit down."Fagan still refused. Eventually Anna stood up and showed him the photograph on Mai Ling's mobile. "Do you know this man?"Fagan huffed and snorted, leaning forward; he glanced at the picture then shook his head. "No, I do not."Anna said that she would present him and his client with a list of items they would be removing from the house. If he wished, he could join Mrs. Brandon in the drawing room but, until her officers were satisfied, the family would remain in there. Fagan stormed out, his face red with anger. Anna knew she should not have implied that he had more than a lawyer/client relationship with Julia.Phil could feel the grainy dust clinging to his hands. He had been working through the so-called library for hours, and found nothing. He was sure his allergies would kick in; he had already started sneezing. Having cleared the bookcases, he started sifting through the old newspapers. Caught between two copies of the Sunday Times was a torn scrap of paper. It listed times of a flight arriving at Heathrow Airport. It gave a flight number from Miami, British Airways; no date, just arrival time, written as if in haste, with a felt-tipped pen. It was the scrawled writing that interested him: the number seven had a European line midway across it.Phil was certain the writing matched the note found in the Mitsubishi giving directions to the farmhouse. He looked over to a stack of exam papers on a low coffee table. There was a memo on top, the writing very similar. A thin spidery scrawl; Phil presumed it had to be Damien Nolan who had written it. The memo, dated eighteen months ago, had coffee-cup stains over it. Phil removed the page and added it to the note referring to the Heathrow flight times, placing them both in a plastic evidence bag.Anna joined the officers upstairs, still dusting for prints and checking for anything that would give them a clue as to whether or not Alexander Fitzpatrick had ever been present, as she was beginning to doubt that he had. They had run a check on Julia's previous home; it had changed hands twice even in this short period, and was in the process of being converted into flats, so it was doubtful that, if Fitzpatrick had hidden there, at this late stage they would find anything.As Anna made her way down the stairs, she paused, as she could hear raised voices. Julia Brandon was angrily asking Mai Ling about her phone and what photographs she had retained on it. Anna could not hear her reply, but as she got closer to the drawing room, she thought the girl was crying "You have no idea what you have done!"

"Now, now, Julia—calm down."That was Fagan.

"Calm down? This stupid girl! After I have gone to so much trouble, this idiot could have jeopardized everything. She has no idea what lengths I have gone to, to protect us!"

"Why don't you tell me why you are so upset?" Fagan continued, asking in a low quiet voice if there was anything he should know.

"I just want these police out of here. I have to bury Frank. You said you were going to arrange it, and now this! I have to have his death certificate, Simon."

"If it's the life insurance you are worried about, that will automatically be paid to you," Fagan said.

"You don't understand!"

"I am trying, Julia, but sometimes I really start to believe that you have not told me everything. I mean, who is this man that's making you get so hysterical?""You don't understand,"Julia repeated.By this time, Anna was directly outside the door. It was not the argumentative Julia, but the fear in her voice that alerted Anna. It felt like a good opportunity to walk in."Mrs. Brandon," she said, "could I please speak with you in private?""I have nothing to say. I just want to be left alone.""If you wish for Mr. Fagan to be with you, that is your choice, but I do need to speak to you."Julia was twisting a tissue around and around in her hands. She suddenly seemed to deflate, slumping forward in her chair, as if exhausted. Her two children were becoming upset, and went to her side; she clasped the girls to her.Anna suggested that Mai Ling take the children into the kitchen. Julia remained in the chair, ripping at the tissue, her hands shaking."Do you recognize this man?" Anna asked, showing the photograph.Julia nodded, and then sniffed, tossing her head back. "Yes.""Could you please give me his name?""His name is Anthony Collingwood. He was my partner. You've asked me about him, and I have told you all I know.""We have been unable to trace him," Anna said, sitting down opposite."Well, that's not my problem, is it?"Julia said churlishly."What is your problem, Mrs. Brandon?""I don't understand what you mean.""Well, you seem very upset and angry that we have obtained this photograph. Can you tell me why?"Julia closed her eyes. Simon Fagan leaned forward. "Julia, do you want to talk to me in private?" he asked."No. Just go away and leave me alone! You haven't been any help to me at all."Fagan was nonplussed; he looked to Anna and back to Julia. "Should I stay? Julia, do you want me to stay?""I don't fucking care anymore!" She started to sob uncontrollably,hunching forward in her seat, her arms wrapped around herself. Fagan hesitated, and then walked out.Anna closed the door behind him. She went to the woman's side and sat on the arm of her chair. "What is it, Julia?""I'm so scared. I think he will kill me, kill the children because I won't let him have it, and now it's such a mess.""Who will kill you?""Anthony.""Why would he want to hurt you and the children?""Money," she wept.Bit by bit, between long pauses and bouts of crying, Julia started to explain the complicated transactions she had done to protect her wealth.Anna took notes as the jigsaw began to take shape. The more Julia talked, the more relieved she appeared to become, as if, by at last admitting the truth, she would be safe. She was scared that Collingwood would threaten her or take the children; she had already handed him the four million, but he was not satisfied. At no point did she admit that Collingwood and Fitzpatrick were one and the same; she continued to deny ever knowing anyone called Alexander Fitzpatrick.Phil and his team were still searching the farmhouse and outbuildings, but were coming up empty-handed. They would not know for some time if the computer they had taken would give them any evidence or connection to Fitzpatrick. Honour had sat in the kitchen for hours, but Damien had insisted he go to college for his lecture. Phil had let him leave.Every time Phil had passed Honour, she had asked the same thing: "What are you looking for?" He said only that they were searching for evidence connected to a murder inquiry. She had proffered tea and coffee to the officers, and then asked if she could do some baking.Phil was seriously doubting that Fitzpatrick had ever hidden out at the farm. If he had, there was not as yet any incriminating evidence. They had evidence that the Mitsubishi had been driven into the farm's courtyard, but were still merely surmising that Julius D'Anton had inadvertently come across Fitzpatrick at the farm, drove the Mitsubishi back to London, and then was murdered.Phil headed up the stairs to join the three officers who were searching over the couple's bedroom and small box room. They gave Phil the thumbs-down. He checked his watch; they had been there nine hours, and all he had to show for it was two scraps of paper.He turned to walk out, then paused, looking up. "You done the loft?" There was a pull rope attached to an old brass hook, very high up. He stood on tiptoe to release it and jerked it hard. The trapdoor to the loft opened and a ladder unfolded, but then got stuck; he had to reach up and pull it down the last few feet. It didn't look as if anyone had used it for years, but he nevertheless climbed up slowly, step-by-step. He crawled into the loft on his hands and knees, stopped, and asked for assistance.The far side of the loft had a camp bed, blankets, and pillows. There was an overpowering musty smell, the dust was thick, with cobwebs trailing from every corner. But the area where the camp bed was situated was clean. There were fingerprints in the dust and, beside the camp bed, a jug with a glass, shaving equipment, and a wash bag. When he gingerly eased back the sheet, there were some bloodstains. "I think we might have just got lucky," Phil said quietly.The incident room was buzzing. The search of Julia Brandon's home was over; the search at Honey Farm was still active, and would be continued the following day. Cunningham gathered everyone together for an update. By now, it was half-six in the evening.Anna was first up, to disclose her findings from the Wimbledon property. There was a murmur of disappointment when she said that, after an extensive search, they had found no evidence that proved Alexander Fitzpatrick was ever there—but she was certain that, using the name Anthony Collingwood, Fitzpatrick had been a very big feature in Julia Brandon's life.She then opened her notebook and gave a look around at the expectant faces. "This is quite complicated but, I think, a major step in sorting out the Frank Brandon connection."She went to the board and began writing up the details."A young and impressionable Julia Kendal, living in Oxford, meets up with the charismatic Alexander Fitzpatrick, using the alias Anthony Collingwood. This was fifteen years ago. He was in the UK, sorting out business transactions and money laundering; he had a lot of cash. He and Julia began a relationship and moved to London, where he bought a large property in St. John's Wood. He then spent considerable time abroad—sometimes taking her, sometimes not—and began to shift his cash around, using Julia as the innocent; laundering it via bank accounts in her name."Anna stopped and smiled. "Just how innocent, I couldn't say, but she ends up with accounts worth twenty-odd million, according to her. This he uses when he requires it, and she maintains the front: nice wife, nice house. He even arranges for her to have IVF treatment to produce two kids, since he has fertility problems, and shifts more money into accounts for them. He acquires many offshore accounts and various businesses. By this time Fitzpatrick was wanted by the FBI and the U.S. DEA, so it became more difficult to move around. He lost millions when the BCCI bank crashed, and this is where it all starts to get unpleasant."Anna continued to explain how Fitzpatrick had poured his liquid assets into a German bank that went big with the remortgage of properties in the U.S., but started to go belly-up two years ago. At the same time, the FBI and the U.S. DEA were closing in on Fitzpatrick, and he lost properties in Florida, the Bahamas, and Los Angeles. He also sold his yacht at the same time."Julia saw the high life going downhill fast. Fitzpatrick made visits to the UK as Anthony Collingwood. Each time, he wanted more and more money, and Julia started to freak out that she would end up with nothing. Even more so, when he became abusive toward her. At some point, she found out he had another woman. He said that if she didn't do what he wanted, he would take the children. She felt betrayed and very angry; she repeated over and over that she had really loved him."Around this time, Julia used, as a chauffeur, Donny Petrozzo. He introduced her to Frank Brandon. Julia put into motion the salvaging of what she thought of as her fortune. She sold the house in St. John's Wood and bought the Wimbledon property outright. At the same time, with the assistance of her financial adviser, she began moving the money around so that Fitzpatrick could not get his hands on it.

"We have to bring in David Rushton again," Anna insisted. "He has been lying through his teeth. Rushton was paid a fortune to protect the bulk of her cash, and make sure that Fitzpatrick cannot get his hands on it. Now we're coming to the point where Julia hires Frank Brandon to take care of her. She's terrified that, if Collingwood/ Fitzpatrick finds out, he might do something terrible to her and to her children."

Anna could feel the team getting restless; it was a lot to take in, but she pushed on regardless. "Julia maintains that she was never aware of any kind of drug dealing. She believed that her so-called partner was only into property scams; she threatened him that, if he did put pressure on her, she would tip off the Inland Revenue."

There was a general moan, and Anna laughed. "I am just repeating what she told me: she wanted to make sure that Collingwood couldn't touch a cent, so this is where poor Frank comes into it. She now starts to switch accounts into his name, promising to pay him a big sum of money if he agrees to marry her, so they can use that as a cover. No sooner has she got it all organized, with Rushton working his butt off to lock the money down, than Fitzpatrick shows up. Julia claims he did not visit the house, but called her. He had told her he was broke— and not only broke, but pissed off because he couldn't get to his own money! He puts pressure on her to release four million in cash; then disappears, but returns, wanting more. When she refuses, he threatens her and the children. Again, she was adamant that he did not visit the house in Wimbledon, but phoned her."

Anna closed her notebook. "That, she swears, was the last time she heard from him. The next thing that she says happened was the police arriving to say that Frank had been found murdered. She gets her solicitor, Simon Fagan, to hire bodyguards to protect her; she is very frightened, but not enough to run into hiding, because she has to have the death certificate—not only to get Frank's life insurance policy but,

as his widow, get her money returned from the accounts in his name. As I said, it's all very complicated—but that's it!"

She got a round of applause before she gave them the most important breakthrough: their prime suspect had been photographed on the au pair's mobile phone. The pictures had already been processed and she was able to display the two photographs of the man they were now certain was Fitzpatrick, handing his daughter an ice cream. It was not until she had sat down that she noticed Langton had joined them, and was sitting unobtrusively at the back of the room. She glanced toward him, and he gave her a small nod in acknowledgment.

Next up was Phil, who described how, after hours searching the farmhouse, they had discovered the possible hideout used by Fitzpatrick in the loft. They had already sent to forensics the sheets and pillowcases, plus the blankets from the cot bed: there had been a bloodstain, which might prove useful, and many fingerprints from the loft. The two notes he had found were being checked by an expert to see if the handwriting on the note from the Mitsubishi, and on the exam paper, did indeed belong to the same person.

This brought Damien and Honour Nolan into the picture. Honour had seen them checking out the loft, but had said nothing, and did not seem agitated in any way. When Damien had returned, he joked that no one had used the loft for months, apart from a young student. Phil, however, had kept two officers at the farm as security, and requested that neither Honour nor her husband leave the country.

Cunningham, after listening to the reports, said that she wanted to bring in both Honour and Damien for questioning. She also wanted David Rushton, the so-called financial adviser, brought in to clarify exactly what Julia Brandon had hired him to do. Lastly, Julia was to be brought in for further questioning and to make a statement regarding her complex financial transactions.

Cunningham said all this with her usual folded-arm stance. She, more than anyone else, had felt the pressure of the silent Langton. She looked at him, to see if he wanted to say anything, but he shook his head for her to continue.

"We are getting a lot of action, but we still do not have the series of

events that brought about the murder of four men. We know the Drug Squad is still holding our two dealers. They need to be requestioned, especially with the Glock pistol situation: one of them may have killed the car dealer, Stanley Leymore.They might have also shot Frank Brandon, as we have only their word that the shooter was Donny Petrozzo." Cunningham paused. "Last, but not least, where is Alexander Fitzpatrick now? If he did have a plan to begin using some of the stash of Fentanyl, where is it? We need to find out if he was at that drug squat and if he did use Frank Brandon. He was, as Travis has said, working for Julia—so why did he accompany Fitzpatrick to the squat?" Cunningham turned back to the incident board; with all the links, it looked like Spaghetti Junction.Anna raised her hand. "We do have confirmation that whoever drove the Mitsubishi left bloodstains inside it, which we have matched with prints to Fitzpatrick. We also know that he could have been wounded, as the blood matches that on the bullet from the Glock pistol. If the blood also matches the stains on the sheets taken from the Oxfordshire farm, then we know Fitzpatrick was in the UK, and was the man standing behind Frank Brandon when he got shot."Cunningham frowned in irritation. "I am aware of that, Travis, but can someone bring in the bloody timing of events? We have four dead men and we are still unsure who died when; we know where, but we do not have a clear A equals B equals C equals D, and we need it to clarify who the hell did what. This has to be a priority. Tomorrow, we concentrate on that but, for now, we leave Damien Nolan and his wife loose until we have completed the search of the farm, and forensics gives us details on the items removed."The briefing over, it was after ten-thirty in the evening. Everyone was tired out, having been on duty since three in the morning. Then Langton eased his way to the front of them all. Those who had half risen to leave sat back down again."I think DCI Cunningham has outlined pretty much everything we need to be concentrating on. We have made progress but we cannot sit back for a second. I am very concerned by the couple at the farmhouse; I think they appear too confident. As yet, we do not have enough to arrest them, but they should be brought in for questioning—see if we can put some pressure on them. My main concern is that we might have lost our prime suspect and he has gone to ground. If he hasn't, we have a very dangerous man on the loose. It is looking as if he has systematically wiped out anyone who could identify him, but he never guessed we'd get lucky—first with his fingerprint, and secondly with this." Langton jabbed at the photograph taken from Mai Ling's phone. "Get this to both Silas Roach and Delroy Planter; see if they can give us confirmation that he was the man with Frank Brandon at the drug squat."Langton had his back to the team as he glanced over the board; in his usual dramatic way, he paused, as he turned and stared at the team. "If this bastard is here in the UK, I think our body count is going to go up. He's broke and he may have a stash of very dangerous drugs, so find him—before he kills again. That's it; go and recharge your batteries."The team broke up. Anna was heading toward her office when Langton asked her to join him. "It was good work with Julia Brandon," he said. "Up to a point.""I'm sorry?""As soon as she started to open up, you should have brought her into the station. As it stands, we are going to have to go over all that ground again. Even though it was informative, we need dates, and we need that financial guy to collaborate everything she told you.""I was supervising the search of her property.""Don't make excuses. We can't afford to waste any more time. Like I said, Fitzpatrick may still be in the UK, but he could also have done another disappearing act—which is why those two at the farm are so confident.""Maybe they won't be if we get a result from forensics."Langton sighed with irritation. "Which gives us what? They had a visitor. They were old friends. We've got nothing, Anna.""I disagree. If we can prove that Damien Nolan wrote the note with directions to the farm found inside the Mitsubishi with Donny Petrozzo's body, we know the same vehicle was driven by Julius D 'Anton, and we know it was at some point at their farm—we've got quite a lot against them.""Bullshit. Until we know how that fucking jeep came to be driven first by Frank Brandon, then—you say—by Julius D Anton, it's all supposition as to who did what. They can say that they never even saw Julius DAnton! He could have driven there; he could have started up a Morris-dancing team. We do not have any kind of order of events, and I asked you to make it a priority.""Yes, I know, but I didn't have that much time.""Then find it—because if we don't have it, this case will flatline. I want that photograph off Mai Ling's mobile taken to see if the lab can enhance it with one of the pictures of him off his Web site, as we have only a partial single fingerprint, and I want to be certain."Anna bit her lip. "So, is it just me that you want to have a go at?""What?""Well, I am not the only officer on this case, but you seem to be insinuating that I am not doing my job.""I am not insinuating anything, just stating the facts, so don't start with the excuses."Anna said nothing, waiting for him to have another go at her.He then moved close, close enough to touch her, and whispered, "I love it when you get angry. It reminds me—"She stepped away from him. "Don't play games with me," she said fiercely.He cocked his head to one side. "You're right. I'm sorry. Good night." He walked past her.Anna remained standing, not turning to look after him; instead, she stared at the photograph of the man with the ponytail. If she were Fitzpatrick, where would she move next? He wouldn't know that they had that fingerprint, or even that they had this photograph ... Her eyes focused on the lists of names and one stood out: David Rushton.Anna sat at her desk, checking over the address and contact numbers for Rushton. She called his home; his wife said that he was working late, but that she had expected him back at nine. It was now almost eleven. Anna called his office and the answer phone clicked on. She rang his mobile, but it was off. Jermyn Street was not on her way home, but she couldn't resist driving past Rushton's office.She parked easily outside, as it was so late. She could see the lights were on and she went to the entrance.The glass doors were locked, but a night-watchman sat inside, reading a newspaper. She tapped on the door; he turned, and she showed him her ID through the glass. Accompanied by the night watchman, she went up in the lift to Rushton's floor. The lights were on in the reception. The night watchman keyed in the code and the doors glided back. She said he could wait in the reception, and she headed down the corridor. Rushton's office door was ajar and the lights were on; she called out, but got no reply. She pushed the door wide open, and saw the floor was covered in papers. As she stepped farther into the room, David Rushton's dead eyes stared toward her.He was sitting at his desk, leaning back slightly on the leather swivel chair. Anna moved cautiously around the desk, stepping over the strewn papers; she felt for a pulse, knowing there was not going to be one. His wrist felt cold; rigor mortis had already set in. She could not see any sign of violence; his immaculate shirt and tie were in place and his suit jacket had no bloodstains or tears. Anna looked beneath the desk: his well-pressed trousers were still immaculate, both legs bent at the knee, his shoes polished.Anna eased her way back to the door. Moving around the opposite side of the desk, she paused: Rushton had a small bruise on the vein in his neck and a tiny trickle of blood. She remained standing for a few moments, unsure what she should do, then took out her mobile and dialed. "It's me.""I know. Listen, I'm sorry if I sounded off at you—""You said he would kill again.""What?""He has; it's David Rushton.""How do you know?""Because I am looking at him.""Jesus Christ, are you there alone?""Yes.""I'll be with you in half an hour.""Should I caU it in?""No. Wait for me, and for Christ's sake, don't touch anything."

Anna couldn't resist sliding open the dead man's desk drawer. She took out a tissue, then removed a leather-bound diary and carefully flicked over the pages, until she came to today's date. Written in fountain pen, in a neat hand, was Julia Brandon's name.Langton had the night watchman in the palm of his hand; the man even offered to make them a cup of tea! Anna stood back, watching him, and was as impressed as ever at how fast he took control of the situation. He was pulling on rubber gloves as he walked into Rushton's office and, like Anna, he gingerly stepped over the fallen documents to examine the body. He checked Rushton over and said quietly that it looked like he had been dead only a few hours. He then crossed to a shredder and looked at the mounds of shredded paper in the compartment below. By the smell of the shredded strips, it had been put into action not that long ago. He then walked out of the office and returned moments later. "Good, he's got CCTV cameras. See, just by the door? There's more in the reception area."

Like Anna, he opened Rushton's desk drawer; when he got to the larger one, he gave a soft laugh. "Look at this: it's for taping clients— unawares, I'd say. Let's see if there's a microphone."

Anna pointed to the edge of the desk. By an in-tray was a small clip-on mike.

"It'd be too much to hope this recorded anything of use."

"The recording light is still on," Anna said.

"Yeah," he said, and looked at the dead man. "Well, we'd better do the right thing and get him removed."With his gloved hand, he looked at the bruise on Rushton's neck, and then glanced over to a large TV screen. "Let's see what's recorded on the security camera."

Langton asked the night watchman, George, for the tapes and to open another office for him to use, rather than remain in Rushton's. He carefully removed the cassette from the recorder and, hardly paying any attention to Anna, walked out.

George, when questioned about who he had seen entering the building, was adamant that there was no one else in the building when he came on duty at seven that evening. Mr. Rushton had said he would be working late and so to leave his office lights on; he would turn them off when he left. George gave them details of his nightly routine: he was employed to oversee all the offices, so there would have been some considerable gaps when he was not in the front office, but touring the various floors. He would have liked to remain with Langton and Anna, but they asked him to return to the main reception to let everyone else in.Langton sipped his tea and, still wearing his rubber gloves, inserted the tape from Rushton's desk. He pressed play and sat back, Anna beside him.The tape began with Rushton detailing client interviews, with dates and times; they were from three days prior. Langton listened and fast-forwarded, only occasionally stopping."In his diary, he writes Julia Brandon—""Shhhh—is this her?" Anna leaned forward."I had to try and explain everything to this detective; I had no option.""Why didn't you call me?""Because it happened whilst she was at the house. I was so hysterical, to be honest, I just felt sort of relieved.""Was Fagan with you?""He was, but not at that point.""Christ, Julia, why didn't you use him?""Ijust didn't!""All right, all right, calm down. Without any witnesses, what you said won't mean anything.""I told her everything.""Well, start from the top; what exactly did you tell her?"Julia began, between sniffs and sobs, to say that she had come to him because she knew she needed help."You bloody got it, but I warned you about keeping quiet. I don't want any repercussions. I have a very legitimate business.""I know that.""I have done nothing illegal, Julia!""Yes, but you've also been paid a lot of money.""I charge all my clients for working out transactions until their finances,Julia, love. Yours was just that bit more complicated.""What is going to happen?"Rushton sighed, and went into a lengthy diatribe about how she would require her husband's death certificate for him to be able to revert monies back into her name."I keep asking to bury him but they won't release the body.""I've told you, they will in time; you are going to have to wait it out.""I'm scared.""Listen to me: nobody can touch your money. Right now it's as safe as houses.""I'm not scared about that; it's what he'll do to me. He knows what we've done, he knows and it'll make him mad.""He can get mad, sweetheart, but he still can't release a cent; that's what I spent months working on. What you have to do is stay calm. As soon as they release Frank Brandon's body for burial, you will automatically get the death certificate and, once I have that, it'll all come back to you. In the meantime, I've left you a substantial amount of cash in your current account to cover any costs you have.""I want to get out, take the kids, and just leave."Rushton sighed, and then there was the tapping sound of a pen against the desk."Julia, stay put. This will all be ironed out in a few weeks, but if you run off to God knows where, it's going to look suspicious.""You don't know what he's like.""No, I don't, but I can't see what he can do. We worked this entire scenario out so he can't get his hands on your money. You already paid out four million."Julia was crying. "I'm just so scared," she repeated.The tap-tap of the pen on the desk started again."Yes, but Fagan got you bodyguards, what can he do? Plus you've had police all over you like a rash; you think he doesn't know that?""I'm scared he'll take the children.""So pack them off somewhere."There was then a long conversation about where she could send the girls for their safety. She said she did not have any family, apart from her sister. At this point, Langton and Anna leaned forward, as Julia said she couldn't leave her children with Honour; she would be thelast person Julia could trust. Rushton suggested she send them with Mai Ling to Disney World for a week or so. Whatever he suggested put Julia in an even more panicky mode. She wouldn't be parted from them, and when Rushton said he was sure "he" wouldn't hurt his own children, this made Julia really angry."They are not his, for Christ's sake! You don't understand; he just wanted kids to open fucking bank accounts in their names. He used them like he has used me."Rushton sighed. They were going around in circles. He then asked if he had threatened her at the house."He's not likely to show himself there, is he? He just calls me.""Where is he?"Again, Langton and Anna leaned forward."Do you know where he is?""No, of course I fucking don't!" she screamed at him.Rushton tried to calm her, and said he would call a taxi to take her home. She became abusive, saying she was with her bodyguards, who were waiting downstairs. They then exchanged a few remarks and Rushton was heard walking her to the door. There was the sound of it opening and closing; next, they heard Rushton give a long sigh and swear under his breath.Drawers were banged open and shut; then he used his intercom to call a secretary, but there was no reply. He swore again. They heard the door opening, as he called out for Serina. There was silence, then he slammed the door shut."Fucking bitch. I said I was working late," he muttered.A pause and there was the sound of the door being opened again. "I was wondering where you—" Rushton stopped midsentence.The door closed. "Who are you? How did you get in?"The voice was deep, upper-class, with a heavy smoker's gravel tone. "You mind if I sit down?"Langton glanced at Anna: this was more than they could have bargained for."Yes, I do mind. I want to know how you got into my office.""I wouldn't do that if I were you. Put the phone down. Now, Mr. Rushton, you have some explaining to do. You have been playing games with my business. You know who I am, Mr. Rushton, and I want my money.""Jesus Christ, listen to me—I had no knowledge that your wife's finances were not—""She's not my wife.""I acted in good faith at all times. I can explain everything, every single transaction; in fact, I've got the files in front of me, and you are—"The tape whirred and then ground to a halt. Langton closed his eyes with frustration. "I don't fucking believe this."As if on cue, George, the night watchman, returned with the video recordings off the security cameras. He said they might not be good quality as they reused the tapes. "These are real old tapes; been used for about six months.""Never mind," Langton said, eager to get George out of the office."There's a doctor and police officers in reception.""Show them into Mr. Rushton's office, please, George. Anna, go and talk to them."Anna wanted to see what was on the videotape, but Langton waved his hand impatiently. As she left she saw him crouch down in front of the TV set to insert the tape.She introduced herself to the team of SOCOs and the doctor called to check over Rushton. They had to have him pronounced dead at the site before his body could be taken to the mortuary. By the time Anna had led them into Rushton's office, Langton was waiting."There's no sound, but the guy walked in about two seconds after Julia Brandon left the building. He slid in after her before the main door closed. We lose him for a few minutes, then he appears on the stairs outside Rushton's office, chatting to a blond woman.""The receptionist.""He then goes out of shot, heading down the corridor to Rushton's office.""Let me see him." Anna could feel her heart racing as she sat beside Langton.He was as tall as they knew Fitzpatrick to be, at least six feet four— and slender, with quite broad shoulders, but there was no ponytail.

What they could see of his hair was dark brown, but he wore a cap pulled quite low over his face. He was wearing a long Harris tweed coat, jeans, and cowboy boots. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as he headed for the lift.

The next sighting was on the stairwell outside Rushton's office. Again, they had no clear shot of his face; he was looking toward the receptionist and appeared very relaxed, shaking her hand, as she turned to direct him through the reception doors into Rushton's office complex.

The next footage was of the same man entering Rushton's office. Though they had only his back, they could see him talking and gesturing. They could also see the fear in Rushton's face. Both Anna and Langton knew what was being said because they had listened to the tape; watching it in mute was fascinating. He was so tall, he almost blocked out the whole picture; then he started to unbutton his coat. Still talking, he casually eased the tweed coat off; beneath it was a black polo-neck sweater. He held the coat in his right hand and then half turned; he walked away from the desk to toss the coat aside, but even full face to camera, with the baseball cap pulled down so low they couldn't see all of it.

"Is it him?" Langton asked softly.

"I don't know, his nose doesn't look the same, nor his mouth." His cheekbones were sculptured, and he had a dimple in the crevice of his chin.

"Shit, it has to be him," Langton said.They still had no clear picture of their suspect.

Anna nodded, watching the man as he caught sight of the security camera. He was so tall, he could reach up to it; he didn't wrench it from the wall, but turned it away from being focused on Rushton's desk. The screen went blank.

"That's it," Langton said.

Anna rewound the tape to look again at the head shot. "We could get photo analysis to check this against the ones on the Web site and the one from Mai Ling. It would prove it definitely is him."

"It's him, Anna. Now you see what I mean about this guy being

fucking dangerous. He just walked in there, off the bloody streets, dressed like some old Harrovian gent, mixed with old groover. That is a man wanted right across the States, and wanted in this country for thirty-odd years." "Do you think he got what he came for?""Who knows?" Langton yawned suddenly, and looked at his watch. "It's three o'clock. I'm going home."They left the building together. Langton pulled up his collar as he turned to look back at Anna. "You did it again, didn't you? It's hard for me to reprimand you, but you have got to stop this. You cannot skive off to do your own fucking investigation, Anna. You'll get into deep water, not just with me; one of these days, if you don't straighten out, you'll get more than you bargained for, and you won't have anyone to help you. This man is very dangerous. How many times do I have to underline that, eh?""I sometimes find it hard to take your lectures, knowing what I know about you."He swung around. "Don't go there. Not now, not ever.""So it's all right for you, but not—"His face was taut with anger. "You're not me, sweetheart. You don't have my experience or my ability to take care of myself.""Oh, I know that. It wasn't me who almost died, but it was me who had to pick up the pieces." She was so close to him. The anger in his eyes would at one time have made her weak at the knees, but she wouldn't look away.He seemed taken aback by her refusal to retreat, and stepped away. "I'd better watch my back, hadn't I?""I would never disclose to anyone what I know about you, but sometimes you make me angry. I don't think you give me credit where it is due. I've grown up, James. I'm aware that I should protect myself. It won't happen again. I apologize for acting without taking precaution."He turned away from her and hitched the collar of his coat higher, almost hiding his face. "I loved you as much as I could, Anna.""Good night, sir."She turned and walked away from him, even though she was heading295 in the wrong direction. She needed to put as much distance between them as possible.

She had loved him too, but, at last, she really felt that it was history on her part too. In the past, she would never have been able to stand up to him as she had just done. She also knew that she had to buckle down and not act impulsively; it was going to be hard but if she put a foot out of line again, Langton would make sure it went on record, and he could really damage her career.