Deadly Intent

CHAPTER 18

The murder of David Rushton gave Cunningham more headaches. As the information filtered into the incident room, the fact that their prime suspect was without doubt in the UK made the pressure go up a few notches. The shot of Fitzpatrick's face from the CCTV footage was now pinned at the center of the board. Anna had pored over the blurred photo and tried to match it with the ones off the Web site. The man appeared to look much younger than she had thought. Perhaps he had undergone extensive plastic surgery around the lips and mouth, and it would have helped if they had got a clear picture of his eyes and nose. Until she could get the lab to confirm by matching old and latest pictures, she couldn't be 100 percent certain.It was imperative they get a detailed account of each murder. She had the case files lined up on her desk: Donny Petrozzo, Stanley Leymore, Julius D'Anton, and Frank Brandon. She would need to spend time with the pathologist who had done the postmortem on each man. At the same time, now armed with the latest photograph of Fitzpatrick, she would need to reinterview Silas Roach and his friend Delroy Planter. Their statement that Donny Petrozzo was Frank Brandon's killer could be a lie.Anna chewed the end of her pencil so hard, she had fine wood splinters in her mouth and spat them out. If they were to arrest Fitzpatrick, the evidence was still sketchy; they suspected he was involved in the murder of Frank Brandon, Julius D'Anton, and, obviously, David Rushton, but whether or not he killed Donny Petrozzo and Stanley Leymore was questionable. As Anna chewed another pencil, she began to tap her foot against the side of her desk. What they did know was that Donny Petrozzo, Julius D'Anton, and now possibly Rushton had all been killed with an overdose of Fentanyl.

Anna wrote down the word Fentanyl and underlined it. They still had no firm evidence that Fitzpatrick was shipping it into England; even if Delroy and Silas identified him, they would be dependent on the statements of two drug dealers. They had found no trace of it in the farmhouse, nor in the property at Wimbledon.

She sat back in her chair. Having only had a few hours' sleep the previous night, she felt worn out. She rubbed at her head and tossed her chewed pencil into the waste bin. They had been running around like scalded rabbits, as one victim turned up after another. Unless they got something out of the two drug dealers, they could lose the case into one of the warrens they had created. She returned to the murder of Frank Brandon, and this time underlined the Mitsubishi. They had to establish the date Brandon came into possession of it. They knew it had been parked in the rented garage at Wimbledon; they also knew it had been stolen, and then passed on by Stanley Leymore.

Anna went to speak to Cunningham, but Phil was just coming out of her office. "She's not in until twelve; personal problems."

"Shit!"

"Yeah, well, we just plow on. We are bringing in Julia Brandon, as she requested."

"What about Honour and Darnien Nolan? Are they being brought in?"

Phil shrugged. "It'd be more convenient if we went and questioned them at their nearest station, as there's still an ongoing search."

"I'll do it."

Phil looked at her. "I'm waiting on the forensic team to give me a result on the bed linen we took from the farm. If it's Fitzpatrick's, we can arrest them. If it isn't, we just question them."

"Phil, I really think you need to question the two drug dealers again—this time, with the photograph of Fitzpatrick."

"I'm off there now. Sam Power kicked up about the expense of taking them out of the cells—transport to here, security, and then wheeling them back again."

Anna nodded. "One thing we need to know is if Stanley Leymore was shot before Frank Brandon. It's the gun—same weapon used." "Yeah, I know, the Glock," he said tetchily."Maybe they just put Donny Petrozzo in the squat and lied about him being the shooter? We've still only got their word for it—and his prints.""Right." Phil looked at her. "Anything else?""Nope. I am trying to get a through line on the dates and times of the deaths. We're all over the place.""Good—because that's exactly what we are.You know, this case expands every bloody day. Shipping in more officers hasn't helped much." He indicated Cunningham's office with his head. "And she's fucking useless."Anna wouldn't be drawn. "Well, let's get this show on the road. We work it between us, Phil."He gave a half smile; she knew he didn't like it that she used we, but he stomached it. "We should do just that,Travis."Anna went into the incident room to talk to DC Pamela Meadows, who was running the investigation on the Stanley Leymore murder. The incident room was becoming cramped. With filing cabinets and trolleys overflowing with mounds of files, and the extra officers allocated to the case, space was short. Desks buttressed onto each other; it was a headache for the duty manager to control.Pamela pointed over to a desk in the far corner of the room, where two detectives were sitting beside a stack of grubby, dog-eared files. They had traced the original owner of the Mitsubishi; the files were Stanley Leymore s sales ledgers, dating back years."What I want from you," Anna instructed, "is the exact date that Mitsubishi left Leymore's garage. I want all the details on when Leymore was last seen alive, plus the time of death."She joined the duty manager and gave him a list: Julius D'Anton's wife was to be reinterviewed, to clarify the exact dates of his last sighting, and reconfirm the dates of the antiques fair he was known to visit, plus his visit to the antiques shop, and the date his van was towed into the repair garage in Shipston on Stour. Some of the dates she was able to provide, but she wanted all the dates up on the board. She also wantedDonny Petrozzo's time of death and last sighting printed up, and the last sighting of Frank Brandon next to the date of the shooting in the Chalk Farm squat. As yet, no postmortem had been done on David Rushton, but she also wanted his name alongside the other four victims.Anna then instructed Gordon to make up a timetable of the yacht Dare Devil: when it had been chartered, and when it had been sold. As she went back to her office, she saw two plain whiteboards being set up, with Timetable in large letters. She felt that she had started to make progress, albeit as if she was using the incident room as a classroom; instead of the blackboard, they had the incident board, and felt-tipped pens instead of chalk.The body of David Rushton was at the morgue. Ewan Fielding would begin the autopsy sometime that morning. DC Pamela Meadows had been given the unpleasant task of informing his wife that her husband had been murdered. She was accompanied by another officer from the team. They would also have a warrant to remove any items from his home that they felt could be connected to the investigation.Langton had made sure that, to date, there had been little press coverage; they were hoping to keep the case under wraps. What Langton did not want was a leak that they were hunting Alexander Fitzpatrick. This could create pressure from the U.S., and Langton didn't want their interference. None of the team were aware that DCI Langton was now going to be present full-time. As the case had mushroomed out of control, he had taken the decision that Cunningham needed help.Phil Markham was the first to have his collar felt, as Langton put a rocket under him. He would accompany Phil to interview the two drug dealers. As they now had the photograph of the man he was certain was Alexander Fitzpatrick, one or both of the dealers had to recognize him. It was crucial they work closely with the Drug Squad: Langton didn't want their noses put out of joint. If there was a possible deal to be made, then they should, with Sam Power's assistance, put the pressure on for the dealers to talk. They were being charged with possession and dealing in narcotics. If the charges were upped to murder, they would be looking at a very long stretch in prison.Phil had never worked alongside Langton before, and he found him unnerving. He sat beside him in the patrol car; at first Langton used his BlackBerry, firing offmessages, his fingers moving over the tiny keys like lightning. He then opened a window and lit a cigarette. Phil watched as he drew three or four heavy drags, then tossed it out. He opened his briefcase and took out the copies of the two dealers' statements. Then he replaced them, muttering to himself. "We go for Silas Roach first," he said quietly.Phil nodded; he noticed that Langton kept rubbing his right knee as if it pained him badly."So how do we work it?" Phil asked.Langton shook his head with a sarcastic smile as he repeated what Phil had just said, then turned to face him. "You watch, listen, and learn, son. You've had these two pieces of shit in and let them walk away."Phil sat back, smarting. "You know, many of our problems have come from the long wait for the toxicology reports. I mean, in Donny Petrozzo's case, we didn't know what had killed him, then the same with D'Anton. This Fentanyl stuff—I'd never even heard of it."Langton leaned back against the headrest. "Fentanyl is used mostly in hospitals for fast-acting pain relief. It's an opiate, like morphine but nearly a hundred times more potent, faster-acting, and out of the system more quickly—a high of five or ten minutes. Mix it with OxyContin, or Acopolamine painkillers and maybe a dash of heroin, and you have a God Almighty high better than cocaine, and some poor suckers want this as a way of life." "Oh.""Yeah—oh. In case you don't know, we've already got a few problems in our NHS hospitals. Instead of chucking out the residue not needed in operations, it's being nicked, and there's been a few doctors shooting themselves up with it.""Wow."Langton just shook his head, before returning to check his messages."Where do you think Fitzpatrick is hiding out?" Phil asked."No idea, but the murder of David Rushton last night makes it pretty obvious our man is still close at hand. Whatever happened between them would be about money. Whether or not our kingpin actually got it we'll hopefully find out. He must need a lot—it's expensive staying on the run, and it costs to build a network of shippers and dealers you can trust." Langton gave a rueful laugh.'Td say that's where it went pear-shaped; he chose the wrong ones, so he had to get rid of them!"

"You think that he hid out at the farm?"

"Maybe. We'll know soon enough. What concerns me is that the Nolans didn't seem too worried about the loft discovery."

"So we charge Honour and her husband with harboring a wanted felon?"

"I think there's a lot more to get out of that couple. They can just say they were forced to hide him out and were too scared not to."

"But if Damien Nolan wrote the directions for Fitzpatrick to the farm, then it's not looking as if he was forced into doing it."

"Correct."

"So are we bringing them in?"

Langton sighed. Phil's constant questions were starting to annoy him. "Not yet. They may be the only people that Fitzpatrick trusts; if they are, he may contact them."

"Not when it's swarming with us."

"The search should be over sometime today, and we can get everyone cleared out. Most important is the go-ahead to put a tap on their phones and retain covert surveillance. If they make a move, we will know about it."

Phil leaned back. He stared out of the window as they hit a nose-to-tail traffic jam. Langton tapped the driver to put the siren on and get them moving; he was impatient to interview the two dealers. As he turned back to say something to Phil, he suddenly winced in pain. He gritted his teeth, then hunched over to grip his knee; it felt as if it was on fire. No matter how much pressure he applied, it continued to be excruciating.

By the time they drove into the Drug Squad's car park, Langton was ashen, with a film of sweat that made his face look even more pallid. He needed Phil to help him out of the patrol car, and he closed his eyes

with the pain as he slowly straightened up. It took a few moments before he was able to walk into the building, stopping at a water fountain to take some painkillers. Phil felt helpless, not knowing what to do, but eventually the color came back into Langton's face, just as Sam Power approached. "You're late," he said. "We got the pair of them ready for you.""Good. Sorry—we got into a god-awful traffic pile-up," Langton said, shaking Sam's hand.Phil was amazed at his recovery; it was as if nothing had happened. However, it had. Langton could still feel nightmare pain at every step. Thankfully, this time, his leg had not seized up. They had said he would suffer from housemaid's knee when he had been in rehabilitation. He hadn't really taken it seriously but, over the past months, he had upped his painkillers, as it had begun to hurt more frequently; the pain was very debilitating.The aftermath of the nightmare attack, two years previously, the horror of almost being sliced in two, had taken its toll. He continued to have spasmodic pains in his chest, sometimes feeling very short of breath, and he suffered violent headaches and depression. The notion that he should take it easy was anathema to him. Langton's obsession about never allowing it to be known just how much he was physically affected by the attack was his way of dealing with it. The thought of retiring, and possibly ending up in a wheelchair, was unbearable. Without the pressure of work, keeping his adrenaline pumping, he knew he would not survive the black depression.Phil and Langton went into the interview room. Silas Roach was sitting with his solicitor, Margery Patterson. He seemed nervous: his head twitched as he sat threading and rethreading his fingers. He repeated what had taken place on the night of Frank Brandon's murder. Langton let him talk, looking over his statement. Silas ended up swearing on his mother's life that it was the truth.Langton spoke quietly. "So, let me just get this straight: you have admitted to dealing drugs from the squat on the Chalk Farm estate, but the gun—the Glock automatic—you say did not belong to you, but Delroy Planter.""Yeah, but he didn't use it—he just had it for show, you know what I mean?""On this night," Langton continued, in the same quiet voice, "you have stated that Donny Petrozzo was there and that he was very agitated.You said he was high.""Yeah, well—he was actin' crazy like."Langton nodded, as if agreeing. He held the statement up in front of him. "Describe the door to me, would you, Silas?""What door? The front door?""No, the door to the room you say you were using inside the squat.""Oh yeah, I understand. Well, it was a special door the lads fixed up. It had bolts across and we'd made a sort of grille in the middle of it; well, not the middle—up a bit.""Like in the old speakeasies."Silas was not sure what he meant but explained that sometimes when the dealers were passing gear over, the junkies could make a grab, or try to throw a punch, so the door was for the dealers' protection, not just from them, but also from their rival dealers, or from the police.Langton smiled, nodding. "So there you are, working the deals, and you get a rap on the door. You say that Donny Petrozzo opened the grille, looked out, and then grabbed the Glock and opened fire.""Yeah.""Because he had seen someone he knew? Someone he was scared of? And he picks up Delroy's Glock, and fires at this person outside—he fires three rounds?""Yeah, that is exactly what he done; I think he said the guy was a cop."Langton nodded, placing the statement down in front of him, touching the sides as if to make the three pages neat and tidy. "You say that Donny Petrozzo next opens the door, steps out, and fires another three shots into the man who was lying on the ground.""Yeah.""So, Donny Petrozzo has the Glock pistol in his hands. You say he then ran from the building—in fact, you say you all got out of there as fast as possible.""Yeah, right, because I mean, what went down was crazy, understand me? Like, it was fucking bad, man."Langton nodded. "You know Donny Petrozzo has been found murdered?""Yeah.""How well did you know him?""Donny? Well, he was a good buyer, you know? He used to score from us all the time; always paid up, no trouble. Not heavy stuff; he was mostly dealing a few grams of cocaine to the blokes he drove around, some spliff, but never the hard stuff, mostly coke and some Ecstasy tabs, I think. Delroy knew him better'n me. Del always trusted him."Langton placed down the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick. "What about this man?"Silas shook his head.Langton put the photograph back in the file. "You escaped via the back window?""Yeah.""So you never went out the main door; never saw the dead man's face?""No, I just got the hell out."Langton sniffed, took out his handkerchief and blew his nose, then folded it to place it back in his pocket. He stared at Silas for at least fifteen seconds before he said, so quietly that Phil could hardly hear,"You are fucking lying, son. Let me tell you something: Donny Petrozzo wouldn't worry about recognizing the man at the door, because he was working for him. He also knew he was an ex-cop, so he would have no reason to open fire."Silas, having been gradually relaxed by Langton so that even his twitch had stopped, was now very tense and started to twist his neck.Langton still kept his voice very soft. "I think what happened is you recognized Frank Brandon. You had been busted by him: he was on the Drug Squad when you were arrested and now here he was again. You were the one to go crazy—you; you panicked and you opened fire.""No, that's not true, I didn't, I never shot him!""Silas, you arc going to go down for murder. You'll not get a few years for dealing this time. You shot a man in cold blood, fired into his face three times. An ex-cop, it's eighteen years at the very least.""No, I swear before God, it wasn't me!""Who was it, then, Silas? Give it up, because we have your pal's statement that you, and you alone, used that Glock pistol; that you were high on crack cocaine. Donny Petrozzo wasn't even fucking there, was he? Was he?""It wasn't me! Jesus Christ! It wasn't me that done him!"Langton sipped from a beaker of water. "Next, I need to ask you about a secondhand car dealer: this man, his name is Stanley Leymore." Langton put down a photo of him. "You see, the reason I know you have been bullshitting me is because the same gun used to kill Frank Brandon"—Langton slapped down the photograph of Frank from his police ID—"also killed Stanley Leymore. Look at him.""I never done that, I never done it."Langton laughed. "Don't be dumb, Silas, you had the fucking gun when you were arrested! In your statement, you said that Donny Petrozzo went out of the room, then fired three more shots into this man as he lay 011 the floor. So did Donny hand the gun back to you whilst you were escaping out of the window? 'Here, Silas, you take the gun'? Or did he, as you say, run off with it? If he ran off with it. how did it get back to you? Unless you also killed Donny Petrozzo? You see how this is building, Silas? You understand what we are going to charge you with?"Silas kept on shaking his head. Langton placed down the photograph of Donny Petrozzo's body, bound in the plastic bin liners. "Donny Petrozzo." Next, he placed down the photograph of Stanley Leymore sitting on the toilet, dead, the bullet through his temple. "Stanley Leymore; same weapon, Silas."Silas's eyes were wide, almost popping out of his head.Lasdy, Langton laid out the picture of Frank Brandon's dead body, facedown in a pool of blood in the squat.Silas started to whimper, sniffing. As the snot trickled down his nostril, he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Honest to God, 1 never done them.""Honest to God, Silas, you are going to go down for all three. Your pal has given it up: you had the Glock. Out of your skull, you just went crazy and opened fire.""It wasn't me, it wasn't me!" Silas slumped forward, his head on his arms, as he started crying.Langton looked at the tape recorder and gathered up his papers."You can have a five-minute break to talk to your solicitor, Mr. Roach, but when I come back, I suggest you start telling me the truth, because I'm losing patience."Just as Langton pushed back his chair, Silas grabbed at the photograph in front of him."I never done it—not to him or the other blokes, I never done it," he choked.Langton gave a wide, openhanded gesture. "So tell me the truth. What did happen?"Silas covered his face with his hands. "Ah shit, shit! It wasn't fucking me!"It took half an hour for Silas to make a second statement. He and Delroy Planter were working the squat, and had been there for a few hours. Delroy had told him that Donny Petrozzo had been by earlier, and wanted to talk about a big deal. A friend of his had some very high-quality gear, and a lot of it; not heroin or cocaine, but a new drug, much more powerful, and one that Petrozzo knew they could get a lot of money for, from the kind of people that he scored for. Mixed with heroin, it was nicknamed "Polo" in the States. Neither of them had ever heard of it, and Delroy said that until he knew what it was, he wasn't going to mess with it. He also said that the kind of money Petrozzo was talking about was out of his league; he couldn't buy in, but he might be able to distribute, as he had a lot of guys he could bring in.Petrozzo brought a vial of the drugs around for Delroy to test; he told them that he was getting a bit scared and he needed some cash. Silas was unsure how much money had changed hands, but was told that Stanley Leymore had the drugs at his garage. Both Silas and Delroy used Stanley to get their wheels. On the night Frank was murdered, Delroy had expected Donny to turn up; when he didn't, he became very agitated, as he was doing a lot of crack. When they got the knock on the door, Delroyrecognized Frank Brandon as a cop and shot him. When he opened the door, he got scared because there was another man there. He ran back into the room, put the silencer on the gun, and reopened the door, but the man had gone—so he fired three more shots into Frank Brandon. The two of them went out the back window, and drove to Stanley Leymore's garage. Delroy was crazy, and threatened to kill Stanley if he didn't give him the drugs that Petrozzo said he was holding. Stanley refused, so Delroy shot him and, after searching the garage, gave up. They tried to contact Petrozzo, but his mobile was dead and his wife didn't know where he was. The next thing they knew, the pair of them were busted and arrested.

Langton remained in the small interview room as Silas was led away to the cells and Margery Patterson left. "One down, one to go," he said quietly to Phil, who had not said one word during the entire interrogation. "Strange, isn't it? You first think we have this kingpin serial killer, wiping out everything and everyone in his way, and then it turns out to be two punks on a dirty crumbling estate, high on the stuff they're dealing to more part-crazed kids. Then they get gun happy and kill. Poor old Frank Brandon was a good guy; we still don't have the reason why he was at that shithole with Fitzpatrick—if that's who he was with."

"Maybe they were looking for Petrozzo?"

"Maybe." Langton nodded. "Question is, who killed Petrozzo?"

Sam Power popped his head around the door. "I got some fresh coffee for you. We're bringing up Delroy Planter from the cells. Might be a few minutes; his solicitor's not turned up yet."

"Thanks."

"You get a result?"

"Yep—and coffee sounds good." Langton had to grit his teeth to stand; he held on to the back of the chair for a few moments.

"You want it in here or in the incident room upstairs?"

"Need to stretch my legs and take a leak, but back in here's fine."

Phil watched Langton walk out. He was impressed, and somewhat self-conscious at how he had conducted his earlier interviews with Silas and Delroy. Langton was giving him a master class.

Langton returned to the interview room to wait for Delroy Planter. He stood, leaning against the wall, using his BlackBerry. "Mrs. Julia Brandon has just turned up to be requestioned," he announced. "Should be interesting."Phil looked up as the handcuffed Delroy Planter was pushed into the room. Langton gestured to the seat and then proceeded to read him his rights, as his solicitor sat, opening his briefcase. The tape was switched on and Langton pointed to the video recorder. He then poured a beaker of water for Delroy and filled his own, placing the water bottle down beside him. Phil passed him the files; then they all waited as Langton slowly read Delroy's previous statement. Then he put it to one side and stared hard at Delroy. He didn't look away; his eyes were dark and angry."We have a statement from your friend Silas Roach.""Yeah, an' you got one from me an' all." Delroy leaned back and grinned; a gold tooth glinted on the front row of his teeth.Langton sipped his water, placing the plastic beaker down carefully. Still, it left a small wet ring. "You are being charged with—"He was interrupted. "Yeah, man, I know what I bein' charged with, and I put me hand up. I said it all when we was first brung in.""You are now to be charged with the murder of Frank Brandon, and also with the murder of Stanley Leymore."Delroy sprang to his feet, shouting that it was bullshit. His solicitor asked him to sit down, but he jumped up and down on the spot, accusing Langton of framing him. "Listen, man, I never done nothing!"A uniformed officer waiting outside came in, and pushed Delroy back into his seat."Where you think I'm fucking going with these on?" He held up his handcuffed wrists."You'll be going down for eighteen, that's where you'll be going."Delroy shook his head as Langton read sections from Silas Roach's statement. "He's a fucking dead man.""So let me hear your side of it, Delroy. We know you lied about Donny Petrozzo being at the squat on the night of the shooting."Eventually, Delroy began to talk. They gained more information about Petrozzo trying to make a deal, having been a regular buyer,scoring from Delroy for a number of years. As Silas had said, Delroy claimed it was mostly small amounts of cocaine and hash, sometimes some tabs, but he was a good customer and always paid up front.Petrozzo had approached Delroy, asking if he could do some really big business with him; he knew someone who had a big stash of gear that he wanted to off-load and, between them, they could make a lot of money. "But I said to him, what gear was he talking about? You know I run a tight business; I keep on the move, right? There are gangs of bastards trying to squeeze in and I got to be careful. Just keeping my team together is fucking hard, so I wasn't sure about getting too big. I mean, I don't have the facilities to stash big loads of hash or grass, know what I mean? Anyways, he says this stuff fits into a real small box, no bigger than this."Delroy mimed with his hands the size: about eighteen inches by ten. "I says to him, what the fuck is in that? He says it's a drug called Formalyn. I never heard of it, but he says it's worth millions. I says, how the fuck did he think I could lay my hands on that cash? Said he was off his rocker. He then says if we do a deal, me to use my runners, we can split the profits; says he's got the gear. I didn't believe him—he was a bullshitter—but then he says he's gonna bring us some stuff to test it out." He started to laugh.Petrozzo brought him two vials of the stuff and said they could either inject it or take it liquid. "I mean, I honestly didn't know what this fucking stuff was, so I ask around a few contacts, an' I start to get some interest, so next time he appears, I says to him, we can maybe do some business. He wants ten grand; I says I need to think about it—I mean, ten grand is big money—so I give him five in cash.""Do you mean Fentanyl? Is that the drug on offer?""Yeah, yeah—that's the word.""Did you do the deal?""Nah, 'cause he never showed up—and we got a problem, because one of the kids that took some of this stuff snuffed it. Next thing, we get a rap on the door, and there's this cop ..."Delroy implied that it was an accident; that nobody intended to shoot, but it was all panic. He denied that he was the shooter, and placed the blame on Silas. He said that they ran from the squat. Their first port of call was to Stanley Leymore, as they knew he was friends with Petrozzo, and they got their vehicles from him. Delroy explained that Leymore denied knowing anything; he swore he hadn't seen Petrozzo for months, and told them to leave.While Stanley went to the toilet, they searched around and found some cash hidden under some tires. "That money was mine. That old bastard lied to me. That motherfucker was always trying to rip us off. He was screeching that it was his money and nothing to do with Donny fucking Petrozzo; he said he'd got it from sellin' a jeep and he could prove it. He started to get up, really screaming his head off, his pants round his ankles ...""You killed him?""No, not me—Silas, he done it. He was crazy; he'd been coked up all night since we had that cop round at the squat. He'd been smokin' crack all morning; his nose was streamin' like a tap."Langton poured more water for himself and asked Delroy to make a new statement. He was not that interested in who had pulled the trigger; that would be down to further interrogations and the eventual trial. What he was interested in was trying to assimilate the actual series of events. Langton took out the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick as Delroy leaned his head on his hands, his elbows on the table. "Do you recognize this man?"Delroy glanced at the photograph, then shook his head."He could have been with the man you believed was a police officer—this man." Langton showed the picture of Frank Brandon's body."He was a fuckin' Drug Squad shit. I recognized him."Next, Langton laid down the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick again.Delroy shrugged, unable to recall seeing Fitzpatrick. "I mean, if he was outside the room—you know, in the outer room—I wouldn't have seen him. I got out the window.""You stood over Frank Brandon's body and you fired three shots; you had to have seen this man—he was standing directly behind him."Delroy sucked in his breath, and made kissing noises with his lips. "Prove I shot him, 'cause I am not saying that I fuckin' did, no way. I'm just sayin' I recognized him, 'cause he pulled me in years ago. I never seen that other bloke, but the geezer on the floor, I knew; he arrested me ten years ago, mean son of a bitch. He gimme a real pasting when he nabbed me, and he fuckin' held up his ID. It was obvious we was gonna be busted, and I didn't wanna go down for a long stretch."Langton stood up. "You are going down for one now—a very long one."Delroy gave a nonchalant shrug. Langton would have liked to smash his fist into his pugnacious, gloating, gold-toothed mouth. Instead, he walked out without a backward glance. It had not been successful, bar collecting up a few more pieces of the jigsaw. Still missing was the central piece: Alexander Fitzpatrick.Julia Brandon was hunched over in her seat at Chalk Farm Police Station as if she had stomach pains. Her solicitor, Simon Fagan, glanced toward her; he had placed a hand on her arm, as if to comfort her, but she had brusquely shaken him away. He now sat tight-lipped, staring at some point on the wall above Anna's head.Julia had been questioned for over half an hour. She had told them a rambling story about how she had first met her ex-partner when she was young and impressionable. He had a lot of money and he treated her with respect, like an adult, showering her with gifts and money and clothes. She had left Oxford to move into a flat in Kensington; she started sobbing as she explained that he had told her he was a property developer for wealthy clients. "I didn't know anything about this business." Julia rocked in her chair.Anna sat listening quietly. Cunningham had instigated most of the questions, taking an interest in the relationship between Julia and the man she called Anthony; she had flatly refused to identify him as also being Alexander Fitzpatrick. "I never heard anyone call him that; I never met anyone with him who didn't call him Anthony."Cunningham had sighed. "All right. So you began this relationshipwith him—did you never at any time query where he got these vast sums of money?""Why should I? He was almost as old as my father; when he told me he was in property and got paid huge amounts, 1 believed him.""So the trips abroad?"The interview was becoming tedious, with Julia trying to recall where they had been on various trips and how many properties he had, from the Bahamas to St. Lucia to Mallorca, the yachts, the private planes; all the while, with her rocking and sniffing, as she cried and wiped her eyes, and started to make hiccup sounds. She said that she had spent many weeks, often months, alone in the house in St. John's Wood while he was away."What about your sister?" Anna said softly.Julia looked up, almost in surprise. "Yes, well, I had Honour, but she hated to come to London and I wasn't welcome at her place; she used to have a flat in Oxford. When she did see me, we just argued because she didn't approve of me living with Anthony.""So she met him?""No, she just knew I lived with a rich guy. She said I was an idiot to waste my time on an old man like him, who was just using me for sex, which wasn't true. I really liked him—I loved him—but I got lonely all by myself.""So when did your partner begin to open accounts for you?""Well, early on. It wasn't ever that much, but I had a credit card and could basically buy what I wanted."Anna crossed her legs; her knee hit the underside of the table, but she said nothing. This was Cunningham's interview and she didn't want to antagonize her."So how old were you at this time?"Julia sat up straighter. "Early twenties.""When did the relationship change?""What do you mean?""When did you stop feeling as if you had a Svengali manipulating you?"Julia shook her head. "I never felt that; I really loved him. The factthat I got so lonely, and sometimes felt trapped, didn't mean that I stopped caring about Anthony or enjoying living with him, because I did. I had a fantastic life: trips abroad, skiing whenever I wanted. Like I said, I had carte blanche with my credit card." Julia had stopped her rocking and even her tears, but she was still tense; she twisted one ankle around, as if doing an exercise, and then tapped her toe forward, her expensive stilettos flattering her slim ankles and perfect legs.Cunningham turned a page in her notebook. "So this relationship became on what—equal terms?""No, never that.""But you have a considerable amount of money, Mrs. Brandon.""Yes, and I had a lot more: it was to save on the government making him pay taxes or something. Well, that's what he told me. It was investments and stuff like that. To be honest, I never really understood how it moved from one account and country, in and out. I never paid any attention to how many accounts he had drawn up in my name. I mean, I didn't have the checkbooks.""What other countries?""Well, there was Switzerland—Geneva—Germany, and Florida; I had money there for when I was in the United States."Anna was fascinated. The more Julia talked about the life she had lived, the more arrogant she became. She twisted her diamond rings and diamond earrings, often seeming more interested in her nail polish than the flow of questions from Cunningham. Anna wondered if this was a ploy by her superior; the more queries were posed about her lifestyle, the more Julia gained in what appeared to be confidence. Doubtless certain that the two women opposite had never lived the luxurious life that she had, Julia started to behave as if she was almost enjoying herself."And you never had any indication that this lifestyle you are describing was funded by drug deals?"Julia shook her blond hair away from her neck. "No. I never even had an indication that what I was being told was anything but the truth.""Did you ever take drugs yourself?""No.""What about your partner?"She wafted her hand. "He used to smoke dope, for relaxation, but nothing else; he was quite a fitness fanatic and always worked out. We even had a gymnasium on the yacht. I think sometimes he felt that, being so much older than me, he had to keep up." She laughed.Cunningham nodded, and tapped the table with the tip of her pencil. "So, take me through the period when you were still living at the St. John's Wood property. If I am correct, there was a substantial change in your lifestyle.""What?""You became pregnant, isn't that right? In fact, you had two children in quite quick succession.""I wasn't living at the St. John's Wood house then.""Where were you living?""I moved into a mews house just behind the Albert Hall. I think we rented it; we were having an extension built or something at the big house. I can't really remember.""Where was your partner?""I can't remember; he had been abroad a lot.""He arranged this move?""Oh yes.""Do you have the address?"Julia sucked in her breath and sighed; she said it was Albert Hall Mews, but she had only lived there a few months before she moved into a rented flat in Harley Street. Cunningham scribbled on her notepad, asking for the exact address. Julia couldn't recall if it was forty or forty-two; again, the property was rented. She crossed her legs and, like Anna had done, knocked her knee beneath the table. She muttered and examined the tiny snag in her stocking."So you moved from one rented place to another, for how long?""Well, it would be about two years.""During this time, were you together, or alone?""A bit of both." "Who else lived with you?""I had a girl come in and clean, but I was on my own really I had a car, so I could drive. I'd failed my test a few times, and then when I passed I got a Porsche, a birthday present.""And the two children?"Julia pursed her lips. "I had treatment at the Chelsea Fertility Clinic.""The father of your two children is not named on their birth certificates.""No.""Is the father of your children the man you knew as Anthony Collingwood?""No. He was, as they say, firing blanks. I used a donor.""Do you have a name?""No. It was a donor provided by the clinic.""The same donor for both children?""Yes.""Was your partner happy about this situation?""Yes, he organized it.""Was he a good father?""Not really. He didn't have much time for the girls; they were just babies."Julia frowned and chewed at her lips. "Sometimes I wondered if he was so insistent, you know, so it would keep me tied to him." "Did it?""Pardon?""Were you able to have the same lifestyle or, with two small children, was it less free?""We still traveled a lot.""He traveled with you and the children?""No, I would bring the children to see him.""Where?""Well, wherever he was. "Julia listed Florida, Germany, France, India, Switzerland, and Scotland among the places she had taken her children to visit him. She was obviously becoming bored; she tilted her headback and closed her eyes. "You can check all this out with passport control. Both children have separate passports. A few times they went with a nanny he hired, but mostly I traveled with them.""Can you give me a list of the hotels you stayed at during this period?""What, all of them? I can't remember all of them.""I'd like you to try. Why don't you start off with Scotland? Where did you stay there?""Skibo Castle; we often went there, but we never stayed in the castle, always in one of the cottages. You can send over to the restaurant and they deliver food, whatever you want. You could play golf—well, not me, I don't play, but we would ride ..." She continued discussing the other activities she had enjoyed as Cunningham jotted down a note to Anna for the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick to be sent for identification to the hotel.When Anna returned to the interview room, Julia was still trying to recall the various hotels where she had taken her children to stay. By now, she was leaning her chin on her hands, elbows propped on the table. The extraordinary thing was that Simon Fagan had not said one word since Julia had recoiled from him; he had remained sitting stiffly, almost as if determined to keep his distance. He had a leather-bound notebook in which he wrote odd notes with a Cartier fountain pen, unscrewing and rescrewing the top. Then he would stare down at the page, or back to the wall, as Julia talked on, and on, and on.Cunningham spoke into the tape recorder that DI Travis had returned to the interview room. Anna slipped her a note to say they were checking into the Scotland connection; she then inched her legs under the table and picked up her pencil, straightened her notebook, and waited, but Cunningham remained silent. It was a little unnerving. Julia looked to Fagan, but he didn't pay any attention to her. Instead, he coughed and straightened his immaculate tie."When did it all go wrong?" Cunningham asked suddenly.Julia sat back as if she didn't understand the question."You moved into a property in Wimbledon and you married Frank Brandon. Then, it appears from our previous interviews, you were coerced into handing over a considerable amount of money: four million. Your financial adviser apparently persuaded you not to release any further monies. He then ends up dead, as does your new husband. So I am asking you, Mrs. Brandon, when did it all go wrong?""I never had anything to do with their deaths. I can prove where I was at all times. I wasn't involved in any way at all." Her voice had become shrill."I never said that you were involved, but it is rather a coincidence, isn't it? So, what I am asking you to explain to me is, when did this wonderful relationship—with a man you knew only as Anthony Collingwood—when did it go wrong? Was he aware of your marriage? Perhaps he even arranged it? He seems to have arranged everything else about your life.""I haven't seen him for a long time, I swear I haven't.""But why not? If, as you have taken pains to describe to me, you had a very special and very luxurious life together, what happened for you to marry someone else?"Anna tapped Cunningham's arm and she leaned close; they whispered together, and then Anna took out her report of when Julia had broken down at her home when Anna had interviewed her very early in the investigation. Julia began to twist her ankle around again, then tapped her foot as Cunningham read Anna's report."I am waiting for you to answer, Mrs. Brandon. I need to know exactly when you last saw Mr. Collingwood.""He had another woman.""I'm sorry?""I said, he had another woman. She'd moved into the house in St. John's Wood."Cunningham sighed and glanced to Anna. "When was this, Julia?""Years ago, whilst I was living in the Mews. He told me he was abroad, but I think he had been living at the house all the time. I couldn't tell you how long, but he had this woman, and I knew she had been living there.""Did you find out who it was?"Julia was now leaning forward, wrapping her arms around herself. "I couldn't believe it, but when I confronted him about it, he admitted it. We had this terrible argument.""Was this before you conceived your children?""Yes! I threatened to leave him and, to make up for betraying me, he said he had put a lot of money into my account. He said that he had been very stressed because of some business transactions, that he needed me even more to divert funds. He said the house in St. John's Wood was mine, but I was very upset and angry. Then he said he wanted me to have children. I said before, that it was probably to keep me bound to him. I went along with it, but things were never the same between us. I was so hurt.""Did he continue seeing this other woman?"Julia wouldn't look up. "He disappeared again—said he had suffered huge losses. Some bank had collapsed.""Would that be BCCI?""I can't remember. I had my hands full with the first baby. I suffered from terrible postnatal depression. And I was obviously suspicious of him.""Because of this other woman?""Yes!""And you never discovered who she was?"Julia's lips tightened, and she began rocking again. "I knew, I knew, but I wouldn't face it.""So you did know who she was?""Yes! I'm not dumb, I put two and two together; it was a painting."Cunningham leaned back in her chair as if this was going nowhere, but now Anna spoke up. "Was it a painting of a yacht?"Julia looked in surprise at Anna, but made no reply. There was a long pause and, at last, Fagan seemed to feel he should inteiject."What painting are you referring to,Julia?""I was feeling so wretched, you know, with a new baby, and I had never asked her for anything, ever. She'd got married and had moved with her husband to this farmhouse, so I packed a case and drove to Oxfordshire. The place was hideous, falling down, damp, and the spare bedroom was so small I couldn't breathe. I hated it, and I was very obviously not welcome. I was no sooner there than I wanted to leave, and then I saw the painting.""At the farmhouse," Anna said quietly."Yes. As soon as I saw it, I put two and two together, and I knew."Anna continued. "So you discovered that the other woman, the woman who had been living at your house in St. John's Wood, and in fact driven you away, was your sister?"Cunningham glanced at Anna; she hadn't put it together."Yes,"Julia hissed."Did you confront her?""No. I fucked her husband and left. I lied to you about the IVF. I only had it the once; my second baby is her husband's. I didn't even think I was pregnant. If I'd known about it earlier, I wouldn't have had it, but it was too late for an abortion. I told Anthony that it was IVF again, and he accepted it.""Did you ever tell your sister?""No, I don't speak to her. It was after I had the baby I decided that I had taken enough, all his lies, and that's when I sold the house." Julia sighed, really tired now. She had been interviewed for a long time, but it wasn't over. She asked for some water, and was handed a beaker and a plastic water bottle; she unscrewed the cap and drank from the bottle."I contacted David Rushton; it was luck, really. I had no idea who to turn to and it was my hairdresser who told me she'd had problems with tax, or something, and had this wonderful accountant. So I went to see him. He handled the sale of the house.""For how much?""Eight million. He arranged a deposit account, and then organized the Wimbledon property.""And the other accounts?""Well, when he knew I had access to so much, he started to say I had to really protect it—you know, start to make it earn more money for me. So he opened all these offshore accounts, and arranged various investments, making sure that I lived off an allowance. I needed a lot of money to refurbish the Wimbledon property and furnish it."

"Did Mr. Rushton have any indication that the money was not actually yours but Anthony Collingwood's?"

"No. I told him I had inherited some, and the rest had been given to me by my partner. I wanted him to make sure that no one could get their hands on it."

"Wasn't he suspicious?"

"No—well, if he was, he didn't mention it. He was very, very clever, and always tried to explain everything to me, but to be honest, I was never really sure exactly what he was doing—-just that he had invested the bulk sums."

"Which were what?"

"Around twelve or thirteen million, to begin with."

They were reaching the point where Julia moved into the house in Wimbledon with her children, and employed the Chinese au pair, and Frank Brandon. It was now that Fagan insisted that his client have a bathroom break. Anna needed one herself. Just as she was washing her hands, Julia walked out from one of the cubicles.

"All right?" Anna asked pleasantly.

"Yes, thank you, but I want to have a few words with my lawyer before I continue."

"I'll arrange that," Anna said, but knowing that Cunningham wouldn't like it.

Julia remained by the washbasins, until the remaining engaged cubicle was vacated by a uniformed female officer. As soon as the door closed, she went back into a cubicle and opened her powder compact. She lifted a gauze from the compact; pressed flat was the cocaine.

She took out a small silver spoon and used two scoops, snorting the fine-cut coke. She then rubbed her gums, sniffed and, unlocking the door, went back to the washbasins. She checked her nostrils for any residue, reapplied her lipstick, and took a damp tissue to rub beneath her eyes, where her mascara had left black smudges from crying. She ran a comb through her hair and then shook her head so her hair fell in loose, silky strands onto her shoulders. She gave herself a look of approval, biting at her lip, as the cocaine had numbed her gums slightly; by the time she walked out, the coke had kicked in. Langton had already been into the incident room with his update on his interviews with Delroy and Silas, and the team were able to see how the jigsaw was slowly building, piece by piece. Phil turned to Anna, asking how it was going with Julia, and Anna pulled a face.Phil gave her a rueful look. "Well, we're not getting much from her financial adviser's murder. We have the CCTV footage and we have every indication that Alexander Fitzpatrick was the last man to see David Rushton alive. What we don't have, obviously, is where in God's name he is! We've also got more bloody paperwork; it's been a real argy-bargy getting the Julia Brandon files from Rushton's partners but, from what we've ascertained so far, there are about four files missing.""But you have some idea of what he was doing for her?""Yeah, but it's a maze of companies and investment banks and fucking hedge funds; we've got three guys on it. We might find out Rushton was feathering his own pockets big-time."Phil sighed, and they both looked back at the board. They now knew that Delroy and Silas were blaming each other for the shooting of Frank, but Langton was certain it was Delroy who also shot, with the same gun, the garage owner Stanley Leymore.Phil called over to Gordon, who joined them. His desk was stacked with papers from the garage. They were still trying to unearth the date that Leymore received the Mitsubishi. They had the date and time it had been stolen in Brighton, but by whom they didn't know. What they were trying to piece together was when the jeep was taken over by Frank Brandon, driven to the farm in Oxfordshire, and how Donny Petrozzo's body came to be in the back of it. They still had no time frame for when it came into Julius D'Anton's possession.Phil moved along the incident board. "The start date would be when whoever bought it from Leymore. Gordon here's been checking over the garage's farcical receipts and invoices.The turnover wasn't bad, considering it was such a shithole."Gordon pointed to the area on the board that he was writing up. "I'm going back two years, because I've found a Mercedes listed by Leymore: its reg plates were found in a stack at the back of the garage.

They match a vehicle stolen from Kingston in Surrey. This Merc, a silver four-door saloon, was the one driven by Donny Petrozzo; we've got a match on the engine number. The car Petrozzo used for his wife and her niece to drive around was on Leymore's legit books. I've also traced the BMW driven by our drug dealer from the squat back to Leymore's garage; this was stolen almost a year ago. This could be the reason Leymore's prints were found in the squat; they could have been left there before the murder went down: prints minus fingertip, right? I've got another vehicle Leymore also sold to—"

"Enough already, Gordon! We'll concentrate on the start date of whoever bought the stolen jeep from Leymore. You got anything on the Mitsubishi?" Phil asked.

"Not yet. For the hot vehicles, he had a whole lot of legitimate documents for vehicles bought from car auctions; there's a load of equipment for respraying, et cetera. I've also got a stash of receipts for paints and electrical spare parts. They were stuffed into a black bin liner."

"What about his personal bank account?"

"We've got two accounts, a savings and a current; there is really not that much in either, but..." Anna and Phil waited expectantly ... "he's got a time-share on the Costa del Sol. I'm waiting for a bloke there to get back to me with more details, but Leymore has had it for years; he could plow his cash into the villa and carry it out in a suitcase."

"So when he wasn't up to his elbows in grease, he was sunning himself in Spain?" Phil said, swearing under his breath.

"Hang on, Gordon," Anna said suddenly. "The Mitsubishi that was stolen: had it had a respray?"

"No, but it's only got thirty-five thousand miles on the clock."

"So whoever got it from Leymore might have done so almost as soon as it was stolen?"

"Could be."

By now, both Anna and Phil were standing beside Gordon's desk. The grubby papers were stacked in piles, dated, and clipped together; there were still hundreds more in black bin liners to sort through. "You've got your work cut out for you," Anna said, smiling."You can say that again!" Gordon held up his hands; some of the grease from the stained papers had rubbed off onto his fingers.Anna turned as Cunningham signaled for her to return to the interview room: Mrs. Brandon's bathroom break was up.As they left the incident room, Gordon got the call in from the property company in Spain. They confirmed that Stanley Leymore had bought from them a time-share apartment on the Costa Del Sol for £150,000; with inflation, it was now valued at over £200,000. He had paid the previous owner in cash.As Gordon took down the details, he accidentally knocked over a stash of papers he had not yet checked. When he finished the call and picked them up, he noticed a receipt for a Mitsubishi taillight from the main dealers of the jeep. When Gordon checked with them, they were able to give him more details: the taillight was for a 2008 Mitsubishi jeep. The date was one week after the vehicle had been reported stolen in Brighton: March 15, 2008. It was highly probable that Stanley Leymore had the jeep in his garage by that time.Julia was sitting with her back pressed into the chair, her legs crossed. Fa-gan's arms were folded, his leather-bound notebook closed on the table."Can we now return to the date you say you moved into your home in Wimbledon?" Cunningham asked.Julia sighed. "It'd be early March. I owned the house before that, maybe five weeks before, but it needed furnishing and redecorating.""You were with your children and their au pair?""Yes, I'd got the girls into a local nursery. Mai Ling came from an agency; she had a place of her own, so she would just come in for the day and evening, then go home. She didn't move in full-time until March."Cunningham inteijected. "I would like to know the date that you first employed Frank Brandon."Julia looked to the ceiling. "It'd be about a month after I'd moved in." "You say you put an advert in the local paper?""Yes. I needed someone for the garden, and someone to drive for me.""A chauffeur?""Call it what you like. Frank contacted me and came round, and we discussed wages.""When I spoke to you originally, Mrs. Brandon, you said you actually wanted a bodyguard as well as a driver.""Yes, well, you know I am a woman alone. I have some very valuable jewelry, so 1 thought it would be best to hire someone with experience.""So you knew he had been a police officer?""Yes, he told me. He said he could maintain my car, do whatever I wanted. Mostly, he was driving the children to school and back, because I was always scared, you know—in case someone found out I had money. I felt protected having him around, and he got on well with the children.""So this was in late March?""Yes.""So when did the relationship become more personal?"Julia sniffed, and smiled. "Well, if having sex is personal, then it was a few days later.""When did you ask him to move into the house?""Maybe in May? I can't really remember the exact date; it just happened."

"But Mr. Brandon was also working as a driver for someone else." "Oh, that. Well, it wasn't as if it was an everyday thing. This man would call him and ask him to do odd pickups when he was too busy.""Did Frank work for Donny Petrozzo?"Julia shrugged. "I never knew his name, I never met him. He would call Frank on his mobile and Frank would say yes or no. Often he would drive to wherever and pick up a car to do the chauffeuring, mostly to the airports.""Frank had his own car, a VW?"

"Yes. Just like I said, he would go in his own car to wherever this man lived and then he would use a Merc, 1 think it was." Julia sniffed and began tapping her foot against the leg of the table. She kept on glancing at Fagan as if he should say something. He remained silent."So when did you see Mr. Brandon in possession of the black Mitsubishi jeep?""I never saw it."Cunningham slapped the table with the flat of her hand. "Stop lying, Mrs. Brandon! You knew that Frank Brandon drove this vehicle; you also knew where it was parked—you gave Detective Inspector Travis directions on how to get to the garage he used to park it in.""Of course I knew about the garage—I paid the rent on it. I had my two cars, so we needed another garage."Fagan leaned forward. "I think Mrs. Brandon has answered your question. She did not know Mr. Brandon had this jeep; she has clearly just said that she never saw it.""Thank you," Julia said curtly."Let's go to the date you were married.""I am getting sick and tired of this. I have told you about the wedding." She jerked her head toward Anna."I just need to know when you and Mr. Brandon agreed to be married.""Why? What business is it of yours?""Please answer the question." Cunningham was starting to sound irritated now."It was sometime in May.""He had worked for you for two months?""My goodness, how clever of you, yes! After two months we realized we wanted to be married; we loved each other, and we went to the Isle of Man and got a special license and we got fucking married."Fagan whipped around on her. "Julia, that was not necessary.""Of course it is! They keep asking me these ridiculous questions that have nothing to do with anything.""The life insurance policy your financial adviser arranged for Mr. Brandon?" Cunningham persisted."Yes, you've bloody asked me about that. I was looking out for him, that is all.""But it was payable only if he died.""That is not the point! If he had a life insurance policy, he could get mortgages and things like that.""Why would he want a mortgage when you owned your house outright?""Maybe he wanted to show me he had a pair of balls rather than live off me!" she shouted. Fagan again warned her to be quiet and behave. She sniffed and then rubbed at her nose. "I just want to go home to my children," she said, in a whine."Were you afraid? Was someone threatening you?""No.""Can you tell me about the four million you took out recently?""It's my money. I have already told you, I paid for the house and I had a lot of things to buy.""We will need the receipts.""Oh, for Christ's sake, this is just harassment." She turned to Fagan and pushed at his arm. "Do something, for God's sake! This is driving me crazy.""Just answer the questions, Julia.""What the fuck do you think I have been doing?""Mrs. Brandon, your husband was murdered.""Well, I didn't fucking do it!" She pushed her chair back so abruptly that the table rocked, and Cunningham's bottle of water spilled into her lap and over the table. She stood up trying to salvage her dripping notebook and soaked skirt. The incident made Cunningham so angry she ordered another ten-minute break.Cunningham was in her office, using tissues to dab at her skirt. "That bloody woman! She makes me so mad I want to slap her face."Anna nodded her agreement. She mentioned that the team were pretty certain that the Mitsubishi jeep, that was so important to their inquiry, had been in Leymore's possession a week after it was stolen. This helped with their still-incomplete time frame, because Eddie Court had

seen the jeep being driven by Frank Brandon on the night of his murder. Phil was pressing the team to track back, to see if there was anything that would indicate whether Frank had bought the jeep, or was just using it via Donny Petrozzo.

Just as Anna and Cunningham were returning to question Julia Brandon, a further piece of the jigsaw came from the officer rechecking Donny Petrozzo's diary and work ledgers. There was, in one of his bank statements, two withdrawals of sums of money: one for ten thousand pounds cash, and another, from a different account, for five thousand. The date was March 17; in his diary, he had written the initials SL and the time.

The following day there was another cryptic note: Paid SL, but did not collect faulty light. This tied in with the receipt for the taillight found at Stanley Leymore's garage. So they now knew that Donny Petrozzo had been the buyer. Four days on, there was another one of his odd memos: Cash x 25. Nice 1. Donny's bank account showed that he had deposited twenty-five thousand pounds into his current account on that date; did he sell on the Mitsubishi for this amount? If he had, they did not have the name or even an initial of the buyer.

Cunningham listened as they updated the incident board, and said: "Take a look into Julia Brandon's accounts and see if she was out by twenty-five grand." She waved her hand toward Anna to join her and returned to the interview room.

No sooner had Anna sat down than there was a tap on the door; Phil gestured for Anna to come out into the corridor. Cunningham started to record her absence for the tape, but Anna returned almost immediately, placing a note onto the table. Cunningham glanced at it. Julia Brandon had signed a check for twenty-five thousand pounds, made out to her husband. The check had been paid into Frank Brandon's account, and he had withdrawn the same amount in cash on March 20.

When this was pointed out to her, Julia simply shrugged and said it was Frank's wages.

"But he withdrew this exact amount in cash."

"That was his business."

"So you have no notion what this amount of money was for?" "Why should I know? He had a life before he started to work for me."Cunningham sighed: the woman had answers for everything. Cunningham decided not to pursue the check but pressed on, asking about the dates Julia and Frank married. Julia was trying hard to concentrate; her nose was running and she kept sniffing, and twice got out a handkerchief. She was becoming abusive and quite argumentative as she snapped that they had fallen in love, had sex, and more sex, and then decided to marry."There were photographs of the wedding," Anna interjected."And I told you that I had torn them up, because he was dead and I didn't want any memories. I had to take them down because the kids were asking me about him and it was making me want to cry all the time.""You didn't keep any of these wedding photographs?""No. They weren't done by a professional—they were just snapshots from his camera and my mobile.""Who was the older man in one shot standing behind Frank?""The fucking vicar. This is getting ridiculous." She turned and glared at Fagan, who leaned back."I have to say my client has a point; we have been here for a very long time, and we appear to have come full circle."Cunningham closed her notebook.Anna flicked a page in hers. "Why did you recently hire not one but two bodyguards?""Christ! My husband had been murdered! Simon here suggested that I should replace him; he was concerned for me, so he arranged for me to meet them. It wasn't my doing, it was my lawyer's."Fagan frowned."He got them from an agency, he took me to meet them—I had nothing to do with it. Go on, ask him! Give me a break!""So you were that concerned for your client, Mr. Fagan?""Yes, I was concerned, especially as I had received a call from Mrs. Brandon's au pair. She was frightened, and I can understandwhy, obviously. She said that Mrs. Brandon was deeply distressed, and without anyone looking after her. I then received a call from her business adviser, who also stressed his concerns; it was on his advice that I contacted—"He was interrupted by Julia, grabbing at his arm, "I never told David to contact you! You called me and told me that I had to take care!""Yes, I did say that to you, Julia, but only after I was contacted by David Rushton. As I said, your au pair also phoned—"He was interrupted again. Julia's voice had become shrill. "Since when has my au pair had anything to do with my personal life?"Fagan was very uncomfortable. "Julia, she was simply concerned.""But it had nothing to do with her!" Julia was becoming very agitated.Cunningham interrupted their conversation. "Mr. Fagan, could we just clarify that, after you were called by David Rushton, and by Mrs. Brandon's au pair, you brought in—""I was given the number of this company that employ security guards—bodyguards, whatever—with good qualifications and experience, and obviously with references." Fagan was becoming uneasy and loosened his tie.Anna leaned forward across the table; something was not right. "Who exactly gave you the contact for this company?"Fagan hesitated. "I think it was David Rushton; he also mentioned that Mrs. Brandon's au pair had spoken to him.""Why would she call David?" Julia's voice was high-pitched."I really don't know, Julia; you should ask her. All I am saying is that the reason I suggested to you that you hire these two men to look after your safety, was because I was advised by David Rushton to do so.""Where are these security men now?" Anna asked quietly. "You see, we have been unable to trace the company these men work for. The Range Rover they have been using is registered to a—" She was interrupted by Julia."Simon picked me up and brought me here, so I didn't need them; they're at the house.""With your au pair?" Anna asked."Yes.""And the children?"Julia stood up. She was finding it difficult to breathe; her chest heaved as she gasped. "Oh my God, oh my God.""Mrs. Brandon, sit down, please."Julia backed away from the table, her chair overturned. She looked as if she was about to faint. "What have I done? You don't understand, you don't understand!" She turned as if to run to the door, her arms flailing. "I have to get home, I have to get to my children."Anna moved quickly from the table to approach Julia. She could see the fear in her eyes as she repeated, "What have I done?"Fagan was also now on his feet, concerned. "Julia, calm down. We don't understand what you are saying."Her voice was rasping; she still seemed unable to catch her breath as she hissed out, "You fucking idiot! He will have taken my babies!”