Deadly Intent

CHAPTER 7

Pete Jenkins at forensics was, as usual, friendly and offered coffee, but Anna declined, saying she would have to move fast to get over to the station in Chalk Farm. When she showed him the bullet, their heads were close as she eased back the piece of tissue. "I think it's blood," she said."Soon be able to tell you. Where did you find it?""The air vent.""Whoops. Someone's gonna get rapped over the knuckles; probably me." He took a small swab stick and prepared for a blood test."How long will it take to confirm whose blood it is?""Not long. Do you want to wait?""I should get moving.""You free for dinner tonight?"She hesitated, then smiled. "Can I talk to you later—see what I've got lined up?""Sure. I can cook—do you like Italian?""Yes. I do.""Well, why don't we say my place at eight, unless something crops up?"Again she hesitated, but he was so easygoing, she couldn't understand why she was being so unsure. She agreed that they would talk later."This is my address." He jotted it down. When he had finished working on the bullet, he promised he would get it over to ballistics.Cunningham was holding forth when Anna joined the team. She broke off to look at her watch. "Nice of you to join us, DI Travis.""I'm sorry, ma'am.""So am I. 1 am not going to say everything again, so catch up, will you? We go over to the mortuary in an hour. "Anna raised her hand. Cunningham gave her a dismissive glance."I went back to the murder site last night," Anna announced, then explained how she had been constantly thinking about the statement from Mrs. Webster. She told the team about the discovery of the bullet, and that forensics was working on it and would be in touch that morning.Cunningham remained, arms folded, staring at the floor, until Anna had finished. She then looked up and gave her a strange, direct stare. "Good work.""It is possible the bullet clipped the man we are trying to identify, the one standing behind Frank Brandon," Anna went on. "If it is someone else's blood, then—""Yes, that's obvious, Travis, but let's not get too excited until we hear back from the lab. Right now it's just speculation." Cunningham walked off.Just speculation! Anna's mobile phone rang; the caller was Harry Blunt. She hurried into her office."Listen, Anna, this may be nothing, but I've been thinking—you know, about Frank. Sort of feel bad about him; he was a pain in the arse, but he was an okay bloke. You liked him, didn't you?""Yes, I did.""I'm not too far from you—want to have a coffee?"Anna checked her watch. She wasn't due to go to the mortuary with Cunningham for another hour. "Sure." They arranged to meet in the nearest Starbucks.Harry was already tucking into a doughnut and giant latte. He grinned when he saw her, his mouth full, and held up a small black coffee. "You can get your own cream if you need it," he said, chewing, as she perched beside him."Black is fine; I've not got much time.""Nor have I. I'm gonna interview a bloke we think chopped up his wife, so I wanted to get something to eat before we drag him in."Anna smiled—typical of Harry."Fucker used a meat cleaver; we got bits and pieces of her all over London. You want one of these? I got three." He proffered a doughnut and she took one, as she hadn't had time for breakfast."Okay, I was in Oxford Street getting the wife her birthday present, and 1 bumped into Frank s ex; she works in Selfridges on the perfume counter. To be honest, I didn't remember her. I'd met her a couple of times but, if you recall, old Frank used to put it about. Anyways, her name is Connie—lovely looking, great figure, big tits. You know old Frank liked them top heavy.""1 didn't," Anna said."Well, we had a bite to eat one night—me, Frank, and Connie—and so she recognized me—calls me over, right?" Harry demolished his doughnut and started on the next. "First, she is showing me all these offers on perfume. I said I was looking for the wife's birthday, so she only sprays me so I smell like a whore's bedroom, then suddenly she says she's really desperate to contact Frank."Anna listened as Harry, between mouthfuls, explained that, at first, he was wondering how he was going to tell Connie that Frank was dead. Then she showed him an engagement ring—nothing too flashy, a nice little three-diamond job. Frank had apparently told her that he would have to be away for a few months; he had got this blinding job, driving some big shot around. Part of the deal was, he was to be on duty twenty-four/seven, so it meant that he wouldn't be able to see her until the job was over. He might also have to travel abroad. Frank had then asked her if she would stand by him; they would get married when it was over. Connie had agreed."She tells me that Frank buys the ring: they were living together, right? Then, a week later, he goes off to work. He said he would have his mobile on and she could call him if something urgent cropped up, but to wait for him to contact her. He was worried that if he didn't come up to scratch, they'd fire him. She never heard nothing, so she called a couple of times, but it was dead." Harry finished the second doughnut. "Anyways, 1 am just about to tell her that so was he, when she says that he'd been working for a chauffeur firm. She'd called them; said he had been wheeling around in a flash Merc. Now, that would have been when I saw him. Remember, I said 1 saw him in a flash Merc in the West End?"Harry rummaged in his jacket pocket and took out a crumpled card.

"She said he was working for this bloke but, when she called him, there was no answer." He passed over the card. Chauffeur Hire, Dotmy Petrozzo, and a mobile number. "She said he worked for big-money blokes in the City; I tried the number and got nothing."

Anna pocketed the card as Harry continued. "I told her, Anna. I said that as far as I knew, Frank had met with an accident, but I didn't have no facts—-just that he was dead. She broke down. I felt terrible. Left without getting the wife's perfume, I was so uptight."

"Listen, thank you for this, Harry—I appreciate it."

"Okay. I'd like to know when they're burying him; show him respect, know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do. I'll be in touch."

Cunningham was about to have another tetchy go at her, but Anna didn't waste time. Giving Cunningham the details from Harry Blunt, she said she felt it was important enough for her to meet up with Connie.

Cunningham tapped Anna's desk with the Petrozzo card. "Okay. Follow this up, Travis, and take Gordon with you." She lightly touched Anna's shoulder. "It was good work on the discovery of the bullet, but you were out on your own. I don't want to have to tell you again: I do not want you acting like a loose cannon, running around London alone. Maybe the bullet will give us a lead, but it could also come back and slap us in the face. You should have had a witness and you should have discussed your concerns about Mrs. Webster's statement."

"Ma'am, I did write it in my report."

"Don't interrupt! I do not want you going out on your own flicking inquiry. This is a murder investigation, not Anna Travis proving herself to be better than anyone else. As from now, any misgivings you have, any single thing that crops up in that little red head of yours, you discuss with me and the team—do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am." "Good. I don't want to stunt your obvious ability, but I will get you off this case if 1 feel you have disobeyed my direct order one more time. I am fully aware of the problems you had with Detective Chief Superintendent Langton—or, should I say, his problems with you. You consistently flaunted his authority. In case you are not aware, it's on your record sheet. If you ever want to get promotion, Travis, I should warn you that I'd add my ten cents in, as well as Jimmy Langton's." She left the room.Anna had to grip the sides of her desk to keep control. Langton had to be protecting his own backside, conferring with the arm-folding Cunningham. Anna was so angry that she wanted to pick up the phone and get him on the line there and then. Suddenly her phone rang.She snatched it up. "Travis," she snapped."Hi there, it's Pete. You were right: the blood on the bullet is not Frank Brandon's. We are running tests and seeing what the database throws up, so I'll be in touch later.""Good. Thank you," she said, still hot with rage."You know if you will make dinner tonight?"Anna had to take a deep breath to be civil. "Not yet. Can I call you later?""Sure. Don't make it too late, though, because if I am cooking, I need to get the food in—""I'll talk to you later!" She felt bad about being so uptight, but she just couldn't contain herself.She picked up the phone again and dialed an internal number. "Gordon, can you check out if they have a record of the marriage between Frank Brandon and Julia? And, Gordon, write this up on the bloody incident board, and give the duty manager details."She slammed the phone back down, and started her report on the meeting with Harry Blunt. If Cunningham wanted her to go by the book on every single detail, she would do so. The phone rang again. It was Gordon asking if she had Mrs. Brandon's maiden name. She snapped that it was in the file; he should find it himself.Cunningham arrived at the mortuary with DS Phil Markham. They had not completed the postmortem on Donny Petrozzo, but she was putting the pressure on for any new evidence. Ewan Fielding was irritated by their arrival, he loathed to hurry and complained that he had stated, innumerable times, that he was not able to give any details until his work was completed. Donny Petrozzo's body had already been "sliced," and his organs removed and weighed, so Cunningham was somewhat surprised by Fielding's annoyance. Looking over his notes, he said that the victim was a rather unhealthy individual. His last meal had been a hamburger and chips. He also had quite a high blood-alcohol level. The victim had been quite a heavy cocaine user. His septum was weak; there were still traces of cocaine inside both nostrils. Death had occurred some three days previously, but they had so far been unable to ascertain the actual cause. "I will obviously require time to do more examinations. That is about all I can give you at this moment.""Was it a drug overdose?" Cunningham demanded."I'm unable to confirm that," Fielding said wearily."But you have found cocaine?""Yes, traces. It appears that he was a regular user, but I don't have, as yet, evidence to prove he overdosed on that particular drug. I don't want you to take this as verbatim—but my gut feeling is that he was overdosed; on what exactly, I am unable to tell you, but I think it was some kind of opiate.""Why do you say that?" Again, this was from Cunningham."From his heart. 1 am just about to run some tests. Until I have done so, that is about all I can give you."DS Markham looked over the body and then asked if whatever drug Petrozzo had died from could have been self-administered.Fielding glanced at him and shrugged. "Quite possibly, but even if his death was self-inflicted. 1 doubt he would have been able to place himself in the black bin linen—four of them, to be exact—and wrap them around his entire body with masking tape!"Cunningham had heard enough.Markham hurried after her. She banged through the doors, removing her protective green overall and tossing it into the bin provided. "Those pricks make me so pissed off. Pompous arsehole," she muttered.Markham removed his overall, then had to hurry to catch up with her once more as she headed toward the forensic department. Pete Jenkins looked up as the double doors to his lab slammed open and Cunningham strode in. "Hi!" he greeted her. "I was just about to call. We're pretty swamped with work on your case, but we have the clothing from Donny Petrozzo on the benches. Downstairs, they're stripping down the Mitsubishi.""You get something from the blood on the bullet from the murder site?""Yes. I was just about to contact DI Travis.""Well, I'm here, so what have you got?" Cunningham demanded.Jenkins picked up his report. "The blood is not a match for the victim. We have run it through the database but we have come up empty-handed; in other words, there is no match on file.""So what is your take on it?"Jenkins shrugged. "Pretty much the same as DI Travis: your gunman fired six shots, five into your victim. One shot clipped the man we believe was standing behind him. We've made a few more tests on the angle of the bullets and the spattering.""No, no! Let me look over Petrozzo's clothes. Found any bloodstains on them?""Not as yet, I believe, but we're still checking them over. His pockets were empty. We had no papers or identifying documents, but we got his ID from his prints.""Yes, I know. What about the bin liners and the tape?"Jenkins led them over to a tresde table. "We have four bin bags. Pathology department sliced through them as neatly as possible to help, but the bags and the tape are a common variety and hard to trace. Also, I would say whoever wrapped him up—and, by the by, did it very well, the body was quite well preserved—I think must have worn gloves, as we have as yet no fingerprints. Often we get a good result from duct tape but, in this case, nothing."Cunningham sighed and looked to Markham. "You want to ask something?"Markham nodded and pointed to the shoes. "Any bloodstains on these?""Nope. We have mud particles, but no blood.""So he wasn't at the murder site?""The footprints we have from there are not his size. He is, or was, size-nine shoe and, I think I was told, around five feet nine, so he wasn't the man standing behind your victim Frank Brandon. Travis and I have ascertained he had to be over six feet two or three—""Really? DI Travis seems to have spent a lot of time here," Cunningham said sarcastically. She gestured to Markham that it was time to leave, and walked off without so much as a thank-you to Jenkins.Their next stop was Vernon Lee, the ballistics expert. Lee had little to add, apart from the fact that the bullet was from the same Glock pistol and, as with the other bullets, they did not have the casing. Frustrated, Cunningham and Markham returned to their car.As they left the car park, Cunningham switched on her BlackBerry and began checking her messages. Then she looked at Markham. "You ever worked with Chief Superintendent James Langton?""No, ma'am.""Travis worked three cases with him. He rated her, but said she was a bit of a solo artist; got into some trouble with a journalist on one case. I need you to watch over her. I don't want her creating any more problems for me than I've already got.""Yes, ma'am.""And we do have problems, Phil, big ones. We're now four days into the investigation with fuck all, and Frank Brandon being an ex-cop is starting to create pressure from the chief. We need to get some kind of a result, and fast, so all weekend leave will be canceled.""Yes, ma'am.""You see Travis acting like she's running this investigation, you report straight back to me—understood?""Yes, ma'am." Markham didn't like this at all, and decided he would have a quiet word with Anna when he returned to the station. Anna and Cordon went back to question Paul Wrexler and Mark Taylor, who had both scored drugs from Donny Petrozzo. Again, they were spun virtually the same story. Donny always insisted that he was not a dealer; he could just get a few grams for when they needed it. Both the companies they worked for had used Donny's firm of chauffeurs when they required clients to be collected from the airport, or for special functions. Donny was not on a permanent payroll, but worked freelance; due to his good record, they had used him for over eight years. He owned a Mercedes-Benz and a Ford Escort, which he and his wife used for personal driving. Donny's Mercedes had not been recovered.When Anna and Gordon called in to the station. Cunningham had still not returned. Anna made sure that the duty manager reported to Cunningham, when she did get back, that she and Gordon were going to see Mrs. Petrozzo.Donny Petrozzo's address was in Fulham. As they were arriving, Gordon got a call from the station. When they saw Mrs. Petrozzo, they should tell her that a car had been arranged to take her to the mortuary. She was required to identify her husband.Anna was stunned that no one had yet been to see Mrs. Petrozzo to give her the news. "You know, DCI Cunningham should have sorted this out.""Well, I suppose as we only found him yesterday ..." Gordon said uneasily."We had him identified fast enough by his prints. His wife should have been told straightaway. It's really disgusting.""I suppose so." Gordon checked his l-Z. "Next right. The flat faces the Palmers Green Park. Nice area."span>They drove over to the bays at the rear of the block. Parked underneath a cloth cover was Donny Petrozzo's Mercedes and, next to it, his Ford Escort. Anna had lifted the cover to check the number plate and then, being on best behavior, called in to the station to suggest they remove the Mercedes to be checked over by forensics.Mrs. Petrozzo lived on the top floor. The stain and corridors were well kept, with buckets of flowers on each landing. Flat 10 had a freshly painted front door, with a polished brass letterbox."You ever done one of these before?" Anna asked Gordon."One of what?""Telling someone that their loved one's dead, then trying to get information out of them?""No.""Okay. This is the way I am going to work it: we keep the death until last—'we are not sure,' et cetera—I need some answers first.""Right," Gordon said as Anna rang the doorbell.Mrs. Petrozzo was a pale, nervous woman with straight, unflattering hair pinned to one side with a clip. She was quite well dressed, if rather drab, and she had an Irish accent."Mrs. Petrozzo?" Anna said pleasantly, at the same time showing her identification. "This is Detective Gordon Loach, and I am Detective Inspector Anna Travis. I wonder if it is convenient for me to ask you some questions?""What is it about? Only I was just going out.""It is important. Could we please come in and talk to you?""Is it about Donny?""Yes.""I've been waiting for him to call me," she said, gesturing for them to go down the immaculate little hallway, to a large sitting room overlooking the park."Oh, this is a lovely room," Anna said."Yes. I've lived here nearly all my life. My parents had the flat, then when they died, me and Donny moved in.""You own it?""Yes, my father did, so we took over the mortgage. Can I get you tea or coffee?""No, thank you. Mrs. Petrozzo, this is a very serious matter we are here to discuss. When did you last see your husband?""About four days ago. He was working. He often goes away—well, not often, but he sort of said this was a possibility. He usually calls me, but I've not heard from him and I'm worried.""Do you know who he was working for?""No.""Did he mention any names at all?""No, he keeps his business very private. I knew some of it, but he never really bothers to talk to me too much. He's often out early and back very late. I know he was collecting someone from Heathrow." "But you don't know who?""No.""Does Mr. Petrozzo have an office?""He has a phone and a desk next door.""Mrs. Petrozzo, 1 really need to see your husband's office.""I'm afraid I can't let you; he will go mad. I hardly ever go in there accept to hoover and dust. It's his business, you see."Anna braced herself, and then leaned forward. "Mrs. Petrozzo, your husband might have met with a fatal accident. We are here to ask you to accompany a police officer—""Accident?""Yes. We have someone at the mortuary—""I don't understand.""It's possible your husband is dead. I am so sorry."Anna was not prepared for the reaction, because there was hardly one at all. The woman just sat there, with her hands in her lap."I really do need to see your husband's workroom," Anna repeated gently. "Would that be possible?"The lack of response was unnerving. Still Mrs. Petrozzo sat, with her rather big rawboned hands folded in her lap. She then made a soft coughing sound, as if clearing her throat. "I am afraid that is not possible. If you insist, then you will have to get a search warrant. I would like you to leave, please.""I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrozzo—"Anna was interrupted as the reticent woman suddenly stood up, her face now twisted with rage. "I allowed you to come in here, because I thought you were coming to talk about that bloody CCTV camera right outside our block of flats. It swivels and looks straight into the flats—it's outrageous they can just set one of those intrusive things up without ever getting permission from a single tenant, and I know they are looking into the bedrooms. I know that for certain, because we have two young girls in the flat next to us and they are complaining about it.""If you would like me to make you a cup of tea ..."Mrs. Petrozzo turned on Anna, her big hands clenched into fists at her side. "You will not set foot in my kitchen! I want you to get out.My husband is going to make you pay for this. I don't believe you are from the police. I think you've come here to steal from me. that's what this is all about. I know about you people, I know ..." She was like the mouse that roared. She began thrashing at her sides with her fists, and spittle formed in the corners of her mouth as she hurled abuse at them.It took an hour. They had to call a doctor. Gordon found the address in a book by the telephone. Anna rang into the station to request a search warrant be issued. All the time, Mrs. Petrozzo shouted and argued with them, and screeched and threw cushions. Even with Gordon trying to calm her, she was unstoppable. By the time the doctor arrived, she had quietened down but was still unstable.The poor woman had a history of mental illness and had been sectioned numerous times. She was sedated and taken to her bedroom. The doctor knew of a niece who had often stayed to care for her; he was dismissive of Donny, saying that he kept his distance from his wife at all times. By the time they had arranged for the niece, Ella Douglas, to leave her work and come to the flat, another hour passed. When Anna told Ella the reason for their visit, her response was equally shocking. She just said that she hoped Donny was dead, the way he had treated his poor wife.Anna glanced at Gordon, who was even redder in the face than usual. "Look. Gordon, this entire scene is not the usual," she told him. "I've never had a reaction like it, but we just have to sit it out."Ella tended to Mrs. Petrozzo and handed Anna a set of keys to the office. "These are what you want. I will go and identify Donny. She can't be put through that."The small room was neat and orderly, with a desktop computer and a filing cabinet. Donny was meticulous: a large desk diary listed his clients and his commitments. He wrote in different colored pens his airport drops and pickups, city functions and dinners. The last entry was a collection from Stansted Airport. This was four days ago; he had added to the entry a note of a payment in cash, then underlined no tip. He had picked up the passenger at 8:15 A.M., dropped them at Claridge's, and returned home. There were a few future dates, but nothing of interest. His bank statement, however, was very interesting. Donny Petrozzo had savings of seventy thousand pounds. In another account, they found even more money: over a hundred thousand pounds. There had been large cash deposits; the last one for twenty thousand pounds.Anna listed the items she wished to take away, then contacted the station for the computer to be removed and checked. There were two mobile phones and these were taken too, plus his address books and files. It was late afternoon by the time a patrol car arrived with a female officer to accompany Ella Douglas to the mortuary for the formal identification of Donny Petrozzo. Anna wanted to go over the diary entries in more detail, so once a neighbor had agreed to sit with Mrs. Petrozzo, who was sleeping, she and Gordon returned to the station.Although it wasn't on the way back, Anna wanted to stop at Selfridges. She needed to pick up something and asked Gordon to wait in the car park there.Anna went straight to the sea of perfume counters and asked if she could talk to someone called Connie. Anna was directed to the Dior counter. Walking around, she couldn't see any well-stacked blondes as Harry Blunt had described. She eventually asked a girl with the name tag Sharon where she would find Connie. Sharon said she'd got some bad news and was at home."Was it about her bloke?" Anna inquired."Yeah, but I dunno much else. She got into a state a few days ago and she's not been back.""Do you have her phone number? I would like to call her—I know him well and I might be able to help."Connie agreed to see Anna that evening at seven. She lived in Notting Hill Gate, close to Portobello Road. As Anna wrote down the address on the back of her hand in the car, Gordon glanced at her. "Got a date?""Yes." She smiled.She would have to cancel poor old Pete Jenkins once again. As the car continued across London to the station, Anna called the forensic lab. An assistant told her that Pete had gone out for a while, but would be back later. Anna didn't leave any message, deciding she would call him later from her office.By the time Anna had made copious notes and typed up her report, it was after six. She went into the incident room to mark up the data and was surprised that they still did not have the completed autopsy report on Donny Petrozzo. They had no match on the blood found on the bullet and, as yet, no forensic details on the Mitsubishi. Anna still had Donny Petrozzo's diary in her briefcase, keeping hold of it until she had finished checking it over. The rest of the items removed from his house were now with forensics. She knew from Pete they were already inundated; now they had even more to contend with.Anna called Pete's mobile as she was leaving the station. Before she could say that she would not make dinner, he told her that he had started cooking and was looking forward to seeing her. When she heard that, she said simply that she might be a bit late as she was still working. She didn't want to let him down again.Anna was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with Connie. The woman lived in a first-floor flat, with a dingy threadbare carpet on a rickety staircase. Connie was, as Harry had described, very well endowed but with a small waist, accentuated by a wide elastic belt. Her blouse was flimsy and frilly, and she wore black pedal pushers with pink ballet shoes. Her hair was dyed blond and held up in a loose bun with a comb. Her attractive face was blotchy and her eyes were puffy from crying. She was nowhere near as sophisticated as Julia Brandon."You want a drink or anything?" she asked in a cockney accent, leading Anna into the flat."No, thanks. I don't want to take up too much of your time.""Well, I got enough of it. I've not been in to work—-just can't function. I dunno nothing except for what that bloke Harry told me. I keep on trying Frank's mobile number. I just dunno what to think. I mean, why don't someone call me and tell me what's going on?" She slumped onto a large leatherette sofa. "Is he dead? I mean, is that true?" Anna sat opposite on a matching chair. "Yes, I am afraid he is.

"Oh Christ."

"I'm so sorry."

Connie hung her head and broke down sobbing. It was some time before Anna could really ask any pertinent questions. Connie became even more distressed when Anna gently broke the news that Frank had been murdered and that he had been identified by his fingerprints. She could not bring herself to go into the details of his relationship with Julia.

She and Frank were engaged to be married, Connie said; they had been living together for over a year. Between tears, she explained how they were saving to buy a place, as the flat was only rented. Gradually, Anna turned the conversation to what work Frank was involved in. Connie knew that he had been taking employment as a chauffeur with Donny Petrozzo. It was not full-time, but he was on call for when he was needed. He would often work late and sometimes would be gone for a few days at a time.

"Did you ever hear any names of the people he was driving?"

"No. He said that sometimes they'd come into Heathrow and he had to drive them up north. You know, long journeys that Donny said he didn't want to do."

"Did you ever meet Donny?"

"No."

"What about the last job Frank was on?"

Connie sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "He come in an' he was real up, said that he'd just landed a big gig, but he was gonna be away for weeks on end. I didn't like it, but he said the money would be enough for us to get married and put down on a place of our own so, I mean, I couldn't not want him to do it, could I?"

"I understand."

"Well, it was more'n a few weeks; it was starting to be months. 1 only ever heard from him a few times at weekends, like, and he didn't like me callin' him. He used to say he had 'POB'—that meant 'person on board,' like, so he'd ring off."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Connie closed her eyes. "Long time. Months—gotta be months."

"Did he ever say anything about who he was working for?" "Not really, just that they was mega-wealthy and he was coinin' it in.""Could I see his things?""Yeah, if you want."Connie got up. She seemed sluggish and so despairing that Anna felt truly sorry for her. They went into the bedroom next door. The double bed was new, and there was a white fitted wardrobe with long mirrors on the doors. "Frank done this room up; we picked the bed and things between us, and me mum ran up the curtains and bedcover."Anna smiled and said it was very tasteful. It wasn't—it was rather tacky, with mounds of frilly cushions. Connie’s decor and Julia's were poles apart. Connie opened a wardrobe to reveal Frank's suits, shirts, and shoes, with rows of sweaters next to them on the hangers. Her side was crushed with clothes and she gently touched one of Frank's jackets. "I come in and hold them sometimes. You know—make it like he's still here."Anna nodded. Again, she could smell Frank's familiar cologne. She looked around the room. "What about papers, documents ... did he keep his diary and things here?"Connie crossed to her dressing table, and stared at herself in the mirror."I need to have anything you've got that might help our inquiry, Connie."In the small kitchen, there was a Formica table stacked with two boxes of Frank's documents, from car insurance to old pay slips from the Met, his pension details and bank statements, envelopes stuffed with petrol receipts, and a large foolscap notebook with addresses and pickup times."Donny would just call, like, and Frank would go round to his place, pick up his car—it was a Merc—and leave his own car there, as he said it wasn't good enough for the clients.""What car was Frank driving?""It was a VW—a pale green one."Anna noticed the file on the car and its insurance; she also saw that it was after eight-fifteen. "Connie, do you mind if I take these boxes? They'll be returned to you as soon as I have looked over them."Connie shrugged. "Whatever."Anna asked if she could check through Franks clothes to see if there was anything to indicate who he was working for. Connie said she'd been through them and there was nothing."Did he take clothes away with him?""Yeah, took 'em in a suitcase.""1 am so sorry, Connie, really I am. You seem to be a lovely girl and Frank must have felt very fortunate in knowing you.""Yeah, he was ever so good to me. He was always buying me little presents. Last thing 1 ever heard from him was he sent me flowers on my birthday.""When was that?""Two months ago. I kept the card; they come from Interflora."Anna asked to see the card, jotting the florists name down in her notebook. The message was affectionate: it said he would be home soon and he loved her. Anna passed the card back. She didn't like doing it, but nevertheless she asked if Connie had ever heard Frank mention a woman called Julia. Connie immediately became wary. "Why you askin' that?""Just that we think he may have been working with a woman called Julia.""Who is she?""She lives in Wimbledon.""Wimbledon?""Yes. Did Frank ever mention her to you?""No! Is she connected to him? I mean, is she something to do with his death?""Possibly. I can't really say any more.""I mean, are you saying he was with this woman?""Working for her, yes.""Well, you gotta know what he was doin' then!""Not quite. He was driving for her—that's all we really know.""How did he die, then?"Anna really didn't want to get into this, but she could feel Connie becoming more and more tense in her desperation to know."I gotta right to know. I mean, if he was involved with another woman, I have to know.""He just worked for her and her children.""Oh, she got kids, then?"Anna could not bring herself to tell Connie that Frank had married Julia."When is his funeral?""I don't know. His body has not yet been released."Connie chewed her nails, and looked angrily at Anna. "I don't have no rights or nothing, do I? But he loved me, and I loved him, and something isn't right 'bout this. I mean, who is this woman? Why was he not tellin' me about it, if she only lived in fucking Wimbledon? He said to me he was gonna have to go abroad. Why couldn't he stay here with me?""I really don't know, Connie, but when I do know more, I will contact you, I promise." Anna looked at her watch and said that she would have to leave. Connie helped her take the boxes down to her car and put them in the boot. As Anna drove away, Connie was standing on the pavement, still chewing at her nails.Anna now had to drive across London to Pete's for dinner. It was the last thing she needed; she had so much paperwork to sift through from Connie, as well as Donny Petrozzo's diary. By the time she had run a comb through her hair and put on some lip gloss in the car, it was nine-fifteen.Pete lived on a tree-lined street in Hampstead, behind the cinema. Anna was surprised that it was such a pretty house; she had somehow thought he would live in a flat closer to his work over in Lambeth. She rang the doorbell, feeling guilty that she had come empty-handed.Pete opened the door and put his hands on his hips. "Well, I had just about given up on you!"The front door opened straight into a large room with a kitchen-diner at the back. It was well furnished, with big white easy sofas and a massive plasma TV beside banks of DVDs, surrounded by pine bookshelves. The floor was stripped pine; even the kitchen had pine tops and a rustic pine table, with a bowl of fresh flowers. "This is very nice," she said as he helped her off with her coat."1 might have 'pined-out' a bit," he said, laughing."How long have you lived here?""Two years. This was three rooms and a little closet hall, so I knocked them all into one room. There's just a bedroom and bathroom upstairs, and a small box room I use as an office."Anna joined him in the kitchen area, where he passed her a large, long-stemmed wineglass of chilled Pinot Grigio."Cheers," he said, tapping her glass. "I've managed to drink half the bottle waiting for you.""I'm sorry. Something came up.""Always does. Anyway, sit down. I'm going to serve up straightaway—I am starving.""Me too. I don't think I had any lunch."First. Peter dished up a salad with nuts, chopped apple, and sliced orange, with warmed fresh bread. Then he looked into the oven. "It's lasagna, done a bit to a crisp."Anna tucked into her salad. "I love it when the cheese is crispy on top.""It is, very much so." He sat down opposite her.Anna beamed. "This is delicious; you are obviously a good cook."He cocked his head to one side and laughed. "It's just a salad.""That may be, but the dressing ... and the fresh bread!"Again he laughed as he watched her lathering butter onto the bread. "We have a good bakery down the street—it's a very cosmopolitan little enclave round here."Anna chewed and licked her lips. He had said "we." "Do you live with someone?""That was a slip of the tongue. I used to live with someone—my wife, actually.""You're married?""Was. We are in the process of divorcing.""I'm sorry.""Don't be. It's very amicable. Fortunately, we don't have children, so there's no hurt on either side—just working out who gets what. You cansort of tell, by the sparse furnishings. Ellen has moved to Surrey, close to her work; she is a mathematician and teaches at Kingston College. What about you? Where do you live?"Anna had him laughing a lot with her description of her new flat, the noise from the bridge, the foghorns, the unpacked boxes, and her interaction with Mr. Burk, the so-called security manager. As she talked, he refilled her glass, and cleared the salad plates away to bring out the lasagne. He had a lovely warm giggle that was infectious; she was becoming more and more relaxed, and pleased she had turned up.As he served the main course, he asked if she was living with anyone. She went into details about selling her old flat and making a new move to get rid of memories. She was grateful that she didn't have to explain about the "memories"; instead, their conversation wound to discussing the case."We had an interesting turn-up. Well, I’ve didn't—old Ewan Fielding did over in the path lab. I stopped by there earlier and he had just come across it.""Come across what?"Pete explained how perplexed Fielding had been about the cause of death with Donny Petrozzo, so had really put in the hours. Eventually, he had asked his assistants to do an inch-by-inch check of the body. "They were coming up with nothing—basically. Fielding said he had just stopped breathing—but then, he checked inside Petrozzo's mouth and found a pinprick under his tongue. Someone had injected him. He's been running tests trying to find out with what.""Any luck yet?""Not when I was there, but he called me later. You know how straitlaced he is. He actually sounded excited, but he stressed that he wasn't a hundred percent sure.""What was it?""A minute trace of a drug called Fentanyl. It had been quite brutally injected and left a slight residue on the two front lower teeth.""What is Fentanyl?" Anna asked, clearing her plate.Pete got up to proffer a second helping, which she accepted; he took another bottle of wine from the fridge."It's a very powerful opiate, incredibly potent. If you consider that morphine is given in dosages of milligrams, Fentanyl is prescribed in micrograms—that's how strong it is. Very fast-acting, it's used a lot in the USA for emergency surgery. It's a strong painkiller, but it's out of the system very quickly. For example, a hit from heroin would last maybe an hour or so; with this drug, the high hits fast and you get total relief for about a minute or so."Anna put down her fork. "So Donny Petrozzo was injected with it?""Yes—well, possibly—and probably with enough to kill him. I'd say he was held down and injected, then wrapped up in the bin liners.""And shoved into the back of the Mitsubishi."Peter collected the plates and started to make some coffee."What else do you know about this drug?" Anna asked."Only what I've told you. Do you take sugar?""Nope, and I'll have it black as I have to drive home."Pete wasn't looking at her as he finished stacking the dishwasher. "You could stay here."Anna flushed. She said it too quickly. "No, no—I'll go home.""Okay, up to you." He still had his back to her."Fentanyl," she repeated."Yep, but don't quote me. You know Fielding—he's now doing a full toxicology report, so it won't be passed on until he's totally sure, and that'll take eight to ten weeks.""But why did he say it to you if he wasn't positive?""He wasn't; it was just a possibility. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it." The coffee grinder went into action, so they couldn't really continue the conversation until it was finished."Do you know if they got anything from the Mitsubishi?""I think there was a residue of blood, a very small swipe on the side of the front driving seat, but it's not been tested yet.""Was it wiped clean apart from that?""Yeah, but they may have something from the glove compartment: apparently there was a map inside which they want to test."Anna had opened the glove compartment and looked over the map. She hoped she hadn't smudged any possible prints. "I was wearing gloves," she said, and he turned to her. "I opened it up and looked at the map. There was also a torn piece of notepaper.""Naughty! You know how fragile prints are to get off paper.""Sorry. At that time, we didn't know there was a body in the back.""Coffee, and some nice chocolates," he said, placing a cup down.They sat opposite each other again. This time, there was an awkward pause."You can stay here, you know," he said again. "That's a very comfortable sofa.""No, I should get back—it's been a long day.""For both of us.""Yes, but I've really enjoyed this evening.""Good.""Maybe I could cook dinner for you at my place?""I'd like that."Anna sipped her coffee. "I'm not sure when. I don't think we have any weekend leave—maybe next week sometime?"Pete looked at her, his head to one side. "Whenever." He picked up his coffee cup and gestured for them to go into the lounge area, saying it was more comfortable. Anna hesitated, wondering if he was going to slide onto the sofa next to her and make a pass.He didn't. He sat in one of the easy chairs. "What's your take on this?" he said."My take? You mean, as a whole on the case?""Yeah.""I'm unsure. It's very much a jigsaw puzzle at the moment, with a lot of missing pieces.""Like what?"She suddenly felt very tired, and didn't really want to get into explaining herself or discussing the case. "Just things that don't add up," she said."Like what?"She sighed. "Well, for one, my biggest issue is: what was Frank Brandon doing in that squat?""Scoring for someone?" "Maybe.""When you're hooked, you'll go to any dump to score, be it in Chalk Farm or wherever, so it doesn't surprise me that he was visiting the squat. People take big risks.""Yes, I know.""You don't want to talk about it, do you?""To be honest, Pete, I'm whacked out.""Sorry.""It's okay, it's just having to deal with Donny Petrozzo's mentally disturbed widow, interviewing the guys who were scoring from the drug squat, talking to the girl who hoped to marry Frank Brandon ... it takes its toll." Anna finished her coffee. It was almost eleven o'clock."I'm sure it does." He stood up, and smiled. "You should go."She nodded and reached for her briefcase. "Thank you for tonight.""My pleasure, and Anna—I'll wait for you to call me, okay?" He kissed her cheek and walked her to her car. "Good night."She smiled and put the key into the ignition, starting up the engine. He stood, watching her drive away, before he went inside to roll a big fat joint.By the time Anna was ready for bed, it was after midnight. Sleep didn't come easily; she kept on listing in her mind the many loopholes and loose ends of the case, then thought about the evening, and about Pete Jenkins.She really liked him, she decided, and couldn't quite understand why she was so reticent about showing it. He was such a different creature to James Langton—and, she was certain, far nicer—but even the comparisons meant her last thoughts before she fell asleep were of Langton. He was a hard act to follow. After all these months, he still had a stranglehold over her emotions. She knew that she was still in love with him, no matter what he had done. Anna had only enough time to check over a few of Frank Brandon's papers before leaving for work. His bank statements were interesting: judging by the amount of money in there, Frank and Connie would have had more than enough to get married and make a down payment on a property. But where did that leave his marriage to Julia? Anna made notes as she read, underlining the fact that Frank began working for Donny Petrozzo, but did not own a suitable car. She wanted to cross-reference with Donny's diary, as Frank drove Donny's Mercedes for the clients. She would check through the registration numbers taken from Jeremy Webster's list, though she doubted it would be among them. She had barely started cross-referencing Franks papers with Donny's diary before it was time for her to leave.