Wrongful Death

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wanting to look her best on arrival Stateside, Anna was wearing a white silk shirt and a new black-and-red woollen pinstripe suit as she waited for the driver Langton had arranged to pick her up from the flat and take her to Heathrow. The tailoring line of the one button jacket and A-line slit skirt accentuated her curvaceous figure.

Anna had never been inside Terminal Five and was impressed by the size and design of the white-steel-and-glass structure. Staring up at the departure board, she searched for the 10 a.m. British Airways flight to Dulles International Airport, Washington.

‘Bit overdressed for an eight-hour flight, aren’t you?’ she heard Langton’s voice say from behind her. She turned to greet him and saw that he was wearing a white T-shirt, grey cotton jacket, matching cargo trousers and trainers, with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

‘Good morning, sir, how nice to see you too. The FBI will be impressed by your fine attire,’ Anna said with a sarcastic smile.

‘Cut the “sir” crap, Travis, you know it’s James out of the office,’ he said, totally ignoring the rest of her remark.

‘I got here early so I’ve checked in already. The desk is this way,’ he added, and walked off without even offering to carry her case or laptop bag.

Anna told the check-in assistant that she was travelling with Mr James Langton and asked if she could sit next to him on the flight.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Travis, Detective Chief Superintendent Langton was allocated the only upgrade we had to Business Class.’

Anna turned and glared at Langton, who had appeared beside her.

‘I can’t believe your bare-faced cheek, using your rank and profession like that.’

‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, and casually walked off, telling her to get a move on.

After going through security to the departure lounge, Langton asked Anna if she fancied a bit of breakfast as they still had over an hour before the flight. Anna said she did and pointed to a nice-looking restaurant.

‘Too stuffy and I fancy a pint of Guinness with a full English, so we’ll go to the Wetherspoon pub over there,’ Langton announced.

Anna was in two minds whether to tell him he could go to the pub on his own but before she could say anything he was off again.

Anna was slowly eating her bacon sandwich and Langton was at the bar getting his second pint of Guinness when a text message came up on her phone. It was Joan telling her that she had uploaded the first Donna Reynolds interview onto her Dropbox account and that Mike Lewis had thrown Dewar out of the interview. She’d added a ‘PS’ not to forget the latest issue of Gardeners’ World.

‘Who’s that from?’ Langton asked, peering over her shoulder and taking a sip of his Guinness. Anna laughed as the brown froth left a moustache above his upper lip. Realizing what she was laughing at, he went to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. Anna tutted at him and pushed his hand out of the way, then used her napkin to get rid of the froth.

‘It was Joan wishing me bon voyage. She texted that Mike Lewis threw Dewar out of the Donna Reynolds interview,’ Anna said as she started to download the DVD file of Donna’s interview to her phone.

‘I know, he phoned me last night. He didn’t literally throw her out but he refused to let her sit in on any further interviews,’ Langton informed her.

‘She overstep the mark again?’ Anna asked, keen to hear more.

He leaned across the table and spoke softly: ‘Let her cock-ups be a lesson for when you work in her world at Quantico. Don’t jump in feet first. Listen and take advice. Dewar’s overeager to prove herself, but you’ve always got to choose the moment you step forward – you make mistakes with overconfidence and you pay for it.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ she said quietly.

‘So, are you looking forward to the FBI course?’ he asked.

‘I am, but to be truthful I would have liked to see closure on the Reynolds case before I left.’

Langton looked at his watch. ‘In essence, you have. Mike spoke with the CPS last night and they approved him charging Donna this morning.’

‘A lot of the evidence is just circumstantial; she may not have done it.’ Anna was taken aback by Langton’s information.

‘For Christ’s sake, let it rest! Donna’s been caught out by her lies and by forensics. The jury will decide whether or not she murdered her husband, not you,’ Langton said, picking up his backpack and pointing to the departure screen. ‘Our flight’s boarding, I need to go to duty free, so I’ll meet you at the gate.’

Before she could follow him her phone beeped and there was another text message from Joan saying she had uploaded Donna’s second interview and that the Gardeners’ World article about Gloria Lynne was very interesting. Anna reflected she was glad that she wouldn’t be sitting beside Langton after all, as it would give her the opportunity to watch the Donna interview during the flight. On her way to the boarding gate she popped into the newsagent’s, bought the magazine and tucked it away in the side pocket of her laptop bag.

Once in the air, Anna got out her headphones and then transferred the two files of Donna’s interviews from her phone to her laptop. She pressed the Media Play button and reclined her window seat back a little so that she felt more comfortable, just as the flight attendant approached her and asked if she would like a drink. Why not, she thought, and asked her for a gin and tonic with ice and lemon. It felt strange, but extremely pleasant, viewing the interview with a plastic glass in her hand thousands of feet above land.

As she watched, the dominating presence and intellect of Ian Holme QC was obvious; he was a master of his trade. She knew that Gloria would be paying for his time and expertise out of her own pocket, and estimated that his services for representing Donna at trial would be in the region of at least a million pounds. As she came to the section where Holme questioned Dewar’s experience she felt some sympathy for the agent. She had not been rude or aggressive towards Donna, or Mr Holme, but in implying she was a linguistics expert, she had stepped outside of her field of expertise and been made to look a fool.

Anna was about to watch the second interview when she looked up and saw Langton walking down the aisle towards her carrying a large glass of whisky. On seeing him she quickly shut the top of her laptop.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ he asked, and Anna patted the empty seat beside her.

‘Sorry about snapping at you earlier, I’ve a lot on my mind,’ he said as he sat down.

From his slightly slurred speech, Anna knew that he had been enjoying more than one glass of whisky. It made her smile, as she knew that he was never aggressive in drink but liked to natter and put the world to rights.

‘Want to share your thoughts?’ Anna asked.

He took a sip of his whisky, leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. ‘I don’t know, I’m feeling tired.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Before I knew I was going to Quantico, I began losing interest, started taking a back seat in the investigations I was overseeing. Strange really, win or lose I used to love the thrill of the chase.’

‘Do you think that is what our work is about, winning and losing?’

‘Course it is – we win if we find the evidence and get a conviction and if a jury say not guilty we’ve still done our job in getting them to trial. When you can’t find the evidence and a case runs out of steam, then it’s depressing, but you have to let go and move on,’ he said.

She said nothing but took a moment to look at him. He seemed to have aged and looked tired. Anna was surprised when he took hold of her hand.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘Oh, just how complicated a detective’s life can be, one step forward, one step back, sleepless nights, those sorts of things.’

‘Tell me, now you’re a DCI, how do you like to relax and forget about work?’

She released her hand, unsure exactly why he was asking her that. He turned to face her, and again held her hand.

‘You still wear your old engagement ring.’

‘Yes. Is there a problem with that?’ she asked somewhat curtly.

‘Have you been able to move on from losing, um…’

‘Ken,’ she said, annoyed that Langton had forgotten his name.

‘Right, Ken… it must be two or more years since it all happened.’

‘Yes.’

‘So have you moved on?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, exactly what I said – have you formed any new relationships?’

‘I don’t think it’s any of your business.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Langton insisted, ‘but I care about you and one of the reasons I put you forward for the FBI course was because I felt that you were stagnating – maybe not the right word – but I’ve been very aware of you becoming a bit solitary.’

‘Stagnating and solitary, don’t be ridiculous,’ Anna said, offended.

‘No need to sound so uppity.’

The slur in his speech was becoming more noticeable.

‘I’m not uppity, for heaven’s sake. I also really love my work and-’

He jumped in. ‘What do you love about it?’

She sighed with impatience. ‘Fitting the pieces of the puzzle together, finding the evidence, tracking the criminal-’

Anna was interrupted by a long sigh from Langton as he stared ahead, his dark eyes brooding and shadowed with pain. ‘The energy’s going, Anna, I’m not getting any younger and I’ve had enough of dealing with the dregs of society. But this trip, if it pays off, will put the life back in me. If it doesn’t happen then I’ve lost and he’s won, so I’ll quit, retire.’

Anna looked at him, surprised by what he had just said, assuming he was referring to Deputy Commissioner Walters preventing his promotion.

‘Do you think you would feel differently if you had been made Commander by now?’ she asked, knowing she had inadvertently contributed to his current position but desperate to know how much his failure to be promoted disturbed him.

‘It would certainly mean more money and a very lucrative pension, but right now it’s not uppermost in my mind,’ he said and took another sip of his drink.

‘You deserve promotion to Commander more than anyone else in the Met after all the cases you’ve solved.’

‘I know that, just a pity fucking Walters doesn’t see it that way. As far as he’s concerned that fuck-up with the murdering drug dealer Fitzpatrick was the end of my career. The one that got away. Even if I’d got Fitzpatrick to trial and he’d walked I’d at least feel I hadn’t totally failed.’ He gave a soft laugh, and as Anna looked at him, he boyishly ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Let you into a she-cret,’ he said, sounding more sloshed, then leaned in very close and whispered in her ear.

‘Real reason for me going to work with the FBI is to help find you-know-who, if there’s anywhere in the world that bastard is hiding out the feds will get him. So, I suppose there’s still a bit of life left in the old dog.’ He nudged Anna with his elbow. ‘I’ll get Fitzpatrick this time, you can count on it, and then I can get back to Laura and the kids.’

Anna was keenly aware that the Fitzpatrick case had never ceased to eat away at his pride and all at once it dawned on her that his attachment to the FBI, purportedly to work on cold cases, was a cover for his quest to get even with the man who had humiliated him. She didn’t think he was really ready to retire, far from it, but realized his decision depended on whether or not he was successful in finally tracking down and arresting Fitzpatrick. Langton tucked his empty glass into the pocket in front of the seat and closed his eyes; eventually, he started to snore. She gave him a gentle nudge and suggested he’d be more comfortable in his Business Class seat. As he got up he kissed her gently on the cheek.

‘Thanks for listening, Counsellor Travis.’

As Anna watched him weave unsteadily back down the aisle she remembered the Langton she had known and loved so deeply. Since meeting Ken and then tragically losing him her feelings for Langton had changed. They were still there, but she recognized they were no longer of love, more like a deep affection. She wondered if he would have any recollection of their conversation when he woke up, and in many ways she hoped he didn’t.

Anna flipped open her laptop, asked for another gin and tonic and then started the DVD file of the second interview with Donna. She could see that Barolli had replaced Dewar in the room with Mike Lewis. Ian Holme spoke first.

‘My client has spent the last seven months believing her husband committed suicide. Being accused of Josh Reynolds’ murder, with what can only be described as spurious circumstantial evidence, only serves to further undermine her emotional state and wellbeing. She has made a statement that I will now read to you.’

Donna sat beside him, still as he had just said in a very emotional state, crying and wiping her eyes with a tissue.

Holme said that Donna had no knowledge of the Ferrari or where it had come from. She admitted that she had gone to Esme’s flat on the Thursday night, but this was only the second time she had been to the premises, as Esme did not approve of a stripper marrying her son and had never been told that she was Lady Gloria Lynne’s daughter. She claimed that when she went inside the flat there was no electricity so she was only there for a matter of seconds before leaving. She knew nothing about the money hidden under the floorboards. As for her fingerprints being found on some of the money: Josh had said he didn’t have time to get to the bank and needed cash to pay a decorator so she had withdrawn a thousand pounds from her own bank account and given it to Josh on Friday, 2 November.

Mike interjected and asked Mr Holme if Donna would be willing to answer some questions to clarify the current position regarding the flat and also the identity of the decorator. After a whispered conversation Donna said she wanted to be helpful and would answer in the interest of helping the police catch the real killer of her husband.

Mike continued. ‘Do you know the identity of the decorator?’

‘I saw him coming into the Bayswater flats one day when I was running late for work – well I think it was him as he was carrying painting stuff and wearing overalls,’ Donna said.

‘Do you know his name?’ Mike Lewis asked.

‘No, Josh never said and I didn’t ask. I think he was only at our flat for a couple of days.’

‘Did you see him at Esme’s funeral?’ Barolli asked.

‘I didn’t go to the funeral as I was recovering from minor surgery in a private hospital.’

Anna noticed Donna appeared a little more relaxed.

‘Do you know if he worked at Esme’s flat?’

‘No, but Josh did say he was going to have it done up and sell it and I thought that he had.’

Barolli asked Donna if she could describe the man and she said not really other than he was black, mid-fifties and wore a multicoloured hat.

‘When did you see the decorator at the flats?’ Mike asked.

‘It was late October, I think.’

Anna realized that the man Donna had seen could not be Samuel Peters as Marisha had said he had returned to Jamaica in September. She wondered if Donna was lying to try and deflect suspicion away from her.

There was another pause as Mike glanced at his notes.

Donna leaned forwards. ‘Do you think it was the decorator that killed Josh?’ She seemed nervous and Mr Holmes latched onto her question.

‘The police will investigate further, Donna, and if he had access to your flat then he would know there was a safe,’ Mr Holme said reassuringly, and Donna looked pleased.

‘If the decorator also worked at Josh’s mother Esme’s, he could have killed him, taken the money and hidden it there,’ Donna said with enthusiasm and Mr Holme agreed with her. It was odd to see Donna behave almost childishly, nodding her head as if to agree with herself.

‘That would be very convenient for you and an excellent proposition but for a couple of facts,’ Barolli said as he leaned towards Donna, who appeared confused by his comment.

He continued: ‘We know from a witness that Josh’s Uncle Samuel did some decorating for him and he returned to Jamaica long before Josh was murdered.’

Holme could see where Barolli was going with this information and was quick to interject on Donna’s behalf.

‘My client said she was not aware of who did the decorating and if this Samuel returned to Jamaica then clearly Josh had hired someone else to decorate the flat.’

‘You’re lying, Donna. You saw the decorator in August or September and it suits your story to try and blame him because we both now know it wasn’t a suicide,’ Mike said.

‘No, I’m not lying. I swear to God it was October and I didn’t know any Samuel,’ Donna pleaded, and began to shake nervously.

Mike looked at his notes before continuing. ‘With regard to Esme’s flat, did you go back there after last Thursday?’

‘No.’

‘Why not in daylight, especially if you wanted to know if Josh was using it for an affair?’

‘My mother told me not to.’

‘Your mother knew about you going to Esme’s?’ Mike asked, surprised.

Mr Holme again interjected and said that this fact was alluded to in Donna’s statement and she had told her mother the following morning. Lady Lynne had then made enquiries regarding Esme’s will and the property, became Donna’s after Josh’s death.

‘All above board and legitimate, officer, and no doubt something you might consider strange for an alleged murderer to do. I refer of course to your opinion of Donna, and not Lady Lynne,’ Holme said with a smirk, trying to be flippant.

‘Do you mind if I ask Donna some questions about her job at the Lynne Foundation?’ Mike looked at Holme.

‘Is it relevant to your enquiries?’ Holme demanded.

Mike said that it was to do with her relationship with Josh and leaving the Trojan to work at the Foundation. Holme looked at Donna, who nodded.

‘You went to work for your mother after Esme Reynolds died?’ Mike asked.

‘About then, yes.’

‘Is CCS Medical Trust one of the charities you personally look after?’

‘Yes, amongst others, but that is the biggest,’ Donna said proudly, and yet again Anna was struck by how childish Donna appeared to be.

‘With I believe a turnover in the region of thirty million pounds,’ Mike said, smiling back at her and deliberately giving an encouraging nod of respect, at which Donna smiled again.

Mike opened a blue folder and placed a computer printout of the CCS Medical Trust account in front of Donna and took out a copy for himself.

‘Can I draw your attention to the highlighted section, September fourth, 2012? As you can see, one hundred thousand pounds transferred electronically from CCS Medical to an account in the name of Mr John Peters. Does that transaction ring any bells?’ Mike asked and Donna peered closely at the list.

‘No, it doesn’t, but it could be someone who was owed monies for doing work related to a charity,’ Donna said.

‘The John Peters account was opened at the end of August 2012 using, as you must be aware, Esme’s maiden name, her husband’s Christian name and their address of flat two, Brandon Walk,’ Mike said calmly.

Donna looked like a rabbit caught in headlights as she turned to Mr Holme and shook her head. She waited for his advice, but this time he didn’t lean over to whisper and Anna could see that he was taken aback by Mike Lewis’s revelation.

‘Do you know anything about this, Donna?’ Mr Holme asked, almost as if he doubted her honesty.

‘No, I swear I don’t. Other people have access to the account so-’

Mike interrupted Donna: ‘Yes, but they don’t all know Esme’s address and maiden name, do they?’

‘But I, honestly, I mean I didn’t know her maiden name or her husband’s name,’ Donna implored.

Anna was amazed that Mr Holme didn’t interject; she could only think that he was shocked at what Mike Lewis had uncovered and the fact that Donna might have been lying.

‘Can you assist me, Mrs Reynolds, regarding the J. Peters transfer that is clearly connected to your work at the Lynne Foundation?’ Mike asked and sat back in his chair, staring at the young woman.

As Donna continued to read through the document the tears started to roll down her cheeks. She pleaded and pleaded that she didn’t know anything about the debit from the CCS Medical account. Mr Holme told her that it would be in her best interest at the present time to make ‘no comment’ to any further questions that were put to her. A sobbing Donna said that she wanted to tell the truth. Mr Holme sighed irritably and said it was her choice as to whether or not she heeded his advice.

Mike Lewis had really upped his game and it was obvious that he knew he was now in the driving seat. Anna watched intently as Mike placed another highlighted document down on the table.

‘September fifth, an electronic transfer for ninety-eight and a half thousand pounds for the purchase of a Ferrari. Ring any bells?’ Mike asked and tapped his finger on the highlighted area of the piece of paper.

Donna said nothing, but merely shook her head and looked bewildered as Mike put a picture of the Ferrari on the desk.

‘This car was recovered from Esme Peters’ garage and registered in the name John Peters, flat two, Brandon Walk,’ Mike said.

‘That can’t be right. I never-’ Donna’s voice was high-pitched with nerves as Mr Holme interrupted her.

‘We can ask for a break to discuss the CCS money transfers.’

Donna nodded and said she’d like to do that. Mike Lewis made a wide-handed open gesture, saying he was happy for a break to take place but that there were two bits of further information he felt he should disclose first.

‘A man matching Josh Reynolds’ description collected the Ferrari from the garage a few days later.’ Mike looked at Donna, inviting her to give him some form of explanation. Mr Holme gave her a stern look and she said nothing.

‘Let me tell you what I think happened. When Josh’s business began to fail and he needed money to prop it up the two of you hatched a plan.’

Donna was shaking her head and clasping and unclasping her hands.

‘You knew that your mother would never give you money to support Josh’s business. But working for the Lynne Foundation, stealing thousands here and there out of a multi-million-pound account would be a drop in the ocean and never missed.’ Mike cocked his head to one side as if saying ‘I’m right,’ but then Holme patted the table with the flat of his hand.

‘So why should my client murder her husband?’ the lawyer said.

‘From the love nest we found at your client’s mother-in-law’s, it is clear that Josh was having an affair. I believe that Donna knew this and in a fit of jealousy decided to murder him and make it look like a suicide.’

Donna half rose out of her chair and then sat back down again. ‘No, I never knew about any affair. I loved him, I still do, I could never kill him, never.’ Donna burst into sobs, her whole body shaking, and quickly became an incoherent wreck.

Mike suggested she cut the act and confess to Josh’s coldblooded murder.

Mr Holme stood up, demanding an end to the interview. Mike Lewis then announced he would be contacting the Crown Prosecution Service to ask for permission to charge Donna with the murder of Joshua Reynolds.

Anna sat back in her seat, quite stunned by what she had just seen. She couldn’t believe that Donna had managed to fool everyone, both at the time of the murder, and over the near seven months since. Was she really such an accomplished actress, or the victim of circumstances beyond her control? For Anna, it still didn’t add up, because at times Donna’s actions didn’t make sense. Her gut feeling told her that Donna wasn’t lying, but the circumstantial evidence and the woman’s own naïvety had made it seem that she was. This Donna, like the distressed one in the 999 call, was in Anna’s eyes, telling the truth.

Anna recognized that even if Donna stole the CCS charity money it didn’t mean she killed Josh. There was also now the clear possibility that someone other than Samuel decorated their flat and could be the real killer. Anna mulled it over: what if Samuel did decorate Josh’s flat? It meant Marisha was lying or mistaken about when her brother left the UK. If Samuel had been the decorator Josh would probably have given him keys for his own and his mother’s flats, especially as he was one of the family. What didn’t make any sense was why he would be involved in his nephew’s murder. Anna threw her pen down, irritated that she could not make sense of the interview and all that was going round and round in her mind. ‘Enough,’ she said to herself, realizing that she was spoiling what should be an enjoyable flight and that her doubts could wait until later. She packed away her laptop and settled down to enjoy her in-flight meal with a glass of wine, followed by a relaxing nap.

The next thing Anna knew, she was being roused by a flight attendant asking her to fasten her seatbelt as they were about to land. She looked out of the window at the ground below, wondering if the FBI Academy was in amongst the houses, buildings and woodland she could make out. Filled with optimism at the prospect of working alongside FBI agents at the prestigious Quantico headquarters, Anna could not recall a previous moment in her career when she had felt so excited.

Twenty-Three

Thanks to the assistance of an immigration officer, Anna and Langton quickly cleared Dulles passport control and collected their bags. Langton needed to nip to the gents and Anna agreed to keep an eye on his bags. As he left, she looked at her watch and calculated it was early evening in London, so she took the opportunity to phone Joan’s mobile.

After thanking Joan for the DVD files, Anna admitted that even having watched the interviews she was still not convinced of Donna’s guilt and raised the possibility that there was another decorator besides Samuel or that Marisha was lying. Joan told her that Paul Barolli had said the same thing and he had made an appointment for Marisha Peters to come in to the station so they could ask her more about her brother Samuel.

‘I need you to find out who the official photographer was at the Lynne Charity Ball on the fifth. Then get digital copies of all the photographs he took and upload them onto my Dropbox.’

‘Why?’

Anna looked up and saw Langton returning. ‘I’ve got to dash, I’ll call and explain tomorrow.’

‘Have you read the Gardeners’ World article yet?’

‘Not yet, but I will,’ Anna assured her, and slipped her phone in her pocket as Langton approached, worried he’d throw another wobbly about her fixation with the Reynolds case. The result was that she didn’t hear what Joan said next:

‘It’s called “These Plants May Kill” – a bit creepy but very interesting. You never know what dangers lie in a garden… Hello, Anna? Hello?’

Having passed through US Customs they noticed a man dressed in a dark-blue polo shirt that had the FBI crest on it. He was dark-haired, aged about forty, very handsome and incredibly fit-looking with broad shoulders, large chest and muscular arms. On seeing Anna and Langton, he came over and with a warm smile and firm handshake introduced himself as Special Agent Don Blane. Anna recalled Dewar saying Blane was the course instructor and she hoped that Don would not be Dewar’s clone.

‘Hi. It’s real nice to meet you. You look just like the photos our London office sent over. Transport is just outside so if you’d like to follow me,’ he said as he took hold of Anna’s case for her.

Outside, Don Blane opened the sliding side door of an old weather-beaten, FBI-logo’d, minibus and put Anna’s case inside. Before Langton could add his own case, Blane told him that the car behind would take him to Lake Ridge where he was staying. Anna turned and saw a shiny black Lincoln with a suited chauffeur standing beside it. She glanced at Langton and shook her head in disbelief, to which he retorted that he hadn’t pulled rank this time.

‘So, you’re not staying at Quantico?’ Anna asked with raised eyebrows, knowing that he was hiding something.

‘Um, no, but I will be working from there,’ Langton breezily replied. ‘By the way, what I said on the plane about Fitzpatrick is strictly confidential. Only the Commissioner and Deputy Walters know why I’m here. Walters tried to put the kibosh on it but the director of the FBI spoke personally with the Commissioner who overruled Walters.’

Anna immediately responded that she had no intention of telling anyone, and though she didn’t say it she was miffed at his implication. ‘Another thing, about the Josh Reynolds case-’ Langton started, but Anna interrupted him.

‘Don’t worry, I’m over it.’

‘Rubbish, I came back to see you again on the flight. You were sound asleep and your notebook was open on the seat with all your observations about Donna’s interview.’

‘You looked through my personal belongings? How-’

‘Before you get on your high horse, just listen to me. If you really think something’s wrong, find it, but be sure you have the evidence to back it up. If there’s no evidence, accept it and move on. Tell Mike Lewis what’s worrying you – he respects you and he’ll listen.’

Langton got into the Lincoln but before closing the door, he leaned out: ‘I’ll see you at the FBI Academy tomorrow. We can have dinner together.’ Anna nodded and he closed the door.

Don Blane informed Anna that the journey time to the Academy was about forty-five minutes and that he was the class tutor, so if there was anything she wanted or needed she should feel free to ask. Anna was struck by how pleasant and well-mannered the man was and sensed he was being genuine. Blane remarked that Jessie Dewar had told him Anna would be the one to watch out for. Anna asked what Dewar had said and Don explained that she had been singing Anna’s praises and thought she could well be the top student. Anna was extremely surprised by this and guardedly said that she had enjoyed working with Jessie.

‘How did you find her?’ Blane asked.

Anna said that she hadn’t really had much of a chance to get to know her but she seemed okay. She paused briefly as she thought about Blane’s question. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Nothing really, just curious – she was telling me about your Reynolds case and what she’d uncovered and how she thought it was the wife that murdered the husband.’

‘She’s not slow in voicing her opinion,’ Anna remarked, and he laughed.

‘That sounds like the Jessie I know. She’s not afraid to speak her mind, but the problem is she gets a fixation about something and she won’t let it go.’

‘We’re all guilty of that sometimes,’ Anna said, knowing that her clash of swords with Dewar came from both of them holding strong views.

‘Jessie’s heart’s in the right place, but as I’m sure you know, there’s no substitute for years of front-line investigative experience.’

‘She seemed pretty confident to me,’ Anna said.

‘Jessie came to the Behavioural Unit with very little experience as a field agent, so she feels the need to prove herself. The problem is, she latches onto facts that support her theory and unintentionally ignores evidence to the contrary.’

Anna thought that Don Blane was very shrewd. He clearly knew that Dewar must have ruffled a few feathers while she was in London, yet he was defending her in a kind and respectful way. With a sense of relief, she began to feel that they might get along after all.

As they drove to the Quantico base, Blane gave Anna a guide to the area, telling her that the Academy had opened in 1972 and was situated on a US Marine Corps base, surrounded by over 400 acres of woodland and lakes. The Forensic Science Research and Training Centre were also based on the same site along with outdoor and indoor firearms ranges and a mock town called ‘Hogan’s Alley’.

They eventually arrived at a checkpoint, where two armed Marine guards examined Blane’s ID and Anna’s papers as well as searching the minibus before allowing them to pass. It was at least another two miles through woodland before Anna could see the honey-coloured buildings of the Academy.

Blane parked by the main building, got out and hurried round to Anna’s door to open it. He carried her case and laptop bag into the reception area, where he introduced her. She handed over her course invitation paperwork and was given a room key, and an FBI badge with her picture on it hanging from a lanyard, which she was told must be worn at all times when on the Academy grounds but was not to be used or shown off the premises. Blane then took her down a long glass corridor and pointed out that similar glass corridors throughout the complex came together and met in a glass-covered quad that linked all the buildings. He explained that you didn’t ever need to go outside between buildings but it was easy to get lost when you didn’t know the place.

Anna followed him into the lift to the top floor of the dormitory building as he explained that the rooms were not exactly the Hilton, but adequate and comfortable. On entering her room, Anna saw that it had a threadbare red carpet and a single bed in one corner, with a small workstation-come-desk next to it and a lamp. The bed consisted of white sheets, a blanket and a grey bedspread. The wardrobe was tiny and there were only about half a dozen coat hangers. Next to the wardrobe there was a small chest of drawers and a wooden armchair that looked rather rickety. Anna told Blane that it was exactly like the rooms at the Hendon Police College in London, only with a better view, as looking out from the window the woodlands and lakes were quite stunning. She noticed an assault course that stretched as far as the eye could see into the woods. It had high brick walls, rope climbing frames and balance beams along the way.

‘Is that part of the FBI training?’ Anna asked, pointing from the window.

‘That’s the Yellow Brick Road, a six-mile obstacle-course run. It’s part of the fitness regime and if and when you can complete it then you are awarded with a yellow brick to honour the achievement.’

‘So what does an FBI training day entail?’ Anna asked with trepidation.

‘We start at seven a.m. with physical exercise, push-ups, pull-ups and a smaller assault course. Then it’s into the classroom learning about profiling, latest forensics, leadership and media. Day finishes about five p.m. and then there’s your case research to work on in the evening.’

Anna felt exhausted just listening to the daily routine. She had not really contemplated what the course would consist of, only that it was a good career move, but now it sounded extremely daunting. She asked Blane if there was Wi-Fi in the room, only to learn that that for security reasons it was not allowed, and the only Internet access was from the computers in the library. He suggested that she unpack and he would meet her downstairs by the elevator and take her to the supplies store to get her training uniform and other course equipment.

Having emptied her bags and used up every inch of storage space, Anna set up her laptop on the desk and put her notepad down beside it. She then went to join Don Blane in the reception area, from where he took her to the stores and supplies room. She was given a large blue holdall with the FBI logo and crest on it, a pair of brown cargo trousers and three blue FBI polo shirts to be worn during class. A grey FBI tracksuit, matching T-shirts and blue windcheater jacket were also provided, along with books relating to her course. As Blane, ever the gentleman, picked up the holdall to carry it for Anna, she glanced to see if he was wearing a wedding ring and noticed he wasn’t. She really liked him and if her first impression was accurate she thought she’d like to spend some of her ten weeks at Quantico getting to know him better. Blane suggested that she drop the holdall off in her room and then they could have a bite to eat in the canteen as it closed at seven.

As they sat eating their food, Anna told him that she had expected the canteen food to consist of pizzas, hot dogs and hamburgers but was pleasantly surprised to see how healthy it actually was.

‘The motto “A healthy mind in a healthy body” is a big thing here,’ Blane said as he ate his chicken salad.

Anna had opted for the tuna fish with fresh vegetables.

Blane took the opportunity to explain more about the course, informing Anna that two hundred US law-enforcement officers and fifty international students would attend it and that each class consisted of twenty-five students. The name of the game was to make contacts and get to know as many fellow students as possible. He went on to say that the course would officially begin at two p.m. tomorrow afternoon in the lecture theatre where the aims and objectives would be set out.

Anna smiled. ‘That’s good news. I can sleep in a bit. I was naïve to think that the jet lag wouldn’t get the better of me.’

They finished their meal and Blane asked Anna if she would like a look round.

‘I’d really like to see the library and use one of your computers for some research,’ she replied at once.

‘Damn, you’re keen, and I haven’t even allocated you a case project yet,’ he said jokingly.

‘Actually, it’s something to do with the Reynolds case. I’m hoping to get background and travelling details on a Jamaican citizen called Samuel Peters.’

‘I might be able to help you there. I’m a good friend with a US drug enforcement agent on the island called Bill Roberts. I can have a chat with him if you like and see what he can find out.’

‘Thanks, Don, that would be really helpful.’ Anna smiled.

‘Off the record, I take it?’ he asked.

‘For now, yes, but if anything comes of it, I can get one of the team back home to draw up the necessary paperwork and make it an official enquiry.’ Anna took out the notebook she usually had with her and jotted down what she knew about Samuel.

‘Well, it’s the same time in Jamaica as here, and there’s no point in hanging around.’ Blane grinned, getting out his mobile to ring Bill Roberts. He turned away from her as he caught up with his friend but Anna could see from his body language that he was conveying the urgency of the enquiry.

Anna thanked him profusely before confessing that she hoped he didn’t think she was being rude but she was very tired after a long day, and then deliberately added that she didn’t want to keep him from his partner any longer.

‘No worries, just me at home now; my wife passed away three years ago from cancer. No kids either, but I spoil my nieces and nephews something rotten.’ He looked at her with amusement.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Anna said, wishing she’d not been so sneaky.

‘Not at all. What about you, anyone in your life?’

‘Not at the moment. My fiancé passed away two years ago – he was a prison officer and a violent inmate attacked him.’ Anna had never been so matter-of-fact and open with anyone about Ken’s death; she didn’t know why but it just felt right to be unguarded and honest with Don. There was so much about his manner, smile and the way he spoke that she felt attracted to.

Blane stood up and, looking into Anna’s eyes, shook her hand. ‘If there’s anything at all you need, please call me,’ he said, handing her his business card. ‘And I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?’

Anna’s face lit up and she had no hesitation as she replied, ‘That would be really nice, thank you.’

Langton couldn’t believe how luxurious Jessie Dewar’s lakeside apartment was. The large living-come-dining room had floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a panoramic view across the man-made lakes and golf course. The floors were real wood and the walls were pristine white with modern art hanging throughout and splashing the rooms with colour. The white leather sofa and armchairs were large and comfortable. A glass dining table and six white leather chairs were positioned near the sliding glass doors that led onto the large terrace with glass and aluminium railings. There were two double bedrooms, the master with en-suite bathroom, and both with LCD TVs and walk-in closets. A double garage to one side was designed to fit in with the surrounding buildings.

Langton decided to take a wander over to the golf club to eat and have a cold beer. Once there, he was surprised how busy the restaurant was and didn’t really feel properly attired to eat in it, so he opted for the barbecue menu on the veranda and had a T-bone steak, fries and salad. The meal was delicious and he was joined by a couple of the golf-club members who had just finished their round. One turned out to be the local sheriff and so Langton told him that he was with the Met Police in London and a visiting lecturer on a course at the FBI Academy. He and the sheriff got on very well and spent an enjoyable evening topping up each other’s beer glasses whilst swapping war stories.

Langton returned to the condo quite drunk, and contemplated calling Travis, but knew she would be exhausted and well asleep by now so he didn’t bother. He was looking forward to having dinner with her and wondered if he should invite her to stay at Dewar’s as there were two rooms. Why not, he thought to himself as he lay on the bed fully clothed, whereupon the alcohol and jet lag kicked in and he was fast asleep within minutes.