Deadly Intent (Anna Travis Mysteries)

by Lynda La Plante

  Anna shook her head. “Yes, you were, and now is the opportunity to tell me the truth. I am not concerned with what you bought, I just need to know what time you—”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “All we are trying to do is eliminate the people we know were parked at the estate on the night of this murder. Now, if you refuse to cooperate, then…”

  “All right.”

  Anna cocked her head to one side, waiting.

  “I did go there, but I didn’t score. I swear on my life, I didn’t. I mean, I was thinking about it, but Helen has been so anxious about me being out late, and she wanted some cranberry juice, and I’d had this nightmare day, and I was worn out…” He bowed his head. “I got there about ten-fifteen. I went up to the first landing and saw all these hoodies hovering around on the corridor, guarding the place, and I just freaked. You know the risk I was taking. So I went to the car and drove off. I was only there for ten minutes, no more.”

  “I see. Can you describe these ‘hoodies’ at all?”

  “No, I never really saw their faces. They were black kids—well, most of them. There were about seven of them and I just didn’t want to get into any aggravation, so I swear I just drove away.”

  “What about other cars?”

  “There were quite a few, but I wasn’t paying any attention to them. I was more concerned with getting home.”

  Anna smiled and looked up from her notebook. “Thank you. Just one more thing. How did you know where to go to score?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s simple, isn’t it? Chalk Farm is a little way from here, and the dealer’s flat is a boarded-up squat on a very rough estate. So how did you know you could score drugs from there?”

  Wrexler twisted his body in his seat.

  “Had you been there before?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did you know you would be able to score?”

  “Oh Christ, I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

  “Who?”

  “One of the guys at work. He used to score for me sometimes. I think he got it off one of the company drivers. My mate is not a dealer, he just gets it for personal use. Anyway, it was becoming expensive—well, this is what he told me—so I said to him, wouldn’t it be cost-effective for us to buy direct and split whatever we got between us?”

  “I need to know his name.”

  “The driver?”

  “No, your friend.”

  Wrexler sighed. “Okay, but I hate to do this. Like I said, we’re just smalltime, and we’re not addicts or anything like that.”

  “His name, Mr. Wrexler—then we can leave.”

  “Ben Carter.”

  “What car does he drive?”

  “An MG Sport.”

  “And the company driver’s name?”

  “Oh shit.” Wrexler pulled at his tie. “Donny something. I’m unsure of his surname.”

  Anna stood up and put her notebook away. Wrexler sprang up and asked if they could keep his name out of it. Anna made no reply, simply thanking him for his time.

  She and Gordon returned to their car to get to their next scheduled meeting in Chelsea. It was almost seven o’clock. They drove in silence for a while. Then Gordon asked what they were going to do about Wrexler.

  “Nothing, right now. I would say if he has any more coke stashed, he’ll be snorting it! One day, if he keeps it up, it will take over him and his work.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Yes, do you?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never used it. I’ve never even had a joint.”

  “Good for you and…Gordon? When I’m working these people over, it’s a good idea if you made some notes as well, so we back each other up. Can you recall the name of the guy at his work who also uses?”

  “Erm, no. I can’t.”

  “Exactly, so start concentrating. You are not along for your entertainment.”

  “Right, sorry. I got so interested in how you questioned him. To be honest, I would have believed him straight off—you know, that he wasn’t there. Smart flat, nice girlfriend, smart car, smart bloke.”

  “No, he isn’t. You think it’s smart to do what he was doing? Scoring from cheap drug dealers? That’s how these creeps survive, dealing with the ‘nice’ guys who think they can handle it, cutting out the middleman—in Wrexler’s case, a driver. I need to know more about him.”

  The address in Chelsea was equally upmarket, a small chic house off the King’s Road. Mark Taylor’s car was a convertible Mercedes. They drew up outside his home as he was walking up the road, about to let himself in. He was of similar age to Wrexler and had his own business, selling bridal and wedding accessories. He was pleasant and relaxed, and invited them in.

  Without waiting for Anna to explain the reason for their visit, he launched into the problems the residents had parking their cars at night. “I’ve had to leave my car in Cheyne Walk, which means I’ve got to get up at some ungodly hour to move it before I get a ticket.”

  “We are not here about parking permits.”

  He blinked.

  “We are here because your car was seen parked on an estate in Chalk Farm two nights ago.”

  “What?”

  “We are investigating a murder.”

  “Christ, I can’t help you.”

  “I think you can, because we know your car was parked in the forecourt of the estate.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Were you scoring drugs, Mr. Taylor?”

  It was a similar scenario to Wrexler. Taylor denied scoring drugs or ever using them, then eventually admitted that he had been to Chalk Farm at around 11:15 P.M. He had gone to the squat and scored some amphetamines. He had not been into the flat but had spoken to a boy standing on the landing outside number 19. He told him what he wanted, the boy returned with it, and Mark paid him. He also admitted that he had been to the same address on two other occasions. He tried it on, saying he had a sleeping disorder, but Anna ignored the excuse; she knew Taylor was just trying to get out of the fact that he was scoring illegal drugs. The most important information to get out of him was who had given him the squat contact. He said he couldn’t recall specifically but, at a party, he had met someone who had passed on the address and told him that they were dealing in anything he wanted, and at a straight price.

  At last, they got their first link. Taylor said he did not know anyone called Wrexler, or Carter; all he did know was the Christian name of the driver—Donny. The latter had driven one of the guests to the party. As Anna already knew this Donny worked for the firm employing Wrexler, she was confident that they would be able to track him down. At the same time, she insisted they get the name and address of the girl giving the party. She was called Samantha Smith-Felton, was well connected from a wealthy aristocratic family.

  By the time they reached the last address, it was eight-thirty. Anna was hungry but decided to continue; the sooner it was finished, the faster she could get home. They found themselves on a council estate, almost as rundown as the squat in Chalk Farm. Eddie Court’s souped-up Mini was parked in the drive of the estate. It was at least fifteen years old, not one of the new flash models. According to Jeremy Webster’s list, this vehicle had been parked on the estate on four different occasions. The trace on the eighteen-year-old Edward Court had thrown up one previous arrest for burglary. He was currently working as a painter and decorator. Considering his record, Anna wouldn’t have let him near a can of paint outside her property, let alone inside.

  Eddie’s mother was named as renting the property; he had given her address on his license documents. When Anna knocked on the paint-peeling door on the fifth floor of the high-rise, Eddie opened it. As Anna showed her ID, he tried to shut it, but she left her foot firmly between the door and the frame. After a few terse words, Eddie opened the door wider and, begrudgingly, showed them into the front room.

  It was untidy and stuffy, with a television tuned to a
sports channel. Anna sat next to Gordon on a stained, broken sofa. Eddie hovered; he was wearing tight jeans, trainers, and a T-shirt with zigzags across it. His hair was braided, with small beads attached to the ends. Anna went straight to the point, explaining that they were there to investigate a murder.

  “Listen, I dunno what you think I done, but I never done nothink!” the boy burst out. “I thought you was here about a ladder gone missing from the van.”

  “We’re not here about any missing ladder. We need to know why you were parked outside the Warren Estate in Chalk Farm two nights ago.”

  It was a repeat of their previous two interviews. According to Eddie, he had never gone to the squat, he did not use drugs, and they had to be mistaken about his car being parked there, ’cause he was working at a disco two nights ago. Judging by his red-rimmed eyes, he was on something; he started sweating. Anna calmly reiterated that she would need confirmation about his whereabouts and witnesses who could substantiate his claim.

  “Do you know a driver called Donny?”

  “No, I got me own car.”

  “It’s because of your car that we are here. Eddie, if you can’t give me the truth about why you were at Chalk Farm, then I’ll have to continue this interview at the station. We know you parked up there two nights ago. We also know you were seen there on two different occasions.”

  “Shit.”

  “You could be knee-deep in it, if you don’t answer truthfully. All I need to know is, if you were there, what time you arrived, what time you left, and whether you can give me a description of the person you scored from. That is why you were there, isn’t it?”

  “My mum’s gonna kill me; she’s just gone out to bingo.”

  “Sit down, Eddie. Let’s get this over and done with and then we can leave, maybe before she returns. I am not booking you on scoring or even using, but that’s not to say I won’t if you don’t cooperate.” Anna felt worn out; having to repeat herself was tedious. She didn’t believe that Eddie could be of any more help than the previous two men—but then he started to talk.

  “Okay, I admit I had gone there.”

  “What time?”

  “Late, ’cause I’d done my second stint at the disco.”

  “So what time would you say it was?”

  “Maybe two-thirty to three.”

  Anna said nothing as she jotted down notes. This was close to the time of the shots heard by Mrs. Webster. “Take me through exactly what happened, Eddie.”

  “Don’t I need a lawyer or somethink?”

  “Not unless you were involved in the murder!”

  “Listen, I drive up and there are quite a few kids around and I give one a quid to stay by me car, but he tells me to get stuffed when I give him the quid, right? So I’m a bit lairy about leaving me motor and going up to the squat, so what I done was give him some lip. I sort of decided I’d not risk it—it was real dark, you know. Most of the streetlights have been bombed out, and another thing…”

  Anna stopped writing, pencil poised.

  “Well, I dunno, it just didn’t feel right. I mean, I admit I’d been there before, few months back and then an even longer time before that. I didn’t recognize any of the kids. Nah, it just didn’t feel right.” Eddie lit a roll-up and took a deep drag. “Before, I sort of knew some of the runners, right? And it was real easy: go up to the second floor, and they’d be with me, and then you’d get to the door. There was always a dude waiting. He’d ask what you wanted, some spliff or coke, he’d go back inside and come out with the gear, then you paid your money. Business over and done with, right? You with me?”

  “Yes,” Anna said.

  “But this time it was different, like there could be new blokes running it. So, I’m walking round to open the driving door. With me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then this big blacked-out Mitsubishi almost knocks me sideways. If I’d been a few inches further out, it would have clipped me, and I was pissed, right, not only ’cause I’d driven all the way over there for nothing, and now this guy almost runs me down…”

  “So you saw the driver?”

  “Yeah, he parked up right in front of me and I got to give him some verbals and he turns on me, real nasty. He says go fuck yourself. I mean, he’d almost run into me, not the other way round, and he says go fuck yourself!”

  Anna felt her stomach flip. “What happened then?”

  “Well, I would have taken him on but he was bigger’n me, and I just didn’t want any aggro, so I turns back to me car an’ I drove off.”

  Anna opened her briefcase and took out the photograph of Frank Brandon. “Is this the man?”

  Eddie leaned forward and took the photograph. He stared at it for a few moments, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Like I said, he was a big bloke.”

  “What about the passenger? Was there someone else in the Mitsubishi?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t get a good look at him. He was gettin’ out and then I was drivin’ past.”

  “Can you just close your eyes and think back to that moment you saw him?”

  “Who?”

  “The passenger: the man in the Mitsubishi. You said he was getting out as you drove past.”

  “Oh, right, yeah. Well, what I said was, I didn’t get a look at him. I was passing him, right, an’ he was just sort of bending down to get out of the jeep and, like I said, it was real dark out there.”

  “But didn’t you put your headlights on?”

  “Around there, no way. Put ’em on when I got into the road.”

  Disappointed, Anna closed her notebook and stood up.

  “Is that it?” Eddie asked.

  “For now it is, Eddie. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Eddie seemed disappointed as well. “Was he the geezer that got murdered?”

  Anna looked at him.

  “The tall guy, the passenger, was he the one done in?”

  “How do you know he was tall? You said he was bending down to get out of the jeep.”

  “Right, yeah, but I saw his legs—long legs; he hadda be a big geezer as well.”

  Anna was considering going over it again with Eddie—the fact that the passenger could have been very tall fitted the blood-spattering marks—but then Gordon spoke for the first time since they had been there. “You see the tall man’s shoes?”

  Eddie looked at Gordon, almost as surprised as Anna that he had opened his mouth. “Yeah, I think they was polished shoes, not sneakers. They wasn’t white.”

  It was after eleven by the time Anna got home. Her personal parking space was taken by another car, and a flashy one at that: a Lotus. By the time she had tried to contact the never-present security manager to get the offending car moved, the driver walked out of the connecting door to the apartments.

  “This is a private parking space,” she said.

  “Sorry, just moving it; been visiting.”

  “In future, would you please not use the residents’ parking bays? There are two vacant spaces for guests,” she retorted angrily.

  “They were taken when I got here.” He bleeped open his car. He had a manner that really grated: upper-class, overconfident, and arrogant.

  Anna slammed her car door and waited for him to reverse. He fired up his engine; it sounded like thunder in the confined garage space. She adjusted the mirror to watch the Lotus, wondering how he would work the electronic garage door. He leaned out of his window, and used the manual digit box. The garage door swung open and he drove away. Tense with anger, Anna locked her car and went up to her flat. So much for the tight security, one of the reasons she had bought the flat.

  There were more boxes stacked in her small hallway, along with the others she had not had time to unload. She sighed, wondering when she would ever get the chance to organize everything. Judging by the way the case was going, there would be no weekends off for the foreseeable future.

  By the time she had eaten, it was one o’clock in the morning. The water in the shower was
still freezing cold and there was a note pinned to the door: Faulty heater. Terrific, she thought, and sat down to make her list of complaints to go over with the phantom security manager, Mr. Burk. She set the alarm for six-thirty, intending to have a confrontation with him before she left for work.

  Morning came so fast, it was as if she had only just put her head on the pillow. She called Burk three times, each time leaving an urgent message on his answer service. On the fourth attempt, Burk himself had barked into the phone, “Yes!”

  “Mr. Burk, this is Anna Travis. Would you please come to my apartment? I need to talk to you.”

  “It’s only seven o’clock!”

  “I’m aware of that, but as I’m at work all day and not back till late, I would really appreciate it if you came up to see me now.”

  “I’m not on until eight.”

  Anna took a deep breath. “Mr. Burk, I would suggest that if you want to keep your job, and the accommodation that I believe is part of your deal with the company, you get yourself up to my flat as I have requested.”

  There was a pause. She could hear a snort down the phone as if he was trying to control his temper. “Give me ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.” She replaced the receiver.

  Anna had never had to deal with the Burks of this world in her domestic life. Her previous flat had been well run and, when her father had been alive, he had taken care of everything. Even when Langton had lived with her, he had repaired the odd thing when necessary. Now she had no one whom she could call up and ask for help. How had she reached such a solitary point in her life, with no close friends?

  Anna thought back to her time living with Langton. Their breakup had taken its toll on her. She remembered what she had overheard from Cunningham’s office. Had she lost the plot because of Langton’s hold over her? Lost it because of what she knew about him from their last case together? That no matter what a disgusting creature Langton’s attacker had been, Langton had made sure he would never live to stand trial?

  Anna began to take a good look at herself: the stupid, hurried move to sell her old flat, because of wanting to cut loose from her past; the purchase of the present apartment, with all its faults; the massive mortgage payments. The very thing that she had prided herself on was her achievement in the Met, and now she was floundering. She knew that she was going to have to get herself back on track and, with no one to help her, she would have to do it alone.