Deadly Intent (Anna Travis Mysteries)

by Lynda La Plante

  “Which never arrives?”

  “Right, because Donny misguidedly reckoned he could pull a fast one. He might not have even known what he was carrying. As you said, this is not a well-known street drug.”

  “So, Donny Petrozzo collects the package and, instead of delivering it to Fitzpatrick, he takes it to the lowlife drug squat that he has been using to score from?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “So Fitzpatrick has to go to the squat to get it back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Using Frank Brandon as a driver?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is all supposition, Anna.”

  Anna tossed down her pencil. “Look—you wanted to hear what I thought.”

  “Okay, okay—don’t get tetchy. Go on, I’m all ears.”

  Anna sighed, but continued. “Frank had told his girlfriend, Connie, that he was onto a very big earner. Whether it was Donny who killed Frank, we don’t know; we do have his prints from the squat, so we know he had been there at some time. We also know that the same gun used to kill Frank was also used to kill Stanley Leymore, the car dealer.”

  Langton nodded.

  “Both Donny and the antique dealer Julius D’Anton were killed by an overdose of Fentanyl. At this time, Frank is driving the Mitsubishi—he parked it in a garage near to Julia’s house in Wimbledon. What if he used the jeep to drive Fitzpatrick to the drug squat? I don’t know—I’m just making this up now as I go along, but we have no trace of the man who was with Frank. All we know is, whoever it was, was injured and had to be covered in Frank’s blood.”

  Langton puffed out his cheeks, and ruffled his hair.

  “We now find the dead Donny stashed in the back of the Mitsubishi. Next, we discover our car dealer shot with the same weapon that killed Frank. Then, we have the junkie antique dealer, Julius D’Anton: another big coincidence, since he was at Oxford with Fitzpatrick, who I think was hiding out at Honey Farm. Again, like Donny, could we have someone who recognized Fitzpatrick, and this gets him killed? I’d say our man has got his hands on the Fentanyl. Both men died from a lethal injection of it. I think that by now Fitzpatrick has to have it.”

  There was a long pause. “Mmm.” Langton looked at his shoes.

  “I know it all sounds far-fetched.” Anna closed her notebook.

  “You can say that again.”

  “It all hinges on whether or not I have the right man in Alexander Fitzpatrick. We don’t know if he is the father of Julia’s two children. Nor do we know if he was also Anthony Collingwood, but I think he was.”

  “Sorry, you’ve lost me.” Langton yawned.

  “Julia admitted that her ex-partner was called Anthony Collingwood.”

  Langton nodded. “Right, right—one of the aliases used by Fitzpatrick, I’m with you.” He drained his coffee and crumpled the beaker, tossing it into the waste bin. “Well, we have a lot to iron out.”

  Her phone rang: it was Pete asking if they were on for dinner. She told him that she would call him back directly.

  Langton was standing, straightening his tie. “I was sorry to hear about Frank. Sad way to go out; he was a nice bloke.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be in first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll mull over everything you’ve told me.” He walked to the door and had his hand on the handle to open it, when he turned. “How’s things with you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” He stared at her, then cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Good night.” He closed the door quietly behind him.

  She sat, listening to his footsteps receding down the corridor. This was the first interaction she’d had with Langton since she had pieced together what part he had played in the death of the suspected killer on their last case. Langton, she knew, had played his hand so carefully that she was the only person who knew just what lengths he was prepared to go to. It was revenge for what had been done to him; to have been sliced almost in two by a machete would make anyone want retribution. He had perverted the law to gain his own justice.

  It was an act of madness, but one she knew he did not regret. She had walked away from their relationship, accusing him of betraying everything he stood for, and yet she had been unable to walk away from him personally. He had remained in her thoughts and heart ever since and, try as she might, she was unable to free herself from wanting him. It made her feel depressed and angry that he still had such a hold over her emotions.

  Anna reached for her phone and dialed Pete’s number. She would pick up some takeaway and meet him in half an hour. He was as affable and as easygoing as ever, agreeing to see her outside her flat and bring some wine.

  “You sound a bit uptight,” he remarked. “Everything all right?”

  “Yep, fine. I’ll see you later.”

  It wasn’t fine at all, but she needed to be with someone who took her mind off Langton. From the way he had behaved with her, she doubted that he even gave her a few moments’ thought, but all she could think of was him. Langton was out of her reach and he had to stay there; she could not ever allow him to come close again.

  Anna forced herself to make a quick exit; Pete would be waiting.

  15

  The second glass of wine had eased a lot of Anna’s tension, but she was still wound up. Pete had asked if she was all right a couple more times. In the end, she snapped that she was fine, then she apologized and explained.

  “I just had a long tedious session explaining away all my suppositions.”

  After the third glass, she finally started to really chill out. Pete was as relaxed as ever and she was glad she had suggested he come over.

  While she cleared away, he put up some shelves. He was good at carpentry, but not very careful about the mess he made while working, so she got out the Hoover and cleaned up as he took a shower. She laughed when he appeared in her toweling dressing gown, which was very short, the sleeves reaching just below his elbows. He hurled himself onto her bed with the remote and switched on the TV, relaxing back on her pillows.

  After her shower, Anna joined him on the bed, wrapped in a big white towel. He lifted his arm for her to snuggle beside him. “You want to talk about your ‘suppositions’?” he asked.

  “Not really. My boss has personal problems and had the day off—until the briefing, when she came back…” Anna hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, we had the Chief Superintendent come in and, instead of my suppositions being swept aside, he sort of…” Again, she paused.

  Pete looked at her. “Sort of what?”

  “Well, agreed that I might be on the right track.”

  “You mean with this Fitzpatrick guy?”

  “Yeah. Until we have it confirmed, it’s still up in the air; main thing is trying to understand why he would take such risks, coming back into the UK.”

  “He’s got to have a reason.”

  “I know, but it’s still sounding far-fetched. Whether or not it is connected to the Fentanyl, we don’t know, but two of the victims were killed by an overdose of it…”

  Pete tilted her chin up and kissed her. Then he leaned up on his elbow to look into her eyes. “That’s enough.”

  “What?”

  He kissed her again. At first she didn’t respond, but then he slowly began to remove her towel and kiss her breasts. She closed her eyes and murmured as he kissed her belly and then slowly moved her legs apart. She hated herself, because it was Langton’s face she held in her mind, Langton caressing her, and she was ashamed. They climaxed together and he lay beside her, panting, then reached out to draw her to him.

  He sat up. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She turned off the bedside light.

  He reached across her and turned it back on. “Tell me.”

  “Pete, there is nothing to tell. I’m just really tired and I need to get some sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  Anna turned the light off. Pete lay on his ba
ck, staring at the ceiling, as she curled up with her back to him. Eventually she heard his breathing deepen and knew he was asleep. She was glad he wouldn’t hear that she was crying.

  Pete was frying eggs and bacon by the time she joined him in the kitchen. “Good morning, light of my life,” he said, grinning.

  “Morning. I didn’t hear you get up.”

  “You were out for the count. If you want to put some toast on, we can eat—everything is ready.”

  She kissed his cheek and then went over to the toaster. By the time she had fetched the butter and marmalade, he had wolfed down his eggs and bacon. She didn’t really feel that hungry, but nevertheless managed to clear her plate. Pete poured coffee and fetched the toast as he eulogized about breakfast being the best meal of the day. He explained how to cook French toast, beating up the eggs and making a frothy batter, then dipping in the slices of bread before frying them in butter.

  “It’s called ready steady heartburn,” she said, smiling.

  “Ah, but not if you also eat mounds of fruit. I chop up loads and stick them in a plastic bag so you don’t have to bother with all the peeling and chopping. That’s what you need, by the way—a chopping board.”

  Anna gestured to one of the drawers. “There’s one in there, I think.”

  “Ah, I’ll know for next time.” He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m going to get off. I want to go back home and get a change of clothes. Maybe see you after work tonight?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  “I’ll call you later.” He kissed her again and was about to leave when he paused in the doorway. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Me? No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just a feeling I get. Do you not want me to call you?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” She turned away, not wanting to discuss arrangements for the evening.

  “Okay, I’m off.”

  She heard him whistling as he let himself out and felt guilty, so much so that she was almost about to hurry after him, but then she saw the greasy frying pan and grill, and the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. He was even more untidy in the kitchen than Langton had been.

  She banged the frying pan down and swore—she was thinking about Langton again. She washed up with a fury until the kitchen was spick-and-span, then returned to the bedroom. Yet again Langton crossed her mind: the bed was unmade and wet towels from Pete’s shower were left strewn over the floor. By the time she had tidied up, she was going to have to get her skates on so as not to be late for work.

  Langton had put the pressure on. Warrants were to be issued for a search of Julia Brandon’s house and her sister Honour’s farm. In the meantime, surveillance teams had been organized for both properties and were already in position—hopefully, this time, far more covert in Julia’s case; they really didn’t want another terse visit from her lawyer, Simon Fagan. Anna had no sooner sat at her desk than Cunningham called to say she would like a few words.

  Anna could feel the tension as soon as she entered Cunningham’s office.

  “Langton’s breathing down my neck,” the DCI said. “We really need to cover some of his suggestions. First up is the need to get more details on the drug squat. As you know, we’re still unable to find out who was running the place; all we have succeeded in doing to date is tracking down people trying to score. I want you to see what you can dig up, even if it means going back to all the people you interviewed. One of them has to know.”

  Anna shrugged. “I doubt if anyone I questioned will be of much use. They weren’t regulars and usually scored through Donny Petrozzo—”

  Cunningham interrupted her. “That’s Paul Wrexler and Mark Taylor, correct?”

  “Yes; there was also Eddie Court.”

  “Right, go back and see if they withheld anything.”

  “Do you also want me to go back and talk to Jeremy Webster, the boy who gave us all the details on the vehicles we’ve been tracing?”

  “If you think it will be productive, yes.”

  Anna waited a moment and then stood up. She had the distinct feeling that she was being sidelined; she would have preferred to have been privy to the surveillance and house searches, but when she asked about them, Cunningham was tetchy.

  “Langton doesn’t want us to go in yet, just monitor what they’re up to as we try and firm up the loose ends. Phil is coordinating that side, and the rest of us are trying to get confirmation from passport and immigration of all the false passports and aliases we know were used by Alexander Fitzpatrick. If we can get verification that he has been in the UK, then we act on that, but it is still only supposition.”

  “You don’t think the longer we leave putting pressure on Julia and her sister means the more time they have to get him out of the country? Because I am sure that he is behind all this.”

  “I know you are, Travis, I heard you last night, but we have to have proof, otherwise we are running around like headless chickens. Our priority is to find out who killed Frank Brandon, then I think it could all fall into place.”

  “Like a pack of cards,” Anna said, unable to hide her sarcasm. She returned to her office, where Gordon was waiting.

  “The team are picking up where I left off, trying to track down the last guy that rented the boat Dare Devil,” he told her. “They are also checking into the possibility that it might have been sold a few years ago. I got ear damage from the hours I was on the phone.”

  “So, you’re with me today, are you?”

  “Yes—back to the Chalk Farm estate, right?”

  Anna sighed and picked up her briefcase. “Can you get me the lists of vehicles that Jeremy Webster recounted, as we’ll also need to talk to him again.”

  Gordon rolled his eyes. “Okay, but we’ve pretty well covered every listed vehicle, and traced the owner/drivers.”

  “I am aware of that, Gordon, but maybe, just maybe there’s more to get out of him!”

  Anna had just left the station when Phil got a call from Langton. Digging back into Fitzpatrick’s past, he had discovered a previous arrest—for drunk driving—while he was at university. He had been charged, fined, and given a suspended sentence. Langton wanted them to see whether the Oxfordshire police might have retained on file Fitzpatrick’s fingerprints. If that was unsuccessful, they were to contact the U.S. and see if the police there had anything that might assist in identifying their man. They still had unidentified fingerprints taken from the Mitsubishi: a part bloody thumbprint, and a smear of blood with a part palmprint.

  The team were taken aback at how fast Langton was moving, firing off instructions and demanding results fast. Because of the pressure, they had already arranged the surveillances and warrants; he had also requested they talk to Julia’s lawyer regarding the two men seen in Wimbledon, and yet again question her financial adviser. Cunningham was handling the pressure, but appeared edgy. Phil was aware that she seemed to be sidelining Anna on yet another wild-goose chase over at the Warren Estate. He had even hinted that, with so much going on, they needed her, but got the sharp response that Travis was going to have to buckle down and work with the team. She was too close to Langton and she didn’t need any one of them telling tales! The fact that Anna Travis, whether working solo or not, had brought in major results, Phil declined to mention. If the two women were in competition, then he would let them get on with it.

  The estate was looking even more wretched. The rain was lashing down and, as Anna parked, she could see that even more flats had been boarded up. Whether or not the flapping police cordons had put off any fresh drug dealers, the place still had a desolate feel. Deep puddles formed across the parking area, rubbish had been left out in black bin liners, and dogs or cats, or maybe vermin, had been ripping them up, so garbage was strewn everywhere.

  Anna hopped over the puddles with her umbrella toward Mrs. Webster’s flat. Gordon followed, holding his raincoat over his head. Mrs. Webster’s immaculate stone st
ep and front door stood out among the other flats. She was very hesitant about letting them come inside, as they were both dripping from the rain. Jeremy was at work. Anna spent a few moments talking on the doorstep with Mrs. Webster before she and Gordon returned to her car and drove to Waitrose.

  They took a parking ticket for the Waitrose car park and drove over to the allocated parking bays. The rain was still pouring as they looked for Jeremy. There was a long line of gathered trolleys left by a wall, but no sign of him. No wonder, Anna said. He was probably taking shelter inside. Then, just as she was about to get out of the car, she saw him.

  He was entering from the exit gate, pushing five trolleys that had been left outside the car park. He was wearing a draped green plastic cape, the hood drawn up, almost hiding his face, and shiny black rubber overshoes, as he plodded through the puddles. Anna told Gordon to approach him and ask if they could talk to him for a few moments. She watched as Gordon hurried over to Jeremy; he didn’t appear to even acknowledge him, but continued pushing his row of trolleys, collecting two more.

  Gordon returned to the car and got in beside Anna. “Well, he’s a hard one to have a conversation with. He said he was working and couldn’t talk to me, or anyone else.”

  “Go and speak to the manager; see if they have a staff room we can use.”

  Gordon sighed. “Okay.”

  She watched him trudge back across the car park and go into the store itself. He was gone for over ten minutes but then reappeared with a large blond woman, who went to talk to Jeremy while Gordon came back to Anna. “They’ve got a staff room at the rear of the store; we can use that. She’ll give him an early tea break—she said he won’t go in there unless it’s for his tea break.”

  The manageress led them through the aisles toward the staff quarters. Two assistants were having coffee when they entered; the manageress said they could finish their break in her office.

  Jeremy walked in and gave the two assistants a beaming smile. “Hello, Pauline.”

  “Hello, Jay.”