Deadly Intent (Anna Travis Mysteries)

by Lynda La Plante

  “So you knew he had been a police officer?”

  “Yes, he told me. He said he could maintain my car, do whatever I wanted. Mostly, he was driving the children to school and back, because I was always scared, you know—in case someone found out I had money. I felt protected having him around, and he got on well with the children.”

  “So this was in late March?”

  “Yes.”

  “So when did the relationship become more personal?”

  Julia sniffed, and smiled. “Well, if having sex is personal, then it was a few days later.”

  “When did you ask him to move into the house?”

  “Maybe in May? I can’t really remember the exact date; it just happened.”

  “But Mr. Brandon was also working as a driver for someone else.”

  “Oh, that. Well, it wasn’t as if it was an everyday thing. This man would call him and ask him to do odd pickups when he was too busy.”

  “Did Frank work for Donny Petrozzo?”

  Julia shrugged. “I never knew his name, I never met him. He would call Frank on his mobile and Frank would say yes or no. Often he would drive to wherever and pick up a car to do the chauffeuring, mostly to the airports.”

  “Frank had his own car, a VW?”

  “Yes. Just like I said, he would go in his own car to wherever this man lived and then he would use a Merc, I think it was.” Julia sniffed and began tapping her foot against the leg of the table. She kept on glancing at Fagan as if he should say something. He remained silent.

  “So when did you see Mr. Brandon in possession of the black Mitsubishi jeep?”

  “I never saw it.”

  Cunningham slapped the table with the flat of her hand. “Stop lying, Mrs. Brandon! You knew that Frank Brandon drove this vehicle; you also knew where it was parked—you gave Detective Inspector Travis directions on how to get to the garage he used to park it in.”

  “Of course I knew about the garage—I paid the rent on it. I had my two cars, so we needed another garage.”

  Fagan leaned forward. “I think Mrs. Brandon has answered your question. She did not know Mr. Brandon had this jeep; she has clearly just said that she never saw it.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said curtly.

  “Let’s go to the date you were married.”

  “I am getting sick and tired of this. I have told you about the wedding.” She jerked her head toward Anna.

  “I just need to know when you and Mr. Brandon agreed to be married.”

  “Why? What business is it of yours?”

  “Please answer the question.” Cunningham was starting to sound irritated now.

  “It was sometime in May.”

  “He had worked for you for two months?”

  “My goodness, how clever of you, yes! After two months we realized we wanted to be married; we loved each other, and we went to the Isle of Man and got a special license and we got fucking married.”

  Fagan whipped around on her. “Julia, that was not necessary.”

  “Of course it is! They keep asking me these ridiculous questions that have nothing to do with anything.”

  “The life insurance policy your financial adviser arranged for Mr. Brandon?” Cunningham persisted.

  “Yes, you’ve bloody asked me about that. I was looking out for him, that is all.”

  “But it was payable only if he died.”

  “That is not the point! If he had a life insurance policy, he could get mortgages and things like that.”

  “Why would he want a mortgage when you owned your house outright?”

  “Maybe he wanted to show me he had a pair of balls rather than live off me!” she shouted. Fagan again warned her to be quiet and behave. She sniffed and then rubbed at her nose. “I just want to go home to my children,” she said, in a whine.

  “Were you afraid? Was someone threatening you?”

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me about the four million you took out recently?”

  “It’s my money. I have already told you, I paid for the house and I had a lot of things to buy.”

  “We will need the receipts.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, this is just harassment.” She turned to Fagan and pushed at his arm. “Do something, for God’s sake! This is driving me crazy.”

  “Just answer the questions, Julia.”

  “What the fuck do you think I have been doing?”

  “Mrs. Brandon, your husband was murdered.”

  “Well, I didn’t fucking do it!” She pushed her chair back so abruptly that the table rocked, and Cunningham’s bottle of water spilled into her lap and over the table. She stood up trying to salvage her dripping notebook and soaked skirt. The incident made Cunningham so angry she ordered another ten-minute break.

  Cunningham was in her office, using tissues to dab at her skirt. “That bloody woman! She makes me so mad I want to slap her face.”

  Anna nodded her agreement. She mentioned that the team were pretty certain that the Mitsubishi jeep, that was so important to their inquiry, had been in Leymore’s possession a week after it was stolen. This helped with their still-incomplete time frame, because Eddie Court had seen the jeep being driven by Frank Brandon on the night of his murder. Phil was pressing the team to track back, to see if there was anything that would indicate whether Frank had bought the jeep, or was just using it via Donny Petrozzo.

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

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

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

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

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

  “But he withdrew this exact amount in cash.”

  “That was his business.”

  “So you have no notion what this amount of money was for?”

  “Why should I know? He had a life before he started to work for me.”

  Cunningham sighed: the woman had answers for everything. Cunningham decided not to pursue the check but pressed on, asking about the dates Julia and Frank married. Julia was trying hard to concentrate; her nose was running and she kept sniffing, and twice got out a handkerchief. She was becoming abusive and quite argumentative as she snapped that they had fallen in love, had sex, and more sex, and then decided to marry.

  “There were photographs of the wedding,” Anna interjected.

  “And I told you that I had torn them up, because he was dead and I didn’t want any memories. I had to take them down because the kids were asking me about him and it was making me want to cry all the time.”

>   “You didn’t keep any of these wedding photographs?”

  “No. They weren’t done by a professional—they were just snapshots from his camera and my mobile.”

  “Who was the older man in one shot standing behind Frank?”

  “The fucking vicar. This is getting ridiculous.” She turned and glared at Fagan, who leaned back.

  “I have to say my client has a point; we have been here for a very long time, and we appear to have come full circle.”

  Cunningham closed her notebook.

  Anna flicked a page in hers. “Why did you recently hire not one but two bodyguards?”

  “Christ! My husband had been murdered! Simon here suggested that I should replace him; he was concerned for me, so he arranged for me to meet them. It wasn’t my doing, it was my lawyer’s.”

  Fagan frowned.

  “He got them from an agency, he took me to meet them—I had nothing to do with it. Go on, ask him! Give me a break!”

  “So you were that concerned for your client, Mr. Fagan?”

  “Yes, I was concerned, especially as I had received a call from Mrs. Brandon’s au pair. She was frightened, and I can understand why, obviously. She said that Mrs. Brandon was deeply distressed, and without anyone looking after her. I then received a call from her business adviser, who also stressed his concerns; it was on his advice that I contacted—”

  He was interrupted by Julia, grabbing at his arm. “I never told David to contact you! You called me and told me that I had to take care!”

  “Yes, I did say that to you, Julia, but only after I was contacted by David Rushton. As I said, your au pair also phoned—”

  He was interrupted again. Julia’s voice had become shrill. “Since when has my au pair had anything to do with my personal life?”

  Fagan was very uncomfortable. “Julia, she was simply concerned.”

  “But it had nothing to do with her!” Julia was becoming very agitated.

  Cunningham interrupted their conversation. “Mr. Fagan, could we just clarify that, after you were called by David Rushton, and by Mrs. Brandon’s au pair, you brought in—”

  “I was given the number of this company that employ security guards—bodyguards, whatever—with good qualifications and experience, and obviously with references.” Fagan was becoming uneasy and loosened his tie.

  Anna leaned forward across the table; something was not right. “Who exactly gave you the contact for this company?”

  Fagan hesitated. “I think it was David Rushton; he also mentioned that Mrs. Brandon’s au pair had spoken to him.”

  “Why would she call David?” Julia’s voice was high-pitched.

  “I really don’t know, Julia; you should ask her. All I am saying is that the reason I suggested to you that you hire these two men to look after your safety, was because I was advised by David Rushton to do so.”

  “Where are these security men now?” Anna asked quietly. “You see, we have been unable to trace the company these men work for. The Range Rover they have been using is registered to a—” She was interrupted by Julia.

  “Simon picked me up and brought me here, so I didn’t need them; they’re at the house.”

  “With your au pair?” Anna asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And the children?”

  Julia stood up. She was finding it difficult to breathe; her chest heaved as she gasped. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  “Mrs. Brandon, sit down, please.”

  Julia backed away from the table, her chair overturned. She looked as if she was about to faint. “What have I done? You don’t understand, you don’t understand!” She turned as if to run to the door, her arms flailing. “I have to get home, I have to get to my children.”

  Anna moved quickly from the table to approach Julia. She could see the fear in her eyes as she repeated, “What have I done?”

  Fagan was also now on his feet, concerned. “Julia, calm down. We don’t understand what you are saying.”

  Her voice was rasping; she still seemed unable to catch her breath as she hissed out, “You fucking idiot! He will have taken my babies!”

  19

  Julia sat hunched forward in the passenger seat of the squad car, demanding that they use the siren to get to Wimbledon as fast as possible. As Anna and Julia traveled across London, Cunningham continued to question Fagan about the two men he had hired for Julia’s protection, while Phil ran checks on the company, but they still only could come up with box numbers and dead telephone lines. Next, they tried to trace the Chinese au pair’s references from the papers removed from Julia’s property. They were all false: the families she had supposedly worked for had never heard of her.

  Anna received confirmation of this just as the car drew up outside the house. Julia ran from the car almost before it had stopped, Anna following, as she fumbled with her keys and rang the doorbell, shouting out for Mai Ling to open the door. Anna took the keys and opened the door. Julia pushed her aside, racing into the house. She ran first into the kitchen and then up the stairs, screaming out for Emily and Kathy. The house was ominously quiet.

  To calm Julia, Anna said that perhaps they were at nursery, but when she followed her into their bedroom, it was obvious they were not. Julia was opening drawers and the children’s wardrobe, to find rows of empty hangers. Her face was chalk white.

  Anna sat back on her heels in front of the distressed woman. “Julia, look at me. Look at me!”

  The tears streamed down Julia’s cheeks, and all the fight in her evaporated, but she wouldn’t look at Anna.

  “We have found out that both the bodyguards and your au pair may not be who they say they are.”

  “He’s taken them.” The woman’s voice was leaden.

  “Who, Julia? For God’s sake, start to help me find out what is going on. Who do you think has taken your children?”

  Julia flopped back onto one of the beds and lay there, as Anna got to her feet.

  “Listen to me. If you think someone has taken the girls, if they could be in danger, then for heaven’s sake, talk to me.”

  “He won’t hurt them. It’s me, it’s all my fault.”

  Anna could have shaken her. She repeated their concerns about the au pair and about the bodyguards, in the hope that it would jolt Julia into explaining what had happened.

  To her surprise, Julia straightened out, getting up from the bed and heading out of the room. “I need a drink.”

  She never ceased to amaze Anna; from hysteria over the possibility that her children had been taken, she now appeared resigned to the fact. She went into the drawing room, opened a bottle of brandy, poured a heavy measure into a tumbler, and drank it like water. Anna tried to stop her, but the woman shrugged her arm away. “You want me to talk, then fucking let me have a drink, all right?” She didn’t drink it all, but went and sat on the sofa, kicking off her shoes. “When I found out he was using me, using the kids—that he had lied to me about everything—I decided that I’d pay him back.”

  “Anthony Collingwood?” Anna asked.

  “Who the fuck else do you think I am talking about? You tell me it wasn’t his name, but that’s the only name I knew him by: Anthony fucking Collingwood, the bastard.” She sipped the brandy and then leaned forward, holding the glass loosely in her hands. “He used me. I was foolish enough to go along with it, or maybe greedy. You can say whatever you like about me, but the trappings were all part of it. I’d never had such a life and I truly believed he loved me. If you knew him, you’d understand why I stood by him for so long.”

  Anna remained silent, not wanting to stop Julia talking.

  “I was always afraid of him, you know. I’d have done anything he asked, until I found out; it sort of both happened together, his affair with my bloody sister, and then the phone call.” She sipped some more brandy. “He said that he was in trouble financially, and would be coming to England as he needed money. Something in the U.S. had gone wrong, and this bank in Germany…I never really
knew exactly what he was talking about, but I decided that he wasn’t going to use me anymore. So I took the children and moved out of the house, and kept on moving so he couldn’t track me down until I had done it. I switched every account so he couldn’t touch it, couldn’t access a single cent! I had used this driver—not Frank, as I didn’t know him then—to chauffeur me and the kids around. I was scared, you know, really frightened that Anthony would find me, so I asked him about anyone he knew who would be a good bodyguard.”

  Anna leaned forward. “What was the name of the driver?”

  Julia shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

  Anna passed over a mug shot taken of Donny Petrozzo. “This man?”

  Julia peered at the photograph. “You know, it’s weird, but sitting in the back with him in front, you only really see the back of their head.”

  “But this one you recognize?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “Sure you don’t recall his name?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Does Donny Petrozzo sound familiar?”

  Julia nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like it.”

  “And this man, Donny Petrozzo: you asked him if he knew anyone who would be a good bodyguard/driver?”

  “I’d put an advert in the local paper and this awful little man applied, so I was asking around…” Julia at least had the temerity to look a trifle ashamed.

  “Frank Brandon,” Anna said quietly.

  “Yes, poor Frank. Even though I had covered my tracks, I was still scared Anthony would find me; it was then I talked to Frank about marrying me. I’d have another name, he would live in the house; then, when Rushton had finished working on all the accounts, I planned to leave the country—you know, go somewhere he’d never find me. It was stupid, I was stupid, I am stupid—I’d never really done anything on my own but, whilst I was planning it, I felt stronger than I had ever felt. As if I was, for the first time, in charge of my own life, not treated like some object that could be kept quiet with presents and flash cars.” Julia drained the glass of brandy and hurled it against the wall. It splintered and fell soundlessly on the thick-pile carpet.