Honour Nolan had said she was a beginner at pottery, and twice had mentioned that she had a small kiln in one of the barns. What if that was a lie? What if there wasn’t any kiln, but perhaps a stove: something to give heat to the barn, if someone was living in it? It would be a very good
cover. After looking over the farmhouse, Anna was pretty certain there-was no one else living there—but what if one of their barns was being used? She again went over the possibility that Julius D’Anton might have had problems with his van and somehow inadvertently come across Alexander Fitzpatrick. He could have given D’Anton money and the Mitsubishi to drive, yet knew he would have to get rid of him, so dumped him in the Thames.
Anna showered and changed, and drove to Chiswick to talk to Sandra D’Anton. She really needed to get her time frame in order. She knew the dates of the antiques fair and how many times D’Anton had visited the shop, but had no clear date for when he returned to London. His fingerprints were matched to ones found in the Chalk Farm squat, but were they there before the murder? Had she been wrong about the passenger in the Mitsubishi with Frank Brandon: could it have been Julius D’Anton? That didn’t quite add up. D’Anton was tall, but not six feet four. However, she made a mental note to test his shoes against the prints in blood at the scene of crime.
Sandra was surprised to see Anna, who was wearing casual trousers and a sweater, rather than her usual suit. She invited her into the kitchen, which was in even more disarray, with most of the windows removed. There was a burly guy working in there, and Sandra asked if he would take a break for fifteen minutes. He put down his tools and took himself over to the pub.
In response to Anna’s questions, Sandra found a rather moth-eaten- looking diary that was two years old. All she could recall clearly was that Julius had said he was going to the antiques fair. The next time she had spoken to him was when he had called to say he had found something special, and was going to check out some possible buyers. The next call was to tell her he had trouble with his van. “He was onto something really promising, but he didn’t say what it was. He was, in his words, ‘hanging out with some friends.’”
Sandra shrugged. Usually, this meant he was getting stoned, but she had no idea who these friends were or where he was. When Anna asked it she had seen him after that, Sandra sighed. “Look, I’ve honestly told you everything I know. He could have returned here, but I wasn’t around.”
Anna looked up from her notebook.
“Julius and I were really just sort of cohabiting, if you know what I mean. I’m living on and off with Hal, the builder you saw. With all the work going on in the house, I stay over at his place. Jules could have come home. I don’t really know, but 1 never saw him again.”
“Did your husband know about your relationship with Hal?”
“Yeah—he didn’t mind.”
“So he could have come back here?”
“Yeah. I didn’t check his clothes or anything. I mean, as far as 1 knew, he was still off scouting for antiques, which is why I never mentioned any of this when you first came to see me.”
“But when you did talk to him, he said he was onto something special?”
“That’s right, but he was always onto some scam or other, so I didn’t give it much thought. He said it was going to make us a lot of money, maybe he even said he had some money already. I don’t really remember, he just sounded a bit high; you know, he gabbled a bit. I have got so fed up with these promises over the years, 1 just said, ‘Yeah, yeah, see you when I see you.’ 1 told you this.”
“He said his van had broken down?”
“Yes, he was waiting to get it fixed. It was a dreadful old thing, an old post office van he got for peanuts; he used to drive it into the ground. He said he’d gone into a ditch or something. I honestly didn’t pay that much attention.”
If the damage to D’Anton’s van had been caused by driving it on the narrow lane by Honour Nolan’s farm, this would place him close to the farmhouse. From there, he might have walked farther up the lane and toward the farmhouse. He could then perhaps have seen Fitzpatrick. Anna knew that, without proof, all her stitching together of this information was supposition; nevertheless, she had traced the old post office van and she did now know for sure that D’Anton had called into the ivy-covered cottage. So, he had to have been very close to the farmhouse. The significance of all this hinged on whether or not she was correct about Alexander Fitzpatrick being there.
Anna drove into the car park at the Lambeth laboratories and went into the building to see if Pete was around. She was disappointed, and a trifle confused, to be told that he hadn’t been in. She could see by the extra assistants that work was being done over the weekend. The number of trestle tables with victims’ clothing laid out for testing made it look like a jumble sale. She asked a young Asian scientist if she could look over the clothing from the body of Julius D’Anton.
The polo-neck sweater was cashmere, but very worn and frayed around the neck. The socks had holes in them, and the old tweed jacket had leather patches over the elbows. They had not as yet begun testing and retaining fibers. Anna asked if the shoes had been matched to the bloody footprints left at the drug squat in Chalk Farm. There and then, the scientist, whose name was Shara, picked one up and carried it over to the far side of the room. The footprints had been transferred onto sheets of white paper with markings showing the stitching on the soles. It was obvious that D’Anton’s shoe did not make the imprint; it was nowhere near the same size.
Anna decided that, as she was at the laboratories, she would see if the pathology lab had any results. Passing the office, she saw that Ewan Fielding was sitting eating a sandwich at his desk; he looked up with annoyance when she tapped and entered.
Apologizing for interrupting, she asked if it would be possible for her to see the corpse of Julius D’Anton. Fielding sighed, muttering that it was his weekend off; he was already tired and planning to leave, having had to work long hours to accommodate the extra workload.
“I don’t know if your boss is collecting every corpse from all over London and dumping them on my lap. but the body count supposedly connected to your case is becoming ridiculous,” he grumbled. “I’ve had to ship in another pathologist to give me a few hours off”
They walked to the cold storage section. Fielding still complaining. “No one seems to understand that until I have tests completed, there is nothing I can report.”
“Did he drown?”
“No, and I believe you’ve already been told this,” he snapped as he walked to drawer four and gestured for an assistant to open it up.
“Have you any thoughts on how he died?”
“Thoughts? Thoughts? We don’t surmise, Detective Travis, we get everything tested. We don’t think, but produce the facts.”
D’Anton’s body was uncovered down to his chest.
“I don’t know what you’ll gain from this,” Fielding said, looking down at the dead man.
“So what killed him?” Anna persisted.
Fielding shook his head. “I am not one hundred percent sure. I’m waiting for the toxicology department to finish their tests. I’m also waiting on them from the body of Mr. Petrozzo. All I can tell you is that this chap was not a very healthy specimen, far from it. He had at one time been injecting himself, as we have a lot of broken veins—probably heroin—and he was, I would say, a heavy cocaine user, as his nostrils have almost collapsed. His heart was also enlarged, probably due to his drug intake. Basically, all I can verify is that he stopped breathing!”
“Before he was dumped in the river?”
“Yes. There is no water in his lungs, but…”
Anna turned to him. “But?”
“I discovered a similar injection mark beneath his tongue as found on the body of Petrozzo. I am not able to confirm what drug was used.”
“But you have an idea?” Anna knew that Fielding had called Pete to say he had found a trace of a drug. “With Petrozzo, did you have any clue as to
what had killed him?”
“I am not confirming anything. All I can say is, like this poor chappie, Petrozzo stopped breathing! You will have, Detective Travis, all the information from toxicology in due course. I am not in a position to give you any details.”
Anna could not bring up what Pete had told her, as she knew it could get him into trouble, so she thanked the disgruntled Ewan Fielding and returned to her car. Adding to her “stitching” was the possibility that both Petrozzo and Julius D’Anton had been killed by an overdose of a drug she couldn’t remember the name of .It was after four when Anna drew up outside Pete’s little terraced house. She rang the doorbell and waited. She was about to give up, when the door opened.
“Wow, twice in one day! I am flattered,” Pete said, beaming.
“I was just passing,” she lied.
“Really? Well, you had better come in, as to just pass is quite a drive from your place to here.”
Anna laughed and followed him into the sitting room. Newspapers and coffee mugs were spread all over the floor, and the fire was lit.
“Coffee is on,” he said, fetching a clean mug and carrying the dirty ones to the sink.
“I dropped by the lab, but they said you hadn’t been in.”
“Ah, I got back here and needed a shower, as I’d built up a sweat moving your boxes around. Anyway, after the shower, I felt knackered, so I had a snooze and then decided to read the papers and take my day off.”
Pete handed her a mug of steaming black coffee.
“You didn’t see much inside the antique shop, but there were mugs in there that Sudmore said had been made by Honour.”
Pete sat on the floor and placed another log onto the fire, trying to straighten out as fast as he could: he was stoned, hence he had taken so long to open the front door.
Anna explained about the mugs she had painted as a child with her mother. He was finding it all hard to follow. “What if she didn’t have a kiln? What if it was a cover?” Anna was saying.
“Right, yes,” he said.
“The barn would be a perfect place to hide someone, but it would need to be heated—so what better excuse than to say she had a kiln in there?”
Pete couldn’t help himself; he started to giggle.
“What’s so funny? It’s possible.”
“I know, I know—yes, it is.” Pete tried to look serious, but was having a hard time not only keeping his face straight, but also trying to understand what she was talking about.
Anna was in full flow, but she was getting such an odd response from Pete that she eventually gave up. “Well, I’m obviously not getting through to you,” she said, sipping her coffee, which took her breath away it was so strong.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just it’s so much to take on board. I am sure you must be onto something!” Again he chuckled.
“Why is it so funny? You know what I found out from Fielding? Both Donny Petrozzo and Julius D’Anton have injection marks beneath their tongue and, in both cases, he is unable to give the postmortem report on how they died—apart from saying sarcastically that they stopped breathing!”
“Well, that’s pretty conclusive,” Pete said, trying to look serious.
“You told me about the drug Fielding thought he’d found traces of—what was it called?”
Pete licked his lips—they felt bone-dry. He sipped his coffee. “I’ve forgotten, but you know he said that he wasn’t certain what it was, and not to repeat it to anyone. Did you bring it up?”
“No, because, as I just said, I couldn’t remember what it was called.”
“Nor can I.”
Anna sighed and drained the coffee mug. “I wouldn’t have asked him anyway, and got you into trouble.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Pete got unsteadily to his feet.
Anna looked up at him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, perfect. I’m going to open a bottle.”
She watched him weave his way to the fridge and select a bottle of chilled white. He then rummaged in drawers to find the bottle opener. Anna took a look around the room and saw the ashtray; it was partly shoved beneath a chair. She looked back to Pete as he took down two wineglasses from a cupboard. “Are you stoned?”
Pete placed the glasses onto the counter.
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Well, Your Honor, I do admit to having a large joint this morning. I can’t deny it.”
Anna stood up. “A joint?” “Yes, ma’am! Can’t you smell it? It’s very, very good grass.”
“Is this a regular thing?”
Pete poured the wine.
“Pete, it’s illegal! You must be crazy.”
“It’s just weed, for God’s sake! Any day now they’ll make it legal. It’s not as if I am shipping it in by the ton.” He passed her the wine. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“Well, I am. I mean, do you ever smoke it when you are at work?”
“Don’t be so crass. I just use it to unwind; it helps me sleep.”
Anna sat down again. She was unsure what she should do.
“Cheers,” he said as he sipped the wine and then put another log on the fire. “What are you going to do, Anna—arrest me?”
“Now you’re being crass. I just think someone in your position shouldn’t take such a risk. I mean, if anyone was to know, you could lose your job!”
“Have you ever had a joint?”
Anna looked flushed.
“You haven’t, have you?”
“I’ve never felt the need to.”
“Even when you were at university?”
“No! It was not for lack of opportunity. To be honest, the crowd that got stoned every night were not my type, and if my father had ever found out, I think he would have throttled me.”
“Daddy’s girl!”
“That has nothing to do with it. I respected him and wouldn’t do anything that could not only upset him, but have repercussions: he was a very well-respected police officer.”
“You sound so self-righteous.”
“Maybe I am, but I also take my job very seriously. If I was foolish enough to start smoking dope. I could jeopardize my career. You only have to be caught once, you know.”
“I daresay that is true, but I’m in my own home and I use it to relax. And, may I say, it would do you a hell of a lot of good to try it. It would maybe let you relax and get off this case for a few minutes.” “What you don’t take into consideration is that you have to score it from someone, which means that he or she is also aware of your addiction.”
“1 am not a flicking addict.”
“Nevertheless, the risk of it being known to another party means they could have a hold on you.”
“In what way, for Chrissakes?”
“Well, for example, say you get some evidence that is detrimental to one of these people you score your dope from—they could get in touch with you and say that they would like you to lose the evidence.”
“Blackmail me?”
“Yes, that’s a risk.”
Pete leaned back against the sofa. “Well, I’ll have to warn my brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“He grows it.”
Anna finished her wine. “You don’t have a brother; you told me about your family.”
“Ah, this is my Australian stepbrother. He lives in Dorset.”
“You get it from him?”
Pete turned to look at her. “This is getting really boring, Anna. I smoke dope, and I will continue to do so. I am at risk only because I let you in and you are a policewoman—a detective, no less! Any risk I am getting into will probably come from Miss Super Sleuth. Now. can we change the subject?”
“I’m going home.” She stood up.
Pete remained lying on the floor, his head resting back on the sofa. He watched her put her empty wineglass on the counter.
“I’ll show myself out.”
“Fine.”
Tight-lipped, Anna walked to the front do
or. Pete made no effort to get up, so she let herself out. He stayed on the floor for a while longer, then crawled to the ashtray and took out the half-smoked joint. He was about to light up when the doorbell rang again.
“It’s me,” Anna shouted.
Pete opened the door and stood back in mock horror. “Oh Christ! You’ve come to arrest me!”
“Very funny. I’ve got a bloody clamp on my car.” She slammed the front door closed. “I’ll have to call and get it taken off. How long will it take?”
“I have no idea. Could be hours—depends on where the clamping buggers are.”
Anna sat down and opened her briefcase, taking out her mobile. Pete poured her another glass of wine and topped his own up.
Keeping her voice controlled, she explained that she wanted the clamp taken off her car immediately. She was a police officer interviewing a suspect and required her vehicle to return to the station.
She snapped off her phone in a fury. “They said it’ll take at least an hour! I don’t believe it.”
“Am I the suspect you told them you were interviewing?” Pete said, grinning.
“Oh, shut up. They won’t let me off the fine because it’s a private vehicle. It’s bloody outrageous.”
“Double yellow lines, sweetheart—you know about the parking. You should have driven round to the garage at the back of the house.”
Anna accepted a fresh glass of wine and sat on the sofa.
Pete lay prone beside her. “I was just about to light up.”
“For Chrissakes, don’t do that! If they come, they’ll smell it.”
“I’m not going to let them in! Your car is outside—they won’t smell it from there. Besides, they’re clampers, not police.”
Anna sighed with frustration.
Pete lit up the joint, took a big lungful and then held it up. “You know, you should just try it at least once, so you’re experienced in the field of marijuana smokers. It will give you a better insight into the farce of it being illegal. You know as well as I do the cops go easy on it; it’s the hard stuff they are trying to stop.”
“Well, they say it’s the stepping-stone to hard drugs.”
“Bullshit.” Pete leaned on one elbow and held out the joint. “Go on.
Deadly Intent Page 20
