Deadly Intent

by Lynda La Plante

  “Well, if you can trust what he says,” Gordon scoffed.

  “He came up with all these, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Ifjeremy’s correct, that little bastard was lying: he went to the squat twice in one night.” Jeremy was back pushing the trolleys, all neat and perfectly lined up, staring ahead as his eyes caught sight of a stray trolley a few yards across the car park. Anna smiled and waved, but his brilliant blue eyes gave no hint of recognition as he herded them back for the shoppers to use.

  “He’s got to be bloody fit to handle them—they’re heavy,” Gordon commented.

  Anna said nothing, angry that Eddie Court had lied to her. On the night Frank Brandon died, he had scored drugs from the squat. Had he also lied about how much he had actually seen?

  “You okay?” Gordon asked as they waited by the barrier.

  “I am going to look like a right idiot if this pans out. I’d like to get that bloody Eddie Court and wring his neck.” She flashed her ID card to the man inside the booth, and he lifted the barrier.

  Eddie had moved out of his mother’s place and was sharing a basement flat in Maida Vale. His mother said that he didn’t have a mobile, which Anna didn’t believe, and he no longer had his old Mini. The basement had a steep staircase going down from the pavement, with big iron railings and a cast-iron gate. The door was quite modern, in varnished pine, with a stained-glass insert held together by white Band-Aids.

  They rang the bell to the flat but could hear no sound, so banged on the door. Still no response. They looked through the windows but could see little other than gray dirty nets and some kind of heavy curtain. Anna banged with the flat of her hand; Gordon tapped her arm to listen. Then locks were being moved, one at the top of the door and one near the bottom. The latch drew back, and the door inched open. There stood a girl with dyed black hair; her face was a pasty white, with thick black mascara and eyeliner making her look like a badger.

  “Eddie Court—in, is he, love?”

  She screwed up her eyes as if trying to focus. Anna showed her ID, and gave her name and Gordon’s.

  The girl didn’t seem that concerned. “What do you want?”

  “To talk to Eddie; is he in?”

  “Is he the DJ?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Can we come in?”

  The girl stepped back, wrapping her robe around herself. She was barefoot, and obviously suffering from a hangover.

  “Which room is he in?”

  “Back room, I think—straight through, past the kitchen.”

  “Thank you. What’s your name, love?”

  “Megan Phillips. I live in the front room, with my boyfriend. It’s his place, but he’s out.”

  “Megan, can you go back to your room, please? I’ll knock on the door if I need to talk to you.”

  There was an overpowering smell in the place—a mixture of mildew, joss sticks, and body odor. The kitchen was filthy, with dirty pots and pans and cutlery and leftover takeaway cartons. A bin spewed out stale food; even the lino seemed to have a film of grease.

  “Ugh,” Gordon said, pulling a face.

  The end door had a large poster of Alice Cooper pinned to it; the wall beside it was covered in names and phone numbers. A pair of old Wellington boots lay tossed in the corner, alongside a broken umbrella and a Hoover with a split bag. Anna banged on the door and waited. Gordon tried the doorknob, and it turned; a safety chain hung loose. He pushed it open wider, but it was hard to see anything.The walls were a dark blue; there was a blue, threadbare carpet, but this could hardly be seen for the mounds of dirty clothes: jeans, shirts, shoes, sneakers, cowboy boots, smelly socks, and vests. The room was a pigsty and the smell disgusting.

  Anna eased her way farther into the room; there was a chink of light coming from the drawn curtains. The bed was a mound of old blankets and a stained orange duvet. Anna looked over the room, then gestured for Gordon to cross to the bed. She lifted the duvet and then both of them pulled it back. Curled in a ball, wearing socks, underpants, and a torn T-shirt was a comatose Eddie Court. He didn’t wake, even when they pulled the curtains back. The light streamed in as best it could through the dirty windows, but still he remained curled up.

  “Is he dead?” Gordon whispered.

  “No, I think he’s sleeping one off, though.” She nudged the bed. It was astonishing: they banged the bed and shook him but he remained out of it.

  Gordon was becoming freaked out that he might have overdosed. “Come on, Eddie, wake up!” he said loudly.

  Anna turned as there was a loud blast of the Muppets’ theme tune. It came from a dirty pair of jeans by her feet. Somehow this got a reaction. Eddie gave a low moan and grunted. Totally unaware that Anna and Gordon were in the room, he flopped over the side of the bed and reached, with shaking hands, to his dirty jeans.

  “It’s probably your mother,” Anna said, snatching the jeans away.

  Eddie flopped back and squinted at the light coming in from the window. “Fucking hell, what’s going on?”

  “Just need to ask you a few questions.”

  Anna sent Gordon out to get some coffee while Eddie went into the bathroom. There was broken frosted glass set into the door, so Anna could see Eddie’s shadow as he tried to wake himself up. There was no possibility he could make it out of the window, as there were bars across it. She gave him five minutes before she rapped on the door for him to come out. He had dragged on a pair of jeans; at least he was more awake.

  “Get out of it last night, did you?” Anna said, following him back into the disgusting bedroom.

  “Yeah, smashed.” He flung himself back on the bed, rubbing his hair.

  “Okay, we have a few minutes before Detective Constable Loach comes back.”

  “He gettin’ me some coffee?”

  “Yes, but that’s a plus for you—I wanted a few words with you alone. If you give me what I want, then we won’t take you in.”

  “For doing what?”

  “Lying, withholding evidence—you can get into big trouble for that.”

  “I never done nothing.”

  She moved closer. “Don’t play any more games, Eddie. I want the truth this time.”

  “About what?”

  “The night you went to visit the drug dealers in Chalk Farm.”

  “I told you, I never went in.”

  “Not the second time you were there; that was when you were able

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  to identify this man.” She showed him the photograph of Frank Brandon. “But you went to the same place earlier that night, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Eddie, we know that you did. Now, I am not interested in what you scored—I just want the name of the dealer.”

  Eddie closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  “It’s up to you, Eddie. Give up who was dealing or you’ll be arrested.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “If it ever got out, I’d be fucking dead meat.”

  “Oh, so you do know?”

  “I never said that!”

  “Give me the name, Eddie. It doesn’t mean they’ll know it came from you. Any more lies and 1 will lose my patience.”

  “They don’t deal from there no more.”

  “Yes, I know that.The place was closed down.”

  “You’ll look out for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Eddie chewed his lips. A cold sore on his upper lip started to bleed. He used a corner of his filthy sheet to dab at it. “I only ever seen one of ‘em—since, that’s Delroy Planter.”

  Anna jotted the name down; it wasn’t one she knew. She looked up as Eddie still messed with his lip. “The second?”

  “He’s a mean bastard but, like I said, I’ve not seen him since. It was a bloke called Silas Roach.”

  Anna pressed for descriptions of both men. Eddie shrugged and muttered, but eventually gave Anna some idea what the men looked like. Both, Eddie thoug
ht, were Jamaican.The front doorbell rang and it made them both jump.

  Gordon had left the door on the latch and was already heading down the dingy corridor with coffees. Anna asked for the address where she could find the dealers. Eddie muttered and moaned, but gave it up, as Gordon held out his coffee.

  “Okay, Eddie. If this doesn’t add up, we will be back.”

  Anna ran both names by Sam Power. He had no record of either of the men, and no information on the squat they were now using to deal from. The address was in Kensal Rise, not that far from Chalk Farm, nor from Maida Vale; it hung between the two. Sam knew the area well, as they had busted a row of shops there two years previously. They had swooped on two hairdressing salons and a grocery store, and made over twenty-two arrests, including runners, delivery boys and girls, customers trying to score. The stash of drugs was impressive, from heroin to crack cocaine, hash, and marijuana. It was a well-publicized raid and the row of shops had since been closed and boarded up. Sam was surprised that the two dealers would be either stupid or audacious enough to operate from there again.

  “Two years ago? Maybe the businesses have reopened.”

  “Yeah, in more ways than one.”

  Sam suggested they take it quietly. He and Anna should first stake out the area, as neither knew what their suspects looked like, apart from Eddie’s descriptions. Silas Roach had dreadlocks and always wore a multicolored, knitted bobble hat, whereas Delroy Planter, “the muscleman,” was lighter-skinned and often wore a leather jacket and trousers.

  Anna and Sam, with two other members of the Drug Squad, went to Kensal Rise. They used a dental practice overlooking the semicircle of shops to set up their surveillance. Three were still boarded up, but the central one was now a cafe with a board outside, advertising all-day breakfasts. Sam still had all the maps of the previous bust, so they could ascertain the ways in and out of the premises. The other building to have reopened was a hair salon Operating specifically for ethnic customers, hair and nail extensions. However, the flat above still had boards across the windows.

  Sam used binoculars to check over both the properties from the window in the dental surgery. He handed them to Anna. “There’s our man now, outside the cafe.”

  Their undercover officer was a short skinny black guy, wearing dirty jeans, trainers, and a cap pulled down low over his face. He appeared to be in deep conversation with a very young black boy who was wheeling his bike around him. There were a number of kids with bikes, both male and female, who entered the cafe, came out, and went into the new hair salon.

  “They should be in school,” Anna said.

  “Yeah, but they’ll be earning a lot of cash, running the drugs back and forth.” Sam straightened up as a BMW drew up and out got a massive guy with a muscular body and bald shaved head. “I’d say that’s your Delroy.”

  Anna drew up a chair to sit beside Sam at the window.

  “Second target just driven up in the Mercedes. From the description, that’s got to be Silas Roach.” Anna passed the binoculars back to Sam. They watched as the two men conferred on the pavement, and then strolled into the cafe, shortly followed by the undercover Drug Squad officer.

  They maintained surveillance for over two more hours until Sam received a call from his officer and left the building. Anna stayed at the window, watching, her nerves at breaking point; she couldn’t understand why they didn’t simply arrest the pair. There was also something very uncomfortable about remaining closeted in the small dental surgery with its central leather chair and tray of dental equipment.

  Sam eventually returned. “Okay, they’re dealing from a back room in the cafe. It’s got a bolted door and access over the yard into the hair salon—I’d say for a quick getaway if needed. There’s a fire escape, with another possible exit route. Both cars are registered to different names than our targets, plus addresses we’re checking out.”

  “When are you going to make an arrest?” Anna asked.

  “Not for a while; we want them dealing. Apparently they are waiting on a drop—our man was told to come back in an hour. Right now they are sitting down to a full breakfast!”

  “But we know they were dealing from the Chalk Farm estate.”

  “So your informant says, but we’ve got no prints that match any records. These two are clean and maybe very mean, according to our man. He reckons they have weapons, and they’ve got heavies inside as well. I’ll need backup and, if we get them, handling gear. It’s going to

  make interviewing them a lot easier if we have something to deal with, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  Anna nodded and looked at her watch. It was after two. Putting in a call to the station, she was told that most of the team were out, but Gordon was there. They had a development with the boat, Dare Devil, he told her. It had been sold more than eight years ago and was now registered to a charter company working out of Malta. The same charter company had also rented it out to Carlo Simonetti, who was a legitimate businessman. The company had bought the boat when it had been anchored in Cannes, and still did charters there for the film festivals. They had no record of Alexander Fitzpatrick using it; the sale had gone through with a man named Stephen Anderson. This was possibly another alias used by Fitzpatrick, as they had so far been unable to trace him, and as yet had no luck from passport and immigration.

  Anna was frustrated. They had no details on the surveillance of either Julia Brandon or the Oxfordshire farm, but a trace had been put on the Range Rover driven by the two men that Anna had seen at the Old Windmill talking to Julia Brandon and her solicitor. They were possibly ex-army—or marines, as the Range Rover was registered to a mercenary agency. As yet the police had not had confirmation of either of the men’s names, as the company just had a box number—but they were being checked out.

  Cunningham had interviewed Simon Fagan, who was still accusing the police of harassing his client. He said that he had instigated the hiring of the men to protect Mrs. Brandon from unnecessary invasion of privacy. Cunningham believed he was unaware of any further surveillance now operating. That was about it; in other words, nothing had really moved forward.

  Anna wondered if Simon Fagan could have an ulterior motive for his championing of Julia Brandon, either financial or sexual. She went for the latter. She asked if there was any more information from Rushton, and was taken aback to be told that Langton was handling the next interview.

  It was almost four when Sam was confident that they should move in. He had two wagons with drug-and-weapon sniffer dogs, and had orchestrated the entire bust along the same lines as the massive one two years previously. He was still astonished that the two targets had brazenly taken over the cafe and hair salon, knowing they had been the focus of a previous drug bust. It was either arrogance or stupidity, or gross misjudgment and inexperience.

  Anna said nothing. If these two men also worked out of the Chalk Farm drug squat, then that was how they operated—taking over rundown properties. From their luxury cars, they were obviously making money hand over fist. Could one of them be the killer of Frank Brandon?

  Sam turned to her, adjusting his earpiece. “Okay, it’s going down. It makes it a lot easier in broad daylight.”

  Anna stood up, but he gestured for her to remain sitting.

  “Watch from here! I don’t want you in the thick of it. Let me do my job.”

  Anna frowned. The hours she had been hanging out there, and now she was told she wouldn’t be in on the arrest! It really infuriated her, but there was nothing she could say.

  The two police people-carriers suddenly drove up and moved into position, blocking off the road exits at either end. At the same time, armed officers moved in from the front and rear of the building.

  Anna stared from the high window as the suspects came out with their hands on their heads. A few women were screeching and shouting abuse, as they had been removed from beneath the dryers. The hairdressers, wearing bright pink overalls, were also shouting and yelling as they were led out. Th
ey formed two lines along the pavement as the officers with the dogs held back the yapping, barking animals. The young kids were herded out and lined up; next came two mean-looking men with muscles and black shirts and trousers, struggling as they were cuffed. It was like a bizarre Noah’s Ark, with people being brought out two by two.

  The last out were their two targets, Delroy Planter and Silas Roach.

  Both men were handcuffed to heavyweight officers and forced to stand facing the wall. The sniffer dogs were then released inside both the cafe and the hair salon. The weapon-sniffer dog weaved in and out of the lines of men and women. It was extraordinary to watch; if the dog picked up the scent of a weapon on someone, it sat down in front of them. The dogs were switched every fifteen minutes to keep their sense of smell clear.

  While weapons were being recovered this way, from flick knives to machetes to small-caliber pistols, armed officers with large boxes were removing a further array of weapons from the cafe. Then came the uniformed officers, ready to remove the men and woman, take down statements, and generally pave the way for clearing the area. They took the first load away as Delroy and Silas remained facing the wall.

  When Sam rejoined Anna, he was grinning, and looked elated. “Well, our guys are something else! They both claim they were at the cafe to just score a bit of hash. Not illegal, and for medicinal purposes only!”

  Anna smiled, but became serious as Sam held up a plastic bag containing a large silver Glock pistol. “Where did you find it?”

  “In the cafe. In fact, Silas Roach tried to reach for it, then acted all innocent as if he didn’t even know it was there!”

  Anna looked out of the window just as Silas Roach was being turned from facing the wall. He had both wrists cuffed, and kicked out as the weapon dog barked and sat in front of him. She could feel her adrenaline pumping. Might she be looking at the man who had shot Frank Brandon? If she was, he’d also shot the man standing behind him. Would he be able to identify Alexander Fitzpatrick?

  CHAPTER 16

  The incident room was filled to bursting as the team received the update. Anna and Gordon were now waiting for their turn to interview Silas Roach and Delroy Planter, who had both been charged with dealing and possession of class-A drugs—heroin and cocaine, and a large quantity of hashish and marijuana. A bulk of hash had been discovered hidden in one of the old-fashioned hairdryers.