Deadly Intent

by Lynda La Plante

  Roach and Planter were in real trouble, as the kids were so terrified that they talked freely; some were as young as eleven. A few girls who were legitimate hairdressers also spilled the beans. The nontalkers were their heavies and six Jamaican servers, who were the guys who would pass the gear and take the money to Delroy and Silas. Three were illegal immigrants; the other three had records for drug offenses and burglary. Also discovered was a considerable amount of cash in a suitcase, with lists of numerous names and addresses.

  It would take hours to process the offenses against the dealers. It was imperative for the Murder Squad to question the two men with reference to their case, but the Drug Unit were not prepared to release them into their custody until they were sure they had charges against them. Cunningham was furious, and eventually had to get Langton to secure the release of the two suspects into their custody. They were to be delivered the following morning and held in the cells at the station until they had finished being interrogated. They would then be returned to the Drug Squad to complete their charges.By this time, it was after nine o’clock. Cunningham called it quits for the night but wanted the team back early the following morning. Anna wrote up her reports and did not get home until after ten-thirty. It had been a long but productive day. Already the two suspects’ fingerprints were being matched with those from the drug squat, and they would have verification of any hoped-for match by the following morning. Suddenly the case was starting to move—yet again down to Anna’s diligence, in requestioning Jeremy Webster and Eddie Court. The next morning, however, Cunningham reprimanded her for not gaining the two dealers’ names from Eddie Court in her initial interview. If she had done so, it would have taken the case forward far more quickly. This time, Anna stood her ground and, trying hard to retain her composure, said that it was her initial interview with Jeremy Webster that had steered the case. If it had not been for him, they would not even have had the link to Eddie Court.

  “Well, I want the little bastard brought in and charged for withholding evidence. I am not satisfied.”

  “I did give him my word that if he gave me information, he would not be prosecuted,” Anna said angrily.

  “That was not your prerogative. Bring him in.”

  Anna gritted her teeth. She wanted to be privy to the interviews with Delroy Planter and Silas Roach, however, so kept her temper. It was still only eight-thirty, and they had not as yet been brought over to the station. Both suspects were to be taken before a magistrate to answer the drugs charges; there was no hope of either being granted bail. Anna gave instructions for Gordon and two officers to bring in Eddie Court. They wanted a statement from him saying that he had scored from both the men, and that they were in the Chalk Farm squat the night of Frank Brandon’s murder. This was confirmed at ten o’clock. They now had a match with their prints from those taken from the squat.

  There was a buzz as the two suspects were delivered at eleven-fifteen. They were taken to separate cells while their solicitors met with Cunningham. They would be questioned separately. Both were informed that there was strong evidence that one of them had committed a murder. Fingerprints on the Glock automatic were confirmed as belonging to Delroy Planter; ballistics had already confirmed that the weapon was the one used to kill Frank Brandon. This detail brought the incident-room tension up a notch. Everyone was eager to know the outcome of the forthcoming interrogation.

  Only Anna was doubtful that Delroy was the shooter. He was such a big man. Frank Brandon had been shot through the drug-squat door; the two bullets had entered his chest at an upward slant.When she mentioned this to Phil, he dismissed it sarcastically, suggesting that the bastard could have been sitting down—or that maybe they should look for a dwarf, because Brandon had also been shot while he lay on the floor! Like Cunningham, he also brought up the fact that she had questioned Eddie Court days ago.

  His attitude infuriated Anna. “Well, at least I proved that Mr. Webster was of value!”

  Phil shrugged. They had, he murmured, wasted hours of time tracking down the vehicles listed by Jeremy Webster. Anna gave up. There was no way Phil was going to give her credit for anything she had done, but she didn’t have a row with him, remembering Langton’s warning about getting along with the team, especially Phil.

  It was not until twelve-thirty that Cunningham gave the team the lineup for the interviews. She would take Delroy Planter into interview room one, and Anna was to interview Silas Roach in room two. Cunningham had Phil with her, and Anna was with Gordon. Both suspects would have their solicitors present: Elwyn Jones was representing Planter and Margery Patterson was acting for Roach.

  Silas Roach had overpowering body odor. He was still wearing his knitted hat, and had not had any change of clothing since his arrest. He was belligerent and totally uncooperative, repeatedly sucking his teeth and kicking against the table leg. Anna read him his rights, but he wasn’t listening. Patterson was trying her best to make him pay attention, but he didn’t seem interested; he kept on saying that he had been set up and was not going to say anything else. He had never been at the Chalk Farm estate and his arrest the previous day was a frame-up. He was at the cafe having a cup of coffee.

  Anna let him rant on as she took out her notebook and files. “Mr. Roach, we have confirmation that your prints were found at number nineteen in the Warren Estate. We also have a witness to your presence on the night of the murder.” Anna showed the photographs of Frank Brandon.

  Roach was pushing his chair back and clearing his throat as if he was going to spit on the floor in front of him. “Fucking lies, fucking lies.”

  Anna tried to maintain her calm as she plowed on, bringing out more photographs from ballistics showing the bullets and saying that they now had verification that the weapon used was the one Roach had in his possession; since it also had his prints on it, they were certain he had been the man who pulled the trigger and killed Frank Brandon.

  “I fucking didn’t, I was never fucking there. It’s a fucking setup.”

  Cunningham was having a similar session with Delroy Planter. He had constantly refused to answer any questions, saying nothing but “No comment.” He denied ever using the Warren Estate to sell drugs; even when told they had witnesses, he still denied it. He also denied that he was dealing drugs from the cafe and said that, like Roach, he was only there for a coffee.

  “Mr. Planter, we are not interviewing you about the drug raid. This is an entirely different case. You are here to answer questions regarding the murder of an ex-police officer, Frank Brandon.”

  Phil took over and, like Anna, he showed the mortuary pictures and the murder site. He got the same denial. It was at this point that the interview-room door banged open, and James Langton barged in.

  While Cunningham explained into the tape that he had now joined the interview, Langton banged his fist down on the desk.

  “Take a good look, Delroy. He was a police officer; he was also my friend. You’ll get time for this and your life won’t be worth living, I’ll make sure of it. Start talking—you got five minutes before we charge you with his murder. Your prints are all over the fucking weapon, and we have a witness who says you fired the shots. Don’t think your pal next door isn’t going to save his own skin.”

  Langton dragged over a chair and sat opposite Delroy. Elwyn Jones, Delroy’s solicitor, asked about the evidence. Langton glared at him. “Take a look.” He swiped at the papers on the table.

  “I am advising my client not to answer any further questions until I am satisfied.”

  “I am not wasting any more time,” Langton said. “You can play out

  the ‘no comment’ game but, like I said, we have a witness.You are being charged with the murder of Frank Brandon.”

  “I never fucking shot him, man! It wasn’t me!”

  Langton leaned over the desk. “Then tell us who it was.You help us, Delroy, and we can give you a break, a big one.”

  Delroy shook his head, sighing.

  Anna was not h
aving any luck with Silas Roach. He still maintained that he was never at Chalk Farm and that he had never met Frank Brandon. No matter what angle Anna tried with him, he was dismissive and becoming more and more abusive. Langton again banged into the interview room, wafting sheets of paper.

  As Anna reported his entrance into the tape, Langton leaned close to Roach. “Your pal has just put you right in it. You want to read his statement? You fired the Glock automatic into Frank Brandon’s body, you then opened the door and stood over him, firing three more shots into his head and face.”

  Patterson demanded to see the paperwork and to have a discussion with her client. Langton dragged up a chair and banged it down. Gordon got up and stood against the wall as Anna gave Langton more room at the table. He was as she remembered him: loud and brash, leering into Silas’s face as he listed the charges they were going to slap on him. “You fucking shot a police officer, Silas. He was a friend of mine, and I can guarantee it’ll be twenty years.”

  Suddenly Silas stopped his bragging; he hung his head and stared at the floor.

  “Start talking, sunshine, because we are not fucking around anymore. Selling dope to a few street kids is nothing compared to what we are wrapping around your neck. Your pal next door doesn’t want to get blamed for what you did. You opened fire, straight through the door. You never gave Frank Brandon a chance, did you? Did you?”

  Anna glanced at the documents brought in by Langton: they were old statements, including an office memo about cleaning up coffee cups after a briefing! No matter how much Silas’s solicitor tried to halt the interview, she was ignored. Langton did his leaving act, pushing

  back his chair and rising. It was at this point that Silas Roach started talking.

  They could have heard a pin drop as Silas, still with his head bowed, staring at the floor, explained his part in the murder of Frank Brandon. He swore that he did not use the Glock; he said it was a man called Donny Petrozzo. Piece by piece, he recalled what had taken place. Donny, who was well known to both him and Delroy, had told them about a package he had got; he said it contained drugs worth millions and he wanted them to deal the gear and cut him a big slice. The only problem was that he didn’t know what the stuff was, and had to ask around.

  Silas was asked if the drug package contained Fentanyl. He hesitated, unsure even now what the stuff was called. Delroy had made inquiries and been told it was a very powerful opiate. Donny had turned up at the squat to discuss where and how they would deal. He was very hyper, and Delroy was uncertain about dealing with him, as he refused to explain where he had obtained it from. Donny said he had tried it out, that it was mind-blowing; they all reckoned he was still high on the stuff, as he was acting so crazy. The three of them were arguing about it when there was a rap on the door. A henchman slid open the small caged opening and Donny had gone crazy. He had grabbed his pistol, pushed his way to the door, and opened fire.

  “He just shot through the fucking door! It was mayhem; we was all trying to get the gun off him, and he was screaming and shouting. Then he picks up the silencer, kicks open the door, and starts shooting again. I grabbed him and I got me gun back—it’s a fucking Glock, right? And he was spitting and screeching and there is this dead geezer on the floor.”

  Anna leaned forward. “What about the man with him?”

  “What?”

  “There was someone else with Frank Brandon—did you see him?”

  “No, but Donny did a runner, and Delroy says we had all better fuck off out of there. That’s the God’s honest truth; there was blood and fucking brains spattered all over the place. I got out through the window.” Cunningham and Phil were just finishing taking Delroy’s statement. His story was very close to Silas’s: Donny Petrozzo, high on drugs, had been at the squat, wanting to get them to deal and cut him in. The next minute, Donny picked up the gun and opened fire; they had all been freaked. Delroy had stood over the dead man, even tried to find out if he was from the Drug Squad, then, certain the scream would go up, he had run.

  As far as Delroy knew, Petrozzo had escaped; he had even tried to contact him, but couldn’t get any answer on his mobile. He had decided that it was best to keep well away from him.

  When Phil asked about the package, Delroy said that, as far as he could remember, it was still in Donny’s possession. He wasn’t interested in it, as it was some drug he didn’t know about. All he was certain of was that Donny had got away. He was also unable to recall the man who had accompanied Frank. At the next briefing, Langton sifted through both men’s statements. He was of a mind that they had both told the truth. The series of gunshots also confirmed what Mrs. Webster had said: first the loud bangs, and then pop, pop, pop, after Donny had fixed the silencer to the weapon.The question was whether Donny had taken the package with him when he escaped, or had he not brought it to the squat in the first place? Langton believed he had had it with him, and had done a runner carrying it. They were still no closer to identifying the tall man accompanying Frank Brandon. They were also trying to fathom out why Frank Brandon, who worked for Donny as a chauffeur, and therefore would have known him well, was shot. Anna inteijected that, although they knew that Frank did work for Donny, at some point he became employed by Julia Brandon; it could have been that Donny had not seen him for some time. The shots were fired upward. Donny was short, maybe he wasn’t aiming at Frank but the man behind him? Langton shook his head. Donny had pumped more shots into Frank, making sure he was dead. Anna frowned. “I know you believe their story, but Delroy said that he had tried to find out who Frank was. Maybe Donny just ran, then Delroy took a look at the dead man, maybe searched his pockets. Frank had his old ID card, which would scare the shit out of him, so possibly it was Delroy who fired the next shots with the silencer to make sure he was dead.”

  Anna decided that she would check out the vehicles again. How had Donny got to the squat? On foot? She doubted it; they knew that Frank had driven up in the Mitsubishi. She was trying to fathom out when Frank had taken possession of the Mitsubishi that they knew was connected to Julius D’Anton and Stanley Leymore. She wanted to talk to Frank’s girlfriend Connie again. She looked up: Langton was bringing up exactly what she had just queried in her mind. He was pointing to the incident board and the arrows linking the jeep to the dead men; then he moved along to ring Julia Brandon’s name.

  “So far, we have nothing of interest from the surveillance teams. She takes her daughters to school and picks them up, either with or without the au pair. She does grocery shopping, accompanied by the two heavies, and that’s about it. We’re still trying to get an ID on them from this company they work for, but we’re getting no response from the box number their Range Rover’s registered to. She remains at home every night; the only visitor is slimeball Simon Fagan—he has called on her three times, stayed for a few hours, and then left.” Next, he moved on to the Oxfordshire farm. Damien Nolan went to work every day at the university. Honour Nolan remained at Honey Farm or went grocery shopping on a bicycle; there had been no visitors.

  Langton twisted his pen in his hands, then tossed it aside. “Let’s go through a possible scenario. Donny Petrozzo may have recognized Alexander Fitzpatrick at the airport; he could have even driven him, or was hired to drive someone else and saw him. Did he then follow him, approach him? I dunno. Next, we have Frank Brandon working for Donny. It’s possible that he could have driven Fitzpatrick, or even collected something for him: the package of drugs. We do know that Donny had in his possession a package of Fentanyl—we know he died of an overdose of it; we also know that Julius D’Anton died in the same way. What we don’t know is if this is what Fitzpatrick is handling, was handling, or even if he fucking features in all this! Travis is keen on the idea that he does, but we still have no evidence that confirms he is back in the UK and involved in all this mess. What we do have are four dead men who all link together; and then we have these two ladies, Julia Brandon and Honour Nolan.”

  Next, he drew a line under the na
me Anthony Collingwood. No one had been able to trace Julia Brandon’s ex-partner, nor had they had any joy with the other aliases used by Fitzpatrick; passport control were taking their time. Langton removed his jacket and tugged at his hair. For the first time, Anna noticed that he seemed to be tired and in pain. He rubbed his bad knee and asked for a chair. “So, as we are going round in circles, I think we have to kick some ass; put some pressure on both our ladies. We use the search warrants now. I have a feeling we’ll come up empty-handed, but it’s about the only way we can proceed.”

  Gordon went to answer a call, as Langton continued, saying that Eddie Court’s statement had been taken and he had been released; he had withheld evidence, but it was too much paperwork to waste time on prosecuting him. He went on to say that they should give some kind of commendation to Jeremy Webster. Then came the breakthrough from the police station in Oxfordshire. Gordon had taken the call and returned to the incident room even more flushed in the face than usual.

  Alexander Fitzpatrick had been arrested for drunk driving while still at college. He had also been charged with disorderly conduct. The local Oxfordshire station, for some unknown reason, had retained the file dating back to the seventies. They now had a set of Alexander Fitzpatrick’s fingerprints. These were on their way to the lab for testing, specifically against the blood swipe in the Mitsubishi and the part-thumb and palmprint.

  Langton looked at Anna with renewed energy and smiled. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we will now see if DI Travis has been correct all along: that the kingpin is back in the UK. If we get a result, then the search of both women’s homes is going to be very interesting.”