Deadly Intent (37 page)

Cunningham paused. "Last, but not least, where is Alexander Fitzpatrick now? If he did have a plan to begin using some of the stash of Fentanyl, where is it? We need to find out if he was at that drug squat and if he did use Frank Brandon. He was, as Travis has said, working for Julia—so why did he accompany Fitzpatrick to the squat?" Cunningham turned back to the incident board; with all the links, it looked like Spaghetti Junction.

Anna raised her hand. "We do have confirmation that whoever drove the Mitsubishi left bloodstains inside it, which we have matched with prints to Fitzpatrick. We also know that he could have been wounded, as the blood matches that on the bullet from the Glock pistol. If the blood also matches the stains on the sheets taken from the Oxfordshire farm, then we know Fitzpatrick was in the UK, and was the man standing behind Frank Brandon when he got shot."

Cunningham frowned in irritation. "I am aware of that, Travis, but can someone bring in the bloody timing of events? We have four dead men and we are still unsure who died when; we know where, but we do not have a clear A equals B equals C equals D, and we need it to clarify who the hell did what. This has to be a priority. Tomorrow, we concentrate on that but, for now, we leave Damien Nolan and his wife loose until we have completed the search of the farm, and forensics gives us details on the items removed."

The briefing over, it was after ten-thirty in the evening. Everyone was tired out, having been on duty since three in the morning. Then Langton eased his way to the front of them all. Those who had half risen to leave sat back down again.

"I think DCI Cunningham has outlined pretty much everything we need to be concentrating on. We have made progress but we cannot sit back for a second. I am very concerned by the couple at the farmhouse; I think they appear too confident. As yet, we do not have enough to

arrest them, but they should be brought in for questioning—see if we can put some pressure on them. My main concern is that we might have lost our prime suspect and he has gone to ground. If he hasn't, we have a very dangerous man on the loose. It is looking as if he has systematically wiped out anyone who could identify him, but he never guessed we'd get lucky—first with his fingerprint, and secondly with this." Langton jabbed at the photograph taken from Mai Ling's phone. "Get this to both Silas Roach and Delroy Planter; see if they can give us confirmation that he was the man with Frank Brandon at the drug squat."

Langton had his back to the team as he glanced over the board; in his usual dramatic way, he paused, as he turned and stared at the team. "If this bastard is here in the UK, I think our body count is going to go up. He's broke and he may have a stash of very dangerous drugs, so find him—before he kills again. That's it; go and recharge your batteries."

The team broke up. Anna was heading toward her office when Langton asked her to join him. "It was good work with Julia Brandon," he said. "Up to a point."

"I'm sorry?"

"As soon as she started to open up, you should have brought her into the station. As it stands, we are going to have to go over all that ground again. Even though it was informative, we need dates, and we need that financial guy to collaborate everything she told you."

"I was supervising the search of her property."

"Don't make excuses. We can't afford to waste any more time. Like I said, Fitzpatrick may still be in the UK, but he could also have done another disappearing act—which is why those two at the farm are so confident."

"Maybe they won't be if we get a result from forensics."

Langton sighed with irritation. "Which gives us what? They had a visitor. They were old friends. We've got nothing, Anna."

"I disagree. If we can prove that Damien Nolan wrote the note with directions to the farm found inside the Mitsubishi with Donny Petrozzo's body, we know the same vehicle was driven by Julius D 'Anton, and we know it was at some point at their farm—we've got quite a lot against them."

"Bullshit. Until we know how that fucking jeep came to be driven first by Frank Brandon, then—you say—by Julius D Anton, it's all supposition as to who did what. They can say that they never even saw Julius DAnton! He could have driven there; he could have started up a Morris-dancing team. We do not have any kind of order of events, and I asked you to make it a priority."

"Yes, I know, but I didn't have that much time."

"Then find it—because if we don't have it, this case will flatline. I want that photograph off Mai Ling's mobile taken to see if the lab can enhance it with one of the pictures of him off his Web site, as we have only a partial single fingerprint, and I want to be certain."

Anna bit her lip. "So, is it just me that you want to have a go at?"

"What?"

"Well, I am not the only officer on this case, but you seem to be insinuating that I am not doing my job."

"I am not insinuating anything, just stating the facts, so don't start with the excuses."

Anna said nothing, waiting for him to have another go at her.

He then moved close, close enough to touch her, and whispered, "I love it when you get angry. It reminds me—"

She stepped away from him. "Don't play games with me," she said fiercely.

He cocked his head to one side. "You're right. I'm sorry. Good night." He walked past her.

Anna remained standing, not turning to look after him; instead, she stared at the photograph of the man with the ponytail. If she were Fitzpatrick, where would she move next? He wouldn't know that they had that fingerprint, or even that they had this photograph ... Her eyes focused on the lists of names and one stood out:
David Rushton.

Anna sat at her desk, checking over the address and contact numbers for Rushton. She called his home; his wife said that he was working late, but that she had expected him back at nine. It was now almost eleven. Anna called his office and the answer phone clicked on. She rang his mobile, but it was off. Jermyn Street was not on her way home, but she couldn't resist driving past Rushton's office.

She parked easily outside, as it was so late. She could see the lights were on and she went to the entrance.The glass doors were locked, but a night-watchman sat inside, reading a newspaper. She tapped on the door; he turned, and she showed him her ID through the glass. Accompanied by the night watchman, she went up in the lift to Rushton's floor. The lights were on in the reception. The night watchman keyed in the code and the doors glided back. She said he could wait in the reception, and she headed down the corridor. Rushton's office door was ajar and the lights were on; she called out, but got no reply. She pushed the door wide open, and saw the floor was covered in papers. As she stepped farther into the room, David Rushton's dead eyes stared toward her.

He was sitting at his desk, leaning back slightly on the leather swivel chair. Anna moved cautiously around the desk, stepping over the strewn papers; she felt for a pulse, knowing there was not going to be one. His wrist felt cold; rigor mortis had already set in. She could not see any sign of violence; his immaculate shirt and tie were in place and his suit jacket had no bloodstains or tears. Anna looked beneath the desk: his well-pressed trousers were still immaculate, both legs bent at the knee, his shoes polished.

Anna eased her way back to the door. Moving around the opposite side of the desk, she paused: Rushton had a small bruise on the vein in his neck and a tiny trickle of blood. She remained standing for a few moments, unsure what she should do, then took out her mobile and dialed. "It's me."

"I know. Listen, I'm sorry if I sounded off at you—"

"You said he would kill again."

"What?"

"He has; it's David Rushton."

"How do you know?"

"Because I am looking at him."

"Jesus Christ, are you there alone?"

"Yes."

"I'll be with you in half an hour."

"Should I caU it in?"

"No. Wait for me, and for Christ's sake, don't touch anything."

Anna couldn't resist sliding open the dead man's desk drawer. She took out a tissue, then removed a leather-bound diary and carefully flicked over the pages, until she came to today's date. Written in fountain pen, in a neat hand, was Julia Brandon's name.Langton had the night watchman in the palm of his hand; the man even offered to make them a cup of tea! Anna stood back, watching him, and was as impressed as ever at how fast he took control of the situation. He was pulling on rubber gloves as he walked into Rushton's office and, like Anna, he gingerly stepped over the fallen documents to examine the body. He checked Rushton over and said quietly that it looked like he had been dead only a few hours. He then crossed to a shredder and looked at the mounds of shredded paper in the compartment below. By the smell of the shredded strips, it had been put into action not that long ago. He then walked out of the office and returned moments later. "Good, he's got CCTV cameras. See, just by the door? There's more in the reception area."

Like Anna, he opened Rushton's desk drawer; when he got to the larger one, he gave a soft laugh. "Look at this: it's for taping clients— unawares, I'd say. Let's see if there's a microphone."

Anna pointed to the edge of the desk. By an in-tray was a small clip-on mike.

"It'd be too much to hope this recorded anything of use."

"The recording light is still on," Anna said.

"Yeah," he said, and looked at the dead man. "Well, we'd better do the right thing and get him removed."With his gloved hand, he looked at the bruise on Rushton's neck, and then glanced over to a large TV screen. "Let's see what's recorded on the security camera."

Langton asked the night watchman, George, for the tapes and to open another office for him to use, rather than remain in Rushton's. He carefully removed the cassette from the recorder and, hardly paying any attention to Anna, walked out.

George, when questioned about who he had seen entering the building, was adamant that there was no one else in the building when he came on duty at seven that evening. Mr. Rushton had said he would be

working late and so to leave his office lights on; he would turn them off when he left. George gave them details of his nightly routine: he was employed to oversee all the offices, so there would have been some considerable gaps when he was not in the front office, but touring the various floors. He would have liked to remain with Langton and Anna, but they asked him to return to the main reception to let everyone else in.

Langton sipped his tea and, still wearing his rubber gloves, inserted the tape from Rushton's desk. He pressed play and sat back, Anna beside him.

The tape began with Rushton detailing client interviews, with dates and times; they were from three days prior. Langton listened and fast-forwarded, only occasionally stopping.

"In his diary, he writes Julia Brandon—"

"Shhhh—is this her?" Anna leaned forward.

"I had to try and explain everything to this detective; I had no option."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because it happened whilst she was at the house. I was so hysterical, to be honest, I just felt sort of relieved."

"Was Fagan with you?"

"He was, but not at that point."

"Christ, Julia, why didn't you use him?"

"Ijust didn't!"

"All right, all right, calm down. Without any witnesses, what you said won't mean anything."

"I told her everything."

"Well, start from the top; what exactly did you tell her?"

Julia began, between sniffs and sobs, to say that she had come to him because she knew she needed help.

"You bloody got it, but I warned you about keeping quiet. I don't want any repercussions. I have a very legitimate business."

"I know that."

"I have done nothing illegal, Julia!"

"Yes, but you've also been paid a lot of money."

"I charge all my clients for working out transactions until their finances,Julia, love. Yours was just that bit more complicated."

"What is going to happen?"

Rushton sighed, and went into a lengthy diatribe about how she would require her husband's death certificate for him to be able to revert monies back into her name.

"I keep asking to bury him but they won't release the body."

"I've told you, they will in time; you are going to have to wait it out."

"I'm scared."

"Listen to me: nobody can touch your money. Right now it's as safe as houses."

"I'm not scared about that; it's what he'll do to me. He knows what we've done, he knows and it'll make him mad."

"He can get mad, sweetheart, but he still can't release a cent; that's what I spent months working on. What you have to do is stay calm. As soon as they release Frank Brandon's body for burial, you will automatically get the death certificate and, once I have that, it'll all come back to you. In the meantime, I've left you a substantial amount of cash in your current account to cover any costs you have."