Deadly Intent (20 page)

"What about the note that was sent in?"

"Do you know it's only eight-thirty? I've not had my coffee yet."

Anna hadn't had any breakfast herself. She was getting impatient; even though she was certain she was correct, she wanted verification. Five minutes later, she got what she wanted. She gave Pete instructions to work on both items as soon as possible. He sounded tetchy, but she didn't care.

"Do you want to have dinner with me again?" he asked.

"Yes—yes, I do." She was eager to get rid of him.

"Talk to you later, then."

Anna replaced the phone and almost hugged herself. Before she could go up to the canteen, Gordon knocked on her office door. "You got a minute?" he asked.

"Just one, what is it?"

"I've had the photographs printed up."

"What photographs?"

Gordon held up his mobile phone. "From when you went upstairs with Honour Nolan and I did a snoop job."

Anna looked impressed and then laughed. "Good for you, Gordon!"

He laid out six photographs. She didn't say anything because they were of the kitchen, the outhouses, the henhouse .. ."These are of the rooms off the study." He placed down three more.

Anna picked one up and scrutinized it. "What's this?"

"His books and papers on the desk, computer, and—"

Anna held the photograph closer. "No, no, not on the desk—the picture on the wall behind it."

"Oh. I dunno."

"It's a painting of a boat." "Oh, is it?" "Listen, get this blown up, will you? I want to see the picture more clearly."

"Okay, will do. When do you want it for?"

"Like now!"

As the team grouped for the briefing, Anna ate a bacon sandwich. When Cunningham asked for any developments, it was painfully obvious that they were getting nowhere, until it was Anna's turn. She took great pains to cover the interactions with Honour and Damien Nolan. At the end, she left a theatrical pause; she had learned a lot about delivery from Langton, and she had everyone's attention.

"I think they were lying. 1 believe they
are
involved. Their farm is a perfect hideaway; you could stay there for weeks and not be discovered. If Alexander Fitzpatrick has returned, he could be living there.

Found in the Mitsubishi jeep was a map: it detailed the area in which the farm is located, and the numbers on the scrap of torn paper that we recovered, I think, are actually directions to Honey Farm. It's not easy to find."

With perfect timing, Gordon joined the team. It would have been even better if he had had the blown-up picture to show, but he had been unable to get it done in time. Anna described the painting of a large yacht in the farm office. It could mean that the Nolans had been in touch with Fitzpatrick. Cunningham was impressed.

Coming up after Anna was Phil Markham. He had also been busy. He gave a mock bow as he listed his new developments. First up was the verification that a set of prints from the squat, found on a crumpled plastic takeaway carton, belonged to Donny Petrozzo. There was no evidence as to the time or date the prints were left. They could have been there from before the night of the murder. From the residue inside the carton, however, they could perform further tests. Second, there was at long last a set of prints from the squat that came up on the database, identifying Shane Browne, a known addict with a long record for drug abuse, a Bernard Murphy, and Julius D'Anton. The last two had record sheets for theft and housebreaking, D'Anton for domestic violence as well.

As Phil continued to detail the trace on the three men, which was already under way, Anna jotted down their names. None were big-rime, and none had a record for using weapons. The forensic teams still had many more items to check for prints before they started on the Mitsubishi, which had now been taken apart. The number plates were false and the vehicle identification number had been destroyed by acid. It had also been customized, the black windows tinted darker than was legal. It was no more than a year old, so it was probable they would get a trace on it through dealers quite quickly.

Phil reported that the blood swipe did match the blood spattering from the squat, so it must belong to the man who was standing behind Frank Brandon, but, as yet, forensics had no further evidence for them. Tests were still being done on the road map and the scrap of paper, as Anna had mentioned. He then turned over a page in his notebook and grinned.

"Saving the best for last ...We suspected that, after the shooting, either the shooter or his cohorts left via the back window of the squat. This had been nailed down, so they'd used a wrench to get it open. We have a right-hand print, half the palm and four fingers; the tip of the right index finger is missing. They did not have a match, but we started sifting through any known drug dealers with similar injuries, specifically before the database was compiled. We were coming up with a big fat zero, until we got a break from chatting to a few blokes from the Drug Squad—and we got a name."

Phil looked around the incident room, really milking it.

"Stanley Leymore, secondhand car dealer. No previous, but known to the squad because at one time he was a useful informer—this was until eighteen months ago. His connection is to Donny Petrozzo, as he sold him the Mercedes; we know this from Donny's documents. I wouldn't be surprised if we found out that the Mitsubishi also came from his garage."

There was a buzz around the incident room; at long last, they appeared to be making some headway. Cunningham gave out the details for tracking down and bringing in the men named by Phil, and the search for Shane Browne, Bernard Murphy, and Julius D'Anton went into overdrive.

Phil, accompanied by DC Pamela Meadows, left to pick up Stanley Leymore at his garage. This was situated behind Kings Cross Station and occupied three of the old railway arches. They had sent someone to his home address, but with no luck. As they parked up, it also looked as if the garages were not in operation either: the three massive double doors on each of the arches were locked and bolted. They made inquiries on either side of the garages and talked to the mechanics, who said they hadn't seen Leymore for days. Armed with warrants, Phil used a crowbar to force open the center of the three arches.

The dark, damp caverns went back under the arches for at least sixty-yards. There were numerous cars parked nose to tail in various degrees of repair. They looked like wrecks that Leymore had probably bought for the parts. Finding nothing but vehicles in the first garage, they went to die next. This was cleaner, with a few vehicles that looked polished and in working order; two even had canvas covers to protect them, as the ceiling was dripping water. Paint-spraying equipment, vacuums, and hosepipes were coiled along the brick walls. It looked as if this was where Leymore prepared the vehicles for sale. The last garage was filled with old cabinets and spare tires. They could see a small kitchen with two gas burners and a filthy sink, and a makeshift office sectioned off with metal sheeting. Inside was a desk propped up with telephone directories; one leg was broken. There was a telephone and an outdated computer, and old diaries and ledgers. Phil and Pamela looked over the dusty, oil-streaked office, then Phil paused, lifting his head to sniff. "You smell it?" he asked Pamela.

"Yeah. I thought it was the damp, but it's stronger in here." Phil looked around, then walked out of the office. At the back of the garage, there was a portable toilet, the type used at building sites. He and Pamela walked cautiously toward it. The door was shut but, as they got closer, the stench was stronger. Phil took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose as he tried the door, then inched it open. The smell hit them like a vile blanket—so pungent, Pamela had to turn away. Stanley Leymore was sitting on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, his head resting back. The bullet wound was in the center of his forehead. His eyes were wide open. They knew it was him: his right-hand index finger was minus the tip.

"Shit." Phil muttered.

Anna was in her office, checking over Petrozzo's diaries, when the news came in. The team had. so far, located two of the suspects: Shane Browne and Bernard Murphy. They were being questioned by Cunningham and Gordon in the interview rooms. Anna had seen the two boys being brought in and somehow knew they would not be of importance. Both wore gray anoraks with hoods, dirty trainers, and baggy pants. The third suspect, Julius D'Anton, was still being hunted. She was not finding anything of interest in the diaries; it was tedious, trying to fathom out Donny s scrawled writing, and the series of dots and dashes that represented the users for whom he had scored. There was no reference to Fitzpatrick, nor any clue to Julia Brandon's connection.

She put in a call to Pete to ask what he had found on the map and scrap of paper. The news was also disappointing. Whoever had handled the map recently had worn gloves, and these had smudged any prints that had been on the paper. However, Pete was sure, like Anna, that the scrawled letters on the note were directions to the farmhouse. It was likely the Mitsubishi driver had either been intending to go there, or had been there already. Anna asked for the tires to be checked for mud, or any other evidence that could be matched to Julia's sister's rented farmhouse.

"Do you know if the toxicology report is anywhere near ready?" Anna added.

"Ask Fielding, but these things always take at least six weeks."

"Yes, 1 know. Thanks anyway." Anna replaced the receiver as Cunningham walked in.

"The kids admit to using the squat, and scoring dope from there, but have alibis for the night of the murder."

It was as Anna thought. She asked about the third guy, Julius D'Anton, but as yet they still had no trace of him.

"You heard about the bloody garage owner?" Cunningham grunted. "Been dead a few days, judging by the stench."

"Yes, I heard."

"Phil's bringing in all the ledgers to sift through. It's possible this guy had the Mitsubishi." Cunningham hesitated, then, as an afterthought, said they had also found Frank Brandon's VW parked in one of the garages. "I dunno. We get these links, and then it flatlines," she said angrily.

"Have we still got surveillance on Julia Brandon?"

"Nope, had to pull it off, invasion of friggin' privacy; that bastard Simon Fagan's been onto the boss. To be honest, I don't think we'd get anything out of her." She looked at Anna. "What?"

"I disagree. I think she knows a hell of a lot more than she is coughing up—ditto her sister and her husband."

Cunningham folded her arms. "Well, we need something to indicate what that is, Travis."

Anna told her about the map and the directions.

Cunningham ran a hand over her short hair. "Yeah, well—if Donny Petrozzo drove out there, or Frank, we don't have any evidence."

Anna felt otherwise, but declined to say so.

Cunningham was edgy, stepping from one foot to the other.

"Leymore was shot between the eyes, close up; blew the top of his head almost through the portable toilet. Fielding's going to work on him as soon as he's delivered, but it looks like a very professional job. Judging from the fact he was taking a crap, he either knew the shooter, or they came in and caught him unaware."

"What about the Mitsubishi?
Was
it from his garage?"

"Don't know yet, but I'd say so. I think Frank Brandon drove there in his VW, parked up, and took the Mitsubishi—but thinking isn't good enough. We need to ..."

Phil opened the office door. "From what we've been able to check, Leymore was dealing in stolen cars: respraying, doctoring plates and engine license numbers. We've got a sales receipt for Donny Petrozzo's Mercedes eighteen months ago—Leymore took another one in part exchange—and, last but not least, we have the Mitsubishi. We've got some intelligence that it may have been stolen eight months ago from Brighton, but we're still checking it out. "Anna repeated that she had asked for forensics to check out any soil particles on the tires to see if they could match it with soil at Honey Farm.

"That'll take effing weeks," Phil said tetchily. "You know they gotta send it out to a different lab. We're still waiting for the toxicology report on how bloody Donny Petrozzo died."

Cunningham shrugged. "Yeah, well, that's the way it is. We wait."

Anna watched them both leave her office. She noted that Phil, the golden boy at the briefing, was seeing his hard work result in bugger all. They had a few more pieces of the jigsaw, but none of the corners, just a small section. Those pieces in a jigsaw that were always the most difficult, like the sky or the sea, were still missing.

Thinking about the sea, she went into the incident room to ask if Gordon had the blown-up picture of the yacht from the farm. He passed it over. Back in her office she took out an old eyeglass that had belonged to her father and checked over the painting. It was quite good quality—the painting, not the enlargement. The boat had both sail and engine, and was enormous, with a speedboat winched onto the stern and two jet skis. She squinted at the small section of black writing on the bow, then took the painting over to the small dirty window, trying to get more light. There was a D and then an
A.
a clear R and something she couldn't make out... but then another
D,E,V...
She put the eyeglass down. Could it be
Dare Devil
? Even if it was, she wasn't sure what it meant.