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Pete Jenkins at forensics was, as usual, friendly and offered coffee, but Anna declined, saying she would have to move fast to get over to the station in Chalk Farm. When she showed him the bullet, their heads were close as she eased back the piece of tissue. "I think it's blood," she said."Soon be able to tell you. Where did you find it?""The air vent.""Whoops. Someone's gonna get rapped over the knuckles; probably me." He took a small swab stick and prepared for a blood test."How long will it take to confirm whose blood it is?""Not long. Do you want to wait?""I should get moving.""You free for dinner tonight?"She hesitated, then smiled. "Can I talk to you later—see what I've got lined up?""Sure. I can cook—do you like Italian?""Yes. I do.""Well, why don't we say my place at eight, unless something crops up?"Again she hesitated, but he was so easygoing, she couldn't understand why she was being so unsure. She agreed that they would talk later."This is my address." He jotted it down. When he had finished working on the bullet, he promised he would get it over to ballistics.Cunningham was holding forth when Anna joined the team. She broke off to look at her watch. "Nice of you to join us, DI Travis.""I'm sorry, ma'am.""So am I. 1 am not going to say everything again, so catch up, will you? We go over to the mortuary in an hour. "Anna raised her hand. Cunningham gave her a dismissive glance."I went back to the murder site last night," Anna announced, then explained how she had been constantly thinking about the statement from Mrs. Webster. She told the team about the discovery of the bullet, and that forensics was working on it and would be in touch that morning.Cunningham remained, arms folded, staring at the floor, until Anna had finished. She then looked up and gave her a strange, direct stare. "Good work.""It is possible the bullet clipped the man we are trying to identify, the one standing behind Frank Brandon," Anna went on. "If it is someone else's blood, then—""Yes, that's obvious, Travis, but let's not get too excited until we hear back from the lab. Right now it's just speculation." Cunningham walked off.Just speculation! Anna's mobile phone rang; the caller was Harry Blunt. She hurried into her office."Listen, Anna, this may be nothing, but I've been thinking—you know, about Frank. Sort of feel bad about him; he was a pain in the arse, but he was an okay bloke. You liked him, didn't you?""Yes, I did.""I'm not too far from you—want to have a coffee?"Anna checked her watch. She wasn't due to go to the mortuary with Cunningham for another hour. "Sure." They arranged to meet in the nearest Starbucks.Harry was already tucking into a doughnut and giant latte. He grinned when he saw her, his mouth full, and held up a small black coffee. "You can get your own cream if you need it," he said, chewing, as she perched beside him."Black is fine; I've not got much time.""Nor have I. I'm gonna interview a bloke we think chopped up his wife, so I wanted to get something to eat before we drag him in."Anna smiled—typical of Harry."Fucker used a meat cleaver; we got bits and pieces of her all over London. You want one of these? I got three." He proffered a doughnut and she took one, as she hadn't had time for breakfast."Okay, I was in Oxford Street getting the wife her birthday present, and 1 bumped into Frank s ex; she works in Selfridges on the perfume counter. To be honest, I didn't remember her. I'd met her a couple of times but, if you recall, old Frank used to put it about. Anyways, her name is Connie—lovely looking, great figure, big tits. You know old Frank liked them top heavy.""1 didn't," Anna said."Well, we had a bite to eat one night—me, Frank, and Connie—and so she recognized me—calls me over, right?" Harry demolished his doughnut and started on the next. "First, she is showing me all these offers on perfume. I said I was looking for the wife's birthday, so she only sprays me so I smell like a whore's bedroom, then suddenly she says she's really desperate to contact Frank."Anna listened as Harry, between mouthfuls, explained that, at first, he was wondering how he was going to tell Connie that Frank was dead. Then she showed him an engagement ring—nothing too flashy, a nice little three-diamond job. Frank had apparently told her that he would have to be away for a few months; he had got this blinding job, driving some big shot around. Part of the deal was, he was to be on duty twenty-four/seven, so it meant that he wouldn't be able to see her until the job was over. He might also have to travel abroad. Frank had then asked her if she would stand by him; they would get married when it was over. Connie had agreed."She tells me that Frank buys the ring: they were living together, right? Then, a week later, he goes off to work. He said he would have his mobile on and she could call him if something urgent cropped up, but to wait for him to contact her. He was worried that if he didn't come up to scratch, they'd fire him. She never heard nothing, so she called a couple of times, but it was dead." Harry finished the second doughnut. "Anyways, 1 am just about to tell her that so was he, when she says that he'd been working for a chauffeur firm. She'd called them; said he had been wheeling around in a flash Merc. Now, that would have been when I saw him. Remember, I said 1 saw him in a flash Merc in the West End?"Harry rummaged in his jacket pocket and took out a crumpled card.

  "She said he was working for this bloke but, when she called him, there was no answer." He passed over the card. Chauffeur Hire, Dotmy Petrozzo, and a mobile number. "She said he worked for big-money blokes in the City; I tried the number and got nothing."

  Anna pocketed the card as Harry continued. "I told her, Anna. I said that as far as I knew, Frank had met with an accident, but I didn't have no facts—-just that he was dead. She broke down. I felt terrible. Left without getting the wife's perfume, I was so uptight."

  "Listen, thank you for this, Harry—I appreciate it."

  "Okay. I'd like to know when they're burying him; show him respect, know what I mean?"

  "Yes, I do. I'll be in touch."

  Cunningham was about to have another tetchy go at her, but Anna didn't waste time. Giving Cunningham the details from Harry Blunt, she said she felt it was important enough for her to meet up with Connie.

  Cunningham tapped Anna's desk with the Petrozzo card. "Okay. Follow this up, Travis, and take Gordon with you." She lightly touched Anna's shoulder. "It was good work on the discovery of the bullet, but you were out on your own. I don't want to have to tell you again: I do not want you acting like a loose cannon, running around London alone. Maybe the bullet will give us a lead, but it could also come back and slap us in the face. You should have had a witness and you should have discussed your concerns about Mrs. Webster's statement."

  "Ma'am, I did write it in my report."

  "Don't interrupt! I do not want you going out on your own flicking inquiry. This is a murder investigation, not Anna Travis proving herself to be better than anyone else. As from now, any misgivings you have, any single thing that crops up in that little red head of yours, you discuss with me and the team—do you understand me?"

  "Yes, ma'am." "Good. I don't want to stunt your obvious ability, but I will get you off this case if 1 feel you have disobeyed my direct order one more time. I am fully aware of the problems you had with Detective Chief Superintendent Langton—or, should I say, his problems with you. You consistently flaunted his authority. In case you are not aware, it's on your record sheet. If you ever want to get promotion, Travis, I should warn you that I'd add my ten cents in, as well as Jimmy Langton's." She left the room.Anna had to grip the sides of her desk to keep control. Langton had to be protecting his own backside, conferring with the arm-folding Cunningham. Anna was so angry that she wanted to pick up the phone and get him on the line there and then. Suddenly her phone rang.She snatched it up. "Travis," she snapped."Hi there, it's Pete. You were right: the blood on the bullet is not Frank Brandon's. We are running tests and seeing what the database throws up, so I'll be in touch later.""Good. Thank you," she said, still hot with rage."You know if you will make dinner tonight?"Anna had to take a deep breath to be civil. "Not yet. Can I call you later?""Sure. Don't make it too late, though, because if I am cooking, I need to get the food in—""I'll talk to you later!" She felt bad about being so uptight, but she just couldn't contain herself.She picked up the phone again and dialed an internal number. "Gordon, can you check out if they have a record of the marriage betwee
n Frank Brandon and Julia? And, Gordon, write this up on the bloody incident board, and give the duty manager details."She slammed the phone back down, and started her report on the meeting with Harry Blunt. If Cunningham wanted her to go by the book on every single detail, she would do so. The phone rang again. It was Gordon asking if she had Mrs. Brandon's maiden name. She snapped that it was in the file; he should find it himself.Cunningham arrived at the mortuary with DS Phil Markham. They had not completed the postmortem on Donny Petrozzo, but she was putting the pressure on for any new evidence. Ewan Fielding was irritated by their arrival, he loathed to hurry and complained that he had stated, innumerable times, that he was not able to give any details until his work was completed. Donny Petrozzo's body had already been "sliced," and his organs removed and weighed, so Cunningham was somewhat surprised by Fielding's annoyance. Looking over his notes, he said that the victim was a rather unhealthy individual. His last meal had been a hamburger and chips. He also had quite a high blood-alcohol level. The victim had been quite a heavy cocaine user. His septum was weak; there were still traces of cocaine inside both nostrils. Death had occurred some three days previously, but they had so far been unable to ascertain the actual cause. "I will obviously require time to do more examinations. That is about all I can give you at this moment.""Was it a drug overdose?" Cunningham demanded."I'm unable to confirm that," Fielding said wearily."But you have found cocaine?""Yes, traces. It appears that he was a regular user, but I don't have, as yet, evidence to prove he overdosed on that particular drug. I don't want you to take this as verbatim—but my gut feeling is that he was overdosed; on what exactly, I am unable to tell you, but I think it was some kind of opiate.""Why do you say that?" Again, this was from Cunningham."From his heart. 1 am just about to run some tests. Until I have done so, that is about all I can give you."DS Markham looked over the body and then asked if whatever drug Petrozzo had died from could have been self-administered.Fielding glanced at him and shrugged. "Quite possibly, but even if his death was self-inflicted. 1 doubt he would have been able to place himself in the black bin linen—four of them, to be exact—and wrap them around his entire body with masking tape!"Cunningham had heard enough.Markham hurried after her. She banged through the doors, removing her protective green overall and tossing it into the bin provided. "Those pricks make me so pissed off. Pompous arsehole," she muttered.Markham removed his overall, then had to hurry to catch up with her once more as she headed toward the forensic department. Pete Jenkins looked up as the double doors to his lab slammed open and Cunningham strode in. "Hi!" he greeted her. "I was just about to call. We're pretty swamped with work on your case, but we have the clothing from Donny Petrozzo on the benches. Downstairs, they're stripping down the Mitsubishi.""You get something from the blood on the bullet from the murder site?""Yes. I was just about to contact DI Travis.""Well, I'm here, so what have you got?" Cunningham demanded.Jenkins picked up his report. "The blood is not a match for the victim. We have run it through the database but we have come up empty-handed; in other words, there is no match on file.""So what is your take on it?"Jenkins shrugged. "Pretty much the same as DI Travis: your gunman fired six shots, five into your victim. One shot clipped the man we believe was standing behind him. We've made a few more tests on the angle of the bullets and the spattering.""No, no! Let me look over Petrozzo's clothes. Found any bloodstains on them?""Not as yet, I believe, but we're still checking them over. His pockets were empty. We had no papers or identifying documents, but we got his ID from his prints.""Yes, I know. What about the bin liners and the tape?"Jenkins led them over to a tresde table. "We have four bin bags. Pathology department sliced through them as neatly as possible to help, but the bags and the tape are a common variety and hard to trace. Also, I would say whoever wrapped him up—and, by the by, did it very well, the body was quite well preserved—I think must have worn gloves, as we have as yet no fingerprints. Often we get a good result from duct tape but, in this case, nothing."Cunningham sighed and looked to Markham. "You want to ask something?"Markham nodded and pointed to the shoes. "Any bloodstains on these?""Nope. We have mud particles, but no blood.""So he wasn't at the murder site?""The footprints we have from there are not his size. He is, or was, size-nine shoe and, I think I was told, around five feet nine, so he wasn't the man standing behind your victim Frank Brandon. Travis and I have ascertained he had to be over six feet two or three—""Really? DI Travis seems to have spent a lot of time here," Cunningham said sarcastically. She gestured to Markham that it was time to leave, and walked off without so much as a thank-you to Jenkins.Their next stop was Vernon Lee, the ballistics expert. Lee had little to add, apart from the fact that the bullet was from the same Glock pistol and, as with the other bullets, they did not have the casing. Frustrated, Cunningham and Markham returned to their car.As they left the car park, Cunningham switched on her BlackBerry and began checking her messages. Then she looked at Markham. "You ever worked with Chief Superintendent James Langton?""No, ma'am.""Travis worked three cases with him. He rated her, but said she was a bit of a solo artist; got into some trouble with a journalist on one case. I need you to watch over her. I don't want her creating any more problems for me than I've already got.""Yes, ma'am.""And we do have problems, Phil, big ones. We're now four days into the investigation with fuck all, and Frank Brandon being an ex-cop is starting to create pressure from the chief. We need to get some kind of a result, and fast, so all weekend leave will be canceled.""Yes, ma'am.""You see Travis acting like she's running this investigation, you report straight back to me—understood?""Yes, ma'am." Markham didn't like this at all, and decided he would have a quiet word with Anna when he returned to the station. Anna and Cordon went back to question Paul Wrexler and Mark Taylor, who had both scored drugs from Donny Petrozzo. Again, they were spun virtually the same story. Donny always insisted that he was not a dealer; he could just get a few grams for when they needed it. Both the companies they worked for had used Donny's firm of chauffeurs when they required clients to be collected from the airport, or for special functions. Donny was not on a permanent payroll, but worked freelance; due to his good record, they had used him for over eight years. He owned a Mercedes-Benz and a Ford Escort, which he and his wife used for personal driving. Donny's Mercedes had not been recovered.When Anna and Gordon called in to the station. Cunningham had still not returned. Anna made sure that the duty manager reported to Cunningham, when she did get back, that she and Gordon were going to see Mrs. Petrozzo.Donny Petrozzo's address was in Fulham. As they were arriving, Gordon got a call from the station. When they saw Mrs. Petrozzo, they should tell her that a car had been arranged to take her to the mortuary. She was required to identify her husband.Anna was stunned that no one had yet been to see Mrs. Petrozzo to give her the news. "You know, DCI Cunningham should have sorted this out.""Well, I suppose as we only found him yesterday ..." Gordon said uneasily."We had him identified fast enough by his prints. His wife should have been told straightaway. It's really disgusting.""I suppose so." Gordon checked his l-Z. "Next right. The flat faces the Palmers Green Park. Nice area."span>They drove over to the bays at the rear of the block. Parked underneath a cloth cover was Donny Petrozzo's Mercedes and, next to it, his Ford Escort. Anna had lifted the cover to check the number plate and then, being on best behavior, called in to the station to suggest they remove the Mercedes to be checked over by forensics.Mrs. Petrozzo lived on the top floor. The stain and corridors were well kept, with buckets of flowers on each landing. Flat 10 had a freshly painted front door, with a polished brass letterbox."You ever done one of these before?" Anna asked Gordon."One of what?""Telling someone that their loved one's dead, then trying to get information out of them?""No.""Okay. This is the way I am going to work it: we keep the death until last—'we are not sure,' et cetera—I need some answers first.""Right," Gordon said as Anna rang the doorbell.Mrs. Petrozzo was a pale, nervous woman with straight, unflattering hair pinned to one side with a clip. She was quite well dressed, if rather drab, and she h
ad an Irish accent."Mrs. Petrozzo?" Anna said pleasantly, at the same time showing her identification. "This is Detective Gordon Loach, and I am Detective Inspector Anna Travis. I wonder if it is convenient for me to ask you some questions?""What is it about? Only I was just going out.""It is important. Could we please come in and talk to you?""Is it about Donny?""Yes.""I've been waiting for him to call me," she said, gesturing for them to go down the immaculate little hallway, to a large sitting room overlooking the park."Oh, this is a lovely room," Anna said."Yes. I've lived here nearly all my life. My parents had the flat, then when they died, me and Donny moved in.""You own it?""Yes, my father did, so we took over the mortgage. Can I get you tea or coffee?""No, thank you. Mrs. Petrozzo, this is a very serious matter we are here to discuss. When did you last see your husband?""About four days ago. He was working. He often goes away—well, not often, but he sort of said this was a possibility. He usually calls me, but I've not heard from him and I'm worried.""Do you know who he was working for?""No.""Did he mention any names at all?""No, he keeps his business very private. I knew some of it, but he never really bothers to talk to me too much. He's often out early and back very late. I know he was collecting someone from Heathrow." "But you don't know who?""No.""Does Mr. Petrozzo have an office?""He has a phone and a desk next door.""Mrs. Petrozzo, 1 really need to see your husband's office.""I'm afraid I can't let you; he will go mad. I hardly ever go in there accept to hoover and dust. It's his business, you see."Anna braced herself, and then leaned forward. "Mrs. Petrozzo, your husband might have met with a fatal accident. We are here to ask you to accompany a police officer—""Accident?""Yes. We have someone at the mortuary—""I don't understand.""It's possible your husband is dead. I am so sorry."Anna was not prepared for the reaction, because there was hardly one at all. The woman just sat there, with her hands in her lap."I really do need to see your husband's workroom," Anna repeated gently. "Would that be possible?"The lack of response was unnerving. Still Mrs. Petrozzo sat, with her rather big rawboned hands folded in her lap. She then made a soft coughing sound, as if clearing her throat. "I am afraid that is not possible. If you insist, then you will have to get a search warrant. I would like you to leave, please.""I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrozzo—"Anna was interrupted as the reticent woman suddenly stood up, her face now twisted with rage. "I allowed you to come in here, because I thought you were coming to talk about that bloody CCTV camera right outside our block of flats. It swivels and looks straight into the flats—it's outrageous they can just set one of those intrusive things up without ever getting permission from a single tenant, and I know they are looking into the bedrooms. I know that for certain, because we have two young girls in the flat next to us and they are complaining about it.""If you would like me to make you a cup of tea ..."Mrs. Petrozzo turned on Anna, her big hands clenched into fists at her side. "You will not set foot in my kitchen! I want you to get out.My husband is going to make you pay for this. I don't believe you are from the police. I think you've come here to steal from me. that's what this is all about. I know about you people, I know ..." She was like the mouse that roared. She began thrashing at her sides with her fists, and spittle formed in the corners of her mouth as she hurled abuse at them.It took an hour. They had to call a doctor. Gordon found the address in a book by the telephone. Anna rang into the station to request a search warrant be issued. All the time, Mrs. Petrozzo shouted and argued with them, and screeched and threw cushions. Even with Gordon trying to calm her, she was unstoppable. By the time the doctor arrived, she had quietened down but was still unstable.The poor woman had a history of mental illness and had been sectioned numerous times. She was sedated and taken to her bedroom. The doctor knew of a niece who had often stayed to care for her; he was dismissive of Donny, saying that he kept his distance from his wife at all times. By the time they had arranged for the niece, Ella Douglas, to leave her work and come to the flat, another hour passed. When Anna told Ella the reason for their visit, her response was equally shocking. She just said that she hoped Donny was dead, the way he had treated his poor wife.Anna glanced at Gordon, who was even redder in the face than usual. "Look. Gordon, this entire scene is not the usual," she told him. "I've never had a reaction like it, but we just have to sit it out."Ella tended to Mrs. Petrozzo and handed Anna a set of keys to the office. "These are what you want. I will go and identify Donny. She can't be put through that."The small room was neat and orderly, with a desktop computer and a filing cabinet. Donny was meticulous: a large desk diary listed his clients and his commitments. He wrote in different colored pens his airport drops and pickups, city functions and dinners. The last entry was a collection from Stansted Airport. This was four days ago; he had added to the entry a note of a payment in cash, then underlined no tip. He had picked up the passenger at 8:15 A.M., dropped them at Claridge's, and returned home. There were a few future dates, but nothing of interest. His bank statement, however, was very interesting. Donny Petrozzo had savings of seventy thousand pounds. In another account, they found even more money: over a hundred thousand pounds. There had been large cash deposits; the last one for twenty thousand pounds.Anna listed the items she wished to take away, then contacted the station for the computer to be removed and checked. There were two mobile phones and these were taken too, plus his address books and files. It was late afternoon by the time a patrol car arrived with a female officer to accompany Ella Douglas to the mortuary for the formal identification of Donny Petrozzo. Anna wanted to go over the diary entries in more detail, so once a neighbor had agreed to sit with Mrs. Petrozzo, who was sleeping, she and Gordon returned to the station.Although it wasn't on the way back, Anna wanted to stop at Selfridges. She needed to pick up something and asked Gordon to wait in the car park there.Anna went straight to the sea of perfume counters and asked if she could talk to someone called Connie. Anna was directed to the Dior counter. Walking around, she couldn't see any well-stacked blondes as Harry Blunt had described. She eventually asked a girl with the name tag Sharon where she would find Connie. Sharon said she'd got some bad news and was at home."Was it about her bloke?" Anna inquired."Yeah, but I dunno much else. She got into a state a few days ago and she's not been back.""Do you have her phone number? I would like to call her—I know him well and I might be able to help."Connie agreed to see Anna that evening at seven. She lived in Notting Hill Gate, close to Portobello Road. As Anna wrote down the address on the back of her hand in the car, Gordon glanced at her. "Got a date?""Yes." She smiled.She would have to cancel poor old Pete Jenkins once again. As the car continued across London to the station, Anna called the forensic lab. An assistant told her that Pete had gone out for a while, but would be back later. Anna didn't leave any message, deciding she would call him later from her office.By the time Anna had made copious notes and typed up her report, it was after six. She went into the incident room to mark up the data and was surprised that they still did not have the completed autopsy report on Donny Petrozzo. They had no match on the blood found on the bullet and, as yet, no forensic details on the Mitsubishi. Anna still had Donny Petrozzo's diary in her briefcase, keeping hold of it until she had finished checking it over. The rest of the items removed from his house were now with forensics. She knew from Pete they were already inundated; now they had even more to contend with.Anna called Pete's mobile as she was leaving the station. Before she could say that she would not make dinner, he told her that he had started cooking and was looking forward to seeing her. When she heard that, she said simply that she might be a bit late as she was still working. She didn't want to let him down again.Anna was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with Connie. The woman lived in a first-floor flat, with a dingy threadbare carpet on a rickety staircase. Connie was, as Harry had described, very well endowed but with a small waist, accentuated by a wide elastic belt. Her blouse was flimsy and frilly, and she wore black pedal pushers with pink ballet shoes. Her hair was dyed blond and held up in a loose bun with a comb. Her attractive face was blotchy and her eyes were puffy from crying
. She was nowhere near as sophisticated as Julia Brandon."You want a drink or anything?" she asked in a cockney accent, leading Anna into the flat."No, thanks. I don't want to take up too much of your time.""Well, I got enough of it. I've not been in to work—-just can't function. I dunno nothing except for what that bloke Harry told me. I keep on trying Frank's mobile number. I just dunno what to think. I mean, why don't someone call me and tell me what's going on?" She slumped onto a large leatherette sofa. "Is he dead? I mean, is that true?" Anna sat opposite on a matching chair. "Yes, I am afraid he is.