Deadly Intent

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.

'Oh Christ.'

'I'm so sorry.'

Connie hung her head and broke down sobbing. It was some time before Anna could really ask any pertinent questions. Connie became even more distressed when Anna gently broke the news that Frank had been murdered and that he had been identified by his fingerprints. She could not bring herself to go into the details of his relationship with Julia.

She and Frank were engaged to be married, Connie said; they had been living together for over a year. Between tears, she explained how they were saving to buy a place, as the flat was only rented. Gradually, Anna turned the conversation to what work Frank was involved in. Connie knew that he had been taking employment as a chauffeur with Donny Petrozzo. It was not full-time, but he was on call for when he was needed. He would often work late and sometimes would be gone for a few days at a time.

'Did you ever hear any names of the people he was driving?'

'No. He said that sometimes they'd come into Heathrow and he had to drive them up north. You know, long journeys that Donny said he didn't want to do.'

'Did you ever meet Donny?'

'No.'

'What about the last job Frank was on?'

Connie sighed and leaned back on the sofa. 'He come in an' he was real up, said that he'd just landed a big gig, but he was gonna be away for weeks on end. I didn't like it, but he said the money would be enough for us to get married and put down on a place of our own so, I mean, I couldn't not want him to do it, could I?'

'I understand.'

'Well, it was more'n a few weeks; it was starting to be months. 1 only ever heard from him a few times at weekends, like, and he didn't like me callin' him. He used to say he had 'POB'—that meant 'person on board,' like, so he'd ring off.'

'When was the last time you saw him?'

Connie closed her eyes. 'Long time. Months—gotta be months.'

'Did he ever say anything about who he was working for?' 'Not really, just that they was mega-wealthy and he was coinin' it in.''Could I see his things?''Yeah, if you want.'Connie got up. She seemed sluggish and so despairing that Anna felt truly sorry for her. They went into the bedroom next door. The double bed was new, and there was a white fitted wardrobe with long mirrors on the doors. 'Frank done this room up; we picked the bed and things between us, and me mum ran up the curtains and bedcover.'Anna smiled and said it was very tasteful. It wasn't—it was rather tacky, with mounds of frilly cushions. Connie’s decor and Julia's were poles apart. Connie opened a wardrobe to reveal Frank's suits, shirts, and shoes, with rows of sweaters next to them on the hangers. Her side was crushed with clothes and she gently touched one of Frank's jackets. 'I come in and hold them sometimes. You know—make it like he's still here.'Anna nodded. Again, she could smell Frank's familiar cologne. She looked around the room. 'What about papers, documents ... did he keep his diary and things here?'Connie crossed to her dressing table, and stared at herself in the mirror.'I need to have anything you've got that might help our inquiry, Connie.'In the small kitchen, there was a Formica table stacked with two boxes of Frank's documents, from car insurance to old pay slips from the Met, his pension details and bank statements, envelopes stuffed with petrol receipts, and a large foolscap notebook with addresses and pickup times.'Donny would just call, like, and Frank would go round to his place, pick up his car—it was a Merc—and leave his own car there, as he said it wasn't good enough for the clients.''What car was Frank driving?''It was a VW—a pale green one.'Anna noticed the file on the car and its insurance; she also saw that it was after eight-fifteen. 'Connie, do you mind if I take these boxes? They'll be returned to you as soon as I have looked over them.'Connie shrugged. 'Whatever.'Anna asked if she could check through Franks clothes to see if there was anything to indicate who he was working for. Connie said she'd been through them and there was nothing.'Did he take clothes away with him?''Yeah, took 'em in a suitcase.''1 am so sorry, Connie, really I am. You seem to be a lovely girl and Frank must have felt very fortunate in knowing you.''Yeah, he was ever so good to me. He was always buying me little presents. Last thing 1 ever heard from him was he sent me flowers on my birthday.''When was that?''Two months ago. I kept the card; they come from Interflora.'Anna asked to see the card, jotting the florists name down in her notebook. The message was affectionate: it said he would be home soon and he loved her. Anna passed the card back. She didn't like doing it, but nevertheless she asked if Connie had ever heard Frank mention a woman called Julia. Connie immediately became wary. 'Why you askin' that?''Just that we think he may have been working with a woman called Julia.''Who is she?''She lives in Wimbledon.''Wimbledon?''Yes. Did Frank ever mention her to you?''No! Is she connected to him? I mean, is she something to do with his death?''Possibly. I can't really say any more.''I mean, are you saying he was with this woman?''Working for her, yes.''Well, you gotta know what he was doin' then!''Not quite. He was driving for her—that's all we really know.''How did he die, then?'Anna really didn't want to get into this, but she could feel Connie becoming more and more tense in her desperation to know.'I gotta right