tEach tenant had their own allocated parking space and security key to enter and exit the garage. She decided that, when she was settled, she would call in on her neighbors below and introduce herself. In the meantime, she needed groceries. Unlike Maida Vale, where she had lived before, there were no small shops nearby, so Anna drove around, looking for the nearest shopping parade. She didn't find one, but saw a Starbucks open, so pulled up and parked.Standing in line, Anna was irritated with herself: she should have asked the estate agent about shopping amenities. She would just have to find a supermarket later that day, and stock up. Armed with cappuccino and muffins, she returned to her car, only to find a traffic warden putting a ticket on the windscreen. She couldn't believe it; thank God the flat had its own car park. She swore. As she put the key into the ignition, her mobile rang. .'Travis,' she snapped, switching it onto speaker.She listened as she drove home. They hadn't spared her a day over her two weeks' allocated leave before putting her onto a new case.Back in the apartment, everywhere she looked were unpacked boxes; she would have to contact security to let in the various deliveries. By the time she had made these arrangements, and given her keys to Mr. Burk, the belligerent security manager, she knew she was going to be at least an hour late for work.Then she had problems with the garage gates. No matter how many times she pressed 'open,' they remained firmly closed. She was about to ring the emergency buzzer when a handsome young man in a pinstriped suit appeared.'Jesus Christ, don't tell me they're stuck again,' he said. He passed Anna and pressed the emergency buzzer. 'This is every other bloody morning.'Anna gave a small smile. 'I'm Anna Travis; I've just moved into the top-floor flat.'He glanced toward her. 'James Fullford. I'm in 2B.' He turned back to the garage doors, hands on hips, and pressed the buzzer again.A side door opened and Mr. Burk appeared.'They're stuck!' Fullford said angrily.Burk—ex-navy, with a barrel chest and short legs—gave a curt nod and crossed to the gates. He used a set of keys to open the gate manually, then reprogrammed the electric codes.'How many times a week do you have to do that?' Fullford was still livid.'They're new,' was all Burk said.Fullford revved up his Porsche and drove out. Anna followed, realizing this was something else that she should have checked out. She gave a small nod of thanks as she passed.Anna arrived at the location in Chalk Farm almost an hour and a half after she had said she would be there. She knew little about the new case, bar the fact it was a shooting; a Murder Squad team were gathering at the site. She had also neglected to ask who was heading up the inquiry. It was extraordinary. After only a small amount of time out, her brain had stopped functioning. But she could see by the array of patrol cars, ambulances, and uniformed officers cordoning off the area that she had the right place.She parked as close as possible and showed her ID to a uniformed officer who directed her toward a block of graffiti-covered council flats, a section of which had been boarded up. Outside one of the flats, on the second floor, were numerous forensic officers in their white suits and masks, none of whom she recognized. She made her way up the stinking stone steps. Keeping her ID held up, she continued toward number 19.The front door and the window beside it had been fortified, with heavy wooded slats nailed across them. Anna presumed, by the look of the place, that drug dealers had taken it over. At the open front door, she looked into a squalid hallway: it was filthy, littered with broken bottles and discarded junk-food boxes. The big room off the hall, where all the action was taking place, was lit by arc lamps, Cables were being dragged along the corridor by forensic officers.Just as Anna reached the front door, DCI Carol Cunningham stepped out, pulling off rubber gloves. She was tall, broad- shouldered, and dressed in a dark trouser suit with a white shirt. Her hair was almost a crew cut.and she had dark brown eyes, set in a square face, with a strong jawline. She wore no makeup. 'You DI Anna Travis?'Anna was surprised by her voice; it was cultured and quite soft. 'Yes.''I'm DCI Cunningham, heading up this inquiry.''I'm sorry it took so long for me to get here, ma'am.''So am I.''It's just that I have recently moved house, and—''Don't want to hear it. I'd like you in there to oversee the crime scene. Then get over to the incident room. We're set up in Chalk Farm Station.'Anna removed a pair of rubber gloves from the box outside the front door and put them on. She didn't see any white paper suits, so just picked her way down the hallway and over cables into the big main room.The large bare space had the desolate appearance of a waiting room in hell. Despite police attempts to render it uninhabitable, the place had once more been taken over by dealers. A separate room leading off this main one was the secure headquarters where the dealers hung out and kept their merchandise, protected by a strongly reinforced interior door with a crude grille hacked into it, giving a view of anyone in the outer room. This door was splintered by bullet holes. An officer was dusting and checking for cartridges while others were bagging and tagging various items. She still had not seen anyone whom she recognized.The body of a man of about forty years of age lay on the bare boards a little way from her. His face and chest area, from what Anna could see, had taken the impact of the bullets. He was lying facedown, his arms spread out in front of him. He was not some junkie; he was, in fact, exceptionally well dressed in a smart suit. His white shirt, now covered in bloodstains, looked as if it had been pristine, and he wore gold cuff links. Even his shoes were classy loafers.Anna stepped over the dead man and past forensic, who were checking out the blood spattering. Filthy blankets and sleeping bags were arranged against the walls. A fire had been built in the center of the room; there was a disposable barbecue with burned-out coals. Used takeaway cartons, bottles, and cans were also strewn around.She gingerly sidestepped the junk to reach an officer who was testing for prints around a grimy window. Anna peered out and saw a balcony below—so someone could escape that way, if they had a head for heights and were stoned enough to play at Spider-Man.'What went down here?' she asked.He stopped dusting and looked at her over his mask. 'Maybe a drug deal that went wrong. Victim appeared to have been behind the door, waiting to get served. He took hits to the face and upper chest. We think our shooter maybe got out via the window.''He doesn't look like the usual druggie.''No, I know. I think we got an ID. I know the boss took stuff away. They'll be taking him any minute.''Thank you.''You're Anna Travis, right?''Yes?''Thought so. You were late. Mind if I give you a tip? DCI Cunningham is a real mean bitch. She can make life very unpleasant.''Thank you, I'll take that on board. And you are?''Pete Jenkins, with forensics.'Anna gave him a brittle smile. She had never worked alongside a female boss before and already it did not bode well. She spent as much time as she felt she should at the site, before heading to the incident room at Chalk Farm Police Station. She made copious notes as always and tried, while doing so, not to get in anyone's way. The station was old-fashioned and rundown. The murder team had taken over the second floor, which had plenty of empty space: it was due to be shut down and a new building had already been earmarked. Until the move, they would entrench themselves in the allocated area. There were several small offices for the detectives; the largest corner office had already been taken by DCI Cunningham. Computers were being set up alongside an incident board, and the clerical staff were organizing desks and phone lines. When Anna asked where she should unpack, she was given the closet next to DCI Cunningham's office.The room was only spacious enough for a small desk and a swivel chair that had seen better days. No sooner had Anna taken off her coat, and wiped over the dusty desk with a tissue, than her phone was brought in and connected by a young uniformed officer.As she took out her laptop, notebooks, and pens, a red-haired detective tapped on the open door. 'Hi! I'm Gordon Loach. The boss wants us ready for a briefing in five minutes. There's coffee and doughnuts in the incident room.'Anna smiled and stretched out her hand. 'DI Anna Travis. Nice to meet you.'Gordon seemed very young, whether because of his almost orange hair and full complement of freckles, or his rather nervous clammy handshake. 'See you in there,' he replied, and he was gone.Anna peered through the blinds of her small window, which looked out onto the incident room. She watched the room filling up as numerous officers drew out chairs and sat around chatting. She still hadn't seen anyone she knew—not that she minded. It was just nice to see a friendly or familiar face when starting a new case.She picked up her notebook and went next door, and sat down with two empty chairs either side of her. No one else sat close. She held her pencil at the ready, coffee and a doughnut beside her. She had just taken a bite when Cunningham's door banged open and the DCI strode across to stand at the incident board. With her back to the room, she made notes. Then she turned to face everyone.'Okay, let's get cracking. First up is the call from a neighbor who lives on the estate. All we know is she heard gunfire, but I want her interviewed again, just to see if she can tell us anything about who might have been dossing down in the dump where the body was discovered.' Cunningham twisted the marker pen in her hand. 'We have an ID on the victim, but we need it to be verified and I want this kept quiet until we know the facts. 1 do not—repeat do not—want any press releases until we have that verification. According to ID in his wallet, the dead man is DI Frank Brandon.'Anna sat bolt upright. She knew Frank Brandon: he had been on the last case she had worked on with Langton.'Anyone know the victim?' Cunningham asked.Anna raised her hand. She kept on swallowing to control how shocked she was. Frank of the heavy cologne and weight lifters shoulders; Frank who reckoned he was every woman's dream; Frank who had at one time made a pass at her ... Frank? What in God's name was he doing in a drug dive?Cunningham continued. 'We will obviously, as soon as a formal identification has taken place, look into what case he was working on.' She looked at Anna coldly. 'Did you recognize him?''No, ma'am, but he was facedown. It looked like he'd taken the bullets to his head and shoulders.''Correct. The top of his head was blown
