Deadly Intent

off. We have, I believe, five bullet wounds—two shot through the door, the others we think may have been at point-blank range—but we will wait for ballistic, forensic, and pathology reports for all that.'Cunningham turned to the board, then back to the waiting officers. 'It looks, and I am only saying what I think—we won't know until we have made more inquiries—as if our victim went to the block of flats to score, was let in the front door and taken into the main room to wait, then for some reason was killed. The killer shot through the reinforced door, then opened it, came out, and shot the victim at point-blank range, to make sure he was dead. Then he must have run back in and escaped out of the window. Right now, though, we have no idea how many people were in that squat. We wait to see if they get anything from the prints.'Anna listened, as did everyone else. Cunningham's soft, upper-class tone was at odds with her cold attitude; she did not meet anyone's eyes, and talked at, rather than to them. She continued to twist the pen in her hands before writing on the board the ID of their victim and a list of the contents of his rather expensive wallet: two photographs, one of a pretty blond woman and another of two small children; along with numerous receipts for dry cleaning, repairs to a BMW, and grocery bills—nothing else.Anna bit her lip, trying to calculate how long it had been since she had last seen Frank. He had most definitely not, to her knowledge, been married or had children. Could he, in the time she had worked on twoother cases, have met someone, married them, and produced two kids? She doubted it. She put up her hand and mentioned her thought to Cunningham, who nodded.'Well, we'll know sooner or later. Anything else?'Again Anna put up her hand. Cunningham stared at her, her dark brown eyes expressionless.'The blood spattering, ma'am.''What about it?''From what I could see, if the victim was shot in the head through the door—''Yes?''The forensic team were still checking when I left—''I am aware of that. Travis.''Well, from what I could determine—''Get to the point!' Cunningham snapped.'The wall directly behind the Victim showed only a small spray of blood.''So? What do you conclude?''Someone could have been standing behind him.''Thank you, well observed. We'll obviously wait, as with everything else, for the scientists to give their report. Anyone else?'No one else brought up any developments. By now, it was almost midday and Cunningham, with the duty manager, gave out assignments. Travis was to be accompanied by Gordon Loach to question Mrs. Webster, the woman who had put the call in to the station. As the team broke up, Anna had still not been formally introduced to the main officers leading the inquiry. Cunningham had returned to her office.Anna and Gordon traveled back to the murder site in a patrol car, with Anna driving. 'How long have you been attached to the Murder Squad?' Anna asked from behind the wheel.Gordon flushed, which wasn't too difficult; his cheeks seemed to be pinkish all the time. 'Two weeks. This is my first time out.' 'Ah ..'To be honest, I'm really sort of unsure what all the procedures are. I mean, I know from training, but being in the thick of it is different.' 'Yes.''My father was an officer.''So was mine.''He's now Deputy Commissioner.'Anna turned to look at the young man. 'Really?''What about yours?''He was a Detective Inspector, Murder Squad, but he retired. He died five years ago.''Oh!' Gordon changed the subject. 'What do you think happened?''You mean the shooting?''Yes.''I can't really say. We always know more when all the tests have been completed.''But you think you recognized the victim?''No. I said I knew Frank Brandon, who owned the ID card found in the victim's wallet. I never got a look at the victim's face.''But if it was him, this is serious. I mean, he was a police officer.''Correct.''So what do you think happened?' the young man repeated.'As I just said, I don't really know. Our job, Gordon, is to find out. So, we question the neighbor, see if she has anything we can work on.''Right. It's a terrible shithole, the Warren Estate.''Some people don't have a choice,' Anna said.'Where do you live?'She hesitated. 'I've just moved into a new place over near Tower Bridge.''I still live with my mother,' the young man told her. 'My parents are separated, long time ago. I want to get a place of my own eventually, but it's really hard to find anywhere I can afford. I've seen a few places, but all out of my league. Was your flat expensive?''Very,' she said, sounding more curt than she meant to. 'Okay, here we are.'The forensic teams remained at work. Arc lamps still lit up the dingyflat and tapes cordoned off' the area. The body must have been removed, as there was no longer an ambulance on standby. Anna and Gordon headed up the stone staircase and branched off' to where there were still residents.'It's number 18A,' Gordon said.'Yes, I know.' Anna walked a little ahead of him until they reached the front door. The paint was fresh, but the letterbox was boarded up; a smashed side window had a piece of board nailed across it. Anna knocked. They waited awhile; she had to knock again, before they heard footsteps.'Who is it?' came a voice.'I'm from the police, Mrs. Webster. Detective Inspector Anna Travis.'Chains were scraped back and the door was inched open. 'Have you got identification?'Anna showed her badge and then gestured to Gordon.' I'm accompanied by Detective Constable Loach.' She stepped away slightly so Mrs. Webster could see Gordon.The door closed, but then the chain was released and it opened. 'Come in,' said Mrs. Webster nervously.The hallway was neat and clean, with floral carpet and wallpaper, but very narrow. The tiny woman gestured for them to move ahead. 'Go into the sitting room, please. It's on the right.''Thank you,' Anna said as she and Gordon entered the first room off the hallway. The flat had the same layout as the drug squat, but that was the only point of comparison. Mrs. Webster's sitting room was cluttered, with an overstuffed sofa and two chairs in front of a fake coal electric fire. There were numerous cabinets with china and ornaments in them and a large television.Mrs. Webster had white hair, cut in a neat style rather like the Queen's. She was wearing a twinset and pearls, a pleated woolen skirt, and stretch stockings over her puffy ankles; fluffy suede slippers encased her feet. 'Do you want tea or coffee?''Nothing, thank you.''Sit down, please.'Both Anna and Gordon sat on the easy chairs. 'Mrs. Webster, you made the 999 call—'Anna began, then was interrupted.'Yes, yes, I called the police.''Can you tell me exactly what was happening before you put in the call?''Well, I've said all this before.''I know, but 1 just need to go over a few things.''I was in bed and I woke up. Well, the sounds woke me up.''The sounds?''Yes—raised voices and then a sort of loud bang, bang, bang sound. It was so loud, I was worried Jeremy would be woken up.''Jeremy?''My son. He sleeps in the bedroom at the back of the flat. I'm in the front, but it was so loud.''Did it wake him?''No. Well, not at first it didn't, because there was a sort of lull—you know, nothing happening—but by this time, 1 was up.''What time was that?''It was three- fifteen.''So then what happened?''I checked on Jeremy and, just as I was closing his door, there was another pop, this time not so loud—then it went pop, pop, again. I see enough TV to know what the sound was: gunfire. So I called the police.''Did you leave the flat at all?''No, no, I was too scared.''Did your son?''No, he came in here and sat with me until the police arrived.''How old is your son?''Why do you want to know?''Just for the record.''He's thirty-four.''And he lives here with you?''Yes.''Is he at home now?'Mrs. Webster looked toward the closed door and back to Anna. 'He's in his room, 'she said carefully.' Is it necessary you talk to him?''It is, but let's just continue with you for now. You called the police?''I never set foot out of the front door at night; it's too risky. I've complained that the squatters have moved in and it's been going on, over and over again. In fact, when I rang 999,1 didn't think they would take me seriously, because of how many times I've called them. There's needles and filth left on the walkways, and there are still children living here. It's every night, and most of the day now; they come and they go, these junkies. It's worse at night, because of the cars and motorbikes, the lights, shining into my windows, and the noise, shouting and screaming. I know two residents called the police because they found a girl doped up and being sick; another time, a boy was found overdosed. It's like living in a nightmare that never stops.'Anna let the woman talk on until she seemed to deflate, sighing.'The people using the flat... did you know any names? Can you describe anyone? Maybe someone you have seen on a regular basis?''No, they all look alike— hoods up, gray anoraks. They don't look at me; they just ignore the existence of anyone else living here. The council have done nothing to help us get rehoused.''How many would you say were living in the squat?''I couldn't tell you; they came and they went. Sometimes there were girls but, most times, they were just lads. Late at night the cars would pull up. I think these were bringing the drugs because then it would start, the noise, the banging, the bikes and cars, coming to get whatever they needed.''Last night—the night of the shooting—did you notice anything different?''No. Like I said, at seven, I shut my front door and I bolt it and I don't go out. I turn the TV up loud and that's it.''What about your son?''He never goes out much.''I'm sorry—your son doesn't go out?''Not a lot, unless they come for him.''Who comes, Mrs. Webster?''The social services. They come and take him for his swimming and then, on Wednesdays, he goes to a special unit at Camden.''Is your son ill? I mean, is he disabled?''No.''I would like to talk to him.''He doesn't know anything.''He might.''I just don't want him upset. This has all been very stressful for him, you know. I’ll try and keep him as calm as I can. But when these things happen, he gets very upset. He's afraid they might come after me because I called the police.''Mrs. Webster, I assure you since the shooting, I doubt very much there will be any activity there again.''Well, I have to say, since it happened it's been quiet, apart from all the police, and the neighbors trying to find out what is going on.''It must be a very difficult time for you.' Anna closed her notebook and stood up. 'May I meet your son now?'Mrs. Webster glanced at the clock on the mantel and licked her lips. 'Jeremy has autism. Sometimes he can be a bit difficult. Other times he's fine. Can you give me a few minutes?'Anna nodded and smiled as Mrs. Webster left the room.'It's not right, is it?' Gordon said quietly.Anna looked at him, as if to say. 'What isn't?''Forced to live in this place, son dependent on