Deadly Intent

on him. You see this early photo off the Web site and the one with the ponytail and the two kids?'Anna leaned closer.'On both he's got a mole on his right cheek. But not on the one with the baseball cap. Did you catch it?''No—no, I didn't. Shit, I didn't even think about it.'Anna held the magnifying glass and peered at the face of Fitzpatrick. 'No one thought it was odd he was attached to the Fraud Squad; if he had been, he would have retired years ago. He's well over six feet, and he didn't look as if he was carrying any excess weight.'Pete yawned. 'Liposuction.'Anna felt as tired.'You going to stay overnight?' he asked as she closed her eyes.'There is no way I could drive home.'Pete gave a soft laugh. 'Well, that's really encouraging—not so much as a peck on the cheek! I meant, are you going to stay with me—in bed, with me?''Yes.'He reached over and took her hand, and hauled her to her feet. 'Come on, let's go upstairs. It's after three.'He had to steer her up the narrow staircase; she was so out of it, he had to help her undress. By the time she was down to her underwear, she was half asleep; he flipped back the duvet for her to crawl inside.'Oh, this feels so nice,' she said sleepily.Pete looked at her, curled up like a child, her hands cupped beneath her chin. By the time he had undressed and got in beside her, she was dead to the world. He didn't wake her, but turned off the light to lie next to her and smoke his bedtime joint.He couldn't fathom her out: why she had called him, why she had come over. He wasn't sure if it was just loneliness, or whether she had really wanted to see him. Her red curly hair was just visible above the big duvet as he took a couple of deep drags, inhaling the grass deeply. Sex had been on his mind—was, to some extent, on it even now—but aftera while, his eyes drooped, and he stubbed out the roach and snuggled down beside her. She turned, in her sleep, onto her side and he curled up around her, resting one arm across her waist.There was an innocence to their sleeping which belied both their professions.Langton had taken a load of medication to ease the never-ceasing pain that affected his knee. Sometimes, at night, his chest felt as if it was on fire where he had been sliced by the machete; the scar burned and was often inflamed. Only when he lay naked, his chest bared, did he feel it cool. To embrace sleep, he drank heavily to block out the constant pain, but most nights were restless and tormented. Often, while he was sinking into limbo before he slept, he would go over the case—or now, in his position, various cases—but tonight, all he could turn his mind to was Alexander Fitzpatrick. He couldn't help but have some admiration for his risk taking, even though he knew that, if it were to get out, it would make not only himself but the entire murder team a laughingstock. As he lay half asleep, the pain finally easing, he wondered if he had been correct about it just being the money Fitzpatrick was after. With his senses lulled, he came to the conclusion it had to be something else, but what, he was unable to grasp, as at last he went into a deep sleep.Anna woke up with a start; then had to flop back against the pillow, her head throbbing.Pete was already showered and dressed; he carried a mug of steaming black coffee to the bedside. 'I've already been called. My guys are at the station dusting down every surface our superhero may have touched for prints. I'm going to have to make an appearance, so I suggest you get this coffee down you. I'll cook us some scrambled eggs and we can drive in together.''What time is it?''Eight-thirty.''Oh God!' Anna showered and dressed and, with a raging headache, went downstairs. 'I don't think I could eat anything.''Try—you'll feel better; then we should get a move on.'Anna perched on a stool as he dished up breakfast. He hooked an arm around her and nuzzled her neck. 'You slept like a baby.' 'I don't remember getting into bed.''Well, I didn't have any physical contact with you! I think we were both out of it.''I'm sorry.' She dipped her fork into the eggs.It was nine-thirty when Anna hurried into her office, and the incident room was hopping. Thankfully, there was no sign of Langton. No sooner had she put her briefcase down than Cunningham marched in.'This is an almighty fuckup. We've got them dusting for prints all over my office and on the file we handed to the piece of shit, but so far ...' She shrugged.Anna wasn't sure how to respond.Cunningham didn't appear to want her to; she just leaned against the wall. 'Christ Almighty. I couldn't sleep last night, just thinking about it. The fucking civilian on the desk ushered him in and he walked straight up to the incident room—talk about overconfident! It just beggars belief. We've had financial experts in since the crack of dawn trying to assimilate Rushton's accountancy expertise. The room looks like it's spewing out the bloody phone directory: we've faxes that cover the length of the entire floor, and some accounting machine that they keep clicking that's knocking out what looks like the National Lottery numbers.''I'm sorry I was a bit late.''Well, Langton's not in yet. We're all sort of on tenterhooks trying to be one jump ahead of him. I've given up trying.' Cunningham looked at Anna. 'Did you have so much as a hint who he really was?''To be honest, I was so taken aback when I saw him, it took a while to sink in. I noticed his teeth, though, how white they were—probably implants or caps, but very good ones.''I didn't, to be honest, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.''I think he's had a lot of facework, so it's no wonder we didn't recognize him.''That's not really the point, is it? Not only did not one of us suss out who he was, we bent over backward thanking him for coming in!'Gordon appeared, rather flushed in the face, his red hair standing on end. 'Excuse me, ma'am, but Pete Jenkins wants to see you.' Cunningham walked out. Gordon glanced at Anna. 'You seen the incident room? Looks like a snowstorm!''I'll be right there.''What a joke, eh? Bloody walked in off the street!'Anna sighed. 'Yes, Gordon, I think we are all aware of that.'Cunningham looked glum as Pete gestured to the edge of the desk she had been certain Fitzpatrick had touched. 'We've got smudges, plenty of them, but no clear prints, and we've none off the document you handed to him.''That's impossible.''Not if he covered his fingertips with a coat of clear nail varnish. I'm not saying that is what he did, but you can see in the dust the marks on your desk where, if he hadn't used something, we would have prints.''Christ, he thought of everything, didn't he?'' 'Fraid so, ma'am. I'll go back to the lab, shall I?''Yeah. We are still waiting, you know, on that blood swipe off the sheets at the farmhouse.''I know that, ma'am. We have ascertained that it did not match the small residue taken from the Mitsubishi, nor the sample taken from the bullet DI Travis found at the drug squat. As we don't have a sample of your suspect's blood, I can't—'Cunningham interrupted him. 'Yes, you do. We had a sample brought in from the Oxfordshire police. They had it from the time Fitzpatrick was picked up for drunk driving.''I am aware of that. I did send a memo to say that it was proving impossible to make a match with the bullet and the swipe mark as, not only due to the age, but—''Why is that?''Well, as I said, it's coming up for forty years old. It had been opened, and possibly left open, so could have been contaminated. For DNA extraction, we need—''I know what you need!' she said irritably. At that moment, Langtonappeared at the end of the corridor and signaled for Cunningham to join him.The team were all gathered as Langton took the floor, holding up an Internet printout. It described how the Metropolitan Police were introducing a new warrant card to deter forgers. Langton shook his head as he read how these warrant cards would have the name, rank, number, and a clear digital photograph. 'As you can see, they also supply, on the same Web page, a clear picture of the Met Badge. It doesn't take much brainpower to see just how Fitzpatrick was able to show the civilian downstairs a fake ID, and for him to bring him up to the incident room.' There was a sort of embarrassed murmur around the team. Langton asked the guys working on the financial paper trail to stop clicking their machines for a few minutes, as they were giving him a headache.Next, he looked around the team and asked, one by one, for them to repeat the exact interaction they had had with Fitzpatrick.'I hold my hand up,' said Phil.'What's that supposed to mean?' Langton said moodily.'Well, when he was brought in, I was the one that had the most conversation with him.''Okay, what exactly was that?'Phil explained how Fitzpatrick had said their case crossed over with his supposed fraud investigation. He had asked about the suspects and then about the progress to date.'When he was asking about the suspects, did he focus on anyone particularly?''No, not really. He walked up and down, and made a joke about how we were collecting bodies like acorns.'Langton asked him to think again: was there anyone out of the dead men that he spent more time on? Phil shook his head.It was Gordon who interrupted. He said that, while Phil went to fetch Cunningham, Fitzpatrick had spent a while longer looking over the board. Langton looked at Gordon, asking him what he felt Fitzpatrick was looking at when Phil left the room.'Well, sir, he just sort of did a slow walk, looking at all the photographs; he then got a chair and sat down.''Where did he sit?'Gordon took a chair and turned it to face the incident board. 'Here.'Langton sat in the chair. It was positioned directly in front of the photograph of Julius D'Anton. He remained silent for a while, thinking, staring at the dead man's face. He then gave a signal for the financial experts to continue working. Their machines spurted back into life, spewing out more pages.Anna went into her office and spread out all the different photographs they had of Fitzpatrick. She was so focused that she physically jumped when Langton walked in. 'Morning!' she said, flustered. 'I've been looking over—''Yes, yes—I can see that.''He's had extensive plastic surgery. Whether or not it was a wig he was wearing, I couldn't say, but if so, it was a good one. This is the picture of the man seen at the supposed wedding of Julia and Frank, but his gray hair is thinning and worn in a ponytail. Also, in this picture and in all the others we have off his Web site, he had a mole on his right cheek which could have been removed.'Langton tapped the photograph of Fitzpatrick with the two little girls.'This was taken six months ago, maybe more?''Yes, but I am sure it is him; he's put his hand up to stop the au pair taking any more pictures.''And what do you think that gives us?''Well, not a lot—but if he had all this plastic surgery, he must have left England and then returned with the new face. We might get lucky with immigration.''Yeah, yeah, yeah.' Langton sat down and rubbed at his knee.'What gave it away to you?' she