know D'Anton. I am assuming Fitzpatrick was the one who drove it to the farmhouse. Did she call, to ask Fitzpatrick if he had let this creep drive it?'
Langton patted his pockets, really needing a smoke, but then controlled himself; instead, he began to twist the pen round and round. He
asked Travis to give details of the vehicles known to have been used at the farm: there was only the old Range Rover. If the Range Rover had been used to follow the Mitsubishi on the motorway, it would have had a hard time keeping up. There was now a time gap, he believed, due to the fact that whoever was following D'Anton lost him. 'Hard man to track down, if he moved addresses. This time gap is vital.' On the board, he marked up:1. Donny Petrozzo knew D'Anton2. Donny Petrozzo was involved with Frank Brandon3. Frank Brandon had come into contact with Alexander Fitzpatrick, but knew him only as Anthony Collingwood; Frank had been offered a deal that it was hard to walk away from: a lot of money, enough to marry and buy a houseLangton drew links between each man, and circled D'Anton's name.'We now have this junkie wheeling around in a stolen jeep. He's found a stash of money in the glove compartment—remember, this was the same jeep that Frank Brandon drove to the squat.' He drew another link over to where he then wrote drug squat, underlined it, and tossed the marker pen aside. Langton then continued, covering the night Frank Brandon was shot dead, and the fact that whoever was with him was wounded but escaped and drove to Honey Farm.'Now, what if—and it's a big if—what if Julius D'Anton did contact Petrozzo, because he had something big to sell?' Langton looked around the room. 'The box of Fentanyl was still in the back of the Mitsubishi. I don't think he knew what the hell he'd got.'There was a unanimous gasp; suddenly everything started to make sense.'Julius D'Anton may not have been murdered; he could have tested the stuff out and killed himself.We all know it's fucking lethal. If he was dead as a dodo in the jeep, Donny could have tossed him into the river, driven the Mitsubishi back to the garage in Wimbledon—and bingo, walks straight into the hypodermic needle, courtesy of Fitzpatrick.' It was not a curtain down, but it felt like it. Anna wanted to applaud him because, as theories went, it was a bloody good one.They were all given their day's investigation by the duty manager, working alongside Cunningham. She said to Anna, 'You are with Langton; he wants to reinterview D'Anton's wife.'She looked confused.'Langton didn't quite finish his oration this morning. James thinks that the reason Fitzpatrick brazened it out here is because the drugs are still missing.''Shit!' Anna said. 'So that's what he's after. Does he think they're at D'Anton's house?''Maybe. They haven't surfaced anywhere else. That's for you to find out.'By the time Anna got into the patrol car alongside Langton, he was resting his head back on the headrest. 'You didn't give us your punch line,' she said, smiling.'I need to stop off at a chemist; pick up my prescription,' was all he said in reply. He closed his eyes, as if all his speech making had exhausted him.
Anna was surprised at how much work had been completed on D'Anton's house since she had last been there. The roof was finished, and the tarpaulin removed, though there was still a lot of evidence that work was in progress: a stack of wood in the small front garden, wheelbarrows, cement bags, and two big crates of tiles. The front door was open, with sheets of plastic leading along the hallway and into the kitchen. The noise of some kind of drill was deafening; there was no point in ringing the doorbell. 'Mrs. D'Anton? Mrs. D'Anton!' Anna called out loudly.There was no reply, so they headed into the kitchen. Again, Anna was impressed at how much had been done: new kitchen cabinets, a new cooker, and the floor tiled in black and white. A fitted breakfast area replaced the old fireplace that had been there on her last visit. Anna passed Langton to look up the stairs, calling out again. Eventually, the sound of drilling stopped, and there was a heavy footfall on the bare wooden stairs.'Is Mrs. D'Anton at home?' Anna inquired. It was the same builder she had seen on her last visit.'Hang on,' he said. She heard him crossing the landing above her on the wooden floorboards. 'Sandra? Sandra!' he bellowed.Anna began a slow move upward, as there was no reply. He shouted for Sandra again and then looked down to Anna, who was by now midway up the stairs. 'She's not up here—isn't she down there?''No.''Well, I don't know where she bloody is. Sandra?''When did you last see her?' Anna got closer. 'She said she wouldn't be long. Are you from the council? We've not371 been working late since the last time we had a complaint, but as it's just the two of us, we need to work all the hours we can.''We're not from the council,' said Langton, and showed his ID. 'You had any other visitors this morning?''Bloody hell. You're not back again, are you?''I am Chief Superintendent James Langton and this is Detective Inspector Anna Travis.''Shit—now what is it about?''Can we come up and talk to you?''Sure—mind the stairs, they're a bit dodgy. I dunno what's going on. Sandra said she would just go with them.'Langton had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. 'Go with whom, where?' he asked quietly.'The cops that were here earlier. They searched the entire bloody house. I dunno what they was looking for; Sandra was dealing with them.'It was about ten minutes before Langton got the description of the three officers who had arrived at eight that morning: two heavily built, and one very tall and well spoken, who did all the talking. Sandra was told it was in connection with her husband's death. They had searched every room and then asked if there was anywhere else that her husband might have kept items; she had said that they had a storage bay for their own furniture and some antiques that Julius had been trying to off-load. The three men were polite and totally believable as they asked if Sandra could accompany them to the storage facility. When shown the photograph of Alexander Fitzpatrick, the builder identified him, without hesitation, as being the well-spoken officer.Langton got the address of the storage facility and walked out to their patrol car. He was silent as they headed toward New Maiden. Anna sat in the rear passenger seat; she hardly said a word, because she knew as well as Langton what they might find at the warehouse.'Looking for the drugs,' Langton suddenly said, hardly audible. He lapsed into a brooding silence as they headed from Chiswick down into Kew; then he told the driver to cut through Richmond Park, go across Kingston Hill, then straight down Queens Road, turning left past Kingston Hospital.Leaving the patrol car in the car park, they headed toward Brick House Storage Company. There was a security guard in a small hut beside the double doors into the storage facility. Langton showed his ID-he and Anna were led toward two huge doors, similar to a garage but three times the size.'The one you want is over to the right; I'll take you through.'Langton thanked him, but said they would find it. He asked if anyone had recently been to open the storage and was told that it was possible, as the man had only come on duty at eleven; there was another security guard who handled the late shift, from seven in the evening until midmorning.KT2 was, as he had indicated, along a lane of storage compartments; the last in the row. Langton had the key but, when he twisted the handle, the door was already open. 'Doesn't bode well,' he said softly.As the gate swung up, all they could see were sofas, chairs, and tables stacked on top of one another, with many boxes piled in a neat, orderly fashion. They were each labeled—kitchen equipment, crockery, etc.—and only the plastic strips strewn around showed they had recently been opened. There were also some antiques and other furniture piled high: lamps and coffee tables, kitchen stools and beds. They had to squeeze down between the piles of stored items to see more and more straw, and bubble wrap, tossed to one side. Some boxes were open, left on their side.'She's not here,' Langton said as he kicked aside the mass of old newspapers that must have wrapped china or glassware. He took out his mobile and called Sandra's house as Anna walked back to the entrance and made her way down the first aisle again. Branching off it, not seen at first, was another area, which looked different: there were visible spaces, as if something had been stored and removed. There were scrapings, where a crate could have been moved aside.'She's not arrived home yet,' he said, calling to Anna from the end of the aisle.'Something was stored here and taken out,' she said, indicating the spaces. She spotted a hair slide and turned, holding it up for Langton to see, but he was standing by a large cardboard crate. He squatted, resting back on his heels. Taking a pen from his pocket, he inched out a torn, folded piece of white paper from between the two crates.Anna continued searching but, finding nothing, she turned and edged around the other side. Her foot crunched on something and she quickly lifted it. It was a single earring; not a clip-on, but a beaded drop. Anna held the earring in the palm of her hand and moved farther around the crates; then she stopped. Wedged between the crates was a body. Sandra was literally rammed in between them, her body almost crushed.'I've found her,' she said.Langton appeared behind her, and said not to touch anything; then he turned away to make a call on his mobile. Anna joined him as he ordered an ambulance.'She's dead,' Anna said quietly.'Get out to that security guy. We need to talk to the other man who was on duty before him.'Anna left him making more calls to the station, asking for the necessary backup. By the time he
