"Mr. Burk, this is Anna Travis. Would you please come to my apartment? I need to talk to you." ^ "It's only seven o'clock!""I'm aware of that, but as I'm at work all day and not back till late, I would really appreciate it if you came up to see me now.""I'm not on until eight."Anna took a deep breath. "Mr. Burk. 1 would suggest that if you want to keep your job, and the accommodation that I believe is part of your deal with the company, you get yourself up to my flat as I have requested."There was a pause. She could hear a snort down the phone as if he was trying to control his temper. "Give me ten minutes.""Thank you." She replaced the receiver.Anna had never had to deal with the Burks of this world in her domestic life. Her previous flat had been well run and, when her father had been alive, he had taken care of everything. Even when Langton had lived with her, he had repaired the odd thing when necessary. Now she had no one whom she could call up and ask for help. How had she reached such a solitary point in her life, with no close friends?Anna thought back to her time living with Langton. Their breakup had taken its toll 011 her. She remembered what she had overheard from Cunningham's office. Had she lost the plot because of Langton s hold over her? Lost it because of what she knew about him from their last ease-together? That no matter what a disgusting creature Langton's attacker had been, Langton had made sure he would never live to stand trial?Anna began to take a good look at herself: the stupid, hurried move to sell her old flat, because of wanting to cut loose from her past; the purchase of the present apartment, with all its faults; the massive mortgage payments. The very thing that she had prided herself on was her achievement in the Met, and now she was floundering. She knew that she was going to have to get herself back on track and, with no one to help her, she would have to do it alone.As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Anna drained her coffee mug, placed it on the kitchen counter, and took a deep breath. "Right, you little turd, I am going to start with you!"She opened the door to the moody little man. "Please do come in, Mr. Burk. Thank you so much for coming to see me." She smiled sweetly.He glared at her, stepping over the packing boxes and following her into the kitchen.She picked up her list and turned to face him. "I have made a list of all the appliances that are not working correctly. You can start on that today—""Miss Travis, I am the security manager here. I am not paid to do maintenance work in any of the apartments—that's not my job.""Then I suggest you get whoever it is to do the work." She listed her complaints about the garage door, the parking in her space, and the fact that a visitor knew the security code.He sat on one of the kitchen stools, frowning bad-temperedly. As she finished, he was breathing heavily, as if trying to maintain calm. "Miss Travis, I can get someone else in to do the odd jobs, but it will cost you."Anna leaned over. "No, it will not. Let me explain. It is not actually Miss; my correct title is Detective Inspector. I have been very patient, but the list of items that I require repaired should be in perfect working order. I want hot water by the time I return this evening and. if this means a new boiler has to be installed, then I suggest you get onto the owners of the block and talk to them. I would also like confirmation that no resident gives out the private entry code to their guests. I want those garage doors tested until 1 am confident they are secure."Mr. Burk didn't say a word. His jaw had dropped open slightly as he watched Anna walking around the kitchen pointing to stickers on the dishwasher, the oven, and two wall plugs.She opened her wallet and took out a fifty-pound note. "You will get this when the packages are opened and the cardboard boxes removed. I have left details of where I want everything to be placed. You can arrange for someone to put up the blinds."Burk blinked."I need you to take very good care of me," Anna said quietly. "Do you understand, Mr. Burk, what I am saying? What 1 am asking you to do?"He nodded."Good, it's settled, then. You go off now and have your breakfast. I will see you at this time tomorrow morning."
Anna drove out of the garage. There was Burk, waving her through, almost saluting her. She smiled and waved as she passed. Having sorted her domestic problems, she was now determined that she would turn over a new leaf at work. Cunningham reckoned she had a dozy team, specifically describing Anna as being in a daze. Well, she would make her boss eat her words.
She hadn't felt this energized for a long, long time—not since Langton had left her. In some way she was back to being Anna Travis, the daughter her father had been so proud of, the officer with whom Langton had been more than impressed. DI Anna Travis was not going to be anyone's doormat ever again. Anna was at her desk before eight-thirty that morning. She checked over her report from the day before, and called Gordon to her office. "You got your report of last night ready?"
"Not quite."
"I'd like it before the morning briefing."
Gordon hesitated." It's just I've not had breakfast yet."
"That's your problem. Go on, hop it. Oh, and by the way—it was a good question regarding the man's shoes at Eddie Court's flat."
Gordon flushed and smiled. "Thank you. I'll get that report done straightaway."
Next, Anna called in the duty manager for an update. She was buzzing with adrenaline and he was taken aback. She asked him to arrange for the team to gather just before the briefing so she could really get to know them.
Anna had forty-five minutes before the briefing started, so she Googled Alexander Fitzpatrick again. She had a feeling about him, but she was not quite ready to share it.
Born 1948 in Surrey, into an affluent middle-class family, Fitzpatrick was educated at Eton, then Oxford, where he gained a First in PPE— Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. Skimming through the mass of data, Anna tried to picture what he would look like, all these years later. The photos were at least thirty years old. Now he would be in his early sixties, and she doubted he would still look like a hippy.
Fitzpatrick had joined the local newspaper as a fledgling reporter and subsequently worked for The Times and Guardian as a travel reporter. He used this as a cover to smuggle tons of hashish into the UK from Pakistan and Thailand, broadening his sales into America and Canada. Later, he had switched his drug importation from hashish to