CHAPTER 6
heroin and cocaine, and built a worldwide operation, laundering money through offshore banks and fake business dealings. Making millions, he lived a luxurious life, with an extraordinary ability to maintain his profile as a journalist at the same rime. At the peak of his drug dealing, he had his twenty aliases, with passports for most, and an astonishing array of phone lines: sixty that had been traced.In the late eighties, Fitzpatrick formed a company making documentary films, which turned out to be yet another means of shipping his drugs worldwide under the cover of respectability. He had homes in Spain, Florida and the Bahamas, a fleet of cars, a jet, and a powerful ocean-equipped yacht called White Trash. It was not until 1991 that he became the focus of the Drug Enforcement Agency; the fact that they had been monitoring Fitzpatrick for many years without success gave him the confidence of being outside the law.It was one of his close friends who had betrayed him and eventually caused his downfall. A heroin addict, Michael Drencock had been arrested for abusive behavior outside a nightclub. In possession of heroin and with even more discovered at his flat, Drencock had given police details of offshore banks and money-laundering businesses. But, before Fitzpatrick was to stand trial. Drencock withdrew all his statements and, 011 bail pending his own charges, he committed suicide. Fitzpatrick made another outrageous move by hiring some of his men to arrange a helicopter to lift him as he was entering the courthouse. He had been on the run ever since, remaining on America's Most Wanted list. Like a modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel, the hundreds of sightings of him in various countries gave him a mystic persona; underlined was the fact that Fitzpatrick, or whatever alias he now used, remained a very dangerous man.Anna closed her laptop and sat deep in thought. Unlike the infamous Howard Marks, who spent time in a federal United States penitentiary for his drug dealing, Fitzpatrick had never been to prison. Marks, now a best-selling author, depicted in his books his life of drug trafficking and his career as a respected journalist, his work featuring in national newspapers. He also campaigned vigorously for the legalization of recreational drugs.
Fitzpatrick appeared to Anna to be a very different creature. When he couldn't make enough money from soft drugs, he turned to heroin and cocaine. This meant he had to mix with more lethal partners, including the Mafia. Could Anna be right? Could Julia Brandon's partner have been Fitzpatrick? Could he have been audacious enough to return to England using the name Anthony Collingwood? She opened her notebook: it was imperative they discover just what monies Julia Brandon had access to. She made a note that they would need to bring in David Rushton again, Julia's so-called business adviser, as well as questioning Julia herself again.
Anna checked the time and went into the incident room. The team was already gathered, ready for the morning briefing. She was relaxed and confident as DS Phil Markhain shook her hand, then DCs Pamela Meadows and Mario Paluzzo. The mug of coffee that Gordon brought her was tepid, but it was a show of respect nonetheless. At last, Anna felt part of the team rather than an outsider.
One of the kids Phil Markham had brought in for questioning, whose vehicle had been listed by Jeremy Webster, had no license and no insurance, and the steering wheel went off at a right angle. It was a death trap on wheels, but the boy maintained that it had been in perfect working order, as he was taking his driving test in it the following day. Anna was laughing as Markham mimicked the boy's accent, and did not see Cunningham walk out of her office.
"Right, if we can just cut out the comedy and get serious."
Anna sat back and looked attentive. Markham gave her a sidelong glance and a wink. He was attractive, with an iron-gray crew cut and bright china-blue eyes. She liked him.
"Okay, let's see what we've got from each of you and then decide how we progress today. "One by one, the officers stood up and gave Cunningham details of their interviews. It appeared that, despite the many boys brought in for questioning, they were dealing with punk kids scoring a few grams of coke for themselves or trying to earn money as runners. They had only sketchy details on the dealers. They rarely, if ever, came out of the squat and most of the deals were done on the doorstep, as Eddie Court had described. It was clear that the squat had been active for many months: it was also suspected it might be protected. This was an uneasy suggestion, as it would involve the local police. In all likelihood the dealers had changed over, there had been some heavy punch-ups and many of the boys said they had been warned not to get involved, as the new dealers were tougher and had their own lookouts and runners.
It also transpired that, unlike a few months back when the squat had been smalltime, it was now trading with more upmarket clients. Crack cocaine was being sold, plus the addictive ice and heroin wraps as the more affluent punters had replaced the street kids.
The owners of the vehicles traced all said virtually the same thing: they'd heard about the squat via someone at a party. They might be scoring cocaine and crack, but it didn't seem that many of them were out-and-out addicts. This is what marked the squat as not typical. Any bust of a similar base would bring in addicts, desperate for a fix. They would often be found crashed out in the street or in a pitiful state of begging from anyone scoring. Cunningham continued to mark up the board as they gave their reports.
Eventually, it was Anna's turn. She flicked through her notebook.
"We have to bring in a driver working for a City bank that employs a user we interviewed called Paul Wrexler. We have only a Christian name for the driver: Donny. The same name came up when we interviewed a Mark Taylor. It seems they used to score from him, then tried to cut out the middleman and go direct. The same scenario applies: no one ever went into the squat, but scored on the doorstep, paid the money, and got what they came for. I don't think either of the men questioned were addicts—more weekend users—and cocaine was the drug of choice. This links back to the kids saying the dealers have changed over, that they're now dealing in the more expensive narcotics."
Cunningham folded her arms. "Is that it?"
"No. We got a good lead from Eddie Court. He went to the squat to score, but got frightened off". He described a jeep, a Mitsubishi with blacked-out windows; he was able to identify Frank Brandon as the driver. "He wasn't able to give us a license plate, and we don't have one from Jeremy Webster, but he thinks he saw the Mitsubishi at two forty-five A.M. This meant he saw Frank Brandon just before he was shot. "There was a murmur among the assembled officers. "We asked about the passenger in the car. Eddie did not see his face, but reckoned he had to be tall, by the way he bent low to get out of the jeep.
He was wearing smart polished shoes. These fit the description we got in from forensics about the bloody footprints around Frank Brandon's body. Whoever this man was, we know he was tall—over six feet—and that he stood behind Frank Brandon when he got the fatal shots to his head and face.
"Cunningham folded her arms and perched on one of the tables, frowning. Anna continued. "We need to trace that Mitsubishi jeep. We need to have it verified that this was the vehicle Frank Brandon was driving." She wondered if she should bring up what she had been working on, or was it too early?
"I would like to reinterview Julia Brandon, and I think we also need to have another session with her financial adviser. "Cunningham stared at her. "The reason is, she must know about the Mitsubishi. She must have documents for the insurance, and if not, her business adviser will. As he arranged the life insurance for Frank Brandon, he more than likely knows a lot more than he was willing to divulge.