I think we need to know what Julia Brandon's financial situation is. "Cunningham nodded her head. She gestured to Anna and asked her to join her in her office.
Once there, she rounded on Anna and demanded, "What are you holding back?"
"Why do you say that?" "Because I'm older than you, and a lot more experienced, and I know you've not come clean. So: what is it?"
"It's just supposition. Until I am more certain, I would like some time."
"You don't want to tell me?"
"If you insist, but I may be putting two and two together and coming
Cunningham was not amused. "Share it." Anna took a deep breath. "Okay. Mrs. Brandon—Julia—has an ex-partner. We know, because her accountant told us, that his name is Collingwood. He provided for her and the two children, who, we have been told, are not his biological kids."Cunningham leaned back in her chair."Anthony Collingwood is one of the aliases used by a big-time drug dealer called Alexander Fitzpatrick." Anna filled in all the details she had acquired off the Internet. Cunningham didn't say a word. As Anna concluded, there was an ominous silence."Shit," Cunningham said softly when Anna had finished."It could be coincidence.""No flicking way.""What 1 can't piece together is why he would risk going to that dive in Chalk Farm.""Well, we are going to have to find out. First, let's you and me get over to forensics; ballistics have some details for us. Then we visit the widow again.""If I am correct, then she should be monitored. We don't want her doing a runner.""I agree.""With two young kids, it's not that easy to just pack up and run, but if she has access to a lot of money, then ..."Cunningham stood up. "I hear you. I'll get that organized. Give me fifteen minutes and we're out of here." Cunningham gave Anna a hooded look and then leaned forward. "Word of warning. You were not about to spread this information until you, DI Travis, were ready. Well, don't you ever do anything like this with me again, you understand? You have any information, you pool it. I don't want you running around like a headless chicken, because I've heard that you have done so in the past."Anna stepped back. "I was just not certain, that was all. I wanted to be sure.""That may be so, but you come to me and let me decide; do not take it upon yourself to make decisions. Is that understood. Travis?""Yes, ma'am.""Okay. Now get back to your office and write up whatever you've got on Fitzpatrick." "It's all on the Internet, apart from a recent photograph." "Go on, get to it. I'm impressed—up to a point!"Anna closed the door quietly; she was so uptight she could hardly speak.Pete Jenkins looked up from a microscope as they entered the forensic lab. He smiled a welcome and indicated for them to come to his bench and see what he was working on."Did you know a person's left thumbprint does not match his right thumbprint? So it's possible we can get a right thumbprint at a crime scene, and it won't match any we have on the database, but we could have a left thumbprint that may produce a result. What I have here is a partial left thumb.""Good. What else have you got for me?""Well, it's off a set of prints from the window ledge. Again, we have no match, but the prints were made from a person who has, on the right hand, an index finger minus the top section."Jenkins displayed the enlarged prints on a computer. "Looks like he had some injury to his hand, apart from the missing fingertip, because there's also a big indentation on the fleshy side of his palm. Another interesting point about these prints is the width between the thumb and first finger; they used to say it meant a person was very artistic!"Cunningham sighed and looked at her watch. "So from all the prints taken at the murder site we have no match?""Correct, but if you find a suspect minus his fingertip ...""Yes, yes, I'm with you," she snapped."We have eighteen different prints from the various paper cups and takeaway food cartons, but as yet no luck with a match." Jenkins moved across the lab, to where they were examining the footprints in the victim's blood. They had marked out how the footprints faced the door of the inner room in the squat and then turned and moved out. "Large feet—wearing, I'd say, a size eleven or twelve, a loafer with hand-stitched soles. "Anna remarked that this would fit with the description taken from Eddie Court of the passenger in the Mitsubishi. Ignoring her, Cunningham moved over to where they had been looking at the blood spattering. As they already knew from Jenkins's visit, when Frank Brandon was shot, someone was standing directly behind him. That someone had to be at least six feet three and would have been covered in bloodstains.Lastly, they went to stand by the vast trestle table covered in items removed from the squat. Sleeping bags and blankets were pinned out as the scientists removed hairs and possible fibers that would assist their inquiry. The items smelled of mildew and sweat and could have been left there by any of the previous dealers, Anna thought.Jenkins stood close to Anna as they looked over the items. She didn't meet his eyes, not wanting to get over-familiar with him in front of Cunningham."As you can see"—he gestured to the table—"we have our work cut out for us; judging from the stink, these could have been left in situ for some time.""Right," said Cunningham, "we're going up to ballistics. Thank you for your time.""We are doing our best," Jenkins said, and glanced at Anna. She looked away and followed Cunningham out of the lab."Bullets fired from a Glock Meister, very nice weapon: 22LR barrel recoil, spring assembly, speed loader. We have no cartridges and we think at least six of the ten-round magazines were emptied. Mostly, I hear, into the poor chap that died. "Vernon Lee, a small solid man with crinkly gray hair, turned to a cardboard box on his desk. "This was found at the site, which surprised me; they must have left in one hell of a hurry to leave this kind of equipment behind. This, ladies, is a very expensive item. It's a Glock Meister optic and mount, with lights and lasers. I've got onto Saber Ballistic over at Caterham Barracks to see what they can give me but, as I said, it's a very upmarket weapon and not usual here in the UK. Stateside, yes, but it's costly. Yardies might be flash enough to own one, but this was a squat, wasn't it?"Cunningham sighed. "Let me tell you, Vernon, you'd be surprised what weapons these kids get their hands on. From Kalashnikovs to bazookas ...""I know, I know," he said, looking down at his notes. "Did the pathologist discuss the trajectory of the shots, because they make it interesting? I'd say your shooter was short, or knelt down, like so." He cupped both hands as if holding a gun and bent his knees. "The bullets to the chest area, fired from behind the door, went in at an upward angle; the head shots were literally fired at a downward angle, no more than a foot and a half away from the body. There were not, as first surmised, two different weapons. All the bullets are from the same gun."Anna chewed her lip. "I think whoever was the shooter knew ex-acdy what he was doing. He looked through the spyhole, saw who it was, and fired from behind the door. Then, satisfied he'd hit his target, he opened the door to finish him off."Vernon shrugged. "Possible. We've set up a laser line to help. It all looks very clever but, reality is, poor bastard took three bullets to the head and two to his upper torso.""Five?""Yes, five bullets."Anna frowned and recalled Mrs. Webster telling her how many shots she had heard. She asked if the Glock could have a silencer. Vernon nodded.Back in the patrol car, Cunningham yawned as Anna flicked over her notes until she found the conversation with Mrs. Webster."I've asked for some Drug Squad officers to give us a direction on what they think we're dealing with," Cunningham said. "I've not brought them in before, because they could cause a lot of aggro. We pulled in a bunch of hoodies; God knows how many people scored that night. Right now this is a murder inquiry. What I don't want is those guys stepping on our toes." She leaned back and closed her eyes.Anna nodded, and checked her notes. Mrs. Webster had said she heard six bullets fired. She was adamant about how many, even describing the sound the last three shots made—