Deadly Intent (55 page)

Langton laid down numerous photographs of Alexander Fitzpatrick; taken from Rushton's security CCTV footage. "This is Alexander Fitzpatrick, correct?"

Honour chewed her lips.

"Or maybe you still refer to him as Anthony Collingwood? Which name do you call him by?"

"I don't know him."

"All these people—
including your sister
—died because of him!"

"That is not true!"

"Yes, it is. She had the brakes of her car sliced in two, Honour, for God's sake, why are you protecting him?"

"I'm not! This is all supposition; you have no proof of any of accusations."

Langton leaned forward. "What makes someone like you will put their own life on hold? Because you will go to prison, Honour. You have consistently lied to cover the truth, and now you maintain this farcical front that you never even knew Fitzpatrick."

Webb rapped the table with his pencil. "Detective Chief Super dent, you are trying to goad my client into answering these accusations. I advise her not to make any reply, on the grounds that it may—'

"Are you maintaining that your client never knew what was on right under her nose—that she never saw anything?"

"You have no evidence that Mrs. Nolan ever, at any time, allowed her premises to be used for storing these drugs."

"It doesn't matter how many people die, how many people thi whom you are so desperate to protect, has killed? He even used his elderly mother! You think she'll be let off? Mrs. Eatwell is going to trial just like you, and she will die in prison. So what is so great her son—about this evil, twisted, sadistic monster, who even us own children to launder money?"

"Then, at a later date, when it became known that the police were making their presence felt, possibly about to orchestrate a search of the farmhouse, you moved the crates to Mrs. Eatwell's garage for safekeeping."

"That is not true."

"At this time, you assisted the injured Mr. Fitzpatrick; you tended to, I believe, a flesh wound to his right shoulder."

"That is not true."

Langton glanced at Anna, and took out a photograph of Julius D'Anton."Do you recognize this man, Mrs. Nolan?"

Honour hesitated, then admitted that she did recall seeing him, when he tried to buy a table from the antiques shop where she worked. She was shown the photograph of D'Anton, taken when his body was dragged out of the water. She gave a strange lift of her eyebrows, but said no more.

Anna sat patiently as Langton began to bring out the photographs of all the victims: David Rushton, Donny Petrozzo, Frank Brandon, Julius D'Anton's wife, Sandra. Lastly, he laid out the pictures of Julia Brandon's mangled car, and the mortuary shots of her body. He kept up a fast delivery, slapping down the pictures, not giving Honour time to query, or her lawyer time to interject. He spread the photographs out like a fan across the table and stared at Honour.

"Why are you showing me all these terrible photographs?" Her voice was now starting to sound strained.

Langton laid down numerous photographs of Alexander Fitzpatrick, taken from Rushton's security CCTV footage. "This is Alexander Fitzpatrick, correct?"

Honour chewed her lips.

"Or maybe you still refer to him as Anthony Collingwood? Which name do you call him by?"

"I don't know him."

"All these people—
including your sister
—died because of him!"

"That is not true!"

"Yes, it is. She had the brakes of her car sliced in two, Honour. Now, for God's sake, why are you protecting him?"

"I'm not! This is all supposition; you have no proof of any of these accusations."

Langton leaned forward. "What makes someone like you willing to put their own life on hold? Because you will go to prison, Honour. You have consistently lied to cover the truth, and now you maintain this farcical front that you never even knew Fitzpatrick."

Webb rapped the table with his pencil. "Detective Chief Superintendent, you are trying to goad my client into answering these accusations. I advise her not to make any reply, on the grounds that it may—"

"Are you maintaining that your client never knew what was going on right under her nose—that she never saw anything?"

"You have no evidence that Mrs. Nolan ever, at any time, allowed her premises to be used for storing these drugs."

"It doesn't matter how many people die, how many people this man, whom you are so desperate to protect, has killed? He even used his elderly mother! You think she'll be let off? Mrs. Eatwell is going to stand trial just like you, and she will die in prison. So what is so great about her son—about this evil, twisted, sadistic monster, who even used his own children to launder money?"

Webb now banged the table in anger. "If you have any further questions relating—"

"I haven't finished yet!" Langton snapped, then he pointed at Honour. "He used you, Honour; you are just like everyone else who has ever come into contact with him. You should try and assist my inquiries, because I am going to charge you with accessory to murder."

"Exactly who are you now referring to?" asked Webb.

"Take your pick." Langton pushed forward the array of photographs.

Honour began to remove the clips from her hair.

"Can you please stop that," Langton said angrily.

"It's tight—I have a headache," she said as she loosened her two braids, uncoiling them to hang down around her shoulders.

"Right. Let's go from the beginning again, shall we?"

Anna could feel her own headache starting, never mind Honour's. She was surprised how exhausted she felt. She knew Langton must be as drained, but he didn't let up, this time trying a calmer approach. Still Honour maintained her composure, but kept on fiddling with the hair grips she had removed.

They were getting nowhere; even Webb began to show that he was tired of the repetition as Langton continued to ask the same questions and again received the same replies. She knew nothing; she did not admit to knowing Alexander Fitzpatrick by that, or any other name; she was not aware that any illegal drugs had been stored at her farmhouse and subsequently moved to Mrs. Eatwell's garage. It was preposterous: she claimed to be totally innocent of all charges.

Anna could sense Langton's frustration building to boiling point. It was at this moment that he leaned close and whispered that she should take over. Anna began by picking up the photographs and stacking them like a pack of cards. "Could you tell me about your relationship with your sister?"

Honour gave a small shrug. "We were not on good terms."

"Why was that?"

Honour sighed. "We were very different creatures. All Julia ever cared about was herself, and money—the more she had, the more she wanted."

"So, when Julia was living at the house in St. John's Wood, were you a frequent visitor?"

"No."

"But you did visit the property? According to Julia, you moved in for some considerable time, as Alexander Fitzpatrick's mistress?"

"That is not true."

"Why would she lie about it? According to Julia, you were in love with her partner. When she found out that the woman he had moved into her home was her own sister, she began to arrange her finances, to block his access to any of the monies he had arranged for her to live on. In a fit of jealousy, she also claimed that, although her first child was conceived by IVF treatment, the second child was in actual fact your husband's. She was adamant that the relationship was purely sexual."

"That is a lie."

"That Damien Nolan fathered her second child was the reason you and she were not on good terms. You found out. Not content with having a relationship with Fitzpatrick, you became very distressed to discover this liaison; partly out of jealousy but, Julia maintained, it was more to do with the fact that you were unable to have children of your own."

Langton kept his head bowed; he knew what Anna was doing, leading in with a more personal motive to try to open Honour up. It was working.

There was a flash of anger as Honour shook her head. "Julia was a liar; she couldn't tell the truth to save her life, especially if it didn't suit her. She was very manipulative."

"And you are not? I would say that living with her lover, in her house was—"

"I did not live with him."

"Who are you referring to?"

"You know who; you are trying to trap me into admitting something that is just a pack of lies. I love my husband."

"Really? So it must have hurt you considerably to find out he fathered her child?"

"He did not."

"We will be taking DNA tests to prove it, so it is immaterial whether you admit it or not. It must have been very hard for you: your sister was younger, beautiful and wealthy, living in great luxury, able to conceive two children, and, at the same time, arrange a very complicated scheme to block her partner from gaining access to her fortune. You claimed that you were not aware she had married Frank Brandon—"

"I keep on telling you that I had very little contact with my sister. We did not get along; to be honest, I never liked her."

"But you were jealous of her."

"No, I was not; I had my own life."

"In a rented, rather squalid farmhouse?"

"That is your opinion."

"It's a fact. It must have been very tempting when Alexander Fitzpatrick surfaced—and he did, didn't he? How did he first approach you after almost twenty years living abroad?" Anna placed down his photograph. "He is still a very attractive man, isn't he? Did he cajole you into helping him? He must have dangled untold wealth to get you to take the risk, and allow him to store crates of drugs at your property; or maybe he threatened you? Put you under terrible pressure to assist him?"

Honour remained silent.

"We have a witness, Honour, who has given a statement that you were fully aware of the content of the crates, and that you assisted in moving them to Mrs. Eatwell's garage."

"No, I did not."

"I'm sorry, what was that? You didn't know what the crates contained?"

Honour was twisting her braid round and round in her fingers. "You are making me say things."

Webb sighed. He tapped the table. "My client has denied, over and over again, any knowledge of what was in these crates. She is fully aware that nothing was discovered at her farmhouse that connected her to the drugs haul—"

"Because she had already helped move them to a safer place! Mr. Webb, we have a witness who assisted her; to persist in denying any knowledge of them is now ridiculous."

"I didn't know what they contained." At last, a breakthrough.

"You were totally unaware that these crates contained a class-A drug, Fentanyl, in vast quantities?"

"I didn't know what was in them."

"Who arranged with you to store them at the farmhouse?"

Honour was cracking. Her cheeks were flushed, and she licked at her lips nervously.

"Do you see his picture amongst these photographs? Yes or no?"

Honour shifted her weight in the chair. "I got a call from Julia."

"Your sister."

"Yes. She said that she needed to store some things, as she was buying a new house in Wimbledon, and this young man"—she tapped Adrian Summers's photograph—"drove up and stored them in the old henhouse."

"I see. So when you knew the police were making inquiries and returning with a search warrant, you agreed to move these items to Mrs. Eatwell 's garage?"

"Yes."

"If they were just household items, why did you bother moving them?"

"Julia told me to; she said a few things were very valuable."

Anna wrote in her notebook, before she gave a smile to Honour. "Thank you. So this means that, contrary to what you said earlier, you were still on reasonable terms with Julia."

"She was my sister."

Anna took out the mortuary shots of Julia's injured body and passed them across the table. "The brake wires of her Mercedes were sliced in two. She was driving at over ninety miles per hour when her car jackknifed across the dual carriageway into the path of a truck. As you can see, she was decapitated."

Honour turned away.

Next, Anna put down photographs of the boat anchored in Chelsea harbor, with the two children on board. She kept up an easy conversation about the children being well cared for, and the fact that the boat had also been anchored previously in Brighton Marina; she showed

pictures of the rented house in Hove. She could sense that Honour was unaware of the floating palace owned by Fitzpatrick. "Did you ever pay a visit to this boat, or the property in Hove?"