CHAPTER 14
Anna waited in a small outer office for over twenty minutes. A rather scruffy officer, wearing denim jeans and bomber jacket, eventually joined her. Sam Power was an undercover officer, and one with quite a reputation; he had busted a very big cocaine ring in 2002, so, for his own protection, he was "paperworking" until the heat of the trial died down. They were up to their ears, he explained, and having spent some time with Phil Markham that morning, the officers didn't want to cover the same ground again."So you got me." He grinned. He was rather good-looking, with sandy hair and bright blue eyes, and a very confident manner.Anna thanked him for seeing her. She then came straight out with it. "I have this gut feeling that Alexander Fitzpatrick is back in the UK. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about.""Of course I do—he's the one that got away. But we don't act on gut feelings. To be honest, he's been dormant for so many years, we've kind of dismissed him as having any hand in trafficking big-time anymore. He made a lot of money; he's probably lying low and enjoying the proceeds of his ill-gotten gains.""How dangerous was he?"Sam shifted his weight in the hard-backed chair. "Well, you can't compare him with Howard Marks, not the same animal. Marks was never violent; never, to our knowledge, killed anyone. He's kind of a hero to the pot-smoking oldies who still maintain a hippy attitude to soft drugs. I don't agree with any kind of leniency regarding hash or marijuana—I've seen too many kids fall into the trap of moving up the scale to use heroin—and nowadays, Christ only knows what they mix up with so-called class-C drugs."Anna nodded, letting him expound his personal theories with regard to drug taking, and flushing as she recalled her time with Pete the other evening. She waited for the opportunity to bring the conversation back to Fitzpatrick. It took a while; Sam seemed to like the sound of his own voice."Did you ever meet him?""No, he was before my time. He's at pension age now; no one's heard a dickie bird from him for at least fifteen, twenty years. The guy made millions. He is either living a life of luxury, or he could even have been topped—he was known to mix with the Colombian cartels and the Mafia, and you don't mess with those types. In the mideighties, they reckoned he mobilized the law enforcement agencies in fourteen or fifteen different countries. That's the U.S., UK, Spain, the Philippines, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand, Pakistan, Germany ...""Good heavens," Anna inteijected."Yeah, good heavens. He also shipped to the Netherlands, Canada, Switzerland, Australia, and Austria—a lot of dope, and a lot of money. He was rumored to have something like twenty homes around the world.""And boats?""Yeah, Christ knows how many yachts—maybe as many as his different identities. After he'd flooded the market here and skipped bail, he went on to bigger deals, trafficking cocaine and heroin into the U.S. They couldn't capture him either; he's still on their Most Wanted list."Anna tried not to sound as if her supposition regarding Fitzpatrick was implausible. "His ex-partner, a very beautiful woman, lives here. She has two children. Whether they are fathered by him or not, I don't know."Sam tapped her knee. "He had beautiful women all over the world; with his money and his drugs, he could get any woman he wanted."Anna continued, even though she could feel Sam almost laughing at her insinuation that Fitzpatrick would want to be with this woman or her children. "He possibly has close friends here?""No way would he risk it. No one was his close friend; he couldn't afford the risk that they would give him up! There are rewards out for him in the States ..."Nothing Anna said appeared to dent Sam's overconfident attitude that she was wrong about Fitzpatrick. In fact, he made her feel almost foolish in suggesting it.