again: this time driven by Julius D'Anton in the village of Shipston on Stour."Anna waited as they all took in the links on the board."D'Anton's body was subsequently found in the Thames. It has been ascertained that he did not drown; we are still waiting on the results from toxicology to give us the precise cause of death. We are also waiting for the same department to give us details on how Donny Petrozzo died. We do know that Stanley Leymore was shot—and here we go with the links: the bullet that killed Stanley has been matched to the bullets that killed Frank Brandon."She gestured to Stanley Leymore's name, and the red arrow that linked it to the black Mitsubishi. They had found papers in his garage that meant he had sold it; they knew the vehicle had been originally stolen from Brighton.Anna pointed to the post office van used by D'Anton. "Okay, here is another link: we have traces of the same horseshit ..."Phil muttered, showing his boredom at the repetition.She turned to stare at him. "I mean real horseshit, Phiclass="underline" the same dung, for want of a better word, has been matched on the post office van, and the Mitsubishi—and, guess what?" Anna drew an arrow from the two vehicles to the names of Honour and Damien Nolan. "Their home—Honey Farm! So why was the Mitsubishi there? And did D'Anton—who, coincidental^, had been at Balliol with none other than Alexander Fitzpatrick—by accident approach the farm and perhaps recognize Fitzpatrick hiding out there?"Anna placed down her marker pen as the team muttered. She continued by saying that, although the Drug Squad found her hypotheses about Fitzpatrick almost laughable, she had not backed down. Even if he was at pension age, she believed he had returned to the UK.Anna next discussed the painting of the yacht at Honour's farmhouse: it had been taken down, but not before Gordon had photographed it and subsequently traced it. They did not yet know, however, if the yacht was Fitzpatrick's, nor whether he could have been in England in 1997.Anna next turned back to the widow, Julia Brandon. "She has two children: she has admitted both were by IVF treatment. We have no named father. She insists her ex-partner was Anthony Collingwood; as we all know, we have no trace on him."Anna was in full stride. She now began using another colored pen to arrow the next set of links. "Julia Brandon is Honour Nolan's sister. Honour denied ever knowing Fitzpatrick, and yet there was a painting of the yacht Dare Devil at the farm."Phil interrupted. "You know, I see all these links—in fact, it's looking like a tube map right now—but I can't see how this all adds up to a string of four murders: an ex-cop, a chauffeur, a crooked car dealer, and a junkie antique dealer. I mean, if this Fitzpatrick is here—which I do not believe for a minute—what does it give us? Why is he here? Why would this infamous drug trafficker be visiting a shithole of a squat in Chalk Farm?"Anna could feel her exasperation building. "Phil, I don't know why Frank Brandon or Alexander Fitzpatrick was there. I am trying to bloody find out. I have said from day one that maybe, just maybe, it's not anyone in the squat they wanted-—it was something they had and that something, whatever the fuck it was, links all the dead men together and may, ultimately, link to Fitzpatrick."It was at this point that Langton walked in. Anna almost had heart failure.Cunningham, who accompanied him, threaded her way between the tables and chairs to the front. "In case any of you don't know, this is Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton."Langton nodded as he unbuttoned his navy pinstriped jacket. He took it off and hung it over the back of a chair, then loosened his tie before turning to Cunningham with his hand out. She passed him a file. Langton coughed, and opened it. "We now have a toxicology report. Donny Petrozzo was killed by a massive overdose, as was Julius D'Anton. The same drug killed both victims, linking them directly: Fentanyl. For those of you who don't know, it is a very potent, fast-acting, opiate pain medicine, mostly used in hospital emergency wards and not, thank Christ, as yet on the streets. Fentanyl is used by the microgram, it's that potent; unlike morphine, which is used in milligrams. So you understand what we are dealing with!" He grinned. "Cocaine gives you a high for maybe an hour, heroin ditto; Fentanyl gives you no more than five to ten minutes but, because it's so strong, addicts are starting to play around with it. The U.S. have begun to get feedback on the use of this drug: addicts are mixing it with low-grade morphine and, in a number of cases, scopolamine, which is used for motion sickness. Fentanyl is also being mixed with heroin and OxyContin, a painkiller. Its nickname is Polo, the mint with a hole, but in this case, the hole is an almighty high!"The room was silent, listening intently to his commanding manner and his low gruff voice."We have a number of reports from the States that three warehouses containing packages of Fentanyl have been raided. We are in the process, with the FBI Drug Unit, of looking into the drug surfacing over here. We are also checking out if there are any known thefts of Fentanyl from hospitals."He gestured with his hands to indicate the size of a package. "One this size—because it takes only a microgram to get a high that is very dangerous as it is guaranteed to lift the roof off your brains—is worth millions."A murmur lifted slightly as the team took on board what he was saying. He waited for them to settle."If this is coming into the UK, it is a frightening new development. It is short-acting and comes out of the system quickly; take too much, and it will kill you just as fast as the high."Langton then turned to Anna. His eyes seemed to bore into hers. "DI Travis, you've been doing some very intuitive detective work. I'm impressed. DCI Cunningham and I would like to go over the details; I've asked Detective Sergeant Sam Power to join us."He asked Cunningham which would be the most suitable office to use. She gestured toward her own."Good. I'd like some coffee, and to get on with it as soon as possible."Anna had not said one word. AO she could think of was being thankful she had dressed well that morning. Langton looked even more spruce than she remembered. There was no hint of a limp from his injuries; on the contrary, he bristled with energy and vitality, unlike Cunningham. He strode to the door, as he saw Sam Power hovering. Anna picked up her briefcase and put her notebook inside. She went into her own office to give her hair a quick comb and straightened her jacket. She checked her makeup, putting on some lip gloss, then wiping it off in case Langton noticed she had done so!As she made her way to Cunningham's office, she caught Langton talking to—or talking at—Phil Markham. It sounded like he was lecturing him on not being so tight-arsed.Phil was sweating. "I'm sorry, I just didn't reckon this Fitzpatrick guy was in the frame. It was a long shot—""He might not be, but something stinks in that farmhouse besides the horseshit. And you shouldn't ever dismiss anything that DI Travis comes up with. She has more brains in her little finger than this entire team put together! If she's right, you've all lost valuable time. Fitzpatrick was an evil sod who'd knife his own mother to get what he wanted; maybe even his kids.""If they are his.""Yeah, if\ We've got a fucking nightmare on our hands and we shouldn't be wasting time putting another officer down. No matter what you think or what you feel, just learn to button it!""Yes, sir."Langton pulled at his tie. "I want this boat Dare Devil checked over. I also want any updated photographs of Fitzpatrick." Then Langton walked off, leaving Phil ready to explode.He looked at Pamela. "He wants an updated photo of this bastard Fitzpatrick; where am I gonna get that from? He's only been on the wanted list for fifteen years. If the U.S. don't have one, where the fuck are we going to get one from?"Pamela pointed at the incident board of aliases used by Fitzpatrick and suggested they try to track them down via passport and immigration. If Fitzpatrick had, as suspected, entered the UK in the past few years using these aliases, they might have a recent photograph. She also suggested that Fitzpatrick might have had plastic surgery to disguise his looks; living in Florida, it would have been easy to accomplish. "Terrific! Now we don't have any idea what the bastard looks like!""Can't change his height, though; six feet four," Pamela said, smiling.