Wrongful Death (32 page)

Anna followed him into the lift to the top floor of the dormitory building as he explained that the rooms were not exactly the Hilton, but adequate and comfortable. On entering her room, Anna saw that it had a threadbare red carpet and a single bed in one corner, with a small workstation-come-desk next to it and a lamp. The bed consisted of white sheets, a blanket and a grey bedspread. The wardrobe was tiny and there were only about half a dozen coat hangers. Next to the wardrobe there was a small chest of drawers and a wooden armchair that looked rather rickety. Anna told Blane that it was exactly like the rooms at the Hendon Police College in London, only with a better view, as looking out from the window the woodlands and lakes were quite stunning. She noticed an assault course that stretched as far as the eye could see into the woods. It had high brick walls, rope climbing frames and balance beams along the way.

‘Is that part of the FBI training?’ Anna asked, pointing from the window.

‘That’s the Yellow Brick Road, a six-mile obstacle-course run. It’s part of the fitness regime and if and when you can complete it then you are awarded with a yellow brick to honour the achievement.’

‘So what does an FBI training day entail?’ Anna asked with trepidation.

‘We start at seven a.m. with physical exercise, push-ups, pull-ups and a smaller assault course. Then it’s into the classroom learning about profiling, latest forensics, leadership and media. Day finishes about five p.m. and then there’s your case research to work on in the evening.’

Anna felt exhausted just listening to the daily routine. She had not really contemplated what the course would consist of, only that it was a good career move, but now it sounded extremely daunting. She asked Blane if there was Wi-Fi in the room, only to learn that that for security reasons it was not allowed, and the only Internet access was from the computers in the library. He suggested that she unpack and he would meet her downstairs by the elevator and take her to the supplies store to get her training uniform and other course equipment.

Having emptied her bags and used up every inch of storage space, Anna set up her laptop on the desk and put her notepad down beside it. She then went to join Don Blane in the reception area, from where he took her to the stores and supplies room. She was given a large blue holdall with the FBI logo and crest on it, a pair of brown cargo trousers and three blue FBI polo shirts to be worn during class. A grey FBI tracksuit, matching T-shirts and blue windcheater jacket were also provided, along with books relating to her course. As Blane, ever the gentleman, picked up the holdall to carry it for Anna, she glanced to see if he was wearing a wedding ring and noticed he wasn’t. She really liked him and if her first impression was accurate she thought she’d like to spend some of her ten weeks at Quantico getting to know him better. Blane suggested that she drop the holdall off in her room and then they could have a bite to eat in the canteen as it closed at seven.

As they sat eating their food, Anna told him that she had expected the canteen food to consist of pizzas, hot dogs and hamburgers but was pleasantly surprised to see how healthy it actually was.

‘The motto “A healthy mind in a healthy body” is a big thing here,’ Blane said as he ate his chicken salad.

Anna had opted for the tuna fish with fresh vegetables.

Blane took the opportunity to explain more about the course, informing Anna that two hundred US law-enforcement officers and fifty international students would attend it and that each class consisted of twenty-five students. The name of the game was to make contacts and get to know as many fellow students as possible. He went on to say that the course would officially begin at two p.m. tomorrow afternoon in the lecture theatre where the aims and objectives would be set out.

Anna smiled. ‘That’s good news. I can sleep in a bit. I was naïve to think that the jet lag wouldn’t get the better of me.’

They finished their meal and Blane asked Anna if she would like a look round.

‘I’d really like to see the library and use one of your computers for some research,’ she replied at once.

‘Damn, you’re keen, and I haven’t even allocated you a case project yet,’ he said jokingly.

‘Actually, it’s something to do with the Reynolds case. I’m hoping to get background and travelling details on a Jamaican citizen called Samuel Peters.’

‘I might be able to help you there. I’m a good friend with a US drug enforcement agent on the island called Bill Roberts. I can have a chat with him if you like and see what he can find out.’

‘Thanks, Don, that would be really helpful.’ Anna smiled.

‘Off the record, I take it?’ he asked.

‘For now, yes, but if anything comes of it, I can get one of the team back home to draw up the necessary paperwork and make it an official enquiry.’ Anna took out the notebook she usually had with her and jotted down what she knew about Samuel.

‘Well, it’s the same time in Jamaica as here, and there’s no point in hanging around.’ Blane grinned, getting out his mobile to ring Bill Roberts. He turned away from her as he caught up with his friend but Anna could see from his body language that he was conveying the urgency of the enquiry.

Anna thanked him profusely before confessing that she hoped he didn’t think she was being rude but she was very tired after a long day, and then deliberately added that she didn’t want to keep him from his partner any longer.

‘No worries, just me at home now; my wife passed away three years ago from cancer. No kids either, but I spoil my nieces and nephews something rotten.’ He looked at her with amusement.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Anna said, wishing she’d not been so sneaky.

‘Not at all. What about you, anyone in your life?’

‘Not at the moment. My fiancé passed away two years ago – he was a prison officer and a violent inmate attacked him.’ Anna had never been so matter-of-fact and open with anyone about Ken’s death; she didn’t know why but it just felt right to be unguarded and honest with Don. There was so much about his manner, smile and the way he spoke that she felt attracted to.

Blane stood up and, looking into Anna’s eyes, shook her hand. ‘If there’s anything at all you need, please call me,’ he said, handing her his business card. ‘And I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?’

Anna’s face lit up and she had no hesitation as she replied, ‘That would be really nice, thank you.’

Langton couldn’t believe how luxurious Jessie Dewar’s lakeside apartment was. The large living-come-dining room had floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a panoramic view across the man-made lakes and golf course. The floors were real wood and the walls were pristine white with modern art hanging throughout and splashing the rooms with colour. The white leather sofa and armchairs were large and comfortable. A glass dining table and six white leather chairs were positioned near the sliding glass doors that led onto the large terrace with glass and aluminium railings. There were two double bedrooms, the master with en-suite bathroom, and both with LCD TVs and walk-in closets. A double garage to one side was designed to fit in with the surrounding buildings.

Langton decided to take a wander over to the golf club to eat and have a cold beer. Once there, he was surprised how busy the restaurant was and didn’t really feel properly attired to eat in it, so he opted for the barbecue menu on the veranda and had a T-bone steak, fries and salad. The meal was delicious and he was joined by a couple of the golf-club members who had just finished their round. One turned out to be the local sheriff and so Langton told him that he was with the Met Police in London and a visiting lecturer on a course at the FBI Academy. He and the sheriff got on very well and spent an enjoyable evening topping up each other’s beer glasses whilst swapping war stories.

Langton returned to the condo quite drunk, and contemplated calling Travis, but knew she would be exhausted and well asleep by now so he didn’t bother. He was looking forward to having dinner with her and wondered if he should invite her to stay at Dewar’s as there were two rooms. Why not, he thought to himself as he lay on the bed fully clothed, whereupon the alcohol and jet lag kicked in and he was fast asleep within minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A call from the reception-desk officer summoned Dewar and Barolli down to Witness Interview Room One, where they were greeted by the sight of Marisha Peters grinning widely and swaying slightly in her seat. Barolli introduced Dewar and said she was helping him with his enquiries into her nephew Josh’s death.

‘I is helping too, just like Miss Dewsi, and I can tell youse I knows a thing or two,’ Marisha said, wagging her finger.

‘Have you been drinking, Marisha?’ Barolli asked.

Marisha shook her head, and then sucked air through her teeth in annoyance.

‘I told youse, Officer Perrolli, I’SE DON’T DRINK!’

Marisha was slurring her words and Barolli knew that she was lying. Checking her eyes he noticed her pupils were dramatically enlarged.

‘Have you been taking drugs, Marisha?’ he pressed.

‘DRUGS, no way, mon. I’ve not touched the ganja for years.’

Marisha licked her lips and started to shake slightly. ‘Can someone tern de heating down. I’se burning up in here and me mouth’s no spit left,’ she said, but showed no signs of sweating.

Barolli leaned towards Marisha to smell her breath and smiled at her.

‘You had some of that spiced rum with your coffee?’

Marisha grinned back, giggling, and leaned in close to his face to whisper: ‘Well, only a little one fer a bit of da Dutch courage, before I’se come and see ya to tell you what I knows about da rich bitch.’

Her voice was so croaky that Barolli pushed his own bottle of water across the desk. Marisha squinted, trying to focus on it, and grabbed at thin air in her attempt to pick it up. Barolli noticed her breathing was becoming heavier and there was a faint rasping sound. He picked up the bottle of water and put it in Marisha’s hand, then turned his back towards her so he could have a whispered conversation with Dewar.

‘She doesn’t look too good to me. She’s clearly had a skinful so I don’t think it’s appropriate to interview her at the moment.’

‘You’re being overcautious,’ the agent insisted. ‘She’s only had the one rum and her wheezy breathing is down to her being overweight.’ Before he could reply, Dewar started her questioning: ‘I want to ask you some things about your brother Samuel.’

‘De good lord knows she done for ma nephew,’ Marisha said, her voice becoming more agitated as she started to rock backwards and forwards in her chair, constantly licking her lips.

‘The date he went back to Jamaica is important, as I believe Donna Reynolds is trying to frame him for murder,’ Dewar said firmly.

‘Frame who for murder?’ Marisha asked with a confused look on her face as she began to scratch her lower left arm repeatedly.

‘Did Samuel ever meet Donna when he was decorating?’ Dewar asked, growing exasperated.

‘Decorating Donna, yes, ma’am, he also decorate Esme’s real good.’ Marisha again sucked air through her teeth and began to shake even more.

‘Will you please answer my question?’ Dewar said, becoming frustrated.

Barolli was concerned. ‘Marisha, are you okay? I can get a doctor to come and see you if you feel ill.’ Dewar glared at him, but he quietly told her that he didn’t think it was a good idea to continue, as Marisha was clearly on another planet and due to her condition anything she might say would be ruled worthless as evidence. Dewar, latching onto Marisha’s comment about Donna, ignored his advice.

‘When did Samuel go back home?’ Dewar asked, leaning forward, pressing for an answer. Marisha stared into space and began to sway and shake even more, as Barolli noticed that her pupils had got larger and she had scratched her arm so roughly that she’d drawn blood.

‘Answer my question, Marisha, or I will arrest you for perverting the course of justice,’ Dewar said assertively.

Marisha’s breathing had become even more erratic.

‘Samuel never steal no money, the rich bitch give it to him.’ Her shaking was now uncontrollable.

Barolli could see the woman was incapable of understanding the questions and it was time to get her medical assistance.

‘Stop now, Agent Dewar,’ he said.

‘She’s lying, she knows something. Tell me why Donna gave Samuel money, Marisha.’

‘Ask de lord, he knows she done for my Samuel as well!’ Marisha shouted at the top of her voice.

‘He helped Donna so she paid him off, didn’t she?’ Dewar asked loudly.

Marisha suddenly squeezed her chest with both hands and her eyes began to roll in their sockets as she bent forward, apparently in great pain.

‘Where is he, where is Samuel now?’ Dewar persisted.

Marisha couldn’t speak; it was as if she was suddenly starved of oxygen, and she looked at Barolli as if begging for help. He jumped up, opened the interview-room door and shouted for someone to call an ambulance. As Marisha slumped to the floor, Dewar knelt down beside her and unzipped her jacket and the top button of her blouse.

‘She’s lying to protect Samuel and I—’ Dewar started to say as Barolli knelt down.

‘Shut the fuck up, Dewar, and help me with CPR.’

By the time the ambulance arrived, Marisha was unconscious, but still alive thanks to the continuous CPR that Barolli and Dewar had given her. Having seen their witness safely off to hospital accompanied by a uniform officer, Barolli phoned Mike Lewis to tell him what had happened, stating only that they had just started to interview Marisha when she collapsed and had a suspected heart attack. Mike Lewis told Barolli that he and Dewar were to wait, as he was on his way over to speak with them both, and on no account should either of them leave the station.

Barolli paced around Travis’s office, racking his brains about what to tell Mike and whether or not he should defend Dewar. He knew that the whole incident had been captured on CCTV but was somewhat relieved that being a witness interview room the system was video only and no sound.

‘What are you looking so worried about, we’ve done nothing wrong,’ Dewar remarked.