By: Lynda La Plante

Paperback

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Anna Travis is back in a new gripping mystery from Lynda La Plante, featuring the female detective every bit as intelligent, ambitious, and flawed as Prime Suspect's Jane Tennison.

Ruthless drug trafficker Alexander Fitzpatrick is one of the most wanted men in the Western Hemisphere. But for ten years, there's been no sign of him. Is he dead, or just trying to appear that way? When an ex-colleague from the murder squad is found shot in a dank drug den, Anna Travis is pulled into the case. She's grateful for the distraction after her breakup with DCI Langton and soon finds herself involved with someone new. But as the bodies pile up and the mystery deepens, Travis and Langton must put aside their personal history and work together to track down one of the canniest criminals they've ever encountered.

About the Author

Lynda La Plante bestowed John Moores University with a creative writing scholarship in her hometown of Liverpool and is an honorary member of the British Film Institute. The British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) has also awarded Lynda with the Dennis Potter Writers Award.

She was awarded a CBE in the 2008 Queen's Birthday Honours List (for services to Literature, Drama and to Charity), and was presented with the prestigious TV Spielfilm Award for her television adaptation of her novel Above Suspicion at the International Film and Television Festival Conference in Cologne. In 2009 Lynda was inducted into the Crime Thriller Awards Hall of Fame . Her novels have all been international bestsellers.

In The Press

At the start of La Plante's excellent fourth crime drama to feature London Det. Insp. Anna Travis (after 2008's Clean Cut), wanted drug kingpin Alexander Fitzpatrick returns home to England after plastic surgery in Mexico, desperate to collect funds that Julia Kendal, his recently married ex-partner in the drug smuggling business, has squirreled away. When Julia's new husband, a former cop who was also acting as her bodyguard, is shot to death at a seedy Chalk Farm drug squat, Anna discovers an unexpected link between Julia and Anthony Collingwood, a Fitzpatrick alias. More bodies of Fitzpatrick's former associates pile up, including some poisoned with an overdose of Fentanyl, an illegal opiate with which Fitzpatrick plans to flood the U.K. market. Supt. Jimmy Langton, Anna's tetchy ex-lover and former superior, who's dismayed to notice she's dangerously attracted to a professor connected to the elusive Fitzpatrick, retains his enigmatic appeal. (July)
-- Publishers Weekly

The killing of an ex-cop in a drug squat sends DI Anna Travis searching for the most wanted dealer in England. Frank Brandon had led quite a life since his days on the Job. He was working as a chauffeur for midlevel drug supplier Donny Petrozzo when he caught the eye of wealthy, beautiful Julia Kendal, who'd married him and evidently made him a happy man. So what was he doing in the flat in squalid Warren Estate where he was shot dead? Anna's preliminary inquiries convince her that his death involves Julia's shadowy former partner Anthony Collingwood, ne Alexander Fitzpatrick, who dropped out of sight years ago after leaving her with two children and a sizable fortune. But DCI Carol Cunningham, head of Anna's Murder Squad, is far from convinced. So Anna begins to ask questions on her own, with eminently predictable results: enough progress to keep the pot simmering, but not enough to lead to her quarry or mollify her superiors, including her ex-lover DCS James Langton (Clean Cut, 2007, etc.). Behind the series of violent deaths that propel the investigation, Anna sees a disturbing pattern: Fitzpatrick's scheme to flood the U.K. with Fentanyl, a painkiller as deadly as it is powerful. The criminal conspiracy is menacing, even monstrous, but no more interesting than the authentically tedious interrogations.
-- Kirkus Reviews

Other Reviews
'Deadly Intent races along at lightening speed and had me gripped from the first page' Emma Lee-Potter, Express 12/12

1

Monterrey, Mexico, is not to be confused with Monterey, California. This Monterrey is a border town whose main industry and source of employment is a massive tile factory. Monterrey is where Dr. Manuel Mendosa has his small surgical clinic. His father had also been a surgeon, attached to the American army in Vietnam. He always maintained that his finest work had been done during the war, as he was able to finesse his reconstructive surgical abilities on the burned and disfigured soldiers. His only son, Manuel, followed in his footsteps and became a qualified plastic surgeon. He had, under his father's watchful eye, opened a practice in Mexico City. After his father's death, Manuel had become addicted to drugs and sunk into debt. Accused of malpractice, he had gone into hiding. Manuel had then been coerced into operating on a known felon, altering the man's features to enable him to escape imprisonment.

Now, known in the underworld for his prowess, he was forced into performing many similar surgical operations. He was paid highly for his skill and silence, but he was nevertheless trapped and in constant fear for his life, should he ever refuse a request.

When Manuel received a call from a Mr. Smith, he knew this was yet another 'operation' requiring his skill as a surgeon. He knew too that his life would depend upon his silence.

Mr. Smith was not American but English, and his arrival at the clinic, although expected, was met with trepidation. The patient was so tall he had to stoop to enter the small reception room. He was well dressed in a cream-colored suit and a white T-shirt. He carried a thin leather briefcase.

If Manuel felt trepidation; so did his new client. Miles from anywhere in the border town, he had arranged the meeting on word of mouth, hearing that Manuel was a genius. He had not expected to confront one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. Manuel was slender with beautiful artistic hands, dark hair swept back from a high forehead, every feature of his face chiseled, teeth white and gleaming. His pale blue cotton shirt with its priest collar, almost like a surgeon's short gown, was obviously handmade. The color made his wide, clear eyes even bluer, like azure.

He was sitting expectantly as Mr. Smith entered.

'Good morning,' the Englishman said.

'You needed to see me?' Manuel said quietly, in fluent English.

'Yes. That is correct.'

'You were recommended?'

'Yes. By...'

The Englishman said two names that sent chills down Manuel's stiff spine. He knew who they were — men he could not refuse.

'I will pay you in dollars.'

Manuel nodded and watched as the big man sat uncomfortably on one of the hard chairs in the reception area. He had no receptionist and no nurses. Only one person assisted him in his operations — an elderly Mexican, Enrico, who had worked alongside his father.

'I will need to take some particulars and discuss exactly what is required.'

'Obviously.'

Manuel liked his deep resonant voice, the way he appeared respectful. And yet there was a domineering confidence about him.

'Firstly, may I ask your age?'

'Sixty.'

Manuel leaned forward and picked up a clipboard from the coffee table.

'Do you suffer from high blood pressure?'

'Slightly.'

'Have you had any recent operations?'

'No.'

'Do you have any heart problems?'

'No.'

'Do you have any allergies?'

'No.'

'No allergic reactions to antibiotics?'

'None.'

Manuel used a slim silver pen to write on his clipboard.

'Have you any blood disorders?'

'No.'

'Do you have transport?'

'Yes.'

'Somewhere to recover after surgery?'

'Yes.'

Manuel replaced the board onto the coffee table.

'Now I need to discuss the exact surgical requirements and modifications you would like me to achieve.'

Mr. Smith had started to sweat in the overheated reception; it was eighty degrees outside and there was no air-conditioning in the room. Compared to Manuel, he felt overweight and clumsy.

'I need to look younger.'

Manuel nodded, watching as Mr. Smith removed from his pocket a large envelope. He took out a thin folded piece of paper.

'Let me start with the liposuction. I want you to remove the excess fat from my stomach, armpits, and chest area, and I want my buttocks lifted, so they are tighter and stronger. I'll leave it up to you whether implants are required.'

Manuel nodded. That part of the procedure was simple.

'I will also want my hands looked at, get rid of the age spots, get my fingerprints lasered.'

Manuel nodded and then leaned forward to pick up his clipboard again. He turned over the top page and started jotting down notes.

'How tall are you?' he asked.

'Six feet three and a half.'

'Your weight?'

'Nineteen and a half stone.'

Manuel tapped the silver pen against his perfect teeth as he calculated what the weight was in kilos. Mr. Smith watched him, struck again by his handsomeness. He wondered if he was homosexual. Manuel wore no wedding ring, no jewelry of any kind, not even a wristwatch, and he seemed to remain cool, not perspiring at all in the oppressive heat.

'You want me to continue?'

'Yes.'

'Right. I want a new face. Nose, cheek implants, maybe even a little chin enhancement, and I want the mole on my right cheek removed.'

Manuel looked up and stared hard as Mr. Smith concentrated on the notepaper. He could see there were some drawings on it. Mr. Smith was showing his age. His gray hair, worn in a ponytail, was thinning, he had a hooked nose. His face had slight jowls and was heavily lined, as if he had spent many years in the sun. His lips were thin and his teeth stained yellowish from smoking. His eyes were dark brown and lined at the corners with hooded lids. Yet he was still what one would describe as handsome — or had been at one time.

'May I see that?' Manuel asked, with his hand outstretched.

Mr. Smith passed over the single sheet of paper. Manuel studied it for a considerable time. There were a number of drawings and indications of what plastic surgery was wanted.

'This is very extensive and invasive surgery, Mr. Smith.'

'I'm aware of that.'

'When do you want to begin?'

'After this meeting.'

Manuel continued making his own notes. It was just after ten o'clock in the morning.

'I also want it all done in one session.'

'That will be impossible. The liposuction alone will take considerable time and it will be painful, requiring a few days to settle before the bandages can be removed. You will also need to wear elastic surgical bandages to maintain the tightness of the skin.'

'Yes, I know.'

'So may I suggest we start with the less invasive surgery and then judge how soon you would be fit enough to begin everything else?'

'No. I want everything done as soon as possible. I've brought with me the required amount of Fentanyl in preference to any other anesthetic. Are you familiar with this type of — '

Manuel interrupted him. 'I'm aware of the use of Fentanyl for emergency surgery and that it is now quite commonly used in many hospitals as a fast means of pain blockage. I know how quickly, unlike most anesthetics, it leaves the system. But it's a very potent opiate that can create respiratory depression if oversubscribed. It can be used as an intravenous anesthetic, but I've never employed it.'

'I will determine how much I need.'

'That is a great risk, Mr. Smith, and one I am not prepared to take. You will require a general anesthetic, but it is up to you if you wish to use the Fentanyl as a means of pain relief.'

Manuel put his silver pen back into the breast pocket of his shirt. He hoped his request for a general anesthetic would make his client change his mind. It didn't.

'Very well. If that's what you advise.'

'Have you eaten anything today?'

'No, not since midnight.'

Manuel leaned over to a pocket built into the side of the chair. 'I will need to call my assistant,' he said.

Mr. Smith noticed for the first time that Manuel was sitting in a wheelchair and it freaked him.

'Is that a wheelchair?'

Manuel glanced toward him as he dialed. 'One of my own designs — very light and battery-controlled.'

'You're a cripple?'

Manuel gave a strange half smile. 'Does it worry you? I do not operate with my feet, but if it concerns you...'

'What's the matter with you?'

Manuel had dialed a number on his mobile phone, but he didn't connect the call.

'I was addicted to crack cocaine. My spine was injured in a fall.'

'Are you still an addict?'

'I will be for the rest of my life, but I am no longer a user. I've been clean for four years.' He held the phone up. 'Have you changed your mind?'

Mr. Smith hesitated and then gave a curt shake of his head.

'Make the call,' he said.

Manuel wished he had walked out, but his client was obviously satisfied, so he called Enrico to come to the surgery.

In contrast to the reception room, the adjoining operating theater was cold. Mr. Smith felt every hair on his body tingle. He was instructed to use a small shower room to scrub his body clean with the disinfectant provided.

Then Manuel introduced Enrico, who led Mr. Smith to the table. He had already prepared a row of needles and the vials of Fentanyl. He checked the client's heart rate and blood pressure, which he noted was high — 180 over 120. He prepared a vein catheter for Mr. Smith's right hand and found a vein easily, attaching it for the anesthetic to be given. An aspirator machine stood ready for the liposuction; large packs of gauze and two big bottles of Xylocaine and adrenaline, plus dark bottles of iodine were at hand. Different rubber tubes were ready to connect to the cannula tubes, to attach to the liposuction machine. Next, Enrico opened Mr. Smith's gown and, using a paintbrush, painted three quadrants, center of his stomach and to both sides.

He checked that there was an oxygen mask ready and a resuscitation machine in full working order. He attached a small clip onto Mr. Smith's index finger, which led to a machine to enable them to read the heartbeat. All of this was completed in total silence.

Enrico then went to assist Manuel to scrub up in a large sink. Manuel let him scrub both his hands with alcohol gel and wheel him to the trolley so he could open the paper-wrapped gloves.

'Do you wish to inject yourself?' Manuel asked his client. It took a while for Mr. Smith to measure the exact amount before clenching his left fist and then watching as Enrico adeptly found a strong vein and injected him. It was very fast; Mr. Smith just had time to lie back before he felt the warmth spreading throughout his body.

'You can get started,' he said, his voice slurred.

ISBN: 9781416527688
ISBN-10: 1416527680
Audience: General
Format: Paperback
Language: English
Number Of Pages: 641
Published: 1st September 2009
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Dimensions (cm): 18.3 x 11.1  x 4.7
Weight (kg): 0.332