The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4)

by Sean Campbell

  ‘Cheers, David.’ Xander reached towards the centre of the table, where a pile of cables ran into a series of ports, unplugged the HDMI cable that Rafferty was using to show her laptop screen on the projector, and replaced it with his own.

  ‘Xander, before we begin, you ought to know that the lockbox we retrieved was rented by Precious Investments & Equities BVI BC, a company operating out of the British Virgin Islands,’ Morton said. ‘Although at this time we don’t know who the beneficial owner is.’

  ‘Then you’re lucky that I do. Precious Investments & Equities BVI was set up by one of my undercover operatives. The sole director is Maksim Bakowski, a junior member of the family. His record is clean, which is how he escaped the sweep when we seized all of Tiny’s assets when he fled. Unfortunately, Maksim has been missing for over a year.’

  ‘Dead?’ Ayala asked.

  ‘We think so. The Bakowskis are vicious. Maksim was consolidating his assets after Tiny fled the UK, and we think he may have been attempting to take over where Tiny and his brothers left off.’

  Morton cleared his throat, desperate to ask after Tiny, but Xander seemed to read his mind.

  ‘There have been no confirmed sightings of Tiny since he fled the country. We think he’s somewhere in South America. It’s where I’d go. He’s got plenty of cash, and there are places that will keep him in high luxury and don’t have an extradition treaty with us. Until and unless he returns to British soil, we have to concentrate our resources on investigations on our own turf. The Bakowskis are still operating here. They’re using a number of lieutenants to run gambling operations, run drugs and arms, and we believe they’re controlling a number of prostitution rings in the United Kingdom.’

  ‘How are we doing?’

  ‘Not well,’ Xander said. ‘They’re operating in cell structures. Each only knows about its own operations. Every time we take one down, another steps up. We’ve had a few significant wins. We were able to dismantle their human trafficking operation, and as far as we know nobody has yet risen to take their place in that market.’

  ‘Well, that’s one win.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s only the tip of the iceberg, and your seizure of the diamonds today goes to show why. The assets are split just as surely as the men are–’

  ‘Didn’t Tiny own property in Hyde Park?’ Ayala asked.

  Xander grinned, showing off expensive porcelain caps. ‘We seized that, and it was sold for a cool fifty-eight million, which makes it one of the most expensive sales in the history of the London property market.’

  Rafferty coughed loudly. ‘Not for long.’

  Property prices in London seemed to be stuck in a perpetual bubble. Every year the average price rose, and every year it seemed that fewer and fewer normal people actually lived in London.

  ‘The Bakowskis have assets all over the place. They’ve got more money hidden down the back of the sofa than most stockbrokers have in their bonus accounts.’

  ‘So, you think whoever tried to steal the diamonds was stealing from Tiny?’ Rafferty said.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Xander conceded. ‘It could also be that Tiny was attempting to steal his own diamonds back. He’d given control of them to cousin Maksim, and if Maksim is dead at his hand, then Tiny has no way to access that resource.’

  ‘Where are the stones from?’ Ayala asked. ‘Surely a criminal can’t just buy a load of diamonds without somebody noticing?’

  ‘Antwerp,’ Morton muttered.

  A few years before, someone had carried out an audacious heist and made off with several million in diamonds from the cutting houses of Antwerp. They’d never been found.

  ‘I expect so.’

  The room fell silent just as Ayala’s stomach grumbled. He turned ashen-faced. ‘Sorry, all. The boss and I were out collecting evidence, and I sort of missed lunch. I don’t suppose we can have a quick coffee break?’

  Ayala turned towards Morton, almost pleading. Morton would normally have said no, especially after Ayala’s insolence in the stairwell, but he was hungry too.

  ‘Ten minutes. And it’s your round. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ***

  In the bowels of New Scotland Yard, where forensics tested and catalogued new evidence, Cynthia Lowe’s hands trembled. There had to have been a mistake.

  Perhaps it was the machine. Three times she’d tested each stone. Not a single one had tested as diamond.

  It was time to go old-school. Lowe held up one of the stones up to her lips and exhaled deeply. The stone began to fog up immediately.

  ‘One. Two. Three,’ Lowe counted aloud. Still foggy. Diamonds would have cleared up in no time, as they could not hold the heat necessary for condensation to form. Her hands trembled again.

  One more test, she told herself, just to be sure. She fetched a glass from the staff kitchen and then picked up one of the loose stones and rubbed it against the glass.

  No scratch. None of the diamonds were diamonds. They were probably cubic zirconia, totally worthless. So, why did the evidence log show them as having come from Hatton Garden? Surely a jeweller would have spotted the problem.

  Unless Detectives Ayala and Morton were setting her up. Could they have switched the stones out for fakes?

  ***

  True to his word, Ayala returned from the coffee shop across the street with coffees for the whole team. Just in time to drop them all over the floor.

  Theresa West, head of the Professional Standards Department, more commonly referred to as Internal Affairs, was waiting for him in the conference room. She was alone, but Rafferty’s phone still lay on the table, so she wouldn’t be too far away. Theresa West must have asked them to vacate the room.

  ‘Detective Ayala, could you come with me, please?’

  ‘Where’s Morton?’

  ‘Downstairs,’ West said ominously.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ayala demanded. ‘Do I need my rep?’

  ‘Only if you’ve got something to hide.’

  ‘You think I haven’t heard that one before? Please. I invented that lie. Tell me what you’re bringing me in for now, or I’m calling a lawyer.’

  Theresa folded her arms as if in disbelief. ‘The diamonds, Mr Ayala. The diamonds you stole from evidence this afternoon.’

  ‘They’re gone?’ Ayala’s jaw fell open. ‘But we logged those in with Evidence less than an hour ago!’

  Chapter 28: Questions to Answer

  Friday April 10th 14:25

  ‘I assume you know why you’re here, Mr Morton,’ Detective Ngichi said. Morton was in one of the interview suites belonging to the Professional Standards Department. He had been in here on another occasion, but never on this side of the one-way mirror through which Detective Ngichi’s boss, Theresa West, was undoubtedly watching him.

  Morton leant forward, causing the cheap plastic chair that he was sat upon to creak loudly. ‘No. But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Where are who?’

  ‘The diamonds, Mr Morton. What did you and Detective Ayala do with them?’

  Morton looked over towards the one-way mirror, perplexed. They couldn’t be talking about the Hatton Garden diamonds, could they?

  ‘The diamonds from Hatton Garden Deposit Co?’

  Ngichi smirked. ‘Unless you’ve stolen some other diamonds too.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about? Detective Ayala and I collected the evidence, bagged it, and logged it in as soon as we got back to New Scotland Yard. I’ve got the sign-in receipt upstairs in my desk, if you’d like me to go and fetch it.’

  ‘You mean these diamonds?’ Ngichi produced the evidence bag Morton had signed in only hours earlier from underneath his side of the desk and placed it between them.

  ‘That’s them, but the evidence seal was unbroken when I handed them in.’

  ‘These are not diamonds.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Don’t play daft with
me, Morton. We know you substituted the diamonds for fakes before you logged them. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Or did you think we’d blame the evidence technician you palmed off with this worthless bag of tat?’

  Morton felt his jaw slacken. He recovered just in time to offer what sounded to his ears to be a lame defence. ‘If they’re not diamonds, then it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘So, you’re blaming the evidence technician, Cynthia Lowe?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then, who?’ Ngichi prodded. ‘You think a Hatton Garden jeweller can’t tell the difference between a diamond and cubic zirconia?’

  ‘I’m not blaming anyone. I can only tell you what I know. We collected what appeared to be diamonds from the safety deposit box at Hatton Garden Deposit Co and immediately logged them, as is proper procedure. Anything beyond that is outside of my knowledge.’

  ‘You keep saying “we”. You mean Detective Inspector Bertram Ayala and yourself, correct?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Were you together the whole time?’

  Morton thought back. They’d been together in Hatton Garden and had driven back together with the evidence on the back seat. It wasn’t until they’d made it into the building that they’d split up.

  ‘I sent Detective Inspector Ayala down to Evidence upon arrival at the entrance. You can check the building’s CCTV.’

  ‘We will,’ Ngichi said smoothly. ‘Tell me about Detective Ayala. Do you trust him?’

  ‘With my life,’ Morton said without hesitation, and then a fragment of their conversation in Hatton Garden floated into his mind. They’d never miss a few. That was what he’d said. Could Ayala have done it?

  Something in Morton’s demeanour must have reflected his thought process, for Ngichi looked at him sceptically. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Very well. Then we’ll have to see if your stories line up.’

  ‘You do that.’ Morton folded his arms and leant back in his chair as Ngichi rose and walked out of the room.

  For nearly half an hour, Morton sat in the interrogation suite alone. The only sounds around him were the banging of the ancient pipes that ran through New Scotland Yard’s basement and the quiet hiss of the air conditioning system, which kept the interrogation suite at a cool seventeen degrees, just warm enough to pass muster with Health and Safety, just cool enough to make suspects anxious.

  When the door opened again, Ngichi walked in with Theresa West and Ayala in tow. The four settled around the table in a cramped huddle.

  Morton looked at Ayala searchingly, but his junior officer refused to meet his gaze. Was Ayala hiding his own guilt, or did he suspect Morton?

  ‘DCI Morton, I’m Theresa West.’

  ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘Then you’ll know I’m firm but fair. Did Mr Ngichi advise you of your right to have a union rep present?’

  ‘In this tiny room?’ Morton’s mind flitted to those circus acts where they tried to fit too many clowns into a Mini.

  ‘Did Mr Ngichi advise you of your rights?’

  ‘Yes. He did.’

  ‘Your story matches up with Detective Ayala’s. I don’t believe either of you. It’s clear that neither of you could have done it alone, and so I have to ask: did you conspire to steal evidence?’

  Ayala pouted indignantly. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘What he said,’ Morton put in. ‘We’d never have had time to swap anything even if we’d wanted to. We came straight from Hatton Garden. Do you think we walk around with fake diamonds on us just in case? This is absurd.’

  ‘Time stamps on evidence forms can be faked, Mr Morton, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess that a lockbox owned by a jeweller might have gemstones in it.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a theory. What evidence do you think you have?’

  ‘At present, none. I have no choice but to release you until I do.’ West’s eyes flashed darkly. ‘Be warned that we’ll be checking every aspect of your stories, and I needn’t add that I’ll be personally watching your department every step of the way. The superintendent has been informed of this issue. We will be conducting a thorough enquiry.’

  ‘That’s all I can ask for,’ Morton said. I’m sure your enquiry will show our innocence.’

  Then, as suddenly as they had been shuffled into the interrogation suites, they were shuffled back out. Rafferty was waiting for them by the stairs.

  ‘What’re you still doing here?’ Morton asked by way of greeting.

  ‘Nice to see you too, boss,’ Rafferty said. ‘You two do still work here, right?’

  Ayala rolled his eyes. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Then I assume you’ll want a précis on what you missed with Xander. Firstly, he promised to track down the source of the diamonds. He had figured that they might be from the Antwerp heist a few years back, but it looks like that’s now–’

  ‘Pointless,’ Morton finished for her.

  ‘Yup. Other than that, he said he’ll keep us in the loop.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Morton said. ‘Xander is quick to make promises and slow to deliver.’

  ‘So, who do you reckon swapped out the stones?’ Rafferty asked.

  ‘My money’s on that shifty crook, Mehtani,’ Ayala volunteered. ‘He didn’t want us seeing the box, and he’d have had ample time to swap it out.’

  ‘Why swap them out, though?’ Rafferty said.

  ‘Two theories,’ Morton said. ‘Number one is that he swapped them out on the instruction of Maksim Bakowski as a countermeasure to stop us getting hold of the gems.’

  ‘Seems reasonable, if you guys think the jeweller seemed that shifty.’

  ‘Number two is that he was double-dealing on his own clients,’ Morton continued. ‘If Mehtani wanted to steal diamonds from a client, he’d be well-placed to do so. Perhaps he could just sell the stones, or maybe he was using them for repairs. If he could cut the wholesale cost out of a transaction, then he’s into pure-profit territory. But that scenario requires him to be both dishonest enough to steal, and stupid enough to double-cross the Bakowskis.’

  ‘And then there’s door number three,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Maksim Bakowski put the fakes in there.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Ayala asked.

  ‘No idea, but we can’t rule it out, can we?’ Rafferty said. ‘He might not have even known they were fakes.’

  ‘You’re thinking that the fake diamonds were a loyalty test?’ Morton said.

  ‘Yep. Tiny Bakowski gives cousin Maksim a box of fake diamonds for safekeeping, and then if he gets them back he knows he can trust Maksim.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t, then Maksim is a traitor and all it cost Tiny to find out was a box of cubic zirconia,’ Morton said. ‘Tiny is certainly devious enough to try that.’

  ‘It’s not like Maksim is going to spot fake jewellery. Neither of you guys did.’

  Rafferty had a point.

  Morton changed the subject. ‘Why Niall Stapleton?’

  ‘Xander thought he’d been picked at random. Pure dumb luck.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘What he said was, “To look for a connection is searching for meaning where there is none. Not everything has to happen for a reason.” But that’s just a poncy way of saying the same thing, right, boss?’ Rafferty said.

  ‘I might have agreed with that if he hadn’t been murdered. What are the odds that a man is picked to carry out a robbery, blackmailed into doing so, and then murdered all in one week? That seems like a stretch for the crimes not to be connected somehow.’ Morton looked around expectantly, hoping one of them would have an answer. When no answer was forthcoming, he decided to send them home for the weekend. ‘It’s getting on for seven o’clock, and we don’t have anything that can’t wait until Monday. I think you’ve earned the weekend off. See you bright and early on Monday.’

  Chapter 29: Not Your Fault


  Saturday April 11th 11:00

  Mayberry wasn’t in the intensive care unit when Morton arrived at St Peter’s on Saturday morning. He found in his stead an elderly man who seized the opportunity to talk to a visitor with aplomb, and Morton was only able to extricate himself when the nurses came around to dish out the eleven o’clock medication.

  They hadn’t moved Mayberry too far. Morton found the room in no time and rapped smartly on the locked door. A woman’s voice replied, inviting him in.

  For a moment Morton thought he had once again found the wrong patient, and then he saw that Mayberry had visitors. It had slipped his mind that Mayberry was engaged, and that his fiancée was the superintendent’s daughter. Normally that fact would send Morton’s mind racing, annoyed at the potential for nepotism in the force, but today he could focus on only one thing: Mayberry’s fiancée, Annie, was the spitting image of her father. In drag.

  Morton sucked in his cheeks in an effort to stifle a smile. Father and daughter were sitting side by side, staring at Morton’s unexpected arrival.

  The superintendent stood and said gravely, ‘David. Could I have a word, please? Outside.’

  Did he see that? Morton wondered.

  The superintendent gestured towards the door with an ‘after you’ expression, and Morton allowed himself to be led out of the room and down the corridor. They stopped by the vending machines at the end of the hall. From here Morton could see out of the vast plate glass windows and across the hospital car park.

  ‘Sir?’ he prompted.

  ‘I’m not happy, Morton.’

  Uh-oh. Morton mustered a quizzical expression.

  ‘You sent my future son-in-law into danger.’ He glared in Morton’s direction as if daring him to challenge the accusation.

  It wasn’t what Morton had been expecting. Up until now the superintendent had never given any indication that he cared for Detective Mayberry at all. He had seemed to have that casual contempt that father-in-laws often had for the men their daughters chose.

  ‘Yes, sir. I did.’

  ‘What the hell were you thinking? It was utterly irresponsible. How dare you risk my daughter’s fiancé?’

  Morton sighed inwardly. It was a question he’d expected, though he hadn’t expected to have to answer it so soon. The situation had left him with no choice but to send someone in. If he’d ignored the kidnapper’s demands, then there was every chance that Vanessa Gogg would be in the morgue right now.