‘What sort of modelling did you do?’
‘I modelled clothes mostly. I did a few artsy shoots including a few with Ellis but everything I ever did was tasteful. Some of the girls I knew back then ended up doing less-than-savoury work. It was very competitive, and none of us ever made very much.’
‘And what do you do now?’
‘I still model, mostly catalogue shoots.’ She hit a few buttons on her phone and brought up an image of her dressed to the nines in a studio shoot. She flashed the phone at the detectives so they could see for themselves. ‘But I’m also studying. I won’t be pretty forever.’
‘Did you ever work with Lord Culloden?’
She recoiled slightly at the mention of Lord Culloden. ‘Oh yes. He’s a manager for a catalogue company. Alex often hires both Eli and me. Well, he did anyway.’
‘Alex? Is that his name?’
‘Alex Culloden. That was what he told me to call him in private.’
Something about her familiarity made Morton suspicious. None of their other suspects seemed to be on first-name terms with the mystery man.
‘How would shoots with him work?’
‘Oh, he almost never comes to the shoots, silly. I only ever see him socially. But he’d usually have someone call, and fly me out to wherever the shoot was. I go wherever designers need me: Paris, Milan, Sao Paulo, Berlin, wherever.’
‘New York?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘With Eli?’
She nodded. ‘It wasn’t always Eli. She’s been doing more for him lately than she used to. It’s funny how it goes. She used to be too busy for mere catalogue photos. Now I am.’
‘What are you studying?’
‘Law. At Birkbeck.’
‘That’s got to be convenient.’ Ayala said. It wasn’t untrue. Birkbeck’s campus was less than ten minutes away.
For the first time in the conversation she turned her attention away from her mobile and became animated. ‘Very! I never have to go too far for the library, I’ve got boutique shops and nightclubs within a hundred yards and–’
‘Tell me about the night of the party,’ Morton said in an attempt to wrangle the conversation back towards the investigation.
‘I got there at, like, eight. Eli was a great host. She passed out glasses of champagne, and we made the most of the garden as it was unseasonably warm. A few of us went in the pool.’
‘You took your swimming costume with you?’
Gabby gave Morton a sly smile. ‘No...’
‘Ah. When did Eli go upstairs?’
‘About half past ten, I think. It can’t have been much later. We had a few pizzas–’
‘From Trattoria Da Mondo?’
‘Yes! I love their Pizza Florentine.’
‘Did Ellis go to get those?’
‘Oh no. Paddy volunteered to walk around. It was supposed to be Brianna’s turn to buy, but she’s... she forgot her purse that night.’
Morton scribbled a note down in his pad: Brianna’s financial problems appeared to be common knowledge among the group.
‘Are you friends with Paddy?’
‘Well, one can’t be too careful about who one is seen with. Paddy is... a little rough around the edges. It isn’t proper for one who aspires to the practice of law to keep such company in public.’
‘But you did sleep with him,’ Morton said bluntly.
Gabby flushed red. ‘Mr Morton, I cannot see how that is relevant to your investigation.’
‘Did you or did you not leave the party in Mr Malone’s company?’
‘I did.’
‘Thank you. When Brianna left the party, where was Ellis?’
‘Upstairs still, with Kal, I think.’
‘Was anyone else upstairs?’
‘No,’ Gabby said. ‘The party was all on the ground floor that night. There are a couple of bathrooms downstairs so no one had any reason to venture upstairs.’
‘So you don’t know why she didn’t come back down?’
‘I heard them screaming at each other. We thought it impolite to say anything. Kal came back down on his own.’
‘Did you see Ellis at all after that?’
‘I went up to check on her after the fight. Brianna did too. She told us she was fine, but wanted to be left alone for a bit. You don’t think Kal killed Ellis, do you?’
Morton ignored the question. ‘How well do you know Mr Fielder?’
‘He’s been with Eli for six or seven years now. He’s nice enough. And you can’t deny he’s sexy. But he’s as dumb as a post really. His posh accent can make him seem smart, but he’s not. I think he must have taken one too many blows to the head back when he played football.’
Morton couldn’t help but agree with her assessment. ‘Tell me what happened immediately before you left.’
‘I had a few drinks with Paddy while we played gin rummy. I won, of course. And then we left.’
‘Before that. He said you came out of the guest bedroom crying.’
‘I suppose I did. If I tell you why, you won’t think too badly of me, will you, Detectives?’ She fluttered her eyelashes at Ayala.
‘What happened?’
‘I had an argument.’
‘With Alex Culloden,’ Morton murmured as he realised why she was on first-name terms with him.
‘How did you know? Have you spoken to him?’ Her surprised tone suggested to Morton that she didn’t think it was possible for the police to have spoken with Alex.
‘He’s not in London, is he?’
Gabriella was stunned. ‘No.’
‘Where is he?’ Morton asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
‘New York,’ Gabriella confirmed.
‘On the trip that Ellis was supposed to have gone on?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were sleeping with him, weren’t you?’ Morton asked.
She nodded. Morton felt bile rise in his throat. Two men in one night. ‘But you left with Paddy Malone?’
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she nodded once more.
‘Where did Culloden go?’
‘I chased him. He, err, wasn’t dressed when I did so. He grabbed a towel and fled out the back door.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I ran after him. Paddy stopped me at the back door. Kal left, and we had a few drinks until I’d calmed down. I guess I felt fond of him by then.’
‘What sort of time was this?’
‘Most people went before the last tube, so I know it was a bit after midnight. I don’t know how much. Maybe half past twelve.’
‘And how did you leave?’
‘We staggered towards the centre, and had to flag down a taxi.’
‘One final question, Miss Curzon. When does Alex get back from New York?’
‘He said he’d be back tomorrow. He gets in at Heathrow a little after lunch.’
Chapter 15: Finders, Keepers
Wednesday April 9th – 13:00
The mobile phone used to place the anonymous tip was turned back on at 13:00. The number was unregistered, which meant it had a pay-as-you-go SIM card inside. It wasn’t requesting Internet or GPS data, which probably meant a ‘dumb’ phone.
Upon getting the news, Morton headed in search of Purcell, whom he found in the cafeteria at New Scotland Yard. He saw Morton approaching and tried to hide behind a placard advertising a new bicycle-marking initiative that Morton knew would be a complete waste of time.
Morton sat opposite the Chief Scene of Crime Officer.
‘Afternoon!’ Morton said cheerfully.
‘Hullo. Can’t you see I’m eating?’ Purcell’s tray had two empty pre-packed sandwich wrappers on it together with an uneaten Twix.
‘Looks like you’re almost finished. I got your message about the phone. Do you know where it is?’
Purcell took a bite out of his chocolate bar, chewed for a moment, then gave up. Morton wasn’t going anywhere.
‘No. It’s not responded to my
ping.’
That confirmed Morton’s theory that it was a dumb phone, without GPS functionality.
‘Can’t we just triangulate its position?’ Morton asked. Triangulation would mean using the location of nearby telephone masts to determine how quickly the phone responded. The lag would tell them how far away the phone was from each tower. It was then a simple matter of drawing a circle around each mast based on distance and seeing where the circles met.
‘After lunch. It was turned back on somewhere in central London. There’s no reason to suspect it’ll leave the county in the time it takes me to finish eating.’ Purcell finished the first half of his Twix.
‘If you want it that way.’ Morton picked up the other half of Purcell’s Twix and quickly consumed it.
‘Happy now?’ he asked.
‘Hey! You can’t do that. I’ll... I’ll–’
‘Tell the police?’ Morton smirked. He knew he shouldn’t bait the man, but Purcell certainly didn’t need the calories and Morton did need to know where the phone was.
‘Fine. I’ll find your phone. But you owe me a chocolate bar!’
Morton considered his request. ‘Half a chocolate bar.’
‘Cheapskate. I’ll call you when I’ve got a location for you.’
Chapter 16: #RichmondStreaker
The press beat Morton’s team to finding CCTV of the naked man. The Impartial’s website ran a grainy black and white photo as breaking news at about two o’clock in the afternoon. By half past, it had been viewed over a million times and #RichmondStreaker had begun to trend on Twitter.
Morton dispatched Mayberry to find the source of the image. It wouldn’t be too difficult, so he was confident that he’d manage it. He simply needed to compare the CCTV from the newspaper with the road to see which bit of Richmond the CCTV was pointed at, then work backwards to find the camera itself. It was plainly a very wide road with space for parking either side, which reduced the search area to ‘A’ roads between Edgecombe Lodge and Richmond Park where passers-by reported seeing an early-morning streaker. It was then further narrowed down by the presence of shops, which probably meant central Richmond between the Station and Richmond Park. It wasn’t a particularly interesting task, but it needed to be done.
That didn’t mean Morton was off the hook. For him, the afternoon would become a special kind of torture. The task he had set for himself came second only to the monotony of paperwork and once again the vultures were circling. Journalists had beaten his team to key information, television presenters had aired the DeLange family’s dirty laundry over breakfast, and key individuals had taken to trying to turn the whole sordid affair into an opportunity to make a quick profit.
It was time to go on the offensive. A press conference had been called for three o’clock, which approached far more quickly than Morton anticipated. He chose to forgo any kind of notes. He knew his memory, which had taken on a reputation of its own among the force for outstanding recall, would serve him well when the time came.
At five to three, he peeked through the window of the conference room to find it was packed to the rafters. As he had requested, BBC News had been given space front and centre to film. Every medium and venue had been accommodated. From major television to the daily papers, from vloggers to crime-awareness websites with only one amateur reporter, all had been invited.
At one minute to the hour, he entered the conference room from the rear door and approached the lectern which had been set up for him. The room’s attention fixed upon him and fell deathly silent.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin, I’d like to ask for your co-operation. I know that many of you will have questions for me. I will answer as many of those as I can, time permitting. Before that I would ask that you allow me the chance to give you an overview. I would also appreciate it if you could identify yourselves and who you work for when you ask a question.’
Morton surveyed the room. Every pair of eyes stared back at him ready and waiting for their scoop. He saw Ayala standing at the back of the room, hiding behind the slew of journalists who had not come early enough to bag a seat. Ayala nodded encouragingly, as if to endorse Morton’s kid-gloves approach to handling the media.
‘On the night of Saturday 29th March, Ellis DeLange turned thirty years of age. By the end of the night, we believe she had been murdered. The facts as I am able to report them at this time are as follows. Miss DeLange was celebrating with friends on the night of her death. By all accounts, she was alive until after midnight. She was due to fly out to New York the next morning on business but never made it to the airport.’ Morton paused to watch the journalists’ reactions. So far, he had not revealed anything that hadn’t already been reported. He was hoping to find a look of smug satisfaction among the crowd, a hint that they had uncovered something else that he could use.
‘We found no evidence of forced entry at the premises. At the time we discovered Ellis’ body, the house was unlocked, as was the front gate. We cannot definitively rule out the involvement of an intruder, but as we have found no signs of third-party involvement our investigation has focussed on those who were in attendance at the party and stayed until after midnight.
‘It would be improper for me to comment on any particular individual at this time as we have yet to discern the exact involvement of all parties. I am sure many of you will want to know how our investigation relates to the so-called ‘Richmond Streaker’. While I can’t show any stills or footage at this time, as it is evidence needed to allow our investigation to proceed, I can confirm that the Streaker is of interest to our investigation. We are investigating his identity to the best of our ability and we will release that information as soon as we have been able to ascertain the extent of the Richmond Streaker’s involvement. If any members of the public who are watching this have any relevant information pertaining to the Streaker please call our tip line, which I trust will be displayed at the bottom of your television screen.’
Morton paused for a sip of water. The heat from the lighting rig that the film crew had rigged up was almost intolerable. ‘I’d like to invite questions at this time.’
The room erupted into an incomprehensible din as every journalist shouted out at once. Morton pointed to the nearest one, then waited for silence.
‘Sally Morgan, Federated News Co. Who was at the party?’
‘Miss DeLange had a number of attendees. So far we have identified a handful who stayed until after midnight including her boyfriend, her sister, a school friend and two work colleagues.’
She followed up with another question. ‘Was one of those individuals convicted drug dealer Paddy Malone?’
Morton leaned forward into the microphone. ‘Yes. Could we please keep it to one question per attendee for the rest of the session? We have a limited amount of time today.’
Hands leapt into the air as journalists jostled for position. Morton pointed to a lady in the front row, but an obese gentleman in an ill-fitting suit pushed his way forward and shouted: ‘Were drugs and alcohol involved?’
Morton took an immediate dislike to the man. ‘Who do you work for?’
‘Bill Bryerson. The Daily Roundup.’
‘Is there a reason you didn’t hear my instruction to identify yourself before asking a question? Next.’
‘Like Bill said. Were drugs and alcohol involved?’ The man next to Bill echoed his question.
Morton gave up. If he pulled the same stunt again, it would look like he was evading the question. ‘We can confirm that the victim had been drinking on the night she died and that alcohol was made available to her guests. We cannot say to what extent any individual partook of that drink.’
‘And the drugs?’
‘The victim’s toxicology tests showed that the victim had pentobarbital in her system. Now, I missed the lady at the front before. I’m sorry about that. What was your question?’ Morton asked. He spotted Ayala nodding approvingly again. Perhaps the media awareness and sensitivity training that Human R
esources had foisted upon the team hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
‘Emily Landhurst, Richmond Neighbourhood Watch. Why didn’t you call a press conference sooner?’
‘While it is unfortunate that speculation has run rife in the last few days, we need to be able to conduct initial investigations free from prejudice and outside influence. Our department is committed to unprecedented transparency in both process and outcome, but we have to be free to complete the investigation unhindered in order to discover the truth. Justice demands that we avoid contaminating the potential jury pool, so it is our duty to report only the facts. I think that is all I can give you today. Please feel free to contact our Press Office with any further queries. Thank you very much for coming, ladies and gentlemen.’
Chapter 17: Computer Down!
Wednesday April 9th – 18:00
Stuart Purcell didn’t really report to Morton but somehow the policeman always managed to get under Purcell's skin. Of course he could triangulate a mobile phone! Any one of his team could do it. The computer did everything... Or it would normally.
In theory it was so simple. High signal strength meant quicker responses when a phone was close to a tower. By comparing the lag between tower and phone, the distance could be calculated between a given mobile phone and the nearest masts.
London had no shortage of towers. They varied in height, which meant the calculation was a little more difficult, but nothing that would have made the computer sweat. But the computer wasn’t working; he had to do it by hand.
The problem there was the phone kept on moving, pinging different towers every few minutes. It was clear as day that it was being driven around London. Every time Purcell worked out the phone’s location, it had already moved. It was travelling too fast to be in a pedestrian’s pocket. The phone was still pinging towers, which meant it wasn’t underground, and the route didn’t match any of London’s overland train or bus services. Whoever had the phone was driving around with it.
Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3) Page 8
