Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3)

by Sean Campbell

  ‘I’m not a criminal. I need you to promise me, man to man, that you won’t tell the Board of Directors about me using the title.’

  Morton gave Barchester a thin-lipped smile. There was no downside to agreeing. Brianna had already told the world on Wake up Britain!

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What happened on the night of the party?’

  ‘I got there late. I’d been out of town all week working so I slept through much of Saturday. I drove the Merc down at about ten thirty. I never saw Ellis that night. When I got there, everyone was talking about the argument.’

  He’s awfully quick to point the finger at Kal. ‘Who did she argue with?’

  ‘Her boyfriend. That awful bore Kallum Fielder. He’s got two topics of conversation – football and women. I don’t know what they were arguing about. It was probably the usual.’

  ‘The usual?’

  ‘Money. Kal gambles. He earns well. Perhaps not as well as Ellis, but that’s only because I’m a sucker for a pretty face. She says he spends every penny, won’t stop asking me for a raise every time.’

  It sounds like he’s been played... Unless he’s hiding her drug addiction. ‘Did you ever witness the gambling?’

  ‘Never had reason to, my good man. We weren’t friendly. I tolerated him for Ellis.’

  ‘Who came to the party?’

  ‘The usual crowd. Gabby was there, of course. She and Ellis are inseparable. Vladivoben. Patrick Malone.’

  ‘Vladivoben?’ He didn’t mention that when we interviewed him.

  ‘Eli’s next-door neighbour.’

  ‘Why was he there?’

  ‘Same reason as everyone. He seemed to be having a wonderful time. Why, I even saw him leave with a very handsome young man.’

  ‘No noise complaints then?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. We were pretty loud, but it’s a big house and The Old Coach House is quite a way away.’

  ‘OK. Tell me about the end of the party.’

  ‘I went to sleep about midnight in the guest room, and then drove home the next morning about six. I never saw or heard anyone else, but I thought people might be sleeping.’ His eye twitched as he spoke.

  ‘Uh-huh. That’s not what our other witnesses have told us. Patrick Malone says you left some time after midnight.’

  ‘Does he now? Well, that little berk is a lying toe rag. And he owes me money. I paid for pizza when I arrived. He took two hundred quid. I never did get any change.’

  ‘Miss Curzon and Mr Fielder confirmed what he said.’

  Barchester’s face drained of what little colour it had left. ‘You spoke to them too, did you?’

  Morton nodded. ‘We did. Tell us about the fight you had with Miss Curzon. What was it about?’

  ‘It’s not about anything illegal. It’s not relevant.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that, Mr Barchester. If it isn’t illegal and doesn’t impact on this investigation then it won’t leave this room, I promise.’

  ‘She’s pregnant. She said it’s mine.’

  A gorgeous twenty-five-year-old sleeping with this washed up forty-seven-year-old man? Beer goggles and money can perform miracles. ‘But you don’t believe her.’

  ‘Would you believe an addict? She wanted money. I know I’m not the only one she’s been sleeping with. I asked for a prenatal DNA test to prove it. She went ballistic.’

  ‘Because you didn’t believe her or because you demanded an invasive test with a chance of miscarriage?’ Morton asked, his voice full of scorn.

  ‘Oh, come on. Junkies don’t worry about their unborn babies. She was drinking all evening. Good mothers don’t do that. She just wanted my money.’

  ‘Who else is she sleeping with?’

  ‘How would I know? I just know she is. She’s gorgeous and she’s a student. I’m not soft in the head.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘She physically attacked me. I ran from the room and then left. I went home.’ His left eye twitched again.

  ‘If you’re going to keep trying to conceal the truth, I’m going to have to break my word and call your board of directors. Tell me what really happened.’

  ‘That’s it, I swear it.’

  ‘So you didn’t run out the back door then.’

  ‘Fine. I did. I came back.’

  ‘Forgot something, did you?’

  ‘My... My wallet. I left it in the bedroom.’

  ‘Together with all your clothes?’ Morton said.

  ‘Yes, if you must know. That’s how crazy she was. I couldn’t even get dressed.’

  ‘So you thought you’d spend the night in Richmond Park.’

  ‘No! I told you. I stayed in the guest room.’

  ‘No one was in the house. Edgecombe Lodge has a smart thermostat. It turned itself off at two o’clock. Besides, you were caught short on camera all the way to the Park and back. Did you come back for your clothes or did you come back to cover up a murder?’

  ‘I think I’ll have that lawyer now.’

  ‘Fine with me. But first, I’ll let immigration process you. Thank you for admitting you’ve been in contact with drugs. I’m sure immigration will need to, ahem, check you over for any you might be carrying.’

  Chapter 20: Peek-A-Boo

  Friday April 11th – 05:45

  Mayberry squinted through the darkness. It was a quarter to six o’clock, and thanks to the combination of darkness and poor weather, visibility was minimal. No shops were open, not even the mini-supermarket by the station; it wouldn’t open for another hour.

  Traffic was light. Morning bus services had begun and a few weary commuters seemed to be heading towards central London for the day. Jogging naked down the high street from Richmond Park would have attracted a fair bit of attention despite the early hour.

  The still image of the Richmond Streaker published in all the papers had been taken from a low-resolution CCTV camera feed. Mayberry held a copy of The Impartial in one hand and lifted it to compare with his view of the road. There! That looks like the picture.

  There was a phone box with a basket full of flowers hanging nearby illuminated by the lights from an estate agent’s window. The same phone box was in the corner of the CCTV image, but the rest of the scene didn’t match up. Mayberry moved closer.

  Then it hit him. The CCTV footage was from the other side of the phone box. Mayberry jogged along the pavement until he was twenty feet the other side of the phone box, then held up the newspaper again.

  Yes! The scene from the newspaper was laid out in front of him. He looked around, searching for the CCTV camera, and there it was sandwiched between the awning over a greengrocer’s and the drainage pipe a few inches above. A thick cable ran down towards the awning then disappeared through the wall into the grocer’s. He’d found it.

  Mayberry earnestly jogged towards the grocer’s. A black and white ‘Closed’ sign hung just inside. The shop’s opening times were listed underneath. It wouldn’t be open for two more hours. Defeated, Mayberry slumped against the door, then slid down until he was sitting on the step into the shop. He would just have to wait.

  After a few minutes, Mayberry felt himself wanting to sleep. The lack of caffeine was getting to him. He was beginning to drift off when a gruff voice demanded to know what he was doing outside the grocer’s.

  ‘Oi! What are you doin’ on my bleeding step? We’re not open so sod off.’

  ‘Umm, err, I’m Detective Sergeant Mayberry. I’m here about the Richmond Streaky Bacon. No! Streaker.’

  The grocer looked at Mayberry like he had something wrong with him. ‘I already gave you lot a copy of the tape. Did you lose it or summat?’

  ‘Us lot? You spoke to a p-p-please man?’

  The grocer went inside to grab a tray full of vegetables, and started to unload them onto the display in front of the grocer’s. ‘Policewoman. Little lassie. She came in a few days ago, all sweetness and smiles. I thoug
ht she was a hooker to be honest. Then she said she was plain clothes. I felt like a right pillock.’

  ‘What did she say her name was?’

  ‘Officer Byrnes.’

  Mayberry cursed. Gifford Byrnes was a reporter for The Impartial. No wonder they beat the canvass team. ‘Did you see any sort of photo badge?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I didn’t think to ask. Lass said she was plain clothes. Do plain clothes carry badges? I’ve never had one come in before. There were coppers up and down the road. I assumed she was with them.’

  ‘Do you still have the original v-v-video tape?’

  ‘Nope. That’s long gone. We cycle them every forty-eight hours.’

  Mayberry cursed. ‘S-sorry. That sort of slipped out. I really need some sort of v-video tape. My new boss has been on my back about that tape.’

  ‘If it helps, I saw the willy-whacker go by.’

  Mayberry burst out laughing. ‘The what?’

  ‘It’s what me mam used to call ’em, streakers. He jogged on by, plain as day. Funny sod had his hands over the front as he walked towards me, then the back as he walked away. He even said good morning!’

  ‘Did you get a good look at the suspicion, sorry, suspect?’

  ‘Unfortunately. That sight will be burned into my eyeballs ’til the day I die.’

  ‘Did you tell Miss Byrnes about that?’

  ‘Nope. I don’t need to be going down to the station to identify a streaker. I’ve got better things to do.’

  ‘We wouldn’t need you to come in. We can do a v-v-v–‘

  ‘Video?’

  ‘Yes, v-video identification parade right here. It’s incredibly simple. We play you a v-video with nine people in it; the guy we think it is and eight m-more. You tell us which one you saw. It’ll take three minutes, max.’

  ‘My name’s not Max,’ the grocer joked. ‘But if it’s three minutes then no problem.’

  ‘The video will be about three minutes. You’ll have to watch it twice. We’ll also have to invite the defendant’s lawyer to attend plus one of my colleagues from the identification unit.’

  ‘I’m here working ’til five. If you can do it on my bosses’ time then I’ll do it, but you get to explain why I wasn’t working if any customers complain.’

  ‘Great. I’ll go get that set up and I’ll be back here before bananas.’

  Chapter 21: Hook-A-Duck

  Morton was impressed. Mayberry’s video identification parade had confirmed that the Richmond Streaker was Aleksander Barchester, which gave Morton the ammunition he needed to bring him in.

  Barchester’s Friday afternoon meeting was interrupted by uniforms coming to arrest him on the charge of indecent exposure. It was unlikely he’d ever get time for mere nudity. He’d probably get away with community service or even just a fine. As if a few grand would make much difference to a man of Barchester’s wealth. But while Barchester wasn’t likely to be bothered by money, he did care about his reputation.

  Morton made sure Barchester was brought in the front of New Scotland Yard, right past the journalists camped outside. If the case had to be in the news, it was best for Morton’s team to be seen to be doing something. Once inside the building, Barchester had been hastily escorted to a holding cell while awaiting his lawyer.

  His lawyer was well known to Morton. Elliot Morgan-Bryant of Cutler & Kass had crossed Morton’s path on more than one occasion. He was expensive, sharply attired and as dirty as they came. On Morton’s last dealing with him, Morgan-Bryant had been representing a man connected with the notorious Bakowski crime syndicate, whose boss was still at large.

  ‘Ready to begin?’ Morton asked once the lawyer and his client had been offered time to confer. They nodded and Morton started recording the interview.

  ‘You seem to be becoming the man of many names,’ Morton quipped once the formalities of time and parties in attendance had been committed to tape. ‘Aleksander Barchester, Lord Culloden and, perhaps most famously of all, The Richmond Streaker. Which one shall we use for today’s interview?’

  ‘Let’s start with my client’s name, shall we?’ Elliot said.

  ‘If you insist. Mr Barchester, witnesses have testified that you were running through Richmond naked on the morning of Sunday 30th March. Were you?’

  Morgan-Bryant raised a hand. ‘Don’t answer that.’

  ‘If he doesn’t answer, we can infer guilt from his silence. We have CCTV footage and an eyewitness. If your client wants to minimise his sentence, now would be the time to start doing something about that.’

  ‘I was naked,’ Barchester said, much to the chagrin of his lawyer, who fixed him with a stare. ‘But I wasn’t streaking. I didn’t intend to cause any offence. I just... lost my clothes,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘Lost your clothes?’ Morton repeated disbelievingly. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘I had a few too many to drink that night.’

  ‘Such that you misplaced your clothes? And where perchance did you lose them?’

  ‘Edgecombe Lodge, as you well know. I told you before, I was sleeping with Gabriella Curzon.’

  ‘In the downstairs guest bedroom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it’ll be your DNA on the sheets. Would you care to volunteer a DNA sample?’

  The lawyer interjected: ‘I don’t think he will.’

  ‘OK. I’ll put it another way. We know your semen is on the sheets. Will we find that DNA anywhere else in the house?’

  Aleksander grimaced. Morton had him and he knew it.

  ‘On a towel perhaps? But then you wouldn’t be too worried about that. We know you fled out the back door. So where else will we find your DNA?’ Morton smiled. ‘Sleeping with Ellis?’

  ‘Fine. Yes, I was sleeping with Ellis.’

  ‘Blimey. You are doing well for a man of your, ahem, size.’

  Aleksander blushed. ‘You can’t say that! You’re a policeman!’

  ‘You noticed!’ Morton mocked. ‘I certainly can say that. I don’t need to but I can. On record in court if it’ll help.’

  ‘Enough!’ Morgan-Bryant snapped. ‘Just what do you want out of my client, Morton?’

  ‘I want the truth,’ Morton said. ‘I want him to tell me exactly what happened on the night Ellis died. I also expect your client to plead guilty and pay whatever fine he gets for the nudity.’

  ‘And in return?’

  ‘In return I’ll make sure that as little as possible detail is contained in the court record. I see no need to bring this up with your Board of Directors. Anything civil is no concern of mine. Is that fair?’

  The lawyer turned to his client, who nodded. ‘I’ll take the deal.’

  ‘What really happened that night?’

  ‘I slept with Gabby,’ Barchester said. ‘She did tell me she was pregnant. But she also said she was going to get rid of it. I offered her money not to. I don’t know if it’s mine or not. She inferred that it is. She turned me down, said that I was pathetic and that she’d be ashamed if any child of hers bore even a passing resemblance to me. I slapped her. Open-handed. I shouldn’t have, but she kept pushing my buttons. She mocked me. Then she bit me.’ Aleksander rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm for inspection.

  Morton looked at it. He could see a very faint impression of a bite mark. ‘Go on.’

  Barchester withdrew his arm, and rolled his sleeve back down. ‘We fought. I wasn’t wearing anything. She had on a t-shirt and trousers. Before I knew it, she’d gone out of the room screaming. I thought it was a shakedown. I went after her to try and stop her, with just a towel around me. She just wanted Kal and Paddy to see her as the victim. Of course, they did. What man wouldn’t try to protect a beautiful damsel in distress? They threatened me. I fled out the back door. It was dark and I tripped. My towel caught on a rosebush and down I went. I knocked the bins over as I did so. Instinct took over and I ran.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I didn’t stop running. I went to the park be
cause I knew it was open. I thought I was going to freeze to death. The next morning I went back.’

  ‘How did you get in?’ Morton said.

  ‘I climbed the back fence and went through the kitchen door. The same way I left. It was still unlocked. It was still early, about six. I nabbed my clothes, got dressed and let myself out the front gate.’

  ‘Did you lock it?’

  ‘Didn’t need to. It clicked shut behind me. As did the front door.’

  ‘And then what did you do?’

  ‘I went back to my car. I got in, and drove to my office. I had enough time for a quick scrub in the bathroom, and then grabbed my suitcase from under my desk. I got my flight and headed to New York for the shoot. I was supposed to meet Ellis there, as you know.’

  ‘What did you do when she didn’t turn up?’

  ‘I called. No answer on the landline and her mobile was off. I figured she blew me off because of Gabby. They’re best friends, so I was never going to win that one. Then you had me stopped coming back.’ Aleksander glared at Morton.

  ‘You’re welcome. I think that covers what we need. I will ensure our deal is honoured, but I can’t guarantee our prosecutor won’t be adding fraud charges for pretending to be Lord Culloden.’ Morton rose as if to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ Barchester gestured for him to sit back down. ‘I wasn’t being dishonest. My mother worked as a servant on the Culloden estate in the late sixties. She had an affair with the Lord of the Manor. Lord Culloden is my father. It’s why I use his name. It’s also why I moved into the Servant’s Cottage. I never had much of a family growing up... I suppose that’s also why I snapped at Gabby that night. Children aren’t pawns to be traded.’

  ‘Interesting. But it’s not a defence to fraud. I’ll leave you to talk to your solicitor about that one.’ Morton stood, and headed for the door.

  ‘Wait!’

  Morton turned. ‘What now?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For not ruining my life.’

  Chapter 22: Money, Money, Money

  Saturday April 12th – 09:15

  Morton managed to make time for a wonderful Friday night out with Sarah on the town, but his Saturday was more than boring enough to make up for it. Armed with only a headache, he was in work by eight o’clock. The building was quieter than on weekdays, yet still it hummed with a quiet efficiency. Crime didn’t sleep and neither did Scotland Yard.