‘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 May
berry 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.
But by choosing to send Mayberry in, he’d risked them both.
It was easy to make a logical case for what he had done. Mayberry was the closest approximation to Niall Stapleton they had, and if they had any chance of fooling the kidnappers, he was it.
Morton’s priority had to be to try to bring the innocent victim home safely. Sending Mayberry in had been a simple risk/reward calculation – and it had backfired.
‘Answer me!’ the superintendent demanded.
‘Sir, you know why I made the call that I did. Detective Mayberry is well-trained and capable, and, given the circumstances, I thought he was the best chance of getting our hostage home safe.’
‘He has aphasia, for Christ’s sake! How did you expect him to help her?’
‘He saved her life,’ Morton said quietly.
‘What?’
‘Mayberry saved Vanessa Gogg’s life by wrapping himself around her during the crash. If he hadn’t been there, or hadn’t thought to protect others regardless of the risk to himself, then she could have died right there and then at the bottom of Hillcrest Road.’
The superintendent turned away for a moment. When he turned back, Morton could see a glisten in his eyes.
‘But, Morton, he’s...’
‘He’s going to make a full recovery. He’ll be in a lot of pain for weeks, if not months, and I wish I could do something about that, but if I had to make the same call again, knowing everything I do now, I would. Can I get you a tissue, sir? Or a cup of tea?’
The older man waved Morton off and then muttered that his parking would be up soon.
Morton watched him lope off towards the stairwell.
***
Annie left soon after her father, leaving Morton to read his newspaper as Mayberry wheezed loudly in his sleep.
Mayberry slept right through lunch. He tossed and turned, fighting with the blanket that covered him. His heart rate monitor beeped rhythmically at regular intervals, and the nurses came by to check on him periodically as well as to top up Morton’s cup of tea.
There was a big box of chocolates on the windowsill from Ayala and Rafferty, and it took all of Morton’s restraint not to pinch one while Mayberry snored.
Mayberry eventually stirred, stretched, and then jumped backwards as his eyes snapped into focus. He yanked his blanket up around him and looked over to Morton, wild-eyed with surprise.
‘B-boss!’ Mayberry said. ‘How l-long have you b-been here?’
Morton glanced at his watch. ‘Three hours. How’re you feeling?’
‘Th-thirsty.’ He pointed over to a jug of water and a plastic cup on the trolley at the foot of his bed. Morton poured him a cup and then watched as Mayberry gulped it down greedily. He poured another and then returned to his seat.
‘Is s-she O-OK?’ Mayberry asked, plainly referring to Vanessa Gogg.
‘She’s fine. She’ll be out of here later today if they’ve not let her go already. It’s you we’re all worried about.’
Mayberry managed a limp smile, which fled as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Why so glum? Do you need more pain medication?’ Morton asked. Given all of Mayberry’s injuries, Morton could forgive him the need for morphine.
‘I... I’m not g-going t-to be at work for a w-while, am I?’
‘I daresay you’re not. You’ve got at least six weeks of paid leave ahead of you. But it won’t be too long before you’re up and about again.’
‘I w-want to work.’
‘You just need to work on getting better.’
‘C-can I h-have a laptop?’
‘I think we can manage that. I’ll send someone over with one on Monday. That work for you?’
Mayberry nodded. ‘B-boss?’ he stammered. ‘Why didn’t they kill me?’
‘They almost did. So the question is: were they inept enough to get it wrong, or callous enough not to care?’
Chapter 30: A Link to the Past
Monday April 13th 10:00
Monday morning soon drove the weekend from Morton’s mind. He’d taken the rest of Saturday and the whole of Sunday away from work, and had arrived fresh and ready to push on with the investigation.
Unfortunately, with Mayberry out on medical leave, there was now much more to do with fewer detectives to do it.
It took Mayberry’s absence to reveal just how much work he did behind the scenes. He was always lurking, and never seemed to be in the middle of an investigation, and yet all the little things he contributed, like his neatly drawn incident boards, had not been done, and the slack had begun to show.
The morning was spent on paperwork. The kidnapping case had to be formally handed over to SOCA, but Morton wanted to keep tabs on it anyway insofar as it impacted the investigation into Niall Stapleton’s death.
It was Rafferty who had the first breakthrough of the week. She found a cold case which appeared to have a similar modus operandi to the Stapleton murder. One Amoy Yacobi had been found hanging from a meat hook in Smithfield’s, his body concealed among the cattle that were drying there. Like Stapleton, Yacobi had had his throat slit while strung upside down.
‘Morton, do you know this DCI?’ Rafferty asked. She handed Morton a printout of the Yacobi case.
At the top of the first page was a name Morton recognised: DCI Alana Crow, the senior investigating officer in the Yacobi murder. Morton and Xander had worked with her back in the day, but it had been years since he’d even thought about her.
‘Dead,’ he said, in an oddly croaky voice. ‘Heart attack. That was five or six years back. Real shame. I always liked her.’
‘What about DI Jasper Wilson?’ Rafferty asked. He was listed as having worked the case.
‘I can’t say I remember the name. Go see if you can find him. If the Yacobi case is connected to this one, then we’re going to need to speak to him.’
‘He’s downstairs, and he’s fre
e after lunch.’ Rafferty grinned.
‘Then set up the meeting room–’
‘Done.’
‘And print out a copy of the case files–’
‘Done.’
‘And the Kennard file.’
‘Not done. You seriously think they might be connected? She’s a pensioner. Why would she have anything to do with Amoy Yacobi or Niall Stapleton?’
‘Just humour me.’
***
Jasper Wilson turned out to be a giant of a man with red hair flecked with grey, which gave him a wild, almost violent, demeanour. When he stood up at the front of the incident room, his bulk obscured half of the projector screen.
‘Amoy Yacobi was well-known to us before he died. He was an Indonesian national with a rap sheet as long as my arm: smuggling, drugs, extortion. At the time of his murder, we believe he was involved in people-smuggling.’
Morton raised a hand. ‘Was he affiliated with any groups?’ Like the Bakowski family.
‘Not that we know of. Our investigation died with him, so we never got to dig that far. I can’t rule it out.’ Wilson shifted to one side, clicked a button, and flashed an image up on the projector. ‘This is how we found him.’
Yacobi was strung upside down, his feet tied, with the rope looped around a meat hook dangling from the ceiling. Just like Stapleton, he had been cut neatly across the jugular with something exceptionally sharp, and a dark pool of blood had gathered on the floor of the meatpacker’s warehouse, congealing so that it looked like a pool of rust.
To Morton’s right, Ayala pulled a face.
‘You alright there, Ayala?’ Wilson asked. ‘Do you need a moment?’
‘No. Just... just go to the next slide already.’
Rafferty laughed. ‘Ayala, you wuss. Why on earth did you become a detective?’
Morton looked between them. While Ayala had paled considerably at the sight, Rafferty looked bemused and unruffled.
‘Quit it, you two,’ Morton said. ‘Wilson, as you were.’
‘Rightio. This’ – Wilson clicked over to the next slide – ‘is our man three weeks before his death. It was taken by DCI Crow when we were surveilling him.’
The DCI Morton Box Set Page 36
