The second image showed Amoy Yacobi standing alongside a Bentley, smoking. He had tattoos up and down both arms, though the photo wasn’t good enough for Morton to make out any of the detail.
‘Yes, he really is that short, Wilson said. ‘He was five foot two, and even that may have been due to elevated shoes.’
‘What was the cause of death?’ Morton asked. ‘Exsanguination?’
‘Just like Stapleton,’ Ayala chimed in.
‘Aye.’
‘Can we go back to the previous slide?’ Rafferty asked.
Ayala groaned, but Wilson clicked back anyway.
‘And then can we put the crime scene photo of Niall Stapleton up beside it? It’s logged in the system.’
They waited as Wilson fetched the Hatton Garden crime scene photos from the cloud. Once they had both photos side by side, Morton mumbled, ‘Good spot.’
‘What is it?’ Ayala asked, still averting his eyes.
‘For God’s sake, just look, Bertram,’ Rafferty said. ‘There. Look at the throats.’
Ayala peered at the screen for a split second. ‘So what? They’ve both been cut.’
‘They’ve both been cut neatly. Both men have a left-to-right cut from something ultra-sharp going right across the throat at the jugular.’
‘So?’
‘So,’ Morton interjected, ‘we’re looking for a right-handed killer who could get close enough to both men that he could cut them from behind.’
‘Aren’t we assuming they were both awake? What if they were unconscious?’ Ayala asked.
‘We know Stapleton wasn’t,’ Rafferty said. ‘The blood spatter on the wall fits with the height of his neck. What about Yacobi?’
All eyes fixed on Wilson. He shrugged. ‘Sorry, no idea. We don’t have any photos of the crime scene other than the one you’ve seen. The boys upstairs weren’t too keen on spending the big bucks bringing a criminal’s killer to justice. Frankly, I think the superintendent was of the impression that the more criminals who killed each other, the better.’
‘What did the autopsy show?’ Morton said. ‘Did the pathologist note any signs of a body dump?’
Wilson shook his head. ‘No rigor mortis on the notes.’
‘And what was the PMI?’ Morton referred to the post-mortem interval, the time between death and finding the body.
‘We don’t know. The warehouse was chilled to preserve the beef hung up there. It could have been hours, or days.’
Morton scribbled a note on his pad. ‘That’s no help, then. Did the pathologist note anything else?’
‘Nah. It was open and shut,’ Wilson said. ‘The pathologist had no reason to linger over such an obvious cause of death, and, like I said–’
‘There wasn’t much interest in pursuing it,’ Rafferty finished for him.
‘Exactly.’ Wilson clicked again to go to the next slide, and this time a map of London appeared, with a pin drop indicating the location of Amoy Yacobi’s body in Smithfield Market.
‘Boss!’ Ayala said excitedly. ‘Look how close that is to the twins’ offices. Nuvem Media Associates is right around the corner from there.’
Morton cast a dirty look in Ayala’s direction. ‘A mile away, but a decade too early. Nuvem Media Associates only just moved to Farringdon. Besides, do you have any idea how many people live or work within a mile of there? We’re talking hundreds of thousands of Londoners, if not a million plus.’
‘What happened to his body?’ Rafferty asked.
‘Cremated.’
‘Damn,’ she said. ‘No chance of digging him up to re-examine the corpse.’
‘What on earth for?’ Wilson said.
‘It’s like Morton said: someone had to either stand right behind him or drug him. We’ve got a pool of blood in the photos, but no arterial spray. A hardened criminal is unlikely to let someone get behind him and slash his throat. What if he was drugged to knock him out, and then his throat was cut? I don’t see anything in your file about toxicology testing.’ Rafferty rifled through the papers and fished out the meagre pathologist’s report once more. ‘Isn’t Chiswick usually more thorough than this?’
‘Like I said–’ Wilson began.
‘There wasn’t much interest in pursuing it. I get it. We botched the investigation because it was a dead criminal and nobody cared. Now, that’s come back to bite us in the arse.’ Rafferty glared at him.
Morton glanced down at his notes. Rafferty had covered everything he wanted to ask. He turned to Wilson. ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector Wilson. I think that’s everything. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.’
Wilson nodded, scooped up his papers, unplugged his laptop from the projector’s media hub in the centre of the conference room table, and made good his escape in record time.
‘Ayala, you’ve got the neatest handwriting, don’t you?’ Morton asked, though he already knew the answer. ‘Then, up you get. With no Mayberry, you’re in charge of our incident board.’
Ayala tentatively stood and approached the whiteboard, which was ominously empty. ‘What am I writing?’
‘Start with our three victims’ names along the top. Let’s label the cold case Victim Zero, as Yacobi isn’t strictly part of our investigation just yet, then label Primrose Kennard as Victim One, and Stapleton as Victim Two,’ Morton ordered.
Ayala wrote up the names. ‘You think all three cases are one big case, boss?’
‘What do you think? Let’s take each victim one by one.’
Ayala began to write on the board in his loopy, almost girly handwriting: Victim Zero: Amoy Yacobi, Indonesian, mid-thirties, drug/people smuggler, notable for his short stature. Possible gang affiliations. He was found hanging from a meat hook in Smithfield Market among hanging cattle.
‘Not bad. If you have time, I’d like this recreated digitally so I can refer to it on my iPad. Who do we think had the most reason to kill Yacobi?’ Morton looked around at Rafferty, who was studying Yacobi’s criminal record.
‘It’s got to be gang-related. He ripped off the wrong person and got himself killed for it.’
‘OK. Solid theory. Now, explain how that person comes across Niall Stapleton. They’ve got the same MO, so if they’re connected, then presumably we’re looking for one killer.’
‘He was killed while attempting to commit a burglary,’ Ayala said.
‘So, we’re thinking gang crime. Write us up a summary of Niall Stapleton’s murder on the board.’
Ayala shifted to the right-hand side of the whiteboard and wrote: Niall Stapleton. Found with his throat cut. He was executed during the commission of a robbery – to retrieve something which was worthless.
‘Both victims were hung upside down, and then cut like meat,’ Morton said. ‘Why?’
‘The symbolism with Yacobi is obvious,’ Rafferty said. ‘He was an animal, less than human. He didn’t deserve any dignity in death, and so his place was among the cattle that had been slaughtered.’
‘You think the killer was making a moral judgement? It wasn’t simply about taking out the competition and warning anyone who might want to take his place?’
‘I do. I think it fits. Stapleton died the same way – and he was about to commit a burglary. We’re looking for a vigilante.’
‘Then, how did he know about Stapleton? Niall woke up that morning with no intention of committing a crime. It was only after he was blackmailed that he went to Hatton Garden. It seems farfetched that a vigilante could have stumbled across him as he prepared to commit a crime.’
‘What if the vigilante is an inside man?’ Ayala suggested. ‘He could be part of the gang that killed Yacobi and the gang that extorted Niall Stapleton.’
‘An undercover vigilante?’ Morton echoed sceptically. ‘Are we agreed that Stapleton and Yacobi were probably killed by the same person? The blood, the hanging upside down, the neat surgical cut to the throat – that all reads like a distinct signature to me.’
‘We can�
��t rule out a copycat,’ Rafferty said.
‘We didn’t make any of the details of the Yacobi case public.’
‘Then, logic dictates that if it is a copycat, we’ve got an inside man,’ Rafferty said. ‘Think about it. A vigilante enforcing justice where the law failed to stop Yacobi. A high-stakes burglary stopped before it could be committed. Doesn’t that sound like someone involved in law enforcement to you?’
Silence hung in the air. It had never struck Morton that the killer could be one of them. A policeman. A scene of crime officer. A prosecutor. It wasn’t impossible.
Morton stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Who, then?’
‘The same person who substituted your diamonds for cubic zirconia,’ Rafferty said.
‘You think the evidence clerk did it?’ Ayala said.
‘Can you rule it out?’ Rafferty challenged.
Morton looked from Rafferty to Ayala, and he could see they thought they were on to something. He had to put his foot down. ‘Enough. As ingenious as your conspiracy theory is, we don’t have a shred of evidence. If we’re going to go accusing people, then you need proof. Let me hear some other ideas. Ayala?’
‘Cannibalism.’
‘Not this again.’
‘It fits!’ Ayala said. ‘Yacobi and Stapleton had their blood drained. Primrose Kennard had a lung removed. Black pudding and offal.’
Even Rafferty looked vaguely disgusted at this suggestion. She pulled a face and tutted loudly. ‘No way. Cannibalism is off the menu. A vigilante makes far more sense. Yacobi and Stapleton might be related, but why would anyone target poor old Primrose Kennard?’
‘Board time again, Ayala, if you please,’ Morton said.
Under Victim One, Ayala wrote: Primrose Kennard. Retired, widow, had no life other than church socials and trips to bingo. She died after being injected with sodium thiopental, her lung was neatly removed and her body was dumped on her husband’s grave.
‘This kill is different, but it’s also the same. We thought gang-related when we saw her on the autopsy table. What was it the pathologist said, Rafferty, about silence?’
‘He thought the removal of the lung meant “Don’t breathe a word,” that someone was being blackmailed into silence.’
‘Exactly. All three kills involve coercion, all three have connotations of gang involvement, and all three bodies were mutilated. But Kennard doesn’t fit the rest of the pattern.’
‘Why not?’ Ayala said. ‘The old ladies at the bingo hall said she nicked stuff from the local shop and that she might have been a bit of an alcoholic. That’s potentially criminal. It fits with Rafferty’s vigilante theory.’
‘Kennard was posed on her husband’s grave. That to me says that there’s a personal connection between her and her killer. Who else would know where her husband was buried?’ Morton said. ‘Which brings us back to her kids.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ Rafferty said. ‘Primrose Kennard was dying. If her sons wanted her dead, then why wouldn’t they just let her die? They saved her life by donating a lung lobe each. Without that, she’d have been gone in months.’
‘That would have given Primrose a chance to cut them out of her will. Highgate is pricey, and Primrose owned that big old Victorian house free and clear,’ Morton said. ‘Even independently wealthy men might be tempted by such a prize.’
‘Then, where do we go next?’ Ayala said.
‘You two keep digging. Find out everything you can about the three victims. If there’s even the slightest chance there’s a connection among the three, I want to know about it. And send someone over to Mayberry with a laptop. I promised I’d see to that.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To talk to the only men in Primrose Kennard’s life.’
Chapter 31: Sum Greater Than the Parts
Monday April 13th 15:00
Despite the superintendent’s warnings of dire consequences, Morton had to return to the offices of Nuvem Media Associates. He wasn’t entirely convinced the twins were behind their mother’s murder. They had no apparent motive, though their alibi was shaky at best.
Despite that lack of evidence, Morton felt certain the twins were hiding something. It didn’t help that they were thoroughly dislikeable human beings who had shown little emotion when informed of their mother’s murder, and had set the superintendent on him after Morton had asked a perfectly valid question as to their whereabouts on the night of Primrose Kennard’s murder.
The twins saw him coming a mile away. As Morton crossed the road, he watched them break away from the group they were talking to, abandoning their would-be clients to intercept Morton at the entrance.
‘Didn’t we tell you to talk to our lawyer?’ Freddy demanded. ‘One more step and I’ll sue for trespass. You’re not welcome here.’
Morton stopped in his tracks. He was halfway through the door and was obstructing the twins’ access to the pavement.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said in an effort to placate them, ‘I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I need to ask a few questions. If you want to call your lawyer and do this at New Scotland Yard, then we can, but I’m sure you don’t want that disruption to your day.’
The twins’ anger dissipated. They turned away and spoke in hushed voices for a few moments.
‘Look, we’ve got clients in,’ Freddy said. ‘We’ll be done in twenty minutes.’
‘Then I shall wait in the coffee shop across the street, where I can see you. If I see you disappear out the back entrance, I’ll be forced to assume you’re resisting arrest. Is that fair?’
‘Alright,’ said Chris, the other twin. ‘But you’re still not coming into the office. We’ll come to you when our meeting is over.’
True to their word, the twins joined Morton at the coffee shop twenty minutes later without any further trouble.
‘Let’s get on with it, then. What do you need to know?’ Freddy asked.
‘Where were you on the third of September six years ago?’
Christopher burst out laughing. ‘Are you serious? Who on earth would have any idea what they were doing on a random date years in the past?’
‘Someone who committed murder that day. I imagine that would be somewhat memorable,’ Morton said drily.
‘Well, we didn’t. Just like we didn’t murder our mother,’ Chris said. ‘Are we to assume, then, that you have another victim in mind? Was our mother killed by a serial killer?’
Morton ignored the question. ‘Where were you on Thursday?’
‘Copenhagen,’ Freddy said. ‘We had a meeting with investors, and we spent the rest of the weekend there before coming back.’
Damn.
‘Does the name Niall Stapleton mean anything to you?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘What about Amoy Yacobi?’ Morton prodded again.
‘Do you have something on our mother’s killer or not? We have a right to know.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Morton said bluntly. ‘You’re hiding something from me still.’
Freddy and Chris exchanged glances, as if they were sharing a secret telepathically. The former rubbed at his chest uncomfortably.
‘No, we’re not,’ Chris said. ‘And if that’s what you think, then this interview is over.’
Chapter 32: A Closer Look
Monday April 13th 15:00
If Morton wanted proof, then Ayala would find him proof. The diamonds had been swapped out for cubic zirconia by someone, and those substitutes had to have come from somewhere.
It took some ingenuity, but Ayala managed to wangle access to the faux diamonds with a plea to Xander Thompson. The SOCA head honcho seemed bemused, but there was little risk of anyone stealing fake diamonds, so he approved Ayala’s request without a second thought.
The evidence bag was delivered to an evidence examination room several floors below the Murder Investigation Team’s offices.
Rafferty cast a watchful eye as Ayala carefully cut the evidence bag open and then amended
the chain of custody record to indicate that it had been opened once more. It was odd. The paperwork was complete and correct. Nobody had mishandled the bag, and there was no sign of an evidence clerk attempting to sneak diamonds out of New Scotland Yard.
In any event, there were checks and balances in place to prevent the removal of evidence from the evidence lockers. Two people had to sign any item out, and if the evidence had a value over a thousand pounds, then one of those people had to be ranked DCI or higher, which all made the idea that the bag had been tampered with unlikely.
And yet the truth was right in front of him. Rafferty had borrowed a diamond tester from the forensics department, and the stones were stubbornly refusing to light up as diamonds despite both Ayala and Rafferty giving the test a whirl.
The test was straightforward enough. It was called an electrical conductivity test. A battery-powered probe heated up a small metal tip, which had to be pressed against the gemstone to be tested. That applied heat to the stones, and then the tester returned a rating based on how quickly they cooled back down.
Diamonds would conduct that heat away in seconds, allowing them to be easily identified. There was the chance of a false positive, but false negatives were much less likely, especially after several tests.
There was no doubt in Ayala’s mind: the stones in the evidence bag were not diamonds.
‘There’s something strange going on here. These don’t look like they’ve been touched since Morton and I collected them in Hatton Garden. The records are all perfect. So, why aren’t these diamonds?’ Ayala said to Rafferty.
‘Don’t ask me, Bertie boy. They look pretty enough to me.’ Rafferty held one up, and, even under the pallid glare of New Scotland Yard’s strip lighting, they looked as sparkly as anything Ayala had ever seen.
‘Hang on. What if it’s the tester?’
‘Ayala, you’re clutching at straws. You know Professional Standards would have been dead sure they were fakes before they yanked you and Morton in for questioning.’
‘It’s my name on the line, here! They think I nicked the diamonds!’
‘Then do another test if it’ll make you happy. There’s got to be a microscope in here somewhere.’ Rafferty looked around the room, searching among the plethora of equipment crowding out the counter running around the perimeter of the room.
The DCI Morton Box Set Page 37
