He felt his cheeks redden. Ethel Tewson had to be at least eighty years old. ‘Did you ever see the man at any other times?’
‘A few. He wasn’t walking with her those times, though. I thought he must have been picking her up, but I didn’t see no car.’
Interesting. ‘If I show you some photos, do you think you could recognise the man?’
‘Let’s have a butcher’s, then.’
Morton showed her an array of six photos on his iPad. Each matched her description. The e-fit was designed to show Carruthers and five more men who looked like him. The decoys were culled from thousands of past line-ups and digitally merged to create new faces. It was the gold standard in making sure the witness had really seen the person they identified.
‘That’s him!’ she cried, looking at the first photo.
‘Are you sure, Mrs Tewson? Do you want to have a look at all of the photos first?’
She looked at the next one. ‘That’s him!’
‘They’re different men, Mrs Tewson. Take your time and look carefully at all the photos, and then tell me which man you saw, if any.’
But each time Morton put up a new photo, she declared whomever she saw to be the man she had witnessed with Primrose Kennard.
Perhaps the magistrate had been right.
Chapter 62: Bloody Hell
Monday May 4th 13:00
Purcell jumped up and down in delight. It was perhaps a minor miracle that no one was there to see him perform this little ritual, for the chief scene of crime officer would have looked unsightly in the extreme. He stopped jumping when his moobs thwacked painfully against his chest.
He had done it. He had taken a sample from Olivia Hogge’s home and found foreign DNA. The bleach the killer had poured into the bathtub had not completely saturated the plumbing underneath the bathtub, and a speck of blood had remained in the pipe just past the u-bend.
Purcell squealed. This would mean a big pat on the back from the superintendent.
The computer beeped. The DNA had matched with a sample already on record.
Byron Carruthers.
***
They took a veritable army to arrest Byron Carruthers. After a brief stop at his house (where his wife informed them that he was on duty), Morton parked six squad cars in the short-stay parking outside The Royal London Hospital.
Ayala jogged straight over to him as soon as they were parked. ‘Boss, can we–’
‘Yes, Ayala. Keep the bloody receipt and I’ll make sure you are reimbursed for parking.’
They traipsed inside and made their way to the Accident and Emergency department in single file so as to avoid obstructing the corridors. Morton, heading the group, marched up to the reception without taking a ticket.
‘Sir, no ticket, no answers.’ The receptionist pointed to the little ticket dispenser intended to ensure all visitors were called in order of arrival, except for those with obvious triage needs.
Morton looked around, bewildered. ‘There’s no one here.’
‘I need the ticket or I’ll have to call security.’
‘You do that,’ Morton said, and then flashed his identification. ‘Tell them to escort us to see Doctor Byron Carruthers immediately.’
Security took them through quickly enough, but they were soon stopped by a Medical Personnel Only sign on the door into theatre. A nurse approached them immediately.
‘We’re looking for Doctor Byron Carruthers,’ Morton said.
‘He’s in theatre. You’ll have to wait.’
And wait they did, right next to the door in case Carruthers tried to slip past them.
The doctor emerged with a wry grin on his face.
‘All this, for little old me? If I’d known you were coming, I’d have worn my good scrubs.’
‘Doctor Byron Carruthers, you’re under arrest for the murder of Primrose Kennard.’
Carruthers held up his hands to be handcuffed. ‘Normally I only let my wife do this.’
Chapter 63: Complications
Monday May 4th 19:00
The doctor looked far too smug. For a man facing life in prison to be so calm as to quip at every opportunity was... off-putting.
He had requested a lawyer immediately. No surprises there.
What had been a surprise was his choice of lawyer. While Ebstein had hired the hottest QC in London, Carruthers took a perverse pleasuring in hiring... his nephew.
Fresh out of law school and looking bewildered to be there, Jacob Carruthers was as green as a lawyer could get. He should have refused to represent his uncle. No lawyer with one year of experience under his belt would have been able to handle a murder charge, and this was not just any murder charge.
‘Mr Carruthers,’ Morton began, knowing that the lack of title would greatly annoy the doctor. Insults to his pride seemed to be one of the few things which riled him. ‘Tell me about your decision to donate an organ to Doctor Isaac Ebstein.’
‘I gave him a kidney,’ Carruthers said simply.
‘Why?’
‘Because I could,’ he said, and then added almost as an afterthought, ‘He didn’t deserve to die.’
Not because they were friends. Not because it was the right thing to do. Somehow, in three simple words, Carruthers had made it about him. It wasn’t Ebstein’s transplant. It was Carruthers’ story.
‘You could, so you did,’ Morton went on. ‘What made you get tested for compatibility?’
‘Everyone else was doing it.’
‘Huh,’ Morton said. ‘I never figured you for a sheep.’
‘Goading is unbecoming, Mr Morton.’
‘Then, let’s cut to it. Primrose Kennard. Did you kill her?’
Carruthers held up his hands as if to defend himself. ‘I saved her.’
‘Did you save her, and then kill her?’
‘What an absurd accusation. That sounds terribly inefficient. I am not inefficient.’
‘That’s not a denial, Doctor Carruthers.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Why did you kill her?’
‘Don’t you have to establish that I did kill her before you can ask me that?’
‘Did you murder her or not?’
‘Murder is such a strong term. Could you define it for me?’
Morton was quickly becoming exasperated. It was going to be a long afternoon. He rattled off the dictionary definition. ‘The unlawful killing of a human being in the Queen’s Peace, with malice aforethought.’
Carruthers whistled. ‘That is one hell of a mouthful. You’re going to have to break it down for me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Morton said slyly, ‘you should consult your lawyer.’
They both turned to Jacob Carruthers, who had until now been watching the verbal sparring as if it were a tennis match. Morton noted that despite having an expensive-looking pen and a thick A4 notepad, he had yet to write anything down.
‘Nephew?’ the doctor prompted.
‘It means, did you kill anyone while not a soldier, and intend to do it.’
‘Thank you, Jacob. No, I did not.’
Huh. That’s not quite the definition. ‘Did you intend to kill or cause grievous bodily harm to Mrs Kennard?’ Morton corrected him.
‘Grievous bodily harm? I’m afraid I’m not au fait with that one, either.’
It really was going to be a long afternoon.
For three hours Morton went round in circles. Eventually they came to the topic of Olivia Hogge, and here Morton felt on surer ground.
‘This is a lab report stating that blood containing your DNA was found in Olivia Hogge’s bathroom plumbing,’ Morton said. ‘Do you deny it?’
Carruthers picked up the report, examined it, and set it back down. His lawyer craned over to take a look.
‘No, I don’t deny it.’
Aha! Finally, Morton had him. ‘Can you explain the presence of your blood in her flat?’ Morton asked.
‘Certainly.’
‘You killed her and cut yourself while
doing it, didn’t you?’
‘My, my, you do have an active imagination. No, nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. My DNA is there because she cut herself.’
‘She cut herself? How does that explain the presence of your DNA?’ Morton gave a thin-lipped smile.
‘Because, my dear boy, I donated bone marrow to her several months ago. If you’d have done your homework, you’d have known that donor DNA can be found in the blood of bone marrow recipients. There is nothing at all untoward about my DNA being found in her apartment.’ Carruthers gave a wide grin that bordered on a snarl.
‘Interview paused 21:33.’ Morton hit the stop button on the recorder and stormed from the room.
***
It was known as chimera DNA: one person, two sets of DNA. Sometimes it could occur in the womb when two eggs merged. In this case it occurred because Olivia Hogge was a bone marrow recipient.
Her blood had DNA in it from her donor. When the crime scene team compared it to Olivia Hogge’s sample DNA, which was taken from an oral swab, it didn’t match.
It didn’t take long for Morton to confirm that what Carruthers was claiming could be the truth, but it also didn’t rule out the doctor having cut himself while cutting Olivia Hogge’s body open in her bathtub.
First things first. Morton had to confirm that Hogge had received a donation from Carruthers. He couldn’t check with the pathologist, because Hogge’s bones had been removed (and had yet to turn up; Morton suspected they were long since disposed of in the Thames). He picked up his mobile and called NHS Blood and Transplant.
Voicemail. Damn.
Morton looked at his watch. It was getting on for ten o’clock. It would have to wait ‘til morning.
Chapter 64: Excuses
Tuesday May 5th 09:30
NHS Blood and Transplant returned Morton’s call the next morning.
‘Morton,’ he answered.
‘Detective Morton, this is Dr Giles Sinclair. I received your voicemail.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m afraid I have some confusing news. Olivia Hogge did not have a bone marrow transplant on the NHS.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘I don’t know.’
Was Carruthers lying? Was it all a ruse? Could he be using his unique scenario to literally get away with murder?
‘Doc, based on Hogge’s charts, how long would you have expected her to live?’
‘I would have expected her to be dead by now.’
‘Is it possible that she had a bone marrow transplant without it being done on the books?’
‘Theoretically?’
There was that word again. Theoretically. It seemed to be the Get Out of Jail Free card of lawyers and administrators. ‘Fine. Let’s assume it’s hypothetical.’
‘It’s possible. Bone marrow transplantation is relatively painless for the recipient. It doesn’t need them to be put under general anaesthetic. The equipment required is minimal.’
‘What kind of equipment?’
‘A central venous catheter. It’s a silicone tube.’
‘Which Carruthers would have access to,’ Morton said.
‘Theoretically,’ Sinclair agreed.
Morton wanted to strangle him. ‘And Hogge was on the waiting list?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me if Carruthers would have been a match? You’ve got records for him, don’t you?’
‘Hang on a moment... yes. He would have been a match.’
Well, there’s reasonable doubt, Morton thought. ‘Why wouldn’t he donate on the books?’
‘He’s too old. You can only join the register between sixteen and thirty.’
‘So, he couldn’t have donated?’
‘Oh, he could have. We only let youngsters join because they’re the best candidates, and we have limited funds to do the requisite testing. There’s nothing that would preclude someone older from being able to viably donate bone marrow.’
‘Damn. Thanks for your time, Doctor.’
Morton rang off. That settled it. Carruthers had a perfectly plausible story.
Morton went off in search of the prosecutor, relayed the information, and they headed down to the interview suite to resume Morton’s interrogation of Byron Carruthers.
Carruthers looked like hell after a night in the cells, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. ‘I slept fine. Perhaps it’s because my conscience is clear.’
‘This is a resumption of the interview of Byron Carruthers. Present in the room are DCI Morton, Kieran O’Connor of the Crown Prosecution Service, Byron Carruthers, and his solicitor, Jacob Carruthers.’
‘I gather from your sulking that you now know about chimera DNA,’ Carruthers said in an I-told-you-so sing-song tone that was infuriating.
‘Where were you on the night of Primrose Kennard’s murder?’ Morton said through his teeth.
‘I might have been at home. I might not. My medication makes me drowsy, you know.’
‘Was your wife there?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t know if you weren’t there, either.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ Carruthers suddenly clutched at his side as if he had been stabbed.
‘Are you OK, Doctor Carruthers?’ Morton said with almost genuine concern. If the old goat dies mid-interrogation, I won’t be able to lock him up.
‘Just a little pain. Did you have another question, or am I free to go now?’ He looked over to his nephew the lawyer (who still hadn’t written a single note) as if to ask if he was free.
‘What about the night of Ms Hogge’s murder?’
‘When was that, again?’
‘Three weeks ago on Saturday night.’
‘I can only assume I’d have been home. I don’t specifically recall.’
‘Terrible memory you’ve got, Doctor.’
‘Alas, age makes fools of us all,’ Carruthers said. Then he patted his nephew on the shoulder. ‘And it seems youth has its folly, too. Do pay attention, dear Jacob.’
The solicitor had finally begun to write. Unfortunately he had only managed the names of the victims and the word ‘murder’. It was a start.
‘And the morning of Niall Stapleton’s murder?’
‘Hmm. You said that was a Thursday, didn’t you?’ Carruthers said. ‘I would assume I’d have been at work.’
‘At The Royal London Hospital?’
‘Probably.’
‘You weren’t. We checked.’
‘In every room? I do keep strange times. I’m not good at making myself available when I’m not scheduled to work Accident and Emergency, and I do work at other hospitals as a consultant.’
Reasonable doubt. Again. They couldn’t prove the negative. Just because the NHS pager system didn’t show him as being in, that wasn’t enough to nail him.
‘Did you donate to all four victims?’ Morton asked.
‘I believe so. I’m taking your word for it that Mr Stapleton and Mr Yacobi received units of my blood. That isn’t information that I would be privy to.’
He had to know somehow. If they could find a record of him accessing that confidential information... that might be enough. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ Morton asked. ‘Don’t doctors have access to the database which tracks blood donations?’
Morton could see the doctor’s mind working, as if cogs were whirring in his brain.
‘I suppose so,’ Carruthers said. ‘Actually, come to think of it, I might have seen it once or twice. Idle hands make for a curious mind, and it’s only natural one would wonder where one’s blood might have been used.’
‘So, you’re admitting to the knowledge that Stapleton and Yacobi had blood transfusions?’
‘No. I’m admitting to the possibility I might have looked up a few records. I don’t recall anything specifically.’
Damn, he was good. Again he had introduced reasonable doubt.
‘Would you know how to cut up a body?’
‘Certa
inly. I am a doctor.’
‘Like this?’ Morton opened a folder of morgue photos.
‘Absolutely not. That handiwork is abysmal.’
Kieran elbowed Morton gently for his attention. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’
Chapter 65: Risky Business
Tuesday May 5th 11:00
The prosecutor fixed Morton with a stare. ‘You’ve got to let him go.’
‘No bloody way,’ Morton said firmly. ‘He’s our man.’
‘Then prove it. All we have is circumstantial. He could have done it. We have nothing, nothing at all, which says that he did do it.’
But what? Morton’s mind raced. There had to be something. ‘Hang on.’
Morton dashed off down the corridor. He nabbed a witness statement form and ran back to the interview suite with it in hand.
‘Got a pen?’ he asked Kieran as he skidded to a stop.
‘Yes. But be careful. It’s Mont Blanc, and I want it back.’
Morton told the doctor he needed his alibi details in writing and gave him the witness statement form. It wasn’t proper procedure, but his lawyer was too green to know better.
The doctor took a moment to admire the pen, twirling it between his fingers and hefting it from hand to hand in judgement of its weight. Morton waited with bated breath, trying not to look like he was waiting to see which hand the doctor would write with.
The doctor began to write... with his left hand. Fuck.
Morton forced himself to show no emotion. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Knock on the door when you’re done.’
Kieran was waiting for him outside. ‘Well?’
‘He’s left-handed.’
‘Then, he’s not our killer,’ Kieran said.
‘I don’t know,’ Morton said. ‘Everything else fits. What if he’s trying to outsmart us?’
‘So, your evidence that he committed a crime is... evidence he didn’t commit a crime? That’s a new one.’
‘Think about it,’ Morton said. ‘It’s the perfect forensic countermeasure.’
‘Pretending to write with your left hand to throw the police off?’
‘No. Cutting up a body with your non-dominant hand to conceal your medical training and skill.’
The DCI Morton Box Set Page 46
