Larry pushed open the door with one hand, and picked up a clipboard with the details pertaining to the morning's first corpse. It was an unidentified female body, a Jane Bloggs in coroner parlance. The hospital notes reported that she was white, approximately thirty years old and possibly homeless. She had been a 'dead on arrival' at the Westminster and Chelsea Hospital. Accident and emergency had noted that she appeared to have suffered catastrophic heart failure caused by an arrhythmia, which would make it an open-and-shut case. If only all Larry's cases were so straightforward.
He lowered the clipboard, and then double-checked the toe tag to confirm he had the right body on the autopsy table, #0113/247. Larry pulled back the sheet, ready to begin his autopsy, then froze. The body on the table was a woman he'd seen in Autopsy Room Number Three many times, Detective Inspector Tina Vaughn.
Larry's skin paled as he reached for the internal phone hung beside the doorway and dialled the extension for Morton's office.
'David, this is Larry Chiswick. You need to come down here, right now. I'm in Autopsy Room Number Three.' Larry's voice quivered as he spoke.
'Larry, is everything OK?'
Larry replied instantly, 'No, it most certainly is not.'
'I'll be down straightaway.'
***
Morton jogged as he took the flight of steps down to the coroner three at a time. It was highly unusual for there to be an urgent development in the coroner's office and for a senior officer to be summonsed at no notice was exceptional.
He made it to the basement where the morgue was situated in just under three minutes. From the stairwell, it took a further two minutes to swipe his access card, and gain entry to the morgue proper. The security door slid open, and Morton sprinted through towards Larry's location, coming to a stop outside Autopsy Room Number Three. His shoes squeaked as the rubber soles found purchase on the floor.
Larry had the door open, and stood over a corpse. The sheet had been pulled back up over Tina, and Larry had closed Tina's eyes lest their vacant stare bore into Morton.
'Larry?' Morton spoke quickly, trying to catch his breath.
'David. Thanks for coming so quickly. Would you like a cup of tea?'
At the offer of a drink, Morton's heart sunk. Hot sweet tea was the quintessential British response to bereavement, and that meant he knew the victim. His mind connected the dots instantly. 'Tina?' His eyes widened as he spoke, and a note of pleading entered his voice. It couldn't be her. She was barely half his age.
'I'm afraid so, David.' Larry raised a hand to Morton's shoulder, unsure if he should be offering comfort in such a familiar way to a superior. 'Do you want to see her?'
Morton nodded, knowing that if he didn't see her, he'd never believe she was gone.
Tears began to roll down Morton's cheek, and a sob escaped him as Larry lowered the sheet to reveal Tina from the neck up. 'Wh-what happened?'
'They found her in Brockwell Park Gardens, down in South London. She was on her own, barely conscious and covered in God knows what.'
'How did she get down there?'
'No idea. It was a freezing cold night. She'd half frozen to death before help was called, and her heart gave up on the way to the hospital. That's our cause of death. I also noted marks around her wrists and ankles.'
'She was bound,' Morton said sharply.
'I'd say so. The paramedics noted that she was badly dehydrated. It could be a ransom attempt gone wrong.'
'Any defensive wounds? DNA under the fingernails?'
'No. They either drugged her, or got the jump on her when they tied her up. We'll test the blood, but if she disappeared on Sunday then it's possible any drug would be out of her system by now.'
'Is there anything to suggest where she went?'
'I'm afraid not, Chief. She was bound, kept somewhere without sufficient water and then either she was dumped or she escaped. Given her physical condition, the former seems more likely.'
'But, she was alive when the paramedics arrived on scene. So either they dumped her alive deliberately, assumed she would die shortly, or they dumped her thinking she was already dead.' Morton balled up his fists as he spoke through clenched teeth.
'She could have lived,' Larry said mournfully. 'The combination of extreme dehydration and exposure did it, but our kidnappers wouldn't have been able to predict a timeline well enough to dump her alive but assume she'd be found dead. Not unless a doctor was involved. It's possible they thought she was already gone. The body goes into what's known as a metabolic icebox stage where it appears dead. She wouldn't have felt much by then,' Chiswick elaborated as if the textbook explanation might provide some comfort. With an effort, Morton pulled himself together and tried to match the coroner's matter-of-fact approach.
'OK, Larry, let's assume they dumped her knowing she was alive. If that's true, then they must have been one-hundred percent confident that she didn't see their faces, or gather any sort of information that could identify them. That makes them careful, and dangerous.'
'But doesn't explain why they'd take her in the first place. Did you track down where she went missing?' Larry asked.
'Somewhere in Camden. We thought she might have gone to see a lowlife called Craig Linden, but his apartment was empty. We found a small amount of blood in the bath, but it wasn't Tina's. No sign of Linden since.'
'So, he could have taken Tina. Why was she involved with him?'
'I'm not sure but I'll find out; Ayala said Tina had called in Kiaran O'Connor on his day off, so it must have been serious,' Morton said.
'OK. I've got nothing else for you, but I'll send her clothes over for trace analysis.'
'Keep me posted.' Morton was already heading for the door.
CHAPTER 40: WITHOUT A TRACE
As the clock struck twelve, Morton leant against a wall with a clear view of DiamondJewlz. Ayala stood nearby, yapping into his mobile phone in rapid Spanish.
No one had attempted to enter Craig Linden's flat since they had searched it the previous evening, but a deputy had been posted nearby to see if Linden returned. So far he hadn't, and his stall, DiamondJewlz of Camden, was closed.
Ayala finished his call then turned to Morton: 'Craig Linden is a small-time fence, a nobody. He deals with low-volume art, jewellery and drugs. Nothing special about him.'
'Any idea who he works for?' Morton kept his eyes fixed on Linden's stall. The neighbouring stallholder kept stealing glances towards it as if he expected Linden to show at any moment.
'He's an independent, not part of any one group. He's bound to be involved with a number of gangs though. If he's fencing small-time stuff, he needs volume. He was trying to flog diamonds when Tina busted him.'
'Any identifiers on them?' Morton asked.
'No laser engraving. Forensics did some chemical analysis of the gems. Minor impurities in their chemical composition suggest the diamonds are African in origin, but that doesn't give us much,' Ayala said.
'I've not been in touch with the boys working organised crime for a while, but wasn't there a big diamond bust on the news a few weeks back?'
Ayala nodded. 'One of the high-security warehouses in Antwerp got hit. Interpol are all over it, but SOCA are still seeing cheap gems flood the market. The smart sellers are cutting them to remove the engravings, even though that decimates their profit margins. No one wants tiny diamonds.'
'So we could be looking at gems from that heist.' Morton chewed the end of his fingernails as he spoke, a nervous habit he'd been trying to kick for decades. 'Have Interpol got any leads in that case?'
'None they've shared publicly. If you're right, though, then we already know who stole the gems. Or we know one of the intermediaries anyway.'
'We do?'
'Tina's bust ended in Linden ratting out his supplier. He's in league with the Bakowskis,' Ayala said.
Morton's teeth tore into the quick of his nail, and he winced. 'So the Bakowskis either did the Antwerp job, or bought the diamonds en masse to resell to pe
tty fences like Linden. Now he's in the wind. If Kiaran gave him full immunity, it's unlikely he's scarpered to escape the law. I doubt the Bakowski brothers take kindly to snitches.'
'You think they did him in, boss?'
'Maybe. Either Linden is our bad guy, or someone he's working for is. Either way, I'd bet my badge on Tina being collateral damage,' Morton said, simmering.
***
Sarah Morton tiptoed out of her bedroom, keeping the light off to avoid disturbing David. She crept towards the kitchen, intending to get a glass of water. When Sarah had gone to bed, David had been passed out on the sofa, so she'd laid a blanket over him, then removed his half-empty bottle of whisky from the coffee table.
'Sarah?' Instead of being fast asleep, Morton was sat bolt upright on the sofa with his blanket folded between his arms.
'David. What are you doing still awake? It must be three o'clock in the morning.'
'Can't sleep, too many thoughts running through my head.'
'About Tina?' Sarah asked.
Morton shifted on the sofa, pulling the blanket up around himself.
'Yeah. I've lost officers before in the line of duty, but seeing her like that; it was so unexpected. The last thing I knew, she'd gone out shopping, then she was in the morgue having suffered extreme dehydration, exposure and heart failure. She is... was,' David corrected himself, 'half my age. It's just so unfair. I can't face the funeral on my own.'
'You won't be alone. When is it?'
'Three o'clock tomorrow.'
'I'll be there,' Sarah promised. 'Come to bed.'
***
Morton arrived at the Nag's Head early, and settled down in the back with a non-alcoholic beer poured into a normal glass to give the appearance that he was drinking. He couldn't face any more booze after the hangover he'd been nursing since dawn.
The crowd inside the pub was mostly other police officers, but the occasional tourist drifted in after seeing the pub marked on their phone's mapping system. They rarely stayed long.
Right on time, Morton's contact walked through the door. Morton rose, and then waved to get his former colleague's attention. 'Xander. Long time no see.'
'No doubt. You've not been involved with undercover operations in more than a decade now.'
Morton laughed. 'Way to make me feel old.'
'I'm as old as you are.'
'Well, then you're a bastard, 'cause you sure as hell don't look it,' Morton said. He was right; Alexander Thompson had a few flecks of grey in his blue-black hair and the hint of a wrinkle on his brow, but it seemed he had largely escaped the ravages of time.
Xander grabbed a chair, and then set his pint down on the table. 'What's with the monkey suit?'
'Funeral,' Morton said simply.
'So, what's so urgent after all these years?'
'I need to talk to you about the Bakowskis. One of my officers may have tangled with them inadvertently while going after a petty fence. She's now in the morgue.'
'I'm so sorry... Who was it?'
'Tina Vaughn.'
'Pretty Welsh lass? She was so young. What was she, thirty?'
'That's her. She was thirty-two. No age at all,' Morton lamented.
'My condolences.' Xander raised his pint in a toast, and the pair chinked glasses to Tina's memory.
'Anyway, the short of it is a fence named Craig Linden ratted out the Bakowskis as his supplier. In exchange for immunity, of course.'
'Naturally.'
'Linden claims the gems were from the Antwerp heist that went down in October. After he told us that, Tina disappeared. So did he. We think that Linden's paymasters might be involved. You got anything on them?'
'David, I appreciate the heads-up regarding the gems, but the situation with the Bakowski family is exceptionally delicate. They've been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember.' Alexander Thompson spoke softly, nursing a Guinness in his hands. 'SOCA's on-the-record answer is that we can't comment on any ongoing investigation.'
'And off the record?' Morton prompted.
'I've got a guy inside their drug operations. He's not been under long, but he's heard enough stories to know Dimitri Bakowski, also known as Tiny, is calling the shots. They're running coke in from Colombia via the Middle East. It's a big operation.'
'How does that tie in with the diamond heist?'
'It doesn't. The Bakowskis have their fingers in a lot of pies. Guns, prostitution, drugs, stolen goods. If you can think of a crime, they can think of a way to make money out of it. It's a huge organisation, and it's set up like a terrorist group. Every region and criminal task is a cell, and those running each cell are in the dark about the rest of the business. At the centre of the web are the Bakowskis. They flit in and out of high society, throwing money at good causes to buy themselves a veneer of respectability. Some of their most recent businesses are legitimate, but there's no explanation for the source of the seed money.'
Morton squirmed uncomfortably. It seemed odd that a low-level fence like Craig Linden would be allowed close enough to the Bakowskis to have any real dirt. In their position, Morton would have farmed out that contact to someone else.
Xander took another swig from his glass, and then continued: 'Interpol have wanted a shot at the brothers for years, but they're like Teflon, nothing sticks.' Xander leant in conspiratorially. 'They've got apparently legitimate property holdings all over London, even in Westminster. It's all via holding companies and trusts and the like, but I've got dozens of houses and flats identified that I think are theirs.'
'I bet you'd like to get the brothers on a Proceeds of Crime Act application. The press would be singing your praises for months.'
'I'm sure they would, until someone loses a flash drive or says something ridiculous on the Internet to divert their attention.' Xander smiled ruefully. Both had happened in the past year.
'Can I get a copy of those holdings?'
'I'll see what I can do. You know my first concern has to be my undercover. It's all public record, though, so you could piece it together yourself.'
'Fair enough.' Morton nodded. He could respect protecting an undercover operative.
'If you've got a specific property that you want to ask about now, I could give you the nod either way, off the record.'
'Thanks. I'm not hugely concerned with what land they own, though. I need to know who they've got on the ground in London. They won't have got their hands dirty, not directly. Can you help with that?'
'I'll keep an ear out, and let you know after I check in with my undercover,' Xander promised.
'Give me a call. You've got my number, right?'
'I've got one for you from the turn of the millennium.'
'It hasn't changed,' Morton said.
'Nor have you, old friend.'
***
A sombre procession lined the walkway into St Luke's Anglican Church in Old Street. Behind the crowd, which consisted mostly of colleagues past and present, an obelisk tower loomed on the western edge of the church. Flowers lined the walkways. Many had sent wreaths, but David and Sarah Morton had opted to bring a bouquet of pink and purple orchids, Tina's favourite flower.
Uniformed officers carried Tina's oak casket. They walked straight-backed and proud, seemingly unburdened by the weight. At the doorway to the church, the coffin was received by the minister. The crowd filed in slowly behind, and began to take their seats in the pews. At the front, Catrin sat alone in the family pew, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.
Once they were all seated, the minister cleared his throat. He spoke slowly, blue eyes wandering over the assembled crowd.
'I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,' the minister quoted from the Book of John.
'We meet in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, who died and was raised to the glory of God the Father. Grace and mercy be with you. We have come here today to remember Tina Vaughn, to give
thanks for her life and to commend her unto the Lord. Let us pray.'
As they rose for the first hymn, Morton realised how many mourners were fellow police officers. Apart from Tina's sister, it seemed every face in the crowd was a police officer. In all, over three hundred people had turned out to pay their respects.
'And now, a reading from Bertram Ayala,' the minister announced.
Ayala appeared from the back of the church. He walked briskly, resolutely focussed on the lectern. When he got there, he set his notes under the lamp, and then looked up.
'The Lord is my shepherd; therefore I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters.' Ayala's voice croaked as he spoke and then evened out as he fought to control his emotions.
'He shall refresh my soul and guide me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me. Surely goodness and loving mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.'
Ayala began to cry freely, bowed his head and made for the back pew, trying to hide his sorrow from his colleagues. He needn't have bothered, as there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
***
Even a double espresso couldn't reinvigorate Morton the morning after Tina's wake. A bottle of nineteen forty-eight McCallan had been the culprit. It was technically evidence, but the case it related to had long since been closed, and with no one coming forward to claim it, it hadn't taken long for the bottle to surreptitiously end up in a store cupboard.
After forgoing his morning drive in favour of the tube, Morton spent the morning listlessly shuffling paperwork. He'd read, and reread, Craig Linden's witness statement from the previous weekend without it sinking in.
The rest of the squad were equally worse for wear, and the result was that the staff in the Incident Room wandered around zombie-like, and achieved very little before lunch.
At the strike of noon, a tech dressed in a lab coat entered the room and called out: 'David Morton?'
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