Missing Persons (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 5)

by Sean Campbell

  ‘Next!’

  The next thing Morton knew, a bailiff was politely tugging at his elbow. When he was by the door and out of earshot of the magistrate, the bailiff whispered, ‘Sorry about him. He’s a cranky one.’

  Morton left the court empty-handed. There was one option left. He could arrest Faye and use the power under section eighteen of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act to conduct a warrantless search of The Guilty Pleasure.

  Chapter 30: The Other Man

  With the boss off trying for a search warrant, it was down to Rafferty to winnow down the other suspects. The main four were indistinguishable: Jake, Laura, Tim, and Faye all had had the same access to the victim, and each had a plausible motive.

  That left the two peripheral suspects, neither of whom Rafferty could take seriously. First, there was Pip Berryman, the guy who had stolen Mark’s new client when he didn’t show up for work. Secondly, there was the other Mark. This Mark also worked in finance and lived aboard a boat. Mayberry had theorised that the kidnappers had erroneously targeted the wrong Mark Sanders.

  ‘Really?’ Ayala had said disbelievingly. ‘If a killer can’t tell the difference between a yacht and a narrowboat, there’s no way they’d be clever enough to leave so little evidence.’

  ‘Then, it won’t take us long to rule it out,’ Rafferty said. ‘It’ll shut Mayberry up, at least. Speaking of Mayberry, where’d he go?’

  ‘No idea. Last I saw, he had his nose buried in the records we found on Jake Sanders’ desktop computer. He’s probably down in IT, talking to that guy with the ridiculous name,’ Ayala said.

  ‘Zane? Yeah. That isn’t actually his real name. He just thinks it’s cool. It’s probably something boring like Jim or Luke or Bertram.’ Rafferty watched as the vein in Ayala’s temple began to throb. He hated his name so much that the mere mention of it would send him off on one. Then she continued as if nothing had happened. ‘Well, if Mayberry’s on that, then let’s go work the doppelgänger angle.’

  ***

  Doppelgänger Mark Sanders could not have lived a more different life from the ‘real’ Mark. The Guilty Pleasure was a beautiful boat in her own right, and certainly one of the more beautiful narrowboats on the canal network, but no narrowboat could compare to the superyacht that awaited Rafferty and Ayala at West India Dock on the South Quay.

  The Gaeltacht was an impressive sight, with sleek lines that seemed to effortlessly traverse the 150-foot length of the boat and a shiny white finish that no doubt took many staff to maintain. Gaeltacht was printed subtly in a silver font that caught Rafferty’s eye as it sparkled in the sunshine. There were three decks visible above the prow, with sheets of tinted glass hiding the occupants within. Rafferty knew nothing of the lives of the ultra-rich and had never set foot aboard a private yacht before. Now, more than ever, she cursed her bad luck being born on a council estate in Hackney.

  Ayala whistled. ‘That is a sexy boat.’

  ‘Let’s take a closer look.’

  Rafferty led the way, dodging through the crowds as she threaded towards the water’s edge. Uniformed security appeared from the boat to block her way.

  ‘Ma’am, we can’t allow you to go any farther,’ the tallest of the grunts said.

  Ma’am? Rafferty thought. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Detective Inspector Ashley Rafferty, Metropolitan Police. I’m here to speak to Mark Sanders.’

  ‘Is Mr Sanders expecting you?’ The guard’s tone implied he already knew the answer.

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Wait here.’ He sounded bored, but he snapped his fingers to beckon another grunt. He whispered instructions and sent the junior security officer sprinting onto the deck.

  They waited in silence. Rafferty kept looking over to the gangway for the junior to return.

  The boss goon put a finger to his ear. ‘Uh-uh. Right away,’ he muttered into his earpiece. ‘Follow me,’ he said, beckoning with a gnarled finger.

  He led them down towards the gangway and then bowed as Ayala and Rafferty passed him to board. They were met on board the boat by another man who bowed and showed them through to the main lounge.

  ‘How many staff did you spot?’ Ayala asked.

  ‘A dozen. There’ve got to be more about,’ Rafferty said under her breath.

  When they were seated on plush couches, the staff member turned to them. ‘Can I offer you refreshments?’

  ‘Tea, please, for us both.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am. Please wait here.’

  Ma’am again? Rafferty pulled out her phone, turned on the front camera, and double-checked her make-up. She did look more tired than normal. Dealing with Faye was exhausting. While her camera app was open, she snapped a few pictures of the cabin to show Morton. The whole room reeked of money. Above her was a chandelier with dozens of tiny crystals refracting rainbows onto the carpet. The carpet was remarkably plush, with a red and gold pattern. Towards the back of the main cabin, there was a spiral staircase going up to the top deck.

  ‘You hear that?’ Ayala said, nudging Rafferty as he spoke. ‘Footsteps.’

  ‘I don’t hear anything.’

  Ayala was right. A man in his early thirties descended the spiral staircase at a clip, skipping every other step. He bounded towards them, full of energy.

  ‘Hello! I’m Mark Sanders. To what do I owe the intrusion?’ he said snarkily. ‘I’m just kidding. Has anyone got you a drink yet? Dear me, you can’t get the staff these days. Ezra!’

  The elderly valet who had greeted them reappeared. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Drinks, Ezra, drinks. Make mine a Sazerac.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Ezra bowed as he retreated. He returned barely a minute later with the drinks, almost as if he had predicted the request for a Sazerac before it was made.

  A Sazerac? Rafferty glanced at her watch. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning.

  Sanders sat down on an Eames chair opposite them. No doubt it was an original. ‘Don’t mind Ez. Poor chap’s been with the family forever. He worked for my father until he passed. I can’t bear to let him go, even if he’s got a bit slow in his old age.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rafferty said, nonplussed. ‘Mr Sanders, we’re with the Murder Investigation Team. I’m Detective Inspector Rafferty, and this is Detective Inspector Ayala.’

  ‘Murder? Good lord, who’s dead?’

  ‘Mark Sanders,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’ Doppelgänger-Sanders said. ‘Plainly, I’m not.’

  ‘Another man by the name of Mark Sanders was murdered two weeks ago. His family was asked for a ransom demand that was far beyond his means. We believe the kidnappers may have targeted the wrong Mark Sanders by mistake.’

  ‘You think they were after me? Dear lord. It’s got to be the Russians. Or the Armenians. Hang on. Ezra!’

  Ezra appeared again as if by magic. Rafferty had the sneaky suspicion that the old man had been loitering just outside so he could eavesdrop.

  ‘Ezra, be a dear and go fetch Carlton. I need his latest security threat assessment report too, please.’

  Rafferty took a sip from her tea. ‘Who’s Carlton?’

  ‘My head of security. Aha, here he comes.’ Doppelgänger-Sanders pointed at the doorway as the bald gentleman who’d stopped them on the quayside entered.

  He kicked off his shoes at the door. ‘Sir!’

  ‘Mr Carlton, these police officers seem to think I could be in danger.’

  Carlton laughed. ‘Sir, we’ve had no more threats than usual this month. Would you like me to increase the number of guards on patrol?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Mr Sanders,’ Rafferty said. ‘If I may, I’d like to offer you police protection while we investigate.’

  ‘Nonsense! Mr Carlton here will ensure my safety, won’t you, Carlton?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir!’

  Ezra reappeared with a stack of binders. ‘Sir, this the report you asked for.’

  �
�Excellent,’ Doppelgänger-Sanders said, leaping to his feet. ‘Give a copy to these officers, would you?’ He turned to Rafferty and Ayala and said, ‘Thanks for stopping by. If there’s anything else you need, please have a word with Mr Carlton.’

  He bounded from the room, leaving Ezra to escort them back to the quay.

  The pile of folders teetered as Ayala carried them. When they were back on solid ground, he put them down and glanced at the folder on top. ‘There have got to be thousands of threats in here!’

  Chapter 31: Amateur

  Friday 24th June, 17:25

  It had been raining for days, seemingly without stopping. The wind was howling, and lightning flashed across the sky. Faye was sitting in bed, her arm tucked around one of Mark’s jumpers. The bed was the last place that she could still feel his presence. Fabby was curled up beside her, shaking every time the clouds rumbled.

  ‘I wish Mark was here,’ Faye whispered to the cat. She wanted nothing more than to have his arms wrapped around her, and for his deep, soothing voice to tell her everything was going to be alright. She hadn’t got used to sleeping alone yet. In prison, there’d been someone near her every waking moment for four years straight. The last two weeks were the loneliest that Faye had ever endured.

  The boat rocked as Faye clutched Mark’s jumper closer against her. Though the canal was non-tidal, the water was rising. The flood valves, built to drain the canals when the water level surged, seemed unable to cope. Though Faye couldn’t see it, the banks had been submerged. The grass of the towpath into which she had sunk her mooring pins was turning into a slurry of mud and canal water.

  A flash of lightning flitted across the sky as the boat lurched again. The water seemed to be churning as the wind whipped it back and forth. The Guilty Pleasure strained against her mooring ropes, her tonnage rendering the ropes taut. She rocked and she rocked, and, slowly but surely, the mooring pins began to rise.

  All of a sudden, one mooring pin pinged free of the grass by the towpath. As soon as one went, the others began to rise up out of the bed, the slurry no longer able to contain the boat. The last mooring pin gave way, and the boat lurched suddenly forward, throwing Faye around in her berth.

  Faye screamed. The boat was out of her control. She swept up the cat in one arm and ran for the helm. Furiously, Faye unlocked the front door. More haste proved to mean less speed. Faye panicked. She needed to get the engine running, and quickly. The boat was picking up speed. The wind and the water were jostling her towards the middle of the canal.

  In the distance, Faye could see another narrowboat. It grew larger as she tried to bring The Guilty Pleasure under her control. She yanked the throttle into neutral and flicked the ignition. The yellow preheat light flickered to life. The diesel needed to warm up before the engine would turn over.

  Closer and closer The Guilty Pleasure came to the boat in front of her. There wasn’t time. The starter motor wouldn’t engage.

  ‘Noo!’ Faye screamed. A collision was imminent. At the last moment, she clutched tighter at the cat, ignored the yelping and the scratches, and leapt into the water.

  An almighty crunch sounded as The Guilty Pleasure collided with the narrowboat in front of it.

  Chapter 32: Too Much Attention

  Friday 24th June, 17:30

  The Cheshire Cheese was rammed. Lawyers, students, journalists, and tourists packed out every nook and cranny of the historic Fleet Street pub.

  At a worn-out table in the rear bar, Morton sat nursing a pint of Sam Smith’s. It was his third since he’d met up with Kieran O’Connor half an hour earlier, and he was beginning to feel a mild buzz. The bar staff knew them by name, and Kieran had tipped generously to make sure there was always a pint in his hand.

  If Morton had to hear Jenny the barmaid patiently explaining to a tourist that the tables in the nearby dining room were only for those dining one more time, he thought he might rip his hair out. God only knew how she didn’t go insane.

  ‘So, I turned up for court, and there she was, the woman from the other night. I had to go through an entire bail application without looking at her,’ Kieran said. ‘I can’t believe my luck.’

  ‘It’s your own fault, O’Connor. You will drink in lawyer bars all over Holborn every night. Is it any surprise that you end up chatting up other lawyers?’

  Kieran glared. His eyes were red, and there were bags under his eyes. It’d been a long week. ‘Feck off, Morton.’

  ‘You should go meet a nice girl,’ Morton said. ‘If you date other lawyers, you’ll be competing over everything. You’ll never find time for each other, because you’re both workaholics, and it’ll end badly. Remember that doctor you dated last year? You barely saw each other. With another lawyer, it’ll be worse, because you’ll have to see each other afterwards.’

  Kieran drained his glass. ‘Easier said than done, my friend. London in your thirties is like going fishing in a pond that’s already been overfished. Most of what’s available has been thrown back for good reason.’

  Morton gestured at Kieran’s almost-empty pint glass. ‘Sounds like you need another one.’

  ‘Go on then, one more, and then I’ve got to get going.’

  The bar was crowded. Students, many of them looking barely old enough to drink, were swarming the overworked barmaid. ‘Jenny, two pints of bitter when you get a sec. We’re in no hurry.’

  She poured them immediately, taking a tenner in return.

  Morton took one in each hand, took a sip from the pint in his right hand, and smiled. ‘Keep the change.’

  Kieran’s head was on the table when Morton returned. ‘You alright?’

  ‘No. Look.’ Kieran showed Morton his phone. The press had found out about Jake’s gambling, and Kieran’s phone was lighting up with text messages letting him know.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘You’ve got to arrest him,’ Kieran said. ‘Soon. If you don’t, we’ll get a media storm, our witnesses will hole up away from the press, and any evidence left will be completely destroyed by our suspects.’

  ‘I need more time. We don’t have enough to convict.’

  ‘Then let him out on police bail. Seize his passport and make sure he reports to a station daily. Put an ankle tag on him if he’ll agree to wear one.’

  Chapter 33: Wham!

  Friday 24th June, 17:25

  Joanna Marsden’s evening had started much like any other. At five o’clock on the dot, her collie had appeared in the sitting room with his lead held between his teeth and had set the lead down on her lap. Vic was such a clever dog, perhaps cleverer than her first husband after whom he had been named.

  The canals were the perfect place for dog-walking. There weren’t too many people around, and the greenery made a change from the usual drab grey of the surrounding skyscrapers.

  Rain wasn’t a problem, either. Vic loved to jump in every puddle he could. Torrential rain, on the other hand, soon proved problematic. On the way back from their Friday evening walk, the muddy towpath seemed to be one long puddle. Thank God for wellington boots.

  The boats seemed to be rocking back and forth in the water almost as if they were at sea. Joanna couldn’t live aboard a narrowboat. It would be much too cold, too cramped, and the movement would nauseate her. She watched the boats as they walked, wondering who lived aboard them and why they had chosen a life on the canals rather than a regular flat.

  She was most of the way home when she spotted one boat rocking much more violently than the others. In distance, Joanna could see that a girl was standing atop the boat, wrestling with the tiller.

  ‘Good lord, is that boat moving? In this weather? Miss! Miss! Look out!’

  Joanna’s screams were lost in the wind. Vic began to bark. The girl on the boat was heading for a collision. Joanna watched helplessly from a distance, her fingers crossed, pleading for a last-minute course correction.

  It seemed to happen in slow motion.

  The boat crashed into a moored-up narrowboat. Jo
anna didn’t hear it happen; the rolls of thunder drowned out the noise. She ran forward, Vic snapping at her heels, just in time to see that the girl had leapt into the water. Joanna kept running, cursing the arthritis in her knees. Vic shot forward and jumped into the canal, paddling after the girl as if his life depended on it.

  By the time Joanna got to the girl, a couple of minutes had passed. She jumped into the water, recoiling at the sudden temperature shock. Her limbs felt heavy as the wind whipped the water around her face. At least the water wasn’t too deep.

  She reached Vic and the girl. The dog was nudging from underneath, trying to keep her afloat. Joanna seized the girl’s arm and dragged her to the water’s edge, then heaved to hoist her up onto the bank. The girl was unconscious and barely breathing. Her right arm was locked in place as she clutched a tiny cat tight to her chest. It escaped with a long meow as soon as they were out of the water. Joanna clambered up after the girl and felt for a pulse. It was weak, and the girl’s breathing was shallow.

  ‘Breathe, damn it!’ Joanna swore. She placed her hands over the girl’s chest with her palms flat and began chest compressions. What was it the TV advert had said? Push to the beat of “Staying Alive”. Joanna hummed it aloud as she pressed on the girl’s chest.

  The girl sputtered, rolled over onto her side, and chucked up water.

  ‘W-where am I?’ she muttered.

  ‘Your boat crashed. You’re okay,’ Joanna said. ‘I’m going to call you an ambulance.’

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sodden mobile phone. It wouldn’t turn on.

  ‘I’m going to get help. Stay here, okay? I’ll be back in no time.’

  Chapter 34: Emergency Contact

  Friday 24th June, 19:00

  The Northwick Park Hospital was the nearest A&E for Faye. The paramedic who assessed her on the towpath dropped her off in the Accident & Emergency department but was unable to bump her straight through, as there were more urgent cases waiting. The storm had done a number on the local community. Trees had fallen, storm drains had overflowed, and those reckless enough to risk driving had caused a spike in traffic accidents. The hospital was slammed.