Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) (13 page)

'No, sir, I'm afraid he escaped.'

Morton let the darkness envelope him once again, and hoped that the response had been a figment of his imagination.

***

Barry didn't leave the old woman's flat for several hours. He gagged and bound the original occupant, and left her in the bathroom to prevent her calling the cops anytime soon. He wouldn't leave her there for too long; his plan was to tip off the police anonymously when he was as far away as he could be.

The flat had yielded a few useful items. Breakfast bars were now stuffed inside an overcoat that fitted Barry neatly. Several hundred pounds in cash was also a massive boon, and an unexpected one at that.

The old lady had also been mercifully vain. In her bathroom was a full stock of hair dye. Barry's efforts wouldn't win any design awards, but the peroxide drained the brown pigment from his hair in virtually no time at all. Judicious use of scissors cropped his locks to alter his face shape, and a slow swagger altered his gait.

The flat wasn't large, and with the real owner tied up in the bathroom Barry was left to meander around the lounge and bedroom. Fortunately the lounge had a large window with a clear view of the rear entrance to the building. The police were still out there, and didn't show any signs of moving.

It was six hours before Barry decided to leave. He decided against the rear exit, as leaving via the back door was too obvious. With his changed appearance in place, he decided that his best option was to hide in plain sight. With that in mind he walked straight out of the front door. Sure enough, a number of police were in the area, but they appeared to be the beat cops that periodically strolled around the neighbourhood rather than the Met police who Barry knew would be looking for him.

He wasn't sure where to go. Friends and family were out; he'd be found in no time.

He could flee London entirely, but eventually his face would appear on "Crimewatch", and someone would ID him. If he did leave then he would have to either take his car or risk public transport.

The former option was clearly a poor choice. There was no doubt that the police would have put out an alert on his number plates, and a stolen car would be even easier to find. Besides, Barry didn't know how to hotwire a modern car. It wasn't quite as simple as it had been when he had boosted cars in his youth. His conviction for teen joyriding was long past, and that skill set had atrophied over the years.

Public transport would allow him to hide in a crowd. Adverts on the tube proclaimed boldly that over a million people entered London by public transport every single day. With that large a crowd, it would certainly be possible to disappear.

If he was going to go on the run for good he'd need new papers. Lord Lucan might have managed to disappear for good back in 'Seventy-four, but that was before the advent of DNA. If he was picked up for any reason whatsoever it would be child's play for the police to link the crimes back to him. Leaving the country was always an option, but many countries now had extradition treaties with the UK to haul criminals back home to face justice. If he stayed within Europe then Interpol could come after him with a European Arrest Warrant. To leave he'd need a false passport to travel on, not to mention the language skills to help him survive wherever he wound up.

It simply wasn't practical to run like that, so Barry decided to stay relatively local. He knew London well. He would adopt an accent of some kind, perhaps Welsh like his mother's, and he'd keep changing his appearance to muddy the waters.

The biggest problem for Barry, at least initially, was to find somewhere to stay. He might be able to stomach living rough, but the homeless were often picked up by the police under vague vagrancy laws that criminalised being homeless. If that happened, and they printed him, it would be game over.

Instead he needed somewhere to lie low. A cheap travel lodge would be fantastic. The bigger chains wouldn't bat an eye at someone staying in their room for a week straight. It would give him the chance to hide until the initial enthusiasm of the manhunt began to die down. It wouldn't take long. There would soon be another criminal, more interesting to the media, that would take the limelight. There would still be coverage but it would be far less intense.

The problem with the budget national chains was that they would all require a credit or debit card; cash would raise too many eyebrows. Barry didn't intend to make use of the incidentals, but that wouldn't stop them wanting to ring fence funds on a card just in case. He might be able to kick up a fuss and give a cash deposit instead, but at best they'd think he was a pimp, and at worst they'd call the police for suspicious behaviour.

A smaller hotel or bed and breakfast might be happy with cash, but Barry would have to make a show of being a tourist and leaving each day. It just wasn't normal to hide away in a B&B for a week, especially not alone. Somewhere with free Internet would also be handy. Barry would need to check in with his darknet contact at some point to make sure that he reciprocated.

Barry decided his best bet was to start in south London away from the big hotels in the centre, and look for a medium-sized business which would take cash and not ask too many questions.

CHAPTER 22: DONE AND DUSTED?

The Deepak murder hit the papers the next morning. A woman had been shot in Caledonian Road, point blank, with a sawn-off shotgun. Her body had been dumped under bin bags in an alley, and the police were in pursuit of a suspect in connection with the murder.

If Edwin had still been the editor of
The Impartial,
he would have found out about the news before it broke, but he was now reduced to finding out about it in his old newspaper. It was an odd feeling to be relegated to reading the news rather than writing it. He felt out of the loop, and oddly exposed.

His initial link to Eleanor's murder was now dead. The police would have a hard time tracking him without a tangible link to the victims. There was the possibility Barry would be caught, or they'd check Vanhi's computer, but at best they could only link the deaths to an anonymous deep web account. Reasonable doubt seemed pretty certain should Edwin ever end up in the dock.

The issue for Edwin was that media interest would now intensify greatly in both Barry's run from the law, and the life of the victim. If he was unlucky an overly enthusiastic journalist would begin to dig too deep. On the other hand if Barry were to disappear permanently with no sightings of him, then the trail would run cold. Perhaps it was time to delve into the darknet messages once more, and add a further stumbling block for the police to trip over before they came anywhere near the root cause of the trouble.

Edwin's biggest risk of exposure would be if Barry was caught and allowed the police to link the previous deaths together. He had made the error of getting his own hit out of the way first, which would always implicate whoever benefited from that death. He had to make sure the police didn't suspect the kills were linked, or at the least had to eliminate witnesses who knew enough to point the police in the right direction. Around 170 murders were committed each year in London, as well as a huge number of deaths that went under the radar. It would take the police extraordinary luck to correctly link the incidents that Edwin was involved in.

There were still a few more darknet contacts left that had expressed interest in his initial post. He had ignored them until now, as so far he had only really needed one of them. Another death would have the police reeling; if Barry were simply to disappear it would be even better. Barry might become famous for having disappeared but then the spotlight would be on him, and not Edwin. Now was not the time for a light touch. If Barry disappeared, Edwin could stiff the next guy, and put the whole sorry saga to bed for good.

CHAPTER 23: OFFICER DOWN

Sarah Morton had stayed with David in the hospital for almost a week straight. Her husband's condition had stabilised quickly, but Sarah had always had a morbid fear that her husband would come to harm while on duty. David had laughed off her concerns with his typical machismo, but he hadn't refused when Sarah offered to sleep on a camp bed in his hospital room to keep an eye on him.

A week later and David was beginning to tire of his wife's company. He loved her dearly, but his work was his true calling in life and he had several investigations on the go to sink his teeth into. He had almost discharged himself twice already, but had stayed after Sarah begged him to.

David frowned. There were dozens of live cases within his purview, and all he could do was flick through the few papers that the other officers deigned to allow him in his hospital room. Between the frustration of not being able to do anything and the other ward residents moaning and screaming at odd times, David was having a hard time getting any quality sleep.

He knew the tedium of watching hospital television would eventually get to him though; while he was desperate to be back out investigating he knew he would need to be well rested. Human resources had already tried to suggest he take an extended break by being reassigned to desk duty for a while.

If there was one part of being a policeman that David detested, it was paper pushing. When he had started out in the force the work had been about being on the beat, helping to build the community and arresting criminals. Now he spent more time filling in incident reports, documenting the chain of custody for evidence and analysing performance targets. He would sooner retire than be forced to sit at a desk for a few weeks. No, he'd just need to block out the noise and get some quality rest before he went back to work.

The one saving grace was that his deputies had visited a few times, but the visits had been more social in nature than professional. Although they had brought him up to date on case progression it had been professional courtesy. It seemed the younger detectives were hungry for the opportunity to prove themselves by taking up the slack.

Perhaps some of them even shared Sarah's concerns that he was getting too old to investigate murders. David didn't want to believe it though; his injury could just as easily have happened to a younger man. When someone throws a knife at your back you're pretty lucky to escape with only a flesh wound. The blade had missed the major arteries in the leg, and he had been taken to hospital before the blood loss had approached fatal levels. He was ashamed of passing out, but he had always been terribly squeamish about the sight of his own blood.

At least he would be back at work soon.

***

Edwin had several unanswered darknet messages in response to his original posting. One of them was from a man who wanted a problem neighbour removed. His request was simple, but as always with Edwin it didn't matter what he asked for. Edwin could promise the earth, but with no intention of ever delivering, it wouldn't cost a penny.

The slight problem was that Edwin would have to find out where Barry was in order to send someone after him. He would need to be quicker than the police, and this time element made the job urgent.

'If you can eliminate my problems in next 48 hrs, I can sort yours after that.'
Edwin typed, feeling the same surge of energy he had on the previous occasions. There was no getting around it: playing puppet master was
fun
.

The other man might not agree to go first, but if he didn't, Edwin would simply move onto another prospect. There seemed to be no lack of unscrupulous individuals on the Internet.

CHAPTER 24: ONE OF OURS

The ground-down serial number had not been entirely removed. They rarely were. It took considerable effort to complete smooth out metal, but it was much easier to use an acid bath to reinvigorate the etchings to reveal the serial numbers.

It was odd however. The serial numbers concerned showed the gun had been confiscated by the police during a drugs raid, and subsequently destroyed. The technician made a mental note to investigate personally. He could simply pass the information on up the chain of command, but without knowing how the gun went from the police locker to the black market no one, the inspectors included, could be trusted implicitly.

***

It took another week before the hospital pronounced David Morton fit to go home. It was about time, for Morton was not one to stand idly by when there was work to be done. Sarah begged him to come home and rest for a while. He had more than enough holiday days banked to take a week off to recuperate, but Morton had decided that he was needed down at the station, and when he made his mind up he was incredibly stubborn about changing it.

He was greeted warmly as he entered his office. His wife had evidently called ahead, as his squad mates had managed to pull together not only a cake but balloons as well. They all congratulated him on his war wounds, masking the tension in the room with laughter.

It was not until the Director of Human Resources said 'David, have you got a moment?' that the room fell silent. While Morton was gone it had become first rumour, and then agreed common knowledge, that the Superintendent wanted him on desk duty. He was too old, went the rumours. He got lucky this time, but his luck would run out. Others argued that his pension age wasn't all that far away, and that he should be allowed to continue doing his duty until he was physically unable.

In the end, the decision came down to the director. Morton would be placed on desk duty for the determinable future.

'Afternoon, David. How's your leg?'

'Better, thanks. I'm fit to get back out in the field.' Morton was in significant pain still, but he was damned if he would let it show.

'Glad to hear it. David, I'm going to place you on desk duty, at least for a little while. We can't risk your leg in the field. I'll be assigning your active cases to Charles Rosenburg.' The director's words all came out in a rush. He was afraid to pause for fear of giving Morton the opportunity to interject.

Morton's face turned ashen. To avoid getting fired he remained silent, nodded, then turned and left.