The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4) (12 page)

‘The tube.’

‘OK. He’s an insurance broker, isn’t he?’

She nodded.

‘And he works in Marble Arch?’

Another nod.

‘So, he’d take the northern line to Bank, and then change for the central line, wouldn’t he?’ Morton asked.

‘Yes.’

Morton frowned. The Stapleton residence was ten minutes from Balham Tube Station. Even at rush hour it was less than an hour from there to Marble Arch, but Niall had never made it to work.

‘Could you give me a second?’ Morton asked suddenly as a thought struck him.

Morton tucked his notepad back into his breast pocket, stood, and walked briskly out into the hallway. Once he was out of Vanessa’s line of sight, he opened up the photo that Ayala had forwarded on from Niall’s phone, showing Vanessa with a gun to her head. It was time-stamped for 07:34. Niall wouldn’t have seen it until he surfaced at Marble Arch, as there was little chance of a mobile signal on the Northern line. Morton made a mental note to check for Oyster records to confirm that, switched his phone back over to airplane mode, and returned to find Vanessa Gogg waiting for him, staring intently at the chair he had vacated.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Morton said as he sat back down. ‘You were saying that Niall left for work. What happened next?’

‘I went back to bed. I wasn’t due to teach that morning, and the university doesn’t really mind when I do my marking and research, as long as it gets done. Almost as soon as I was in bed, I heard someone knock at the door. I thought it was Niall. He often forgets his keys, and so I went downstairs and opened the door. That’s when... that’s when it happened.’

Vanessa cast her eyes downwards, and Morton could see tears beginning to flow. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a packet of tissues and passed it to her.

‘Ms Gogg, I know this is really hard for you. Please feel free to take your time. Is there anything I can get you? A cup of tea, perhaps?’ He knew it sounded lame as soon as he had said it. Tea was the British response to anything. No stiff upper lip would ever be complete without a good strong cup of tea with which to uphold it.

She waved away his offer and dabbed at her eyes until they turned red. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m so silly. They didn’t even do anything. That’s the weirdest part.’

Morton pulled out his notepad and paused with his pen in hand, ready to resume. ‘You opened the door. What happened after that?’

‘They burst in on me.’

‘How many of them?’

‘Three?’ Vanessa replied. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really not sure. It all happened so fast. They were wearing balaclavas, black jumpers and jeans. That I do remember.’

‘OK. What about your other senses? Were any of them wearing aftershave?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘What about what they said? Did they have an accent?’

Vanessa shook her head. ‘They didn’t say anything.’

‘Not a word?’

‘Nothing. They put a hood over my head. I tried to scream, but then they tied something around the hood so that I had a mouthful of fabric, and then I was thrown to the ground. I kicked and struggled, but they were much too strong.’

‘Did they hold your arms down?’ Morton asked.

‘No. One of them sat on my back. I thought he was going to... to...’

‘Assault you,’ Morton finished for her.

She dabbed at her eyes with the tissues once more.

‘I know this is hard, but I have to ask. Did they sexually assault you?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, her voice unwavering. ‘They didn’t do anything. They just left me there for hours. I could hear them breathing.’

‘Did they say anything to each other? Or move around?’

‘No. I heard one get up at one point and rifle around in the living room. I don’t know what he was looking for. Maybe he was just bored. I think one of them might have gone to the bathroom, too. But nobody said anything. It was eerie.’

That explained the urine on the bathroom floor. ‘What happened after that?’

‘I thought I heard them rustling the blinds a few times, and then, a few hours later, they carried me out.’

‘How many of them carried you?’

‘Two, I think.’

Morton sized her up. Vanessa Gogg had to be five foot ten, and closing in on ten stone. If she had been carried by two men, they would have needed to be fairly strong.

‘What did they do next?’

‘They took me outside and threw me down onto something cold and metal-like,’ Vanessa said. ‘I felt them place ropes around me and tie them down to something.’

‘You were placed in a van. They would have tied you down to the lashing rings in the back. Before you got in the van, they had to open the door.’

‘Of course.’

‘Did the men carrying you open the door? Did either of them hold you with just one hand?’

Vanessa strained as if trying to recall. ‘No. Both of them held on to me.’

There were definitely at least three men
, Morton thought. ‘And what about the van? Had you seen it before? Think back to when you opened the front door to them.’

Her eyes scrunched up in consternation. ‘There wasn’t a van.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. I’d have seen it.’

‘Could it have been down the road?’ Morton asked.

‘No. They didn’t carry me far.’

And then there were four.
‘So, someone drove the van up to the house later on?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘We drove for hours. They still didn’t speak.’

Morton frowned. Keeping four men silent for hours at a time was no mean feat. This group was disciplined, and they were organised.

‘And then what happened?’

‘They threw the other man in. The one who smelled like sandalwood.’

Mayberry
. ‘Did they hurt him?’

‘I don’t think so. He was tied up too, but I felt him touch my hand. We drove around for a while and then they pulled the van over. The engine stopped, and everything went quiet for a moment. I heard them getting out of the van.’

‘Where from?’

‘The van...’

‘No. I mean, did they get out of the front of the van or the back?’

‘Both.’

‘How many were in the back?’

‘Two. They clambered over us to get out.’

‘So, there were only four men, then. What happened after they got out?’

‘I heard them shout something I didn’t understand. And then they pushed us down the hill.’

She shuddered, and Morton could see the pain on her face. A moment later, Vanessa squeezed the call nurse button, and a light flashed above her bed. The sound of well-heeled shoes came reverberating down the corridor, and a nurse appeared. She took one look at the chart and then set about dosing Vanessa up with another IV bag full of painkillers. Morton stood and shuffled backwards to stand out of the way.

‘Detective Morton?’ Vanessa said.

‘Yes?’

‘The other man. He’s a police officer, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. His name is Detective Inspector Mayberry.’

‘Could you thank him for me? When the van began to roll, he wrapped himself around me.’

‘I will.’ Morton said, and then mentally added:
if he ever wakes up
.

Vanessa Gogg smiled for the first time that night as the morphine began to kick in, and before long she dropped off to sleep, leaving Morton alone once more.

F
riday April 10th 10:00

The kidnapping made the news long before Morton awoke to find himself still in the friends and family waiting room. He leapt up and pulled his phone from his pocket. The time read ten o’clock.

It took Morton a full thirty seconds to realise that he was not alone in the waiting room, and that it had not been he who had chosen to put cartoons on at full volume.

Across the room, by the toys in the corner, a small child waved and gave him a toothy grin. His mother nodded in an armchair next to him.

Morton returned the boy’s smile and collected up his things, which had become scattered over most of the waiting room. He had slept in his suit jacket, and it was heavily creased along one side. His keys and wallet lay next to an empty coffee cup on the floor, and a flood of small change seemed to have found its way from his pockets into every nook and crevice of the sofa.

Once he was satisfied he hadn’t missed anything, he poured himself a cold cup of coffee, downed it with a grimace, and headed for the nurses’ station. Nobody was around, but the whiteboard showing which patients were in which ward showed that Mayberry hadn’t been moved overnight.

Mayberry was sitting upright when Morton found him. He was watching a tiny television attached to a metal arm suspended from the ceiling. He had BBC News on, and a video of the van crash scene was playing on a loop. It seemed the reporters didn’t know much. Yet.

‘Morning. How are you feeling?’ Morton asked.

‘O-O-K,’ Mayberry stammered.

He didn’t look OK. His head was bandaged up where they had cut him open. During the crash, his brain had ricocheted around in his skull, causing it to swell. His chart listed it as an oedema caused by closed head trauma.

The head wasn’t the worst of it, either. He had fractured ribs, a broken arm, and lacerations up and down his entire body. In comparison Ms Gogg had got off lightly.

‘B-boss?’ Mayberry said. He looked concerned more than pained despite the trauma.

‘What is it?’

‘I l-lost t-the b-box.’

‘Oh, that. Not to worry. It was empty anyway.’

‘Empty? You s-sent m-me to m-meet kidnappers with an empty b-box?’ Mayberry’s voice grew louder with each syllable until he was practically yelling.

‘That’s what you’re worried about? The box? Bloody hell, Mayberry. It was empty. A fake. Mehtani wouldn’t give up the real deal. I’m sure Ayala and Rafferty are working on a warrant to find out what’s in it right now.’

Morton expected Mayberry to look relieved, but Mayberry’s eyes betrayed anger, even outrage.

‘You s-sent me out there with an empty b-box? They c-could h-have k-killed me!’

Morton’s mind flickered as he remembered the last time he had unwittingly sent a detective to her death. He let out a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Mayberry. I did what I thought I had to. We had a vulnerable hostage to save. There are risks whenever we pursue suspects, and I had to weigh the minimal risk that they’d break the lock in front of you against the near certainty that they would execute the girl if we didn’t get her back.’

‘S-so her l-life is w-worth more than mine?’

‘I didn’t say–’

‘Out.’ Mayberry’s voice was firm and clear, with no hint of a stutter.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Out. Get out. Now.’

It looked as if he had little choice.

‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ Morton said as he ducked around the privacy curtain that divided Mayberry’s bed from the next one over. 

F
riday April 10th 08:30

Rafferty was the first in the office that Friday morning. She had just enough time to prepare a pot of coffee before Ayala joined her in the incident room.

The whiteboard upon which Mayberry had written out the timeline for the Kennard murder had been shifted to one side. Rafferty had put up a second board and had begun to stick photos from the Stapleton murder on it.

‘Do you think we can punt one of the cases over to someone else?’ Ayala said. ‘It’s not like we can pursue both at once, is it?’

‘That’s up to the boss to call. I don’t think we can do much more with the Kennard investigation, anyway. Do you know when he’s going to be in?’

‘Beats me.’ Ayala shrugged. ‘He’s usually here before I am. Maybe he’s gone to see Mayberry?’

‘Maybe. Well, then, we’ve got work to do whether he’s here or not. First up, we need to put together the incident board for Niall Stapleton–’

‘Mayberry usually does that.’

‘Well, he’s not going to do this one, is he? Chances are he’ll be on medical leave for weeks, if not months. Task number two: we need a search warrant.’

‘What for?’

‘The box, Bertie boy. If it was worth carrying out a tiger kidnapping to get, then it’s got to have something worthwhile in it. Do you think you can handle a trip to the mags?’ Rafferty referred to the magistrates’ court, which could authorise a search warrant.

Ayala looked at her sharply. ‘Who put you in charge?’

‘I did. Can you handle it, or do you want drawing duty?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Ayala grumbled. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah. Book us a meeting room for one o’clock, and then send Morton the details. SOCA want to take over the kidnapping case. Alexander Thompson has requested a briefing from the team before they do.’

***

I
t was nearing lunchtime when Morton met Ayala at Chancery Lane tube station. The latter had a warrant in hand for box 1779 at Hatton Garden Deposit Co, and after a short walk in the rain, they arrived on site to serve it on Mr Mehtani.

The door was locked, and Mehtani ignored them when they rang the bell.

‘Mr Mehtani!’ Ayala called out. ‘Open up. We have a warrant, and we will not hesitate to break down the door.’

Ayala held the search warrant aloft so that it could be seen through the store’s security cameras. The door remained shut.

‘Right. We’ll have to break the door down. Shall I do it, boss?’ Ayala said.

Morton sniggered. ‘I would advise against it, but if you think you know better than I do then feel free to try.’

‘Here goes nothing.’ Ayala sprinted at the door, shoulder out, and slammed into it with all the force he could muster.

He promptly fell to the floor in agony.

‘Easy, Ayala. Don’t move. Anything broken?’

Ayala poked at his shoulder gingerly and winced. ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘What kind of bloody door is that?’

The door was made of solid steel. The wooden panel visible from the street was only a façade. Morton had made a note of it the last time he was here.

‘It’s a security door, Ayala. You really think Hatton Garden jewellers are going to nip down to B&Q for their doors? Looks like solid steel, by the state of your shoulder. You stay there. I’ve got an idea.’