The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4) (8 page)

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hursday April 9th 16:30

The front door of the neighbouring house shook as Morton approached. He could practically feel the vibrations underfoot as an overenthusiastic sound system pounded out enough bass to fill a concert hall.

Nobody answered Morton’s first knock. It was no surprise. He could barely hear it himself over the din. After waiting politely for a moment, Morton rapped smartly on the front window, and the music cut out suddenly.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Police. Open up,’ Morton said.

He could see a flurry of movement behind the net curtains, and could have sworn he heard a hushed voice whisper, ‘Oh, shit. Quick, flush it.’

Eventually, the door swung open and a man almost as wide as the door stepped outside. ‘Can I help you?’

‘DCI Morton. I’d like to talk to you about your neighbour, Niall Stapleton.’

The man stared at him. He had bloodshot eyes, tousled hair and a neck beard that hadn’t seen a razor for at least a month. ‘What about him?’ he said cautiously.

‘When did you see him last?’

‘I dunno. Last week?’

The kid was clearly as high as a kite and struggling to keep it together. He kept shifting from one foot to the other as if the ground were on fire and scratched his neck incessantly.

‘Is anyone else home?’ Morton asked.

The kid looked relieved. He turned back into the house and shouted: ‘Hey! Ophelia! Oi! Oh-feel-yah! Come down here.’

A wiry redhead shot down the stairs, a biochemistry textbook held aloft as if she were about to strike the stoner with it. ‘How many times have I told you? I do not want to get high with you. Some of us,’ Ophelia sniffed haughtily, ‘have to study.’

Morton leant past the stoner to make eye contact with Ophelia. ‘DCI Morton, Metropolitan Police. Do you have a moment?’

Ophelia froze for moment, nodded almost imperceptibly, and shooed the stoner inside. He stomped off towards the back of the house, allowing Morton a view of the ground floor.

It looked almost exactly like Niall Stapleton’s home, except the sofa had been taken out and replaced with a single bed. Morton could see a bong sitting on a shelf above it. He arched his eyebrows.

‘Come on through. You don’t want to stay in here too long. My room is upstairs.’

It was true. The room did have a dank, musky smell which was most unpleasant.

Rafferty pinched her nose as she followed Morton inside. ‘God! It smells like teenage boy.’

‘Yep. Don’t touch anything,’ Morton warned her.

The house was a mirror image of the Stapleton residence. The stairs were on the right, leading up to a small bathroom and a master bedroom at the back with a view over the tiny garden.

Ophelia led them through to her room and shut the door behind them.

‘Sorry about him. It’s a nightmare here. I missed out on halls, so I had to find somewhere last minute for the year, and ended up sharing with the biggest idiot on campus.’ Ophelia sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for one of the detectives to take the solitary chair which sat behind a tiny desk.

Morton stepped back to allow Rafferty to take the seat and then turned his attention to Ophelia. ‘Where are you studying?’

‘King’s.’

‘Impressive. Biochemistry?’ Morton said, gesturing at the textbook which now lay on the bed beside her.

‘Biochemical engineering, actually.’

‘Wow,’ Rafferty said.

‘Niall Stapleton,’ Morton said. ‘I assume you’re acquainted with him, given that your bedrooms share a wall.’

‘Intimately. He and Vanessa can be quite, ah, vocal. We’ve had arguments about that.’

‘Is Vanessa his girlfriend?’

‘Fiancée. She doesn’t live next door, not officially. But she’s always there.’’

Rafferty leant forward. ‘Have you ever heard them arguing?’

‘Of course. Don’t all couples argue?’

‘Did it ever become violent?’ Morton asked.

‘No. Never. They’re sweet together. I did hear a scream this morning, come to think of it. But I assumed it was just, you know, sex.’

Morton blushed.

Rafferty grinned at Morton’s obvious discomfort. ‘And what does Vanessa do for a living?’

‘She’s a lecturer. One of my lecturers, actually. I introduced them last September at the student union. It was my birthday and I didn’t really know anyone here yet, so I invited the neighbours.’

‘Would you happen to have her contact details?’

‘I could give you her email address. Hang on, I think I’ve got her office number too. It was in our starter pack for the year. She should still be at the university if you’re quick.’ Ophelia turned towards Rafferty. ‘Ms...?’

‘Rafferty,’ Rafferty supplied.

‘Ms Rafferty, if you could check the drawer beside you there, you should find a folder labelled
Induction Information
.’

Rafferty turned away and opened a giant drawer filled with folders neatly arranged with colour-coded labels. Morton watched her rifle through.

‘They’re alphabetised!’ Ophelia cried impatiently.

‘Here we are. Ms Vanessa Gogg, Senior Lecturer. You ready, boss?’ Rafferty asked.

Morton nodded, and Rafferty read out the number while Morton began dialling.

It went straight through to voicemail. ‘You’ve reached Vanessa Gogg. I’m not here right now, but leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you. Beep!’

As Morton was about to hang up, a message flashed up on his phone: Call waiting. He swiped to take Ayala’s call.

‘Ayala! Where the hell are you?’

‘Boss. You’re not going to like this.’

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hursday April 9th 16:30

Ayala tapped his foot impatiently. The Met’s technical guru, Zane, seemed to be taking almost as long to find a phone cable as it had taken for Ayala to race the phone over from Hatton Garden.

‘Chill, Ayala. I’ll be done in a moment,’ Zane said. He slouched in his chair as the unlocking program ran.

Ayala stared at the blue progress wheel on screen, which whirred round and round mesmerizingly. ‘How long?’

‘A few minutes. You know that progress wheel is just for show, right? It’s not actually measuring how far along the program is.’ Zane switched windows and began to read through his email.

‘You mind not doing that? I think my murder victim might be a tad more important than your social life.’

Ayala paced up and down. He had missed calls from Mayberry and Morton, but there was little point in returning them until he had something to show for his sudden disappearance.

The screen pinged green, and Zane grinned triumphantly. ‘See? Told you it’d be done soon. What am I looking for?’

‘I need a home address for our victim.’

‘That should be easy enough,’ Zane said. ‘Let’s open up his contact list.’ He thumbed through the menus and scrolled down to the ‘H’ section of Niall Stapleton’s contact list. ‘Aha. Home. Now that we’ve got a landline, I can do a reverse look-up.’ He handed Ayala the phone and pulled his keyboard towards him.

Ayala flicked through the phone until he found the victim’s most recent messages – and felt his jaw drop. ‘Uh-oh.’

‘What is it? Please tell me he’s been sexting with his missus. That shit is always hilarious.’ Zane leant forward eagerly.

Ayala twisted the phone towards him and showed him what he’d found.

‘Holy shit. Is that–?’

‘Yep,’ Ayala said. ‘It is.’

On the screen was a picture of Niall Stapleton’s girlfriend bound and gagged.

With a gun to her head.

***

‘A
yala, calm down and explain. Slowly,’ Morton repeated. ‘You’re breaking up. I thought you just said “bound and gagged”.’ He was standing outside Niall Stapleton’s house. Rafferty was still inside the neighbours’ home, talking to Ophelia.

‘I did. Hang on... can you hear me better now? I’m walking upstairs. That bloody basement is like a Faraday cage,’ Ayala said.

‘Yep. Loud and clear.’

‘We unlocked Niall Stapleton’s mobile. I was looking for his address when–’

‘Got it. Already been there. Rafferty called his gym for it an hour ago,’ Morton said. ‘Is that all you’ve done?’

‘The girlfriend–’

‘Vanessa Gogg,’ Morton supplied.

‘Right. She’s been kidnapped. Stapleton got a photo message early this morning. I’ve got forensics tracing the source late last night, but it’s bound to be a disposable mobile phone. She’s been kidnapped, and he was being blackmailed.’

‘Fuck,’ Morton said. He began to jog towards his Audi and unlocked it with a beep as he approached. ‘I haven’t seen a tiger kidnapping since the Troubles. What did they want him to do? I assume that’s why he was in Hatton Garden.’

The line crackled. ‘Yes, they did. They sent him the photo, and then their demands. Hang on. I’ll forward the messages to you.’

Morton jumped into the car, turned on the engine and revved it impatiently as he waited for Ayala to do as promised.

His hands began to tremble as he received the photograph Ayala had forwarded from Niall Stapleton’s phone. Vanessa Gogg looked terrified.

Then the message containing the conversation came through.

‘Go to Hatton Garden and head north until you find the Arches. The building at the end of the alleyway is unlocked. Go inside. You will find blueprints and weaponry. Proceed to Hatton Garden Deposit Co and retrieve lock box 1779 by any means necessary.

Bring it to Virginia Water Train Station and text this number when you are on the way.

Do Not Call the Police. If you do, the girl will die. We are watching. You have 24 hours.’

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hursday April 9th 17:25

The girl was still out there.

Niall Stapleton had received the kidnapper’s demands just after eight o’clock. They had three hours and change in which to find the girl before the deadline.

Morton slammed his foot on the pedal and raced off towards Hatton Garden. He needed that deposit box, and Hatton Garden Deposit Co was about to close. He needed someone to run interference.

Buchanan.

Morton thumbed the shortcut to call the Metropolitan Police switchboard, turned on speakerphone and set his phone in the dock on his Audi’s dashboard.

‘Put me through to PC Buchanan. It’s urgent.’

‘Right away, sir,’ the switchboard operator replied. The line went to hold music, and then began to ring.

‘PC Buchanan.’

‘It’s DCI Morton. Are you still at the crime scene?’

‘Yes, sir. Though I think the boys from forensics are almost done for the day.’

‘I need you to go to Hatton Garden Deposit Co and make sure the proprietor doesn’t leave. Can you do that for me?’ Morton asked. He wove through traffic as they spoke. ‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes to explain why.’

‘I can try. Mr Mehtani won’t like it too much. He’s not one for taking orders.’

‘Tell him that it’s life or death.’

‘Sir?’

‘Just tell him that. Ten minutes.’ Morton hung up.

Someone had to be sent to take Niall Stapleton’s place. It couldn’t be him. He was much too old to pass for Niall. Ayala was too ethnic, and Rafferty clearly couldn’t do it.

It had to be Mayberry. Morton thumbed his phone with his left hand again and called Mayberry.

‘Mayberry. Ask Ayala to brief you, ditch all your personal belongings, then head to Waterloo Station. Wait for me there underneath the big clock. Got it?’

‘Y-yes, s-sir, but–’

Morton cut the call and sped towards the entrance to the Strand Underpass.

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hursday 9th April 17:35

Mr Suresh Mehtani scowled. He stood behind the counter in Hatton Garden Deposit Co and twiddled his thumbs as if he had somewhere urgent to be.

‘Why am I waiting? We closed five minutes ago.’

‘You lied to my detective, Mr Mehtani,’ Morton said.

‘I don’t recall that.’

‘You told him that the blueprints he showed you were not for this building.’

‘No. I said it could be. It could not be.’

‘Still sounds like obstruction to me. Why are you so hostile, Mr Mehtani? We’re trying to help you here. A man was tasked with breaking into your shop, and now he’s dead.’

Suresh leant heavily against the counter, his bald head glistening under the spotlight above it. ‘Good. That’s the end of it. You can’t prosecute a dead man.’

‘What’s inside box 1779?’ Morton demanded.

‘Do you have a warrant?’

‘No, but–’

‘No warrant, no talking. Leave, please.’

Morton stepped close and pulled out his handcuffs. ‘Don’t make me arrest you for obstruction of justice.’

‘Go ahead. But that won’t help you in time. Buchanan said you needed my help. Make it worth my while.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Discretion. Leave me and my business alone. Don’t mention me in connection with the robbery. I can replace stolen trinkets, but if my clients hear that we’ve been robbed...’ Suresh’s voice trailed off.

Morton considered his request for a moment. ‘Done. Give me the box.’

‘I can’t do that, but I can do this.’ Suresh reached under the counter and produced an empty lock box, then delved into a drawer behind the desk and pulled out a box of metal tiles embossed with the numbers nought to nine.

The little tiles clattered as Suresh found the right numbers and slid them into the display on the front of the box so that it read 1779. He slid the box across to Morton and then nodded curtly. ‘I trust this will suffice.’

‘It is identical?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’re done here.’

‘Don’t forget to bring it back.’

Morton turned and dashed out of the shop, and almost ran straight into Rafferty.

‘Rafferty! Call Ayala and tell him to meet you at Virginia Water train station. Get in position with a good view of the entrance, but don’t be seen. Got it?’ Morton said breathlessly.

‘Got it,’ Rafferty replied. ‘Where are you going?’

Morton tapped the top of the lockbox with his index finger. ‘To give this to Mayberry.’

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hursday April 9th 18:00