‘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.
Chapter 25: Apologies and Anger
Friday 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.
Chapter 26: All That Glitters
Friday 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.’
***
It 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 l
ocked, 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.’
Morton pulled out his mobile and began to scroll through his address book. He found the number he was looking for, and it was answered on the third ring.
A man’s voice blared from the speaker. ‘PC Buchanan.’
‘Buchanan, this is DCI Morton. Are you on the job today?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I need you to come to Hatton Garden Deposit Co. I have a search warrant to execute, and Mr Mehtani is being less than forthcoming with opening the door. Would you care to persuade him, or shall I call in backup and create a scene as we burst through the door?’
‘No need for that, sir.’ Buchanan’s voice dripped with disdain. ‘I’ll be there in five.’
True to his word, Buchanan appeared in five minutes flat, and a Mexican standoff was avoided. Ayala was helped up by the both of them and half-carried inside, where he propped himself up in a chair while Mehtani fetched the box. He slammed it down on the counter none too gracefully and turned as if to go.
‘Mr Mehtani?’ Morton called after him. ‘Open the box, please.’
With another grumble Mehtani sauntered off and returned with a keyring which jangled loudly as he walked. He fiddled with the keyring for a moment, seemingly looking for the right key. To Morton’s eyes all of the keys looked identical, and none of them were labelled.
Mehtani found the right key on the first try, and he reached to lift the lid once the lock had been opened.
‘Ahem. I’m afraid I’ll have to do that, Mr Mehtani. Police business, after all.’ Morton pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket, donned them, and lifted the lid.
At first it looked like the box was empty. Then Morton realized that the box was tightly packed with tiny black boxes which appeared to be made of plastic. There was a layer of packaging foam placed over the top. Morton carefully peeled back the packaging foam and lifted the nearest box out.
The plastic clipped shut on the front and a tiny piece of tape ran over the clip, sealing it shut. When he opened it, Morton’s jaw dropped.
Diamonds.
The plastic box had a tiny, very white, very sparkly, diamond inside. The stone was about six millimetres wide, about the same size as the stone in Sarah’s engagement ring, which made the stone just over a metric carat by Morton’s best guess.
Morton checked another, confirmed it was also a diamond, and did some quick mental arithmetic. The top layer was six boxes wide and twelve long, and there had to be nine or ten layers in the lockbox.
From his vantage point in the armchair, Ayala was craning to see inside the box. Morton watched Ayala for a moment as his face screwed up in consternation.
‘Seven hundred and twenty, Ayala,’ Morton said, pre-empting Ayala’s question. He turned to Suresh Mehtani. ‘Mr Mehtani, how much are these worth?’
Mehtani scowled. His sullenness had not subsided, and he did not seem the least bit surprised or impressed by the haul that now lay atop his counter.
‘I don’t believe your search warrant includes a free valuation, Mr Morton.’
Cocky bastard, Morton thought. ‘No, Mr Mehtani, it does not. But if I find out that these are illicit, and that you knew, then I suggest it might go in your favour if you have shown yourself to be cooperative.’
Mehtani picked up a stone using a pair of digital callipers, scrawled down a measurement (6.1mm, roughly as big as Morton had estimated), and then shone a light inside the stone. A small smile appeared on his face and then disappeared immediately.
‘These are both priceless and worthless,’ he announced cryptically.
‘Pounds and pence, Mr Mehtani.’
‘That, I cannot say.’
Morton watched the shifty jeweller saunter from the room, then began to put the haul into evidence bags as Ayala watched him from the other side of the room.
‘What do you think he meant by tha–’
‘Outside, Ayala.’ Morton pointed to the camera in the corner. The red light was still blinking, and Morton had no doubt they were being watched from the back room.
As Morton filled out the paperwork, Ayala lifted himself from the chair and came over to double-check the count.
‘You know, boss,’ Ayala said slyly, ‘they’d never miss a few of these.’
‘Don’t even think about it. I know exactly how many are there.’
‘OK, boss. But you know what’s missing, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘The records of who owns the box,’ Ayala said smugly, as if pleased to have figured something out before Morton for once.
Morton shouted for Mehtani, and the jeweller reappeared grudgingly.
‘Our search warrant does cover your records. Who owns this box?’
Mehtani smirked. ‘I do.’
‘Fine. Who rented it from you?’
‘Wait.’ Mehtani turned away again and headed into the back room. The sounds of a file cabinet being unlocked, opened and then slammed shut echoed in quick succession.
He returned carrying an envelope which he thrust at Morton. Morton carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the rental agreement. The owner of the box was listed as Precious Investments & Equities BVI BC.
‘Who owns it, boss?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. The box was leased to a company in the British Virgin Islands. It could take months to find out who really owns it.’
Chapter 27: Handoff
Friday April 10th 14:00
When they returned to Scotland Yard, Morton went with Ayala to check the diamonds into evidence. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, but it only seemed proper to make it obvious that they were each kept honest by the other’s presence.
The paperwork took a while. As they were heading upstairs for their meeting with Alexander Thompson, head of the Serious Organised Crime Agency, Ayala paused in the stairwell.
‘Come on, Ayala!’ Morton said as he overtook him. ‘We’ve got a meeting in... five minutes ago.’
‘Sorry, boss. I was wondering if I could ask you something.’
Morton rolled his eyes, though Ayala did not see him do so. ‘Go on, then.’
‘Who’s in charge when you’re not around? Rafferty and I were in before you this morning, and she started barking orders at me.’
‘Did you follow them?’
‘Well, yeah, but–’
‘Then it sounds like she’s in charge.’
‘Boss, I’m being serious here.’
‘So am I. She’s been in law enforcement a lot longer than you have been,’ Morton said.
Ayala pouted. ‘She’s been a probation officer for the last three years!’
‘And she was with Sapphire for five before that. You can’t begrudge her a change of pace. It takes real balls to stick it out for that long, dealing w
ith sex crimes all day.’
‘I was still here first,’ Ayala said grudgingly.
‘Let me ask you a question,’ Morton said. ‘Knowing what we know now, that Mayberry would get seriously injured as a result of the van crash, would you have still sent him in?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Then you’re not ready to be in charge,’ Morton said bluntly. ‘People get hurt when they do this job. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve suffered minor injuries. We’ve lost people. Mayberry is the latest in a long line of officers to be hurt serving the public.’
‘He’s angry with you about that, isn’t he?’
‘Mayberry has every right to be angry,’ Morton said. ‘It doesn’t change what happened. We had a hostage who no doubt would have been executed–’
‘But they didn’t execute her, did they? You were wrong.’
Morton stopped climbing the stairs and turned to face Ayala. ‘We don’t know how it would have panned out if Mayberry hadn’t gone in. They might have killed Vanessa Gogg and dumped the body. Sending Mayberry in was our best shot at getting her out alive. End of discussion. If you can’t deal with that risk, then ask for a transfer over to Traffic or Financial Fraud. We deal with homicidal maniacs, and that’s never going to be risk-free.’
Ayala fell silent and started to climb the stairs once more.
***
In their absence, Rafferty had begun the meeting without them. As Morton walked in, she nodded towards the empty seat she had left for him at the head of the table and then turned back towards her PowerPoint presentation, which was on its last slide.
Rafferty gestured to the newcomers. ‘And finally, DCI Morton and DI Ayala have just returned from Hatton Garden–’
‘Where we retrieved box 1779 from Hatton Garden Deposit Co,’ Morton finished for her. ‘Good to see you, Xander.’
Morton nodded towards Alexander Thompson, an old drinking buddy and the head of the Serious Organised Crime Agency. Xander never seemed to age, which annoyed Morton no end. They were the same age, but Xander, with hair so black it looked almost blue, and with only the slightest flecks of grey around his temples, always looked younger, more jovial.
The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4) Page 10