‘Don’t look at me,’ Ayala said. ‘I’m on lunch.’
‘Mayberry?’
‘I...’
‘Spit it out. We haven’t got all day.’
‘S-sorry. M-my aphai – aphai – aphai–’
‘Aphasia gets the better of you, yes, we know.’
‘The autographs.’
‘Signatures,’ Morton corrected.
‘They’re s-suspects.’
‘Not this again. Ayala, have you been coaching him?’
Ayala looked up from his lunch. ‘He’s not wrong. They could all have done it.’
Morton shook his head vehemently. ‘No bleeding way. This is not an Agatha Christie novel. One victim does not get murdered by an entire party full of people. You mark my words.’
‘Then who do you like?’
‘It’s not Aleksander Barchester. It stretches credibility that he’d leave naked, come back and kill someone, then leave without his clothes again. Kal could have done it, but he’d have to have left and come back. Brianna likewise. Gabriella and Paddy are each other’s alibi and the extra hour we gain from the clock change doesn’t affect that. Both Kal and Brianna could have returned. They both live within a reasonable travelling distance, and both left early enough that they now have a window of almost three hours apiece.’
‘The boyfriend and the sister. How do we tell which one?’
‘Let’s check the route between Edgecombe Lodge and the suspects’ homes. We’ll start with Kal as his place is marginally closer. That’ll narrow down our timings.’
‘And w-we can check for v-video t-tapey things on the way,’ Mayberry added.
‘Yes, Mayberry, we can check for, ahem, video tapey things too.’
Chapter 28: Walkies
Monday April 14th – 14:00
They arrived at Edgecombe Lodge at 14:00. The plan was to travel from Edgecombe Lodge to Kal’s residence in Twickenham. It was only a two-mile trip. Morton felt confident that a former footballer would be in good enough physical condition to complete a round trip of four miles in no time at all.
‘Bets, gentlemen?’ Morton asked.
‘Half an hour for the walking,’ Ayala said.
‘And for the running team?’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘Excellent. I’ll take eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds. Shall we say a pint for the nearest guess for each half?’ Morton smiled. There was no way poor Mayberry would run it in under ten minutes.
‘You’re on.’
‘Are we happy with our routes? We’ll go out on the A305, and we’ll come back on the A316. There shouldn’t be much difference in times, but we need to check both routes for CCTV as Mayberry suggested. Make a mental note, and we’ll circle back around again after doing the timings.’ Morton referred to the two bridges that separated Richmond and Twickenham which were, rather originally Morton thought, called the Richmond Bridge and the Twickenham Bridge. Kal could have used either.
‘In the car?’ Ayala asked.
‘Yes, in the car. We don’t have all day. On your marks, get set, go!’
***
Three hours later, the three detectives were in the Orange Tree enjoying a much-earned pint. Morton’s was paid for by Ayala, and they had taken to a table under a heater outside to watch the world go by in central Richmond. The afternoon was warm and only minimally breezy, so it was no surprise how quickly the pub packed out as the evening wore on.
It had taken Mayberry almost fourteen minutes to run the 1.9-mile route, and nearly seventeen coming back the other way, which was a hair longer at 2.1 miles.
At Morton and Ayala’s more leisurely pace, the trip still only took thirty-eight and forty-three minutes respectively, and that was with traffic. If they’d needed to wait at lights then all the journeys would have been substantially quicker.
The conclusion was obvious: Kallum Fielder had more than enough time to make it home, and still be back in the window of opportunity.
Less fortunately, they had proved he made it home. CCTV on the A310 where it crossed the River Crane showed Kal going past at 12:42, eighteen minutes before the clock change.
‘What that CCTV didn’t show is Kal coming back,’ Ayala said after he had drained his second pint.
‘An absence of proof is not proof of absence. He could easily have come back another way. First thing tomorrow, I want both of you checking the backstreets for any routes he could have taken to get back. Ayala, you concentrate on finding CCTV-free routes from Edgecombe Lodge to the river. Mayberry, you get the other end.’
‘Rightio, boss.’
‘Next round is on me.’
‘Really? I owe you another one from the bet.’
‘Yes, really. I knew I’d win,’ Morton said. ‘I checked Google Maps for timings before I made the bet.’
Chapter 29: Jailhouse Snitch
Tuesday April 15th– 10:00
On Tuesday morning, Morton got a call from Ashley Rafferty, the feisty parole officer who’d nabbed Paddy before Morton could interrogate him.
She insisted on a meeting that morning, and so once Morton had made sure Ayala and Mayberry were busy checking alternative routes, he headed to meet her on neutral ground. She picked the meeting place, a coffee shop tucked away behind Great Ormond Street Hospital.
Though he was early, Morton found her waiting for him with two empty mugs beside her.
‘You been here a while?’ Morton gestured at the coffee mugs.
‘Nope. Not really. I had a meeting here half an hour ago, so it was convenient for us to meet here.’
‘Convenient for you, maybe,’ Morton said quietly as he sat down.
‘Hah. I keep forgetting you’re the boss around here. Speaking of which, did I hear there’s an opening on your team?’
‘That’s why you called me to an urgent meeting? You want a job?’
‘Nope. I like to kill two birds with one stone. I used to be a DS before moving into probation. I want back onto proper work. I want onto your team.’
‘So do a lot of people. You’re very direct, you know. Taking liberties with a DCI’s time, then demanding a job takes some real cojones. What’ve you got to back it up?’
‘Paddy Malone. He had a visitor yesterday.’
‘Who?’
‘Kallum Fielder.’
‘Interesting. Not enough to buy you an interview, but thanks anyway.’ Morton made as if to stand.
Ashley grabbed his arm. ‘Sit.’
‘This ought to be good.’
‘For such a famous detective, you’re a snarky bugger, aren’t you? I’m not done. Mr Fielder tried to pass Patrick a mobile phone and a bundle of twenties across the visiting room table.’
‘How’d he get those in there?’
‘You ever heard of plugging?’
Morton shook his head.
‘You don’t want to. Just trust me, there are ways and means of getting things into Pentonville if you’re willing to experience some discomfort. Unfortunately for Mr Fielder, one of the guards was watching him like a hawk.’
‘Good to know we’ve got such attentive guards.’
‘Sorry. I’m afraid not. The guy just wanted Kal’s autograph.’
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it. Would you mind moving from that seat? It’s just I’ve got a ten-thirty meeting with one of my parolees.’
Chapter 30: Secrets
Tuesday April 15th –13:00
The Old Coach House beckoned on Tuesday afternoon. Morton knew Vladivoben lied about not attending the party. The other attendees had put him there early evening, long before the murder took place.He wasn’t really much of a suspect. By all accounts he left well before the other guests, with company which would presumably provide him with an alibi, and he had no plausible reason to have murdered Ellis DeLange. They’d argued about noise on occasion, but that had to come with the territory of living near a party-hosting neighbour. Perhaps they’d squabbled about Ellis’ guests blocking up the roa
d with their cars.
None of that was enough to kill over. But lies were only told by those who had something to hide.
Curiosity might have killed the cat, but then again it surely would have caught the cat’s killer too. Ferreting out secrets was Morton’s drug of choice, and he simply had to know why Vladivoben lied.
Maria answered the security gate and let Morton in. The sun was shining, and Morton was shown through to the rear garden where Vladivoben was reclining in a deck chair sunbathing, with a jug of iced tea and a trashy magazine set upon a low table next to him.
He sat up when Morton stepped onto the veranda, and squinted into the sunlight.
‘DCI Mormon–’
‘Morton. It’s DCI Morton. And would you please put a shirt on?’
Vladivoben shrugged as if it was of no concern to him, and then pulled his shirt on.
‘You lied to me, Mr Vladivoben.’
‘I lie? About what?’ Vladivoben played dumb.
‘You said you didn’t go to the party, and I believe you also disclaimed knowing Miss DeLange socially.’
‘Is that a crime?’
‘Yes. Obstructing my investigation is a crime, and I take it personally. Why did you lie?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I was there. I left. End of, yes?’ He tugged at the collar of his shirt as if he was going to take it back off and return to his sunbathing session.
‘No, Mr Vladivoben. It matters because you made it matter. What time did you leave?’
‘Nine thirty, ten o’clock. Ask Maria.’
‘Witnesses saw you leaving with someone else. Is that correct?’
‘Da.’
‘A man. Who was he?’
‘I do not know.’
‘You don’t know? I’m not sure you’re taking this seriously, Mr Vladivoben. This is a murder enquiry and you’re making it very difficult to trust you. If you’ve been hiding something then now is the time to tell me. If it isn’t illegal, it won’t go any further than this veranda.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes.’
Vladivoben looked anxious. He whispered almost inaudibly: ‘In Russia, we do not have...’
‘Men who like other men?’
‘Da.’
‘You’re gay. That’s what all this secrecy is about?’
‘Da.’
‘Then I shall leave you to your sunbathing. Thanks for your time, Mr Vladivoben.’
Lies were always suspicious. They get told for a myriad of reasons of which guilt is but one. This time, it seemed, the lie had been born out of fear not guilt.
Chapter 31: Authenticity
Wednesday April 16th – 10:30
‘He was hiding the fact he was gay?’ Ayala asked incredulously. He and Morton were sitting in the Incident Room topping up on their morning coffee.
‘Yep. Poor sod was tying himself up in knots over it,’ Morton replied.
‘I could have told you that a week ago. He’s not exactly, well, subtle.’
‘Well, when we next need a forensic gaydar, I’ll give you a ring. Until then, have you found me an expert on forging wills?’
‘Not wills specifically, but Kieran came up with a name for us. Radley Freeman.’
‘Why do I feel like I’ve heard that name before?’
‘He got convicted in the late eighties for printing his own £20 notes. Got out ten years later, and now works as an expert witness testifying mostly in civil trials. Kieran said he comes highly recommended.’
‘Right. I guess we’ll have to book him then.’
‘Err...’
‘You already did?’
‘Uh-huh... He’s waiting in the conference room for us now. And I’ve got the original will too. Picked it up from Kal myself first thing this morning.’ Ayala puffed up his chest proudly, certain that Morton would be pleased. Instead, he was furious.
‘You let an ex-con into the building without even telling me first? Are you insane?’
‘But Kieran said–’
‘I don’t care what Kieran said. You work for me. If you want to stay second-in-command, you run things like that by me. Otherwise the new DI will also be your new supervisor.’
‘New DI? You’ve hired someone?’
‘I’m sitting on a CV.’
‘Who?’
‘Ashley Rafferty. I’m sure she’ll have forgiven you by now for assuming she was a man...’ Morton said.
‘You can’t hire her. She’s a complete ball-buster. There’s got to be someone else.’
‘We’ll see,’ Morton said. ‘Well, let’s not keep our forgery specialist waiting.’
***
Radley Freeman was a big man with a booming voice that echoed around the conference room when he spoke. Morton supposed it worked well in court, but in the confines of the conference room it was practically deafening.
‘Documents which have been forged tend to be flawed in some kind of way. You said this wasn’t prepared by a lawyer, so presumably the content is of little assistance in discerning provenance,’ Radley said.
‘That’s right,’ Morton replied. ‘It’s from a fill-in-the-blanks will kit.’
‘Then it’ll look like every other will using that template, and if that template is cheaply available–’
‘£14.99 at WH Smith,’ Ayala said. He produced a printout of WH Smith’s website showing the kit for sale.
‘Then it’s a forger’s dream. Print it out, fill in the blanks. It doesn’t need to be checked by a professional. It can be done at home. It’s a bog standard generic will. Do you know how much probate fraud is worth every year?’
‘No, but I gather you’re about to tell me.’
‘A hundred and fifty million a year. That’s not chump change. I suspect that’s a conservative estimate. If I was in the game, I could find an old lady with no family easily enough and switch out her will. Who’s going to challenge it?’
‘The courts?’ Ayala suggested.
‘Hah. No. Someone has to challenge the will. If there’s no next of kin, and no named beneficiary to challenge it, then it’s probably going to slip by. Think about this. I could pose as a will-writer going door to door in the suburbs during the day. That’ll find me people without family and who don’t have a lawyer’s will already prepared. I ask them what they want in their will. Then I fill out the form on my laptop, bring it back and let them sign it. Then just forge a copy later on with me as the beneficiary. I could even charge them for the service and make a bit extra while I wait.’
‘Don’t wills need to be witnessed?’
‘Yup. But who checks those? No one, unless there’s something fishy going on. With no one to challenge the will, it’s not hard to just put any old name on there. Or I pick another couple of old people as my witnesses. Chances are they’ll have either died or gone senile between me picking the mark and the time of probate. It’s almost the perfect crime.’
‘You sure you’re not still a criminal?’
‘I’m just a consultant these days. My days of stealing from the unwitting are long gone.’
‘How much are we paying you, anyway?’ Morton asked.
‘£850 per day plus VAT and expenses.’
‘Bloody hell. You are a bleeding criminal.’ Morton looked across at Ayala, horrified they were spending so much to get Radley’s expertise.
Radley laughed heartily. ‘I said stealing from the unwitting. I’ve no problem taking money willingly given.’
Morton had to give it to him. He’d found the perfect mark in Ayala. ‘You said almost perfect. Why almost?’
‘Yep. I could see a few forged wills being caught. If the marks’ve got distant relatives. If they promised money to someone, or a charity perhaps. Or if the forgery is just plain obvious.’
‘Is this will obviously forged?’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s not obvious or it’s not forged?’
‘Not obvious. Firstly, it’s been crumpled up, a lot. Someone’s spilled a liquid on it too. Look
s like coffee. That means the fibre of the paper is damaged. You ever seen paper up close? Here.’ Radley produced a microscope from his bag, then placed a small piece of A4 paper under a slide for Morton to look at.
‘See how this is rough, textured and almost like interwoven fibres?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now take a look at the corner of the will.’
Morton peered through the microscope. ‘It’s flat.’
‘It is. The crumpling smoothed out the fibres. It means we can’t effectively use EDSA–’
‘ESDA?’
‘Electrostatic detection analysis. I’d normally look for impression marks in the paper to see if other documents were placed on top of it and pressure applied. It’s a little more complicated than that but between the mishandling and the liquid, we’d be wasting our time. If it was in good nick, I could have compared the paper with manufacturer samples to tell you what paper was used and what ink.’
‘Could we use that to link the will to the printer that printed it?’
‘In theory, though it’s not specific. The combination of high street generic paper and a common printer means we’d narrow it down but not definitively. I usually do civil cases, so I don’t know how much good that sort of circumstantial evidence would be for proving a crime.’
‘If not the paper, then what?’
‘The signatures. Ideally, I’d have exemplars for all three of those who signed this.’
‘Two of them are alive. We can get comparators.’
‘If they’re alive and willing to testify that they signed this, then they’re a dead end forensically, as there’s no reason to claim a forged signature.’
Morton frowned. Paddy had been paid off, he was sure of that. But why had Culloden signed? Did Kal have something on him to keep him quiet?
‘Therefore,’ Radley continued with a wave of his giant right hand towards the bottom of the document, ‘this is the money shot. Look at Miss DeLange’s signature. It’s loopy, slants at about fifteen degrees. Quite girlish, and a lovely signature for autographs.’
‘I agree. So how does it compare with the comparator?’
‘What do you think?’ Radley passed Morton the will and a copy of the exemplar, which was a photographic print belonging to Ayala.
Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3) Page 13