Edwin picked his shirt up off the floor. He only had a couple of items left to pack, and they should all fit into the set of matching luggage he and Chelsea would share for their morning flight out to Vancouver.
Chapter 57: Right Place, Wrong Time
'Police! Open up!'
Footsteps came down the stairs to the door of 51 Belgrave Square, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man dressed in silk pyjamas. He was not Edwin Murphy.
'We're looking for Mr Edwin Murphy,' Morton announced.
'Afraid I can't help you, officers.' The voice had a lisp to it that matched the pyjamas.
'Who are you?'
'Freddy Maynard.'
'What are you doing here?' Morton frowned.
'We live here, silly. Me and my partner.'
'I'll rephrase that. How long have you lived here?'
'Oo, a week tomorrow,' Freddy replied.
'Did you buy it from Mr Murphy?'
'No, we've jus' leased it. Through Prestige Homes in Chelsea.'
'Damn it. Thank you for your time, Mr Maynard.'
'Any time, officers.'
The door closed behind him, and Morton retreated, dejected. The warrant in his pocket was for the home of Edwin Murphy, and if he didn't live there it couldn't be searched. Where the hell was Edwin Murphy?
***
The town car was late. Edwin had specifically asked for it to arrive at seven-thirty sharp. The flight was at eleven o'clock, and he knew that the airports liked to have people checked in early. Besides, he still had Diamond Club membership, and he intended to abuse it for all the free drinks he could get. He hated flying, even though intellectually he knew it was safe. The alcohol helped to take the edge off.
Chelsea was being an angel. She had a teddy backpack, and had stuffed enough toys inside it to amuse her for a week, let alone a direct flight. They were going first class anyway, so she'd be able to sit back and watch a few movies in comfort, or recline her chair back and get some shut-eye.
A limousine pulled up outside the hotel, the engine gently purring. It was for them.
'Got your passport?' Edwin asked her. He had her real one of course – he couldn't trust a four year old with it – but he'd had a mock one printed for both her and Teddy to make the journey feel more normal. It seemed to have worked.
'Come on then.'
The porter carried out their luggage, and Edwin tipped him generously. He certainly didn't want to lug cases that heavy around early in the morning. As the door clicked shut, Edwin began to relax. He was off to begin a fabulous new life in a vibrant city. He wasn't rich, but he was comfortable, and more importantly he had his little girl.
***
Morton was stupefied. It was as if Edwin Murphy had been wiped off the face of the planet.
His daughter had been withdrawn from school, and his house was in someone else's name.
'Sir, we've just got the bank records through,' Ayala announced, entering Morton's office without knocking.
Morton glared at him for a moment, and grudgingly took the photocopies. He hated rudeness, but now was not the time to call out Ayala’s lack of manners. He scanned down the latest Visa charges on Edwin Murphy's credit card.
'The Hilton Park Avenue! Let's go.' Seeing a hotel on the charges list, Morton was spurred into action. He was going to nail this bastard. As he jumped in the car, the charges list lay abandoned on his desk. If he had taken a little longer to look, he might have spotted the charge from Canadian Air.
Lights on, they sped across town at faster than the legal speed limit.
'Another red!' Ayala exclaimed. The morning's commuter traffic hadn't hit the late morning lull yet, and they seemed to be getting caught at every turn.
'Jump it.'
'But, sir...' Ayala began to protest.
'Do it!' Seeing the stern look on his superior officer's face, he pushed the metal pedal down, and lurched forward, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.
Minutes later they burst into the lobby of the Hilton Park Avenue.
'Edwin Murphy. What room?' Morton demanded of the girl on the desk.
For what seemed like an eternity, she went through the computer system looking for Mr Murphy's reservation.
'Sorry, sir, no one by that name is staying here.'
'Then where the hell is he?' Morton lost his cool, drawing the attention of the manager in the back office.
'Sir, could you stop yelling in...' The manager's voice trailed off as he realised it was the police.
'Can I help you, officers?'
'We're looking for Edwin Murphy. He has a charge from this hotel on his Visa.'
'You've just missed him. He checked out this morning.'
'Fuck.'
'I believe we called transportation for him. I might be able to look up where he was going in our notes.'
'Do it!' Morton's impatience grew. Twice they had missed him.
'It seems we called a limousine firm for him, sir, Sierra Limousines Ltd. I don't have a destination on record.'
'Call them, and find out where they took him. Now.'
'Very well, sir.' His tone was huffy. The manager was not used to being bullied, even if they were the police.
'It's going to voicemail, boss.'
'Give me the number, now.'
He passed over a business card with the company's registered office and contact details on.
'Ayala, keep trying to get through, and stick that postcode in the satnav. We're paying them a visit, and I'm driving.' Morton was already halfway out the door.
***
The limousine company picked up when they were halfway to their head office.
'Sierra Limousines, how may I help you?
'Good afternoon. This is Detective Inspector Ayala, Metropolitan Police. You picked up a suspect of ours this morning from the Hilton, a Mr Edwin Murphy. We need to know where he was going.'
The operator paused, unsure if this was a hoax.
'I need to speak to my supervisor about that.'
'Do it.'
By the time she came back on the line, they were parking up.
Still talking, Ayala walked in and flashed his badge at the receptionist. He gestured for her to put down the phone.
'Where did you take Mr Murphy?'
'Gatwick Airport. North Terminal.'
'Thank you.' His tone was exasperated. He didn't mean it. Those ten minutes might have cost them the chance to catch their man.
They dove back into the car. Morton hoped they weren't too late.
Chapter 58: Flight or Fight
They cleared airport security in no time at all. Priority check-in had taken care of their bags, and Edwin decided to browse the airport bookshop for something to read on the plane. Chelsea had other ideas.
'Daddy, I'm hungry,' she pouted.
'We'll be in the lounge in a few minutes, honey. We'll eat then.'
'Don't want 'dult food!' She began to stomp her feet, and passers-by began to stare.
'Well, what do you want?'
'McDonalds!'
Edwin cursed airport food. Several hours confined inside a terminal, and it was child's play to sell burgers to children. With Happy Meal toys it was even easier, and Edwin was beginning to succumb to pester power.
'Let me get a book first.' He turned his back on her, knowing that she wouldn't give up that easily.
'No, Daddy, now!'
Edwin sighed; she could be a proper princess when she wanted to be. She took after her mother that way.
'Fine, but we're coming back here afterwards.' He reluctantly put down the thriller he was half-way through reading the blurb on, and led his daughter by the hand to the dreaded golden arches.
***
The squad car screeched to a halt in front of Gatwick North, the road tearing up rubber as Ayala slammed on the brakes. Morton sprinted, wincing every time he put weight on his injured leg. The huge glass frontage drew closer.
They'd left the car in the valet parking ba
y outside. The Met would almost certainly get a call from an irate valet company when they realised their bay had been blocked, but Morton didn't care.
'That way!' he huffed to Ayala, who was a little ahead of him, but unsure which way to run.
The hallway was huge. Three conjoined halls lay side by side, with businessmen and holidaymakers flitting all over. It was impossible to run. Security was on the north side, and Edwin Murphy was bound to be in departures on the other side.
'Police!' Morton flashed his badge at the woman on the gate.
The female security guard reappeared, and shouted at them: "Hold it!"
'Great, a jobsworth. Just what we need.' Ayala’s voice was barely audible.
'We're in pursuit of a murder suspect.'
'Who?' she demanded.
'Mr Edwin Murphy.'
'Got an arrest warrant?'
'I don't need one! He's about to abscond with all our evidence!' It was a common misconception. Arrest warrants were normal, but there hadn't been time, and Morton was relying on his right to arrest without warrant where he had reasonable cause to suspect that Murphy was about to commit an offence, in this case perversion of the course of justice by leaving the jurisdiction with the offending laptop.
'I'll escort you.' She wasn't taking no for an answer.
'Fine. Go!'
She picked up a radio. 'Dispatch, I need the whereabouts of an Edwin Murphy. I have a Detective Chief Inspector Morton on site to arrest him.'
The radio crackled.
'One second,' came a flustered voice.
They jumped into the security vehicle as they waited for a reply. It wouldn't go fast, but it would clear the foot traffic out of their way, and ten miles per hour beat walking in a crowd.
The voice came back.
'We've got him somewhere between final security and check-in. His flight leaves in twenty minutes. Gate 22. Over.'
'Roger that, thanks, dispatch. Over and out.'
She clicked off the radio, and swung the cart violently around.
'Where are we going?'
'Gate 22. We'll catch him there. If he tries to go back through security, my boys will pick him up.'
'Gotcha.'
With a honk, she parted the crowds, and raced towards the gate.
'This is as far as this baby will go.' She patted her cart appreciatively.
Morton stepped off the cart, glad to have firm ground back under his feet. The woman drove like a devil. Ahead, two moving conveyer belts moved in opposite directions, spanning a huge corridor.
Gate numbers ascended on the left, and descended on the right. The even numbers were on the left-hand side, going up from 14. Seven gates down on the left, the suspect waited.
Bypassing the moving floors, they ran down the centre. Too many pedestrians occupied the conveyer belts, and once they were on them it would be hard to get off. The last thing they wanted was their man spotting them and having time to ditch.
They sped into the lounge. The crowd was huge, over a hundred travellers milling around. More were having their bags searched on the way in.
'Has Edwin Murphy checked in?'
The stewardess on the desk scanned down her list. She had his boarding card tear-off. He was there.
She nodded.
'He and his daughter check in a few moments ago.'
'His daughter?’ Morton said. ‘How old is she?'
'She’s four, sir,' the stewardess said.
'Shit. Ayala, call Social Services, we're going to need a foster carer for the kid.'
Morton struggled up on tiptoes, straining his calf muscles to get a small height advantage.
'Can you see him?' Ayala asked.
'No. Can't see much over the crowd.'
Only Morton had seen him in person. Ayala was working off a description, and he wasn't too confident in his ability to spot Murphy.
'Fuck it.' Morton jumped on the table being used to search bags, clambering among the hand luggage at his feet. Now he had a vantage point from which he could see the whole room.
'I can't see him!' Morton frowned.
'Sir?'
'Damn it, what is it, Ayala?'
'Don't First Class get their own lounge to wait in?'
'Fuck!'
Glancing at the sign, Morton sped towards the rear of the lounge, where a cordoned door was attended by a suited young man.
'Ticket please, sir.' the young man requested as Morton barged past, knocking the velvet cordon to the floor.
'There!' By the window, with his back to the door, was Edwin Murphy. He was lazing in a winged armchair, a broadsheet spread out in front of him, and a little girl playing by his side.
'Edwin Murphy?'
He looked up, expecting to be told it was his turn to board. He saw the Inspector's face, and bolted for the door, upturning his chair into Morton's path as he leapt to his feet.
'Ayala! The door!' Morton barked.
Ayala leapt into action, sprinting back towards the door, weaving his way through the crowd. Rolling over the table, he leapt at Murphy as he tried to make good on his escape. With a thud the rugby tackle landed, and Murphy was felled. The pair tumbled through the air, rolling violently as they hit the ground.
'Edwin Murphy, you are under arrest for the murder of Eleanor Murphy. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?'
Edwin remained defiantly silent. He wasn't giving up that easily.
Chapter 59: Lawyering Up
They had barely stowed the suspect in the rear of the squad car before he demanded a lawyer. He didn't want just any lawyer either, but one of the slick young hotshots that Morton had only ever seen on television, ranting and raving in front of the Old Bailey. He probably cost more per hour than Morton earned in a week, but then how can you put a price on getting away with murder?
Kirby turned up in short order, demanding a private audience with his client. Far from the conservative cut Morton was expecting, the lawyer was positively flamboyant. A silk-lined jacket matched a pocket square on his left breast, the suit exquisitely tailored around the man's slender frame. As for the shoes, they were so shiny that Morton could have shaved using his reflection in them.
Once the formalities of introductions, and starting the tape recorder, had been finished, Morton began the initial interview.
'Mr. Murphy. Where is your laptop?'
'What laptop?' Edwin had been smart enough to ditch it. It was among the items he had sold online as part of his preparation for the Vancouver move.
'Your personal laptop, Mr Murphy.'
'Don't have one, officer.'
'When did you last have one?' Morton tried another tactic.
'Not long ago.'
'Where is it now?'
'Don't know.' Murphy knew how useful evasive and vague answers could be. His lawyer had prepared him well, advising him to avoid giving any information up.
'Where was it last time you saw it?'
'In a box.'
'Where was that box?'
'In my hands.'
'What did you do with it?'
'Posted it.'
'To whom?'
'The new owner.'
'Who is that?'
'Can't remember. Check my eBay feedback?' Murphy was treating it like a game.
He knew the laptop wouldn't help to incriminate him. Before sale he'd degaussed the hard drive to remove the data. It was the most secure way to wipe out the evidence, as degaussing reversed the magnetic charge that was used to store the data. No charge, no data.
'We will.' Morton set aside the whereabouts of the laptop for the moment. Someone would have to track it down after the interviews.
'Did you kill your wife?'
'No.'
'Did you cause someone else to do so?'
'I loved my wife.' Murphy smiled inwardly. The past tense didn't give a clue
as to when he had last loved her, and he knew it.
'Do you know what a darknet is?' Morton knew he could lead with the inquisition here, as Edwin had publicly written articles on the subject as an undergraduate. It was public knowledge, and a denial would be invaluable in catching him out in the lie.
'Yes, of course.' Edwin wasn't taking the bait.
'Have you used one?'
'Yes.'
'When?'
'When I was an undergraduate.' Edwin tried to be evasive again. He didn't claim it was the only time he had used one. It was almost a lie by omission, but his lawyer had approved it.
'Anytime since then?'
'Yes.'
'When?'
'I don't recall every time I have connected to a darknet. Could you list every time you logged onto the Internet?'
'I'll ask the questions. Did you contact a Vanhi Deepak on a darknet?'
'I'm afraid I don't know that name, officer.' It was a half-truth. He did know the name, but the police couldn't prove it. It could have been a pseudonym anyway.
'We believe she killed your wife.'
'Then you should arrest her, not me.'
'Did you put her up to it?'
'How could I put someone I've never met up to anything?' Murphy had a sarcastic response for everything. Morton needed something concrete.
'Did you post a message on a London darknet seeking a killer?'
'No.'
It was the first lie he had been forced to tell. Morton could have tried to push this advantage, but he changed tack, seeking to unnerve Edwin. 'How much was the life insurance policy on your wife worth?'
'£350,000.' It was too easy to verify to bother lying.
'That's a lot of money.'
'I suppose, for some people.'
'You also got the house, didn't you, Mr Murphy?'
'It was always my house.'
'But now it's just yours.'
'Yes.'
'She was divorcing you, wasn't she, Mr Murphy?'
The DCI Morton Box Set Page 24