Edwin's jaw dropped. He'd forgotten they had seen her copies of the divorce papers.
'You can't use that! It's legally privileged!'
'Not so, Mr Murphy, ask your lawyer.'
Edwin looked deploringly at his new lawyer, who refused to meet his gaze. They'd just proven motive beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was a classic, the jilted ex angle.
'But you know I didn't kill her! I wasn't even in the country.'
'No, but you did put Vanhi Deepak up to it.'
'I didn't!'
'Our analysis says otherwise. We used the messages sent by the other parties involved, and compared the grammatical structure, syntax and language used with your editorial column at The Impartial. It was a perfect match.' Such analysis was not yet admissible in court, but Morton knew his suspect wouldn't know that. Even if he did, the CPS would fight for its admissibility, and Dr Jensen was raring to get on the stand and defend his theory.
'Shit.' Murphy swore before he realised the implications of his reaction.
'Mr Murphy. I advise you to remain silent,' Kirby chirped up for the first time since the interview had started.
'You engaged the services of someone online to carry out a murder swap, didn't you?'
'No comment.'
'You then had another person kill Vanhi Deepak to cover up the first kill, didn't you?'
'No comment.'
'That person was Barry Fitzgerald, wasn't it?'
'No comment.'
'Mr Fitzgerald killed Vanhi Deepak, and then went on the run. Isn't that true?'
'No comment.'
'He was a loose end. You tried to have him killed by Peter Sugden, didn't you?'
'No comment.'
'When he failed you needed someone else, but they wouldn't do it for free, would they?'
'No comment.'
'You had Barry killed on board the Nordic Giant.'
'No comment.'
'Who killed Barry?'
'No comment.'
'We know it wasn't anyone we've traced. How were the others involved? Anthony Duvall and Yosef Gershwin?'
'No comment.'
'The courts can infer guilt from your lack of comment, Mr Murphy.'
'I think it's plain you'll be getting no further comment from Mr Murphy.' Kirby spoke up again, a slow and authoritative voice. The interview was over.
***
'Charge him.' Kieran O'Connor, the Crown Prosecution Service lawyer, smelled blood.
'It's a bit circumstantial, Kieran,' Morton, ever the voice of reason, pointed out.
'You want this scum to get away with multiple murders?'
'No. Of course not, but he can only be tried once. We don't want to miss our shot.'
'Where are we with the laptop?' Kieran needed something physical to tie up his theory of the case.
'We've got it, but it's clean. Professionally wiped.'
'That's pretty incriminating.'
'His position is he cleaned it for sale, to protect his personal data.'
'Bullshit.'
'We've got Duvall as a witness.'
'Great, a crook who's also going down for killing someone, out to save his own bacon, is our star witness. Still, he is compelling but he only gives us the darknet contact.'
'We can leverage his reaction to the darknet accusation as our proof.'
'It's shaky.'
'It's all we've got.'
'Do it, but we'll only put a few specimen counts down. Then we can recharge on the other murders he procured later if we lose. We've got multiple bites at the cherry here.'
Chapter 60: First Blood
'Bail denied.' As the gavel came down Kieran almost whooped. The presumption in favour of bail was a strong one, but the flight risk argument was indefensible. He had already tried to flee the jurisdiction, and simply surrendering his passport wouldn't necessarily stop him.
He also made headway with the darknet evidence. While he couldn't show a physical item such as the newly wiped laptop, he could ask Murphy for an alibi for each of the times that the messages were sent. The timestamps were contained within the recipient's computers. Without anything else to corroborate, simply not having an alibi for any one time would not have been sufficient to convince a jury of Edwin's guilt, but the case was a house of cards. By layering each denial it became implausible that Edwin was simply unavailable every single time the messages were sent. In a way he had damaged his own defence by having such strong alibis at all other times.
The question would be whether or not twelve men and women would find him guilty. The Crown Court was a notoriously unreliable place for a prosecutor. The jury didn't have to explain their verdict, so all sorts of whacky decisions had been reached even in just the cases that Kieran had dealt with.
Pictures of the victims would be laid before them. The dead were butchered in horrendous ways, and the carnage would leave a strong impression on the jury.
His opening speech was what truly laid the foundations for the prosecution case.
'Ladies and gentlemen.
'Mr Murphy has been charged with multiple counts of procuring murder. It is my job to prove this case to you beyond reasonable doubt. That does not mean you cannot have any doubts, but you must be sure that he has acted criminally in order to convict him.
'Over the course of this trial, we will show how he methodically manipulated vulnerable persons over the Internet to convince them to act out his heinous plan. The defence has no alibi for any of the times the messages were sent, although he was in a conveniently public place at the time of each death, as if he knew they were going to die.
'We'll adduce testimony from one of those manipulated to show that Mr Murphy attempted to solicit "murder swaps" multiple times. The first time he did so, he used Vanhi Deepak to kill his wife while she was on her morning run. He did this to benefit financially, and gain custody of their child. One week his wife serves him with divorce papers, and mere weeks later she is found face down in Battersea Park, dead.
'Then the person guilty for that murder, the only direct witness who could identify Edwin Murphy, is killed outside the pub where she worked. This might seem like a case of karma, justice even, but ladies and gentlemen, make no mistake – Edwin Murphy is a sociopath who used this death to cover up his own liability.
'Then Barry Sullivan, her killer, had to die. Not to cover up the Deepak death, but so that Murphy wouldn't have to deliver on his promise. He had Peter Sugden try and kill him. He died in the attempt, and doesn't appear on the indictment, but video footage of this will be adduced showing Mr Sugden attempting to kill Barry Fitzgerald.
'When Sugden failed, Mr Murphy simply tried again. He used persons unknown to kill Barry, using a rare neurotoxin to do so, in a sealed disabled toilet on an international ferry. Presumably he then owed this person for the kill, and roped in another to take part.
'Enter Anthony Duvall, now a prosecution witness, who killed multiple times. His first kill was of an unknown person whom he refuses to disclose, but the details are shown in the exchange of messages which will be adduced as a prosecution exhibit.
'Yosef Gershwin was supposed to kill another unknown person for Duvall, but had an attack of conscience. Duvall killed him, as a direct result of manipulation by Edwin Murphy, who was in fact the dealmaker in the transaction. Murphy let slip Gershwin's details in order to get him killed.
'By this time, Mr Murphy thought he was free and clear. No witnesses or physical evidence tied him to the crimes, and he made a plan to emigrate to Canada, fleeing the devastation he had unleashed on London.
'We caught him, at the airport, after detectives realised that all the persons manipulated by the darknet spoke to one single puppet master. That puppet master was Edwin Murphy. His reaction when accused during an interview under caution says it all, ladies and gentleman. Murphy is guilty as sin. He is a charlatan who will to try and convince you otherwise. Don't let him get away with it. Edwin Murphy is guilty of murder, ladies and gentlemen, and the soon
er he is off our streets the better.'
Kieran sat, noting a slight murmur of assent spread among the jury. The trial wouldn't last long. Without physical evidence the circumstances could be dealt with in mere days as opposed to the weeks Kieran was used to.
In a few short days, he would get back their verdict.
***
The jury took a long time. At the end of forty-eight hours of deliberation, His Honour Judge Milligan, QC, called them back into the courtroom.
'Have you reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed? Please answer, yes or no.'
'No.'
'Do you believe you could reach a unanimous verdict?'
'No, Your Honour.' The foreman shot a nasty look at juror number twelve.
'I am going to ask you to retire one more time to try and reach a unanimous verdict. If you are unable to do so, I will accept a majority verdict.'
The bailiff led them back out of the courtroom.
Kieran's hands began to shake. It was a close call. That meant he wasn't way out of the ballpark with his arguments. He hoped the holdouts were of the not guilty kind, and would agree this time around to vote guilty.
He knew that the second time, juries were often much quicker. Both lawyers waited in open court, watching the clock on the wall tick in an infuriating manner. Two hours later, the bailiff was back.
'They are ready, Your Honour.'
'Bring them in.'
The jury came in, single file, and took their seats. They looked weary, but triumphant. Kieran hoped it wasn't just the triumph of being home for the weekend.
'Have you reached a verdict upon which at least ten of you agree?'
'We have.'
'What is your verdict?'
'We find the defendant, Edwin Murphy, guilty.'
Kieran exhaled in relief. He could breathe again. At the defence table both lawyer and client looked deflated.
'Is that the verdict of you all, or a majority?'
'Majority, Your Honour.'
'How many of you agreed to the verdict and how many dissented?'
'Ten and two respectively Your Honour.'
'Thank you for your service, you are dismissed.'
The bailiff led them from the courtroom while Judge Milligan waited.
'Mr Murphy, you have been found guilty of three counts of murder. You are hereby sentenced to life in prison.'
His lawyer leapt up.
'Permission to appeal, Your Honour?'
'Denied.'
The defence lawyer sank back into his seat. He had lost. He could still apply directly to the appellate court for permission to appeal, and he would, but he wasn't confident. There was nothing procedurally wrong with the verdict.
***
Edwin stared at the floor in his cell, trying to avoid making eye contact with his new cellmate. As he focussed on a spot of the cell floor between his feet his mind began to wander.
It had been lunchtime in Finnigan's Wake when Eleanor's brother Mark had joined him. He couldn't remember what the bar looked like, but the taste of the grease on the burger was fresh in his memory, making bile rise in his throat as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach down.
He'd had more than his share of the booze when Mark arrived, and his arrival didn't stop the flow of beer. It simply substituted it with whiskey, Mark's poison of choice. He and Mark had known each other for a long time. It was through him Edwin had met Eleanor.
'So, my bitch sister wants a divorce then?'
Edwin nodded.
'What you gonna do?'
'What can I do?' Edwin slurred.
'Stop her.'
'She's entitled to half.'
'Mate, you earned that money. She doesn't need it anyway, she's a bloody lawyer. You know how much they get paid.'
'I can't do anything.'
'Hold that thought.' Mark stood.
Mark fetched another few rounds, returning to the table laden with an overloaded tray of assorted spirits.
'Cheers!'
'Cheers? I'm gonna be broke, and she'll get Chelsea.'
'So, you're a creative man. Find a solution.'
'Like what? Kill her?'
'That would do it,' he laughed.
Edwin nodded. If only she'd get hit by a bus tomorrow, his life would be perfect.
'Sometimes you have to make bad things happen to get what you want.'
'I can't!' Edwin protested.
'What was it you worked on during your undergrad?'
'Darknet research on private networks. How the fuck's that gonna help?' Edwin frowned.
‘It’s anonymous, right?'
'If you do it right, yeah.'
'So, there are criminals on the Internet, aren't there?'
'But they'll know who I wanted killed.'
'So, you could hire someone else to kill them. Then no one would know you are involved.'
Edwin's lopsided smile returned.
'That might just work.'
'Yeah, it might, now let's go get pissed.'
Mark grabbed him by the armpit and lifted him up, before half carrying him to the street to hail a cab to the next bar. If the idiot went through with it, Mark's parents would have no choice but to put him back in their will. Without Eleanor, he was their only child, and would inherit the whole estate. Problem son or not, they'd love him again when his sister wasn't there to steal the limelight.
All he needed to do now was convince Edwin that the plan was all his idea. Enough alcohol should do the trick.
The Patient Killer
Prologue: Can’t Save Everyone
Five Years Ago
Isaac Ebstein’s patients died more often than most doctors’.
Thirteen hours a day, six days a week, Ebstein could be found in the operating room with his scalpel in his right hand. Specialising in trauma surgery had been a blessing and a curse. He was never short of work – or bodies.
Most of the time, Ebstein and his team knew who would die before they cut them open. Unexpected deaths were something of a rarity. Even the bleeders, fresh from knife fights and car crashes, usually made it off the operating table and into intensive care. That was just the way Ebstein liked it. His patients died, but he rarely saw them go.
The third of November was different. His patient had been rushed in, organs ruptured and haemorrhaging blood faster than they could replace it. She had been as good as dead the moment she’d been pulled from the wreckage of her car.
It should have been simple: patch her up and send her off to the intensive care unit to die.
Scar tissue had put paid to that. The woman had undergone previous surgeries, and her insides were thick with sinewy scar tissue, which meant Ebstein couldn’t suture the arteries in time. Ebstein pronounced at three oh two p.m., and in a heartbeat the whirlwind of an active operating theatre, alive with the sounds of activity bordering on mania, fell into an awkward silence. Ebstein exhaled deeply, grimaced, and nodded his thanks to the assembled staff.
It wasn’t anybody’s fault, other than the guy who’d smashed his car into the victim’s.
Her widower didn’t see it that way. Ebstein found him pacing up and down in the corridor outside the friends and family waiting room. A row of chairs sat unused underneath the window.
Ebstein approached him cautiously. ‘Mr Taaft?’
The bigger man turned to reveal bloodshot eyes. His jaw was set in a grimace. ‘How is she?’ he demanded.
Ebstein hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Taaft. I’m afraid she didn’t make it.’
Taaft’s eyes widened. He stared at Ebstein for a moment, then gave out a guttural roar that reverberated down the corridor. Ebstein took a step backwards, shying away from Taaft.
He was too slow. Taaft snatched up one of the chairs from beneath the window, spun around with it, and slammed the chair into Ebstein’s side, knocking the surgeon to the floor.
Ebstein looked up at his assailant, afraid to speak lest he get hit again. He raised a hand to his head to fin
d his hair wet and matted with blood.
‘Please! Don’t!’ Ebstein begged.
Taaft swung again, and Ebstein’s world exploded in front of him.
***
The room swam in and out of focus when Ebstein awoke. His first thought was to wonder if he’d been out drinking. His head felt like he had been.
Then a hand snapped into view.
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ a disembodied voice asked.
After a pause Ebstein realised he was being addressed by the hospital’s chief neurologist, Dr Hargreaves. With an effort Ebstein forced his eyes to focus and then mumbled: ‘Two. And no need to swear.’
Hargreaves grinned. ‘Thought we’d lost you for a minute, there.’
‘What happened?’
‘Big fella took a swing at you with a chair. You crumpled like a pansy. He’s calmed down now, and wants to apologise. He’s convinced you’re going to sue him.’
Ebstein rubbed at his temples, then tried to stand. His legs felt like jelly, but they held steady as he wrenched himself upright.
Hargreaves leapt forward, offering up his arm to support Ebstein. ‘Woah! Slow down there, tiger. You’ve got a concussion. You’re going nowhere. Besides, I’ve got some news for you.’
‘Good news?’ Ebstein asked.
Hargreaves nodded. ‘We found you a match.’
Ebstein perked up. ‘How good?’
‘Six points,’ Hargreaves said. ‘No donor-specific antibodies. Negative for flow crossmatch.’
‘You found a six-point match among the staff? That’s incredible.’ Ebstein found himself smiling for the first time that day.
‘We did. But...’ Hargreaves trailed off.
‘But what?’
‘You’re not going to like who it is.’
‘Who?’ Ebstein demanded.
Hargreaves told him. Ebstein’s smile disappeared.
Chapter 1: Don’t Breathe a Word
Sunday April 5th 09:30
The cemetery tour guide was sobbing uncontrollably when Morton arrived, despite the best efforts of Detectives Bertram Ayala and Ashley Rafferty. A gaggle of tourists with expensive-looking cameras were milling around a little way away from them, snapping pictures of everything and everyone.
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