Cleaver Square

by Sean Campbell

  'I was born on February twenty-second, 1964. Pru was born on the twenty-sixth of February in the same year,' Mr Lovejoy said.

  'The time is now 16:32, and the date is Thursday the twenty-fourth of January 2013. Mr and Mrs Lovejoy, you do not have to say anything, however it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence against you.'

  Mrs Lovejoy leant heavily on her husband, and hid her face behind her hair.

  'Mr Lovejoy, can you confirm your occupation please?'

  'I'm a trained psychotherapist. I specialise in helping children who have experienced significant trauma. As part of that, I am a short-term foster parent working with a number of local authorities in London and the Home Counties. My wife is similarly qualified, and works with me.'

  'Did you take a young man called Charles Matthews into your care on December the eighth, 2012?'

  'We did.' Both Lovejoys nodded.

  'At that time, did you take a photograph of Charlie?' Morton asked. The camera was with forensics to confirm, but Ayala had already compared the metadata of the file with Children's Services and the same image on Adrian's camera. They were identical.

  'Yes.'

  'For what purpose?'

  'To keep the photographs in the system up-to-date, for one. Some of the children who come to us have never been in the system before, and some haven't had their photograph taken in some time. Charlie's last picture was when he was much younger. Children often change as they age,' Mr Lovejoy explained calmly, then added almost as an afterthought, 'I also display the photos of every child I've cared for on the wall in my office.'

  Morton pulled a copy of the photograph from the file on the desk. 'Is this the photograph you took?'

  'Yes.'

  'Let the tape reflect that Mr Lovejoy has identified Exhibit A to the file as the photograph he took. Mr Lovejoy, who was present when you took Charles Matthews into your care?'

  Furrows appeared on Mr Lovejoy's brow as he strained to remember. 'Just me, I guess. It's usually a pretty quick handover. The local authority drop 'em off, I sign a bit of paper, then get the kid settled in. As I recall, Charlie had his photo taken, had a bit of tea, then went straight to bed. He was a quiet lad.'

  'Were you there, Mrs Lovejoy?' Morton asked.

  It took a while for Prudence Lovejoy to reply, but when she did it was in a slow and measured tone that didn't reflect the glassy-eyed state which she had been in minutes earlier.

  'No, not that day. That was the day the cold snap started. I'd gone down to my sister's to visit, and when the snow started to fall, I stayed put.'

  'Where was that?'

  'Down Stockbridge way.'

  'And how did you get there?'

  'I took the train. I went up early in the morning so we could go for lunch at one of the fancy new gastro pubs on the High Street; then when the weather took a turn, I stayed over until the Sunday.'

  Hampshire, not too far to go then come back if one was minded to fake an alibi, Morton thought.

  'Inspector Morton, what do you want from us? We're simple foster parents. We've answered all your questions, and it is quite an inconvenience,' Mr Lovejoy said.

  Morton looked at him with an icy stare as he replied coolly, 'What I want, Mr Lovejoy, is to find the person or persons responsible for the murder of a twelve-year-old boy. I'm sorry if that inconveniences you.'

  Adrian Lovejoy turned white. 'Not at all; sorry, officer,' he said sheepishly.

  'Mr Lovejoy, did you murder Charles Matthews?'

  'No! I did not.'

  'Mrs Lovejoy, did you murder Charles Matthews?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'How do you explain the fact that Charles Matthews left the hospital after the fire at the Grant residence, and an impostor was found with you?'

  'I... I don't know. There could be a mix-up with the local authority, or at the hospital?' Mrs Lovejoy replied.

  'And you just happened to change the photograph in the system that day, knowing full well the old one would be deleted?'

  'I told you, we always do that,' Mr Lovejoy said.

  'I think you did it,' Morton put it to them. 'It's the perfect set-up. The children you foster go between local authorities so there is no audit trail. You see lots of kids, so no one is going to notice if one disappears. I think you killed Charlie Matthews then sold his identity.'

  'Sold it to whom? I have no idea what you're on about. How could I have left all the other children at home, killed Charlie and then dumped the body and come back with a replacement? Do you have any idea how preposterous that sounds? We want that lawyer now, please.'

  They had said the magic words.

  'Interview terminated at,' Morton glanced at his watch, '17:07.'

  Morton turned off the tape recorder, and then turned to the Lovejoys. 'You can have a lawyer. I'm placing you in custody pursuant to section 41 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. Ayala, show them to the holding cells.'

  ***

  'Boss?' Ayala said, 'What do you think?''

  Morton stared into space, oblivious to Ayala's question. 'Huh?'

  'Away with the fairies today, eh boss? I was asking what you think about the Lovejoys.'

  'God knows. They're our best suspects. They're our only suspects. She's got an alibi, but it's from her sister and even by train you can get back from Stockbridge in less than ninety minutes.'

  'And being away on the day of Charlie's arrival doesn't mean she isn't culpable,' Ayala said, clearly thinking of the so-called 'inchoate offences' of assisting, procuring, or encouraging criminality.

  'Kiaran will have a hard time proving that, short of an incriminating email, text or voicemail. I doubt they'd be that stupid.'

  'If they were clever, they'd have demanded a lawyer straight off the bat,' Ayala said.

  Morton shook his head. 'Not at all. Asking for a lawyer looks guilty. If they wanted to try and hoodwink us into believing in their innocence then they played it perfectly. Their reactions were measured, and convincing.'

  'So what do we do now?'

  'We need more evidence to charge them with murder. Right now, we've got a little less than twenty-four hours to find something or they can walk.'

  Ayala look at his watch. 'But we can get more time.'

  'Yes and no. We can get an extension to thirty-six hours from the time they arrived at the station fairly easily. That just needs the Superintendent to sign off on it, and he will – it is a murder investigation.'

  'But you don't think we'll get another extension after that?'

  'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we need something linking the Lovejoys with Charlie's murder. How far is it from Little Hatters Wood to Hackney Marshes?'

  Ayala made a quick guesstimate: 'About an hour's drive.'

  'Then check any CCTV that exists along the route, and see if Adrian Lovejoy's car was there.'

  'Consider it done, boss.'

  CHAPTER 43: TICK TOCK

  Morton rubbed his eyes blearily as he shuffled the Lovejoy files around his desk. Forensics had confirmed that the photos from Adrian Lovejoy's camera matched Children's Services database. Each of the Lovejoys' pictures had been entered into the database by a system admin account owned by the user 'MBushey', which Morton knew to be Mary Bushey, one of the local authority's employees who oversaw the Lovejoys.

  With the clock ticking on the twenty-four hour deadline for detention without charge, and the high probability that the Lovejoys would flee or destroy evidence the moment they were released, Morton was feeling the pressure. In a few short weeks, he'd had a marital breakdown, been the victim of identity theft, lost one of his senior officers and had made less progress than he might have wished for in a murder investigation. It was now 6:44 p.m. precisely; Morton had twenty-two hours before he'd need to get the custody sergeant to formally extend the time limit to thirty-six hours.

  The door to Morton's offi
ce swung open, and a uniformed officer walked in.

  'Chief, the addresses you wanted,' the officer said as he handed Morton a printout, before making a hasty retreat.

  The paper showed the current addresses of the Lovejoys' former charges. Morton picked one whose time with the Lovejoys overlapped with Charlie's stay, then picked up the phone to make an urgent appointment to speak to her that evening.

  ***

  Christina Baker, aged sixteen, was out at Bloomsbury Bowling Alley when Morton called to arrange an interview. With the deadline looming, Morton rushed over and parked his BMW on double yellow lines outside the venue. A neon sign was the only indication of a bowling alley on the premises. Underneath the sign, a single doorway led to steps burrowing down into the basement. At the bottom of the steps, the room fanned out in a huge subterranean cavern with twenty-six lanes side by side, divided by racks of bowling balls. An access path ran along the end. At the end of the path Morton could see a combined bar and payment station. A spotty-nosed teenager sat behind the bar flicking through a sports magazine.

  'Excuse me; I'm looking for Christina Baker. Which lane is she in?'

  The boy looked him up and down, 'Who are you then, her granddad?'

  Morton glared. 'Detective Chief Inspector David Morton. I'm not going to ask you again.'

  'Hang on.' He consulted the iPad used to allocate bookings. 'She's in lane six, mate.'

  'Thanks.'

  Morton doubled back to lane number six, near the entranceway. Christina was playing with two older bowlers whom Morton presumed were her current foster parents.

  'Christina Baker? Detective David Morton, we spoke on the phone.'

  'Hi.' She turned to the couple with her. 'Mum, Dad, I'll be right back.'

  She led Morton away from the noise of the lanes towards a couple of high tables surrounded by bar stools.

  'God, it feels weird saying that.'

  'Saying what?' Morton asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  'Mum and Dad.' Christina jerked her head towards the couple. 'They adopted me, last week. They've insisted I call them Mum and Dad. Still doesn't feel right, yet.'

  Morton perched on the edge of a bar stool, and then continued his questioning: 'Had you been in the system long?'

  'Yeah. On and off. Mum was an addict, so I got taken into care when I was fourteen. After that, I've been with a few families, and did a stretch in Borstal.'

  Morton realised she was watching for a reaction to her revelation that she'd been in a juvenile facility, and decided to ignore it. It wasn't relevant to his line of investigation. Instead he simply carried on with the interview: 'And in December you were with the Lovejoys?'

  'Yep. It was a temporary thing while they sorted out the adoption paperwork. I was there from the first until a week before Christmas.'

  'Did you meet Charlie Matthews during that time?'

  'Yep. Quiet kid. Seemed sweet, I guess.'

  'When did you first meet him?'

  'Err, I don't know. About a week after I got there. The day he arrived.'

  Morton stroked his chin thoughtfully. Charlie had been switched by the time he met the other Lovejoy charges on December the seventh. He'd left the hospital the same day, after doctors were certain he hadn't been physically affected by the fire.

  'Right,' Morton changed approach, 'and what did you think of the Lovejoys?'

  'Adrian and Pru? They're alright. Always got time if you need a word.'

  'Did you ever notice anything strange going on?'

  'Like what?'

  'Kids being too quiet, strange comings and goings,' Morton said.

  'Nothing like that. Oh hang on, now you come to mention it, Charlie didn't reply when I called his name a few times. I thought that was a bit odd. Is he a bit deaf?'

  'Maybe. Well, thanks for your time, Miss Baker.'

  ***

  'Are you OK, hon?' Sarah watched her husband intently, concern bleeding into her voice.

  'Fine,' Morton lied.

  'I know that 'fine'. What's really wrong? Anything I can do to help?'

  'Thanks, but no. I feel guilty about Tina. She disappeared looking into my credit card fraud problem. I should have been the one to go to Camden. It should have been me going toe to toe with whoever took her.'

  'David, survivor's guilt is totally natural. You've lost enough colleagues to know that. She wouldn't want you moping. She'd want you out there finding her killer.'

  'What do you think I've been doing?' Morton snarled. 'I've run down every lead we've had. I've hit dead end after dead end.'

  'You'll crack it eventually. You always do,' Sarah soothed.

  'Maybe. But right now, I need to focus on finding something definitive to nail the Lovejoys with. If I don't, they'll walk.'

  'What you need right now,' Sarah stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders, 'is to take a break, and go to bed.'

  Morton shook his head, 'I'm too wired to sleep.'

  'Who said anything about sleep?'

  ***

  Two hours before the sun rose Morton pulled into the Met's staff car park, easily finding a space near the entrance. He made his way inside, passing no one apart from John Ritter, New Scotland Yard's head of security, to whom Morton nodded briefly as he headed for the Incident Room.

  He flicked the light switch just inside the empty room and the strip lighting stuttered to life with a hum. One of Morton's team, he wasn't sure who, had set up an iPad at the end of one table so that red glowing lights ticked down the time they had left until the Lovejoys would have to be released. The countdown assumed the Custody Sergeant would authorise an extension to thirty-six hours. If that assumption held true, Morton had twenty-two hours left to come up with enough evidence to charge the Lovejoys. Less than half the remaining time would be truly productive, as it was highly unlikely that Morton would stumble across new evidence in the middle of the night.

  Morton began pacing the room, his eyes darting up and down the boards, searching for that one breakthrough clue amongst all the pertinent information which had been pinned to the board by his team. Eventually, he was joined by Detective Ayala, who sauntered in holding a breakfast sub.

  'Good morning, boss,' Ayala said as he entered, casting off his overcoat and flinging it over the back of a chair.

  'What's so good about it?'

  'My my, we are a chirpy soul this morning. You and Sarah still at each other's throats?' Ayala swung a chair around, and sat on it back to front with his arms resting on the back.

  'We're OK. It's not all better, but she's been an absolute rock since, you know.'

  'I know. At the risk of exacerbating your mood, I've got bad news. The CCTV was a bust.'

  Morton groaned involuntarily. 'What's wrong this time?'

  'Nothing mischievous. The cameras are fine. The bad news is that the tape is only kept for four weeks at a time. I'm told they only record cars that are speeding anyway. If Adrian Lovejoy drove from Little Hatters Wood to Hackney Marshes and back, then he did so without tripping any red lights or going over thirty miles per hour.'

  'Then we've got no evidence at all that Adrian Lovejoy drove from Little Hatters Wood to Hackney Marshes and back.'

  'What if he killed Charlie on arrival, stashed the body somewhere, then dumped him later?' Ayala said.

  'It's a creative theory, I'll give you that. It's not going to cut it in court without some pretty damning evidence.'

  'Boss, if you had to store a body, wouldn't you store it in a freezer? That minimises any trace evidence from bugs, blood, et cetera.'

  Morton's memory flicked back to his brief tour of the house before the search team had swarmed in. 'The Lovejoys have a big household. They had a chest freezer in the garage.'

  'There was. It was empty.'

  'Of course it's empty now, Ayala. Get Purcell to swab it for any traces of human blood. '

  'Will do. Anything else, boss?'

  'Yes – chase up that report on the Lovejoy's finances. I need it on m
y desk within the next few hours.'

  ***

  'Spray it.' Ayala pointed at the chest freezer in Adrian Lovejoy's garage. It looked spotless, but if blood had been present then it was probable that residue would remain in the crevices.

  Stuart Purcell stepped forward with an aerosol in his hand, sprayed, then pulled out an ultraviolet light.

  'Hit the lights please, Detective.'

  Ayala turned the lights off, and then put on a pair of goggles to see the result for himself. The entire freezer lit up.

  'We've got blood,' the tech needlessly announced.

  'Hang on, it could just be bleach.' Ayala was mindful of Tina's past experience with false positives using Luminol.

  'I doubt it.'

  'I bet it is,' Ayala said glumly.

  'Twenty quid says it's blood.'

  'Stu, you're on.'

  'Better get back to the lab to test it then.'

  ***

  'Pay up,' Ayala said.

  'Nope,' Purcell replied.

  'Why not? You've just proved it's not human blood.'

  'I did a basic antigen test, for all blood types, and no human antibodies are present. It isn't human blood... But it is blood.'

  'Yeah, right.' Ayala held out his palm for twenty pounds.

  'See this?' Stuart passed Ayala a vial labelled 'Pig antigens'.

  'This is to test for pig blood?'

  'Yep; only pigs produce antibodies in response to the substance in that vial. The human immune system doesn't recognise it as a threat, which definitely shows it isn't human blood. I've already done this once, but just to prove it to you, I'll do it again.'

  Purcell daubed a smear of blood onto a gel-coated glass plate and applied the pig antigen to the sample, then put it under the microscope. Ayala leant in, and saw that the two samples had begun to diffuse towards each other, forming a visible band at the point where they met.

  'Damn, you're right.'

  'Of course I am. Besides, the bet wasn't "Is it human blood?" but "Is it bleach?", so you'd have lost either way.'