Ayala pulled out his wallet. 'Take your blood money.'
'Terrible pun, mate. I can see why you're a cop, not a comedian.'
'You watch it, or I'll have Morton assign you to lab duty for the next three months. No more field work,' Ayala threatened.
'Aye-aye, captain!' Purcell mock-saluted, then ran out of the room before Ayala could punch him.
***
'Superintendent, thanks for seeing me at such short notice,' Morton simpered, hoping he sounded like he meant it. The Superintendent wasn't likely to notice any insincerity. The man genuinely believed he could do no wrong.
'It's no trouble, David. I've just come back from a round of golf. Three under par, would you believe it?'
Morton forced himself to unclench his jaw and paint a goofy smile on his face. 'Excellent news, sir. Who were you playing with?'
'Oh, a couple of the city aldermen, a high court judge and a politician who's a friend of mine. You should come along some time,' the Superintendent said.
I would, but I'm working. Unlike you, Morton thought, but he didn't say it out loud. Instead he said, 'I'm not much of a golfer, I'm afraid. I'm actually here about two detainees I have in the cells. I need you to give s42 PACE authorisation to keep them until thirty-six hours. Just a formality, of course.'
The Superintendent's jovial demeanour changed instantly. 'Why? Surely you've got enough to charge them after a full day.'
'Sir, this is an exceptionally delicate case.'
'The one involving that child?'
'Yes sir. We believe the detainees have been involved with child trafficking. We need to put our best foot forward on this one. We won't get another chance if they flee before we've got our act together.'
The Superintendent shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. 'What do you have on them?'
'The substituted child was first seen in their care. On the day the substitute appeared, they changed the details in the Children's Services database to reflect the substitute by uploading a new photograph, which Adrian Lovejoy has admitted to taking, after being confronted with metadata evidence.'
'So far so good. What about the wife?'
'We're on shakier ground here, sir. We believe she has acted as an accessory. It would be impossible for someone in her position not to notice if her husband was involved in human trafficking, and for that reason we believe she is complicit.'
'OK, I'll give you the time. On one condition.'
'Which is?' Morton asked.
'You really do need to get a new suit, Morton.'
***
'We got the extra twelve hours,' Morton announced to the almost empty Incident Room.
'Like that's going to make a difference,' Ayala said.
'If the Superintendent hadn't agreed, then we'd be releasing them in half an hour.'
'Yeah, but it's four o'clock now. The new time takes us to four in the morning. What are we supposed to be doing between now and then to find something?'
'Have some faith, Bertram.' Morton used Ayala's first name, knowing full well that he hated it. 'First things first, you're going to go make me some coffee. Then I'm going to read the financial report on the Lovejoys that I assume you've finally obtained in my absence. I'm going to need you to head over to Kiaran's office and tell him I need a Warrant of Further Detention. You're right that twelve hours probably won't cut it. What are you waiting for? Off you shuffle.'
Ayala skittered out of the room, and Morton pulled an envelope from Ayala's side of the desk towards him. After upending the envelope, Morton opened the binder, hoping that whoever had compiled the report had the foresight to stick an executive summary at the front rather than expecting him to dig through a dozen appendices.
For once, he wasn't disappointed.
CHAPTER 44: I SWEAR
'I swear by the Holy Bible that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,' Morton rested his hand on a bible as he spoke. As the senior investigating office, he was duty-bound to appear in court to assist with the application. The Custody Sergeant, with whom Morton had consulted prior to the court hearing, sat in the public galley awaiting the outcome of the application.
'Detective Chief Inspector, could you summarise the facts of this case for the court?' Kiaran O'Connor spoke directly to Morton, as if having a conversation rather than getting the key facts into a court record.
'We're investigating a murder which appears to have been committed to abet human trafficking. Charles Anthony Matthews, a twelve-year-old boy in the care of Mr and Mrs Lovejoy was murdered, and an impostor took his place on or around the eighth of December 2012.'
The District Judge, perched high above them at the back of the courtroom in a leather swivel chair, scribbled furiously.
'And what evidence do you have so far?'
'It's mostly circumstantial. We have digital records changed at the instigation of the Lovejoys to reflect the impostor, and an affidavit from a nurse that the real Charles Matthews was released into the custody of social services unharmed.'
'And what do you need further time for?'
'Unimpeded investigation. We need to find more concrete evidence prior to releasing the Lovejoys, to avoid any risk of them contaminating the evidence.'
'Thank you, Mr Morton.' Kiaran turned to the bench. 'Your Honour, I believe we have satisfied the requirements of s42 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, and I ask that the court extend the duration of the Lovejoys' detention by thirty-six hours.'
'Not so fast, Mr O'Connor. You've dealt with both defendants as a single entity. Is the evidence against them equal? Mr Morton?'
Morton swallowed. 'Your Honour, the evidence is strongest against Mr Lovejoy. At present, we have no reason to believe that Mrs Lovejoy's alibi is flawed; however, we believe that she is acting as an accessory to her husband in this matter.'
'So you've got nothing on Mrs Prudence Lovejoy. In respect of her, your application is denied. I will allow you to detain Mr Lovejoy for a further thirty-six hours, but unless you find something compelling I would not be minded to grant any further applications. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, Your Honour, thank you.'
***
'Looks pretty normal to me, boss.' Ayala sifted through a stack of financial documents on the Lovejoys, his foot tapping on the floor.
'Would you stop that? And I'm not so sure normal is right,' Morton's tone was playful, a tone Ayala recognised as his 'I know something you don't know' voice.
'They've got a credit rating of 702. That's almost dead centre, middle of the range.'
'Ah. But they also own a farm in Norfolk with two hundred acres of land.'
'What? That can't be true. I checked the Land Registry myself,' Ayala said.
'It's not registered land.'
'I thought all land had to be registered. Isn't that the whole point?'
'Yes and no. It has to be registered, if you want to sell it. The registration system wasn't a binary switch. Most land is on the register, but it doesn't cover all of England yet. Eventually it will, but this is all off the system. They've had the land since the old paper-based system, and haven't voluntarily registered it yet,' Morton said.
'So, how'd you find out about it?'
'I found recurring payments going into their account from a tenant farmer, got a copy of the lease off him to confirm.'
'So it's legitimate?'
'It's odd. They acquired the property in 1981. They've had been in their early twenties then, at most.'
'My maths says they'd have been seventeen, boss. They're forty-nine now, so unless they age differently to the rest of us...' Ayala's voice trailed off.
'Don't be a pedant, Bertram. No one likes a wise-ass. The point is the same: how did they afford that purchase back then?'
'I'm not buying it, boss. That was decades ago. You think that's linked to criminality now?'
'Once a criminal, always a criminal. You wait and see.'
***
'Interview resumed at 13:21. Present are Bertram Ayala, and David Morton from the Metropolitan Police. The defendant, Adrian Lovejoy, is present together with his solicitor Miss Federica Boseli of Huntingdon Fox and Associates,' Morton said.
Mr Lovejoy squirmed in his seat, looking pallid after his second night in the cells. By contrast his lawyer, dressed in a smartly cut suit jacket and knee-length skirt, could have passed muster in almost any setting.
'Mr Lovejoy, can you explain why Charles Matthews speaks very little English?'
'I believed he was simply suffering from a great deal of stress. He lost his adoptive parents in a fire, and that could have triggered post-traumatic stress disorder.'
'Is that your professional diagnosis?'
'No. I'm a psychotherapist, not a psychologist. It would be inappropriate for me to diagnose any child. I raised Charlie's problems with Mary, Mrs Bushey that is, in mid December.'
'What was the outcome of that?'
'I don't know. I guess, what with it being Christmas, that it wasn't actioned too quickly. Then in January he moved on.'
'Have you had language issues with other charges?' Morton asked.
'Yes. Like I said, children often clam up after a trauma, and we deal exclusively with trauma cases so it isn't uncommon.'
'How often does that happen?'
'I don't know. Perhaps one in twenty will be affected, but that's just a ballpark. It's about extent and degree. Sometimes only Pru will bond with them, or only I will. Between us we tend to catch any major issues even when we've got the maximum of eight children with us.'
'How many charges did you have when Charlie was with you?'
'Seven or eight throughout the four weeks he was with us.'
Morton swiftly changed subject, hoping to catch Adrian out: 'And how much money do you earn per year?'
'You don't have to answer that,' Boseli said.
'It's fine. Last year we made £110,000. About £45,000 of that was from fostering.'
'Where did the rest come from?'
'I own a farm which is let out.'
'How did you acquire that farm?'
'Inheritance. It belonged to my great-aunt. I had to sell off several fields to cover the inheritance tax, but I've managed to keep it in the family. Our tenant farmer produces beef there, and we sometimes use a small cabin that's near the lake for retreats with the kids.'
Morton was thrown off balance, and turned to Ayala to give himself a moment to recover. Ayala, rather unhelpfully, mouthed 'told you so'.
'Did you kill Charles Matthews and put another child in his place?' Morton asked.
'What? No! Why would I do that?'
'Someone did. If it wasn't you, who did it?'
Something flashed in Adrian Lovejoy's eyes, 'I... I don't know. I spend my whole life looking after kids. Ask anyone.'
'Did you kill Charles Matthews on the night of December fourth?'
'No.'
'Did your wife?'
'No!'
'Did you allow someone else to do so?'
'Of course not. How dare you?' Adrian Lovejoy leant forward, as if about to get up and punch Morton. Lovejoy's lawyer, Federica Boseli, put an arm in front of him protectively.
'Mr Morton, if you're going to badger my client then this interview is over.'
'Thank you for your time, Mr Lovejoy. Interview terminated at 13:37.'
***
'No dice. Judge Hearney wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't be minded to grant another extension,' Kiaran O'Connor announced as he walked into Morton's office, where Morton and Ayala were finishing up a takeaway. As Kiaran had expected, the s44 application was fruitless and the seventy-two hour deadline had become set in stone.
'So at half past four in the morning, Adrian Lovejoy walks,' Morton replied, jabbing at his salad with a plastic fork.
'I'm afraid so.'
'Gents, I've had an undercover keep an eye on Mrs Lovejoy since release. If she isn't innocent, then she's incredibly good at acting it. Apart from a few calls to her sister and lawyer, she's done nothing to suggest she's trying to hide evidence.' Ayala voiced the doubt that had been nagging at him since Mrs Lovejoy's release.
'Could be, or she could just be very good. Sit tight until the trail's cold, then ease back into it. If she's been trafficking children then we know she's a master manipulator. I've jailed more than a few psychopaths in my time, and they can be that cold,' Kiaran said.
'She doesn't read like that to me. I know I don't have David's experience, nor yours, but the only reactions I've seen from her are shock, surprise and righteous anger. She's got a solid alibi.'
'I've had doubts myself, but we can't take chances with this investigation. One false move and whoever is behind it could decide to up sticks and disappear. Worse yet, they could try and disappear the witnesses.'
Disappear the witnesses, the thought resonated in Morton's mind. Could Tina's death, Craig Linden and the diamond smuggling be linked to the child trafficking?
'David. Earth to David.' Ayala waved his hands in front of Morton's glazed-over eyes. 'You with us, boss?'
'Huh? My mind wandered.'
'Where'd it go?'
'I have a hunch that Tina and this trafficking are linked. We've been treating them as two separate investigations,' Morton said.
'For good reason. There's no evidence linking them,' Kiaran said sceptically.
'David's hunches are usually good. Let's see if there's anything linking the Lovejoys with Craig Linden.'
CHAPTER 45: MEDIA MALAISE
In Dacre Street, trouble waited for David Morton. Adrian Lovejoy's lawyer, Federica Boseli, loitered on the narrow pavement with a television crew consisting of a cameraman, sound engineer and a wizened old anchor. They stood on the opposite side of the one-way from New Scotland Yard with a camera pointed towards the secure entrance. At five o'clock, with the sun hanging low in the sky, David Morton emerged from the entrance.
'There he is!' the sound engineer cried, leaping into the road, his dead cat microphone swaying vigorously in the wind.
Morton twisted away, heading towards the safety of The Feathers pub. Before he had even reached Broadway, the film crew had interposed themselves between him and his destination.
'Detective Morton. Donny Travis, Sky News. You've arrested the wrong man, and in doing so allowed a killer to escape. What have you got to say for yourself?'
Morton felt his fingers clench into a fist, and hastily stuffed his hands into his pockets. They were looking to ambush him in the hopes of getting a sound bite or a guilty look.
'Good evening, Mr Travis. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you. I'd be happy to talk to you tomorrow if you call my office,' Morton repeated his media training verbatim.
'Is it true there's a psychopath killing kids in foster care?'
'As I said, Donny, I'd be happy to talk to you. Tomorrow. Please call our press office, and we'll set something up. Right now, I'm afraid that I have somewhere to be.'
Morton started to back away, deliberately keeping his face turned towards the camera in order to deny Donny Travis the much-coveted walking-away shot.
'Give us something. Why'd you arrest Adrian Lovejoy? He's innocent, isn't he?'
Morton carried on walking. As he was about to turn the corner and escape into the darkness, Travis launched his parting shot, 'Why aren't you going after the real criminals? Afraid you'll get stabbed again?'
It was puerile, and clearly intended to rile Morton. His eyes flashed darkly.
'How bloody dare you! I am no coward.'
Donny Travis grinned; he had him.
'Then why did you arrest a foster parent? And what are you doing to catch the real killer?'
'I can't comment on an ongoing investigation,' Morton said stiffly.
'Then can you comment on why you arrested Mr Lovejoy?'
'We had reason to believe Mr Lovejoy might be involved, and took all reasonable precautions to investigate that assumption. At this time, Mr Lovejoy remains a
person of interest so I can give no further comment. Thank you.'
'Mr Morton, why did you release him if you still think he did it?'
This time, Morton turned and strode off without pausing. If they wanted a shot of him walking off that badly, then they could have it. As he went, he could hear the female solicitor begin her spiel to the camera. The phrases 'innocent', 'upstanding', and 'pillar of the community' carried through the night air.
***
The door to the Superintendent's office was ajar. Inside, the Director of Human Resources, Doctor Emma Hart, sat in the Superintendent's chair. Morton had met her only once before, and on that occasion had received only a commendation for bravery and an offer of a place at the Lord Mayor's Garden Party. He wisely declined. This time, Morton would not escape unscathed. Morton steeled himself, knocked once and entered. The Superintendent was stood by the window, his back to Morton.
'Good morning, Superintendent, Director.'
The Director nodded curtly, and Morton took a seat.
'Chief Inspector Morton, we've had a complaint from Mr Adrian Lovejoy, courtesy of his solicitor. What have you got to say for yourself?' Doctor Emma Hart held a gold-plated ballpoint pen between perfectly manicured fingers. Her hand hovered over a yellow legal pad.
Morton blinked mildly, and then stroked his chin as he prepared his response.
'It's a baseless complaint. I had good reason to hold Mr Lovejoy, even if it does turn out that he is entirely innocent. His detention was authorised by no less than three others: the custody sergeant, the Superintendent and a magistrate. Are you suggesting we were all out of bounds? I appear to be the only one being chastised at this meeting.'
The superintendent kept his back to the pair, and stared out of the window, but Morton knew he was listening intently. In contrast, the Director scribbled furiously on her legal pad.
'The others weren't in Dacre Street yesterday evening.'
'I handled that according to protocol. I offered no inflammatory words, no sound bites and no photo opportunities. What would you have had me do?' Morton had watched the news carefully for any sign of the footage and nothing had surfaced.
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