Cleaver Square

by Sean Campbell

  The door was open, but Morton still knocked out of politeness.

  'Ah, Detective! Nice to see you again. Come in, come in. Have a seat.' Edith gestured at a pile of upturned boxes.

  'Hello again, Edith. This is Detective McNamara, who has recently joined my department.'

  Edith Faulkner-Wellington beckoned them both to sit, before offering them refreshment.

  'No, thank you. We can't stop too long,' Morton said. Edith's smile fell ever so slightly as she realised that it was a flying visit.

  'Well then, what can I do for you today?'

  'Tell me about Hank Williams. We know he works for you.'

  'Oh no, he doesn't. He works for the council. I don't pick 'em. Like I'd want that feller near children. The man's a giant. Any little kid would be terrified.'

  'So why didn't you sack him?' McNamara asked.

  'Can't, as much as I might want to. His work is faultless. I've never had a complaint from one of his kids. Don't expect I ever will.'

  It's hard to make a complaint if you don't speak English, Morton thought.

  'So why don't you like him? Surely you've got other tall staff.' McNamara asked.

  'That one's no gentle giant. He comes around here, hitting on the girls in reception. Nasty man. He throws money around like candy, as if it would make up for his personality.'

  'Money?' It was the first time Morton had heard any suggestion that Hank Williams was rich.

  'Yep. Said he had family money. If I had some inheritance, I'd be out of this line of work like a shot. He's got a flashy Mercedes, last year's plates! Who in their right mind parks that all over London when visiting kids?'

  'Do you have a licence plate for that car?'

  'Should have. It'll be in our insurance documents. You sit tight, and I'll get them from the storeroom.' Edith shimmied past Morton, and went out of her office.

  'What do you think, boss?'

  'I think it's hard to keep up a Mercedes on a social worker's salary. Let's see where it got registered, and how he paid for it.'

  'Want me to go look that up?' McNamara rose, and stretched.

  'No. I'll have Ayala do it. You're staying here. I think Edith's rather fond of you.' Morton laughed at his junior officer's discomfort. McNamara valued his hard-man image too much to like the idea of an old lady doting on him.

  Edith reappeared holding a folder full of insurance documents. 'Here you are, officers.'

  McNamara took the folder, and then copied the licence plate number down carefully.

  'Miss Faulkner-Wellington, how are social workers supervised?'

  'Supervised? We don't exactly spy on our staff. They're all CRB checked. They've got appropriate degrees. Beyond that, we leave them to it unless we have any issues. There isn't a long line of qualified staff wanting to become social workers.'

  McNamara focussed on her intently, and twiddled his thumbs.

  'Don't you look at me like that, young man. Our system might have a few cracks – it's not perfect I'm sure – but we're hard-working folk. You can't tar us all with the same brush, just because of one bad apple.'

  Morton held up a hand. 'Edith, my colleague didn't mean anything by his questions. Thank you ever so much for your time today.'

  Edith huffed. 'You're welcome,' she said reluctantly.

  ***

  'Boss, I've checked with Adrian Lovejoy. He provided the photos to Hank Williams via email. He's forwarded the email on, and it looks legit. I've sent it down to be checked by cybercrimes.' Ayala clicked away at his laptop. It was plugged into an HDMI socket on the conference table to connect it to the projector on the ceiling, which allowed Morton and McNamara to watch in real time.

  'And, here's the registration information on his Mercedes,' Ayala continued. The car was less than a year old, and had been bought without finance at a South London dealership who registered it on Hank's behalf.

  'Nice one, Ayala. Get down to the dealership, and see how he paid.' Morton felt the hairs on his arms rise. They were finally getting somewhere.

  'I can do better than that, boss. You said your witness believed he'd inherited money?'

  Morton nodded.

  'Totally untrue. I checked probate, and got Kiaran to sort out the paperwork to look through Hank's bank account. Hank's balance breaks the four-figure mark once a month, on the sixth, when the various councils pay him. His income has been erratic, which is down to the zero hours contract, but he's never had real money. If he's splashing cash around, it isn't from his current account.'

  'That ought to be enough for an arrest warrant. You go talk to the dealer this morning. We'll get Kiaran on board for the search warrant.'

  ***

  The lawyer was out of his office when Morton and McNamara strolled into the Crown Prosecution Services offices. It wasn't uncommon, as Kiaran was a brawler famed for his thirst for court work. They waited in the antechamber, under the watchful eye of Kiaran's legal secretary.

  'What made you accept the assignment to my team?' Morton tried to make small talk as the clock ticked by.

  'I'm a detective. I do what I'm told.'

  'I'm not buying that, Alfie. There are dozens of Murder Investigation Teams. Why mine?' Morton watched his unwelcome protégé.

  McNamara met his gaze. 'You're up for retirement in the next few years. If I want to go to the top, I need a way to get there.'

  Morton grinned. So that was what the Superintendent had planned: the old fool wanted to slip McNamara into a highly rated team, and then promote his hand-picked successor from within.

  'I'm afraid they'll be carrying me out of my office in a coffin. I'm not your ticket to the Superintendent's office.' Morton pursed his lips, amused at McNamara's forthright declaration.

  'We'll see.'

  Morton was about to reply when Kiaran walked in, and Morton found himself caught in the middle of the men. Kiaran, who was from Dublin, nodded curtly at the Belfast-born detective.

  'Gentlemen. To what do I owe the pleasure today?' Kiaran beckoned them to follow him as he spoke. Once they were inside Kiaran's office, Alfie shut the door with a thud.

  'We've had progress in the Joe Bloggs case. The photo taken by Adrian Lovejoy was sent to Hank Matthews, Charlie's social worker. Hank told us he picked Charlie up from the hospital on December seventh, the day after the Grant fire, and dropped him off at the Lovejoys. He didn't. Charlie was released on the sixth; hospital records confirm it. Further, he's living well beyond his means: he owns a brand new Mercedes, but has a pitiful bank balance.'

  'What do you need from me?

  'Get us a search warrant for his house. If he's involved, we need to check for any pertinent evidence,' Morton stated simply. It was standard procedure to search a murder suspect's home.

  'Right. What time did Charlie leave the hospital?'

  'According to Lucien Darville, an hour after he left the scene,' Morton said, and then pre-empted the prosecutor's next question: 'That was at 6:12 p.m.'

  McNamara looked at Morton astounded that Morton could remember such specific detail off the cuff.

  'And he arrived at the Lovejoy home when?'

  'Half past seven the next day, December seventh.'

  'And there's no reasonable explanation for the missing twenty-four hours?'

  'None.'

  'I'll have a search warrant without the hour. I assume you'll execute it at dawn?' Kiaran asked. It was the most likely time of the day for Hank to be home but unaware of the police amassing outside for the raid.

  'Actually, I have a better idea...'

  CHAPTER 47: TRICKY QUESTIONS

  A thick envelope waited on the kitchen table when Morton arrived home. He practically danced through the doorway, excited about the impending arrest of Hank Williams.

  'Sarah!' He grabbed his wife excitedly as he walked in, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  'David. What's got into you? Good day?' Sarah asked.

  'Definitely. I'm millimetres from closing the Joe Bloggs case.'

/>   'Good. At the risk of dampening your high spirits, an official-looking letter arrived for you today.' Sarah gestured at pile of envelopes on the counter. A large stack had gathered since the start of the year, including many unpaid bills. If the identity theft issue wasn't resolved soon, it wouldn't be long before angry red final reminders began to appear on the doormat.

  On top of the pile was the brown official envelope Sarah had indicated. Morton grabbed it and tore the top off with his teeth. Inside, the twin lion crest of Her Majesty's Courts and Tribunals Service glared up at him.

  He decanted the envelope's contents, and scanned through the paperwork.

  'We've got a date for our identity theft case. It's next week.'

  'Whoa. Don't they usually take months to schedule civil cases?'

  'I guess not.' Morton tossed the envelope aside. It wasn't important.

  ***

  Morton loitered in the security suite just inside New Scotland Yard, sharing a doughnut with John Ritter, New Scotland Yard's burly chief of security. On the main security screen before them, Hank Williams could be seen sitting in the waiting room. He was there at Morton's request, having agreed to attend after Morton implied that Hank might be a witness in the case against Adrian Lovejoy.

  Williams appeared to believe that subterfuge. He was calmly scrolling through something on his mobile phone, totally at ease in the police station.

  'Thanks for the doughnut, John. Let him wait for half an hour, then show him through. I'll conduct the interview in my office.'

  Ritter screwed up his face. 'Not in the interview suite, boss?'

  'No. At the moment, he thinks he's a witness. Let's not disabuse him of that notion too soon. Can you have one of your team nearby, just in case he tries to make trouble when he realises he's been played?' Morton asked.

  'Will do, boss,' Ritter said with a smile.

  ***

  The residence of Hank Williams was above a former workshop in Bryanston Mews, a few minutes' walk from Marble Arch. The property included a ground-level garage, and a small apartment above it. Ayala knew that the car wasn't there, as Morton had given Hank a pass to park in the subterranean New Scotland Yard car park.

  Ayala didn't have to wait long for the all-clear from Morton. Ayala's phone flashed as a simple message came through: 'Go!'.

  'We're on, lads.' Ayala waited for one of the search team to break open the front door, then pulled out a certified copy of the search warrant and dropped it neatly inside. He stepped over it, and then called out in case Hank had any house guests. When no one answered, he led the way inside.

  ***

  Once he had set Ayala's team to work, Morton joined his guest and McNamara in his office. They sat either side of his desk, chatting away over a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Once McNamara saw Morton walking in, he jumped to his feet, nodded curtly, and vacated Morton's favourite chair.

  'Morning, Chief,' McNamara greeted him. 'I take it you already know Mr Williams?'

  'Only in passing,' Morton said.

  'Good morning, Chief.' Hank rose to offer a hand. Morton took it, then eased into his seat, shuffled forward and glanced at the recorder on the edge of the desk to make sure it was on.

  'Mr Williams, thanks for coming down. I see you've already got a drink, so I'll get down to business. As you have no doubt read in the press, we arrested Adrian Lovejoy for murder earlier this week. How well do you know Mr Lovejoy?' Morton was careful to stick to the facts, but eager to create the impression that Adrian Lovejoy was still front and foremost on his suspect list.

  'I've known him for years, but we only meet fleetingly and never ever socially. I drop kids off, pick them up and stop by to check on them occasionally,' Hank replied.

  'How would you characterise him?'

  'Breathless. He's a constant whirlwind of activity. He needs to be to keep up with the kids. I suppose he appears overeager in a bid to come across as jovial. I wish I'd known better.' Hank glanced down momentarily with his eyes downcast, and Morton almost laughed at how quickly he'd taken the bait.

  'Did you ever suspect he might be more than just a foster parent?'

  'I always thought he was odd. But no, I never thought he'd kill a child. Who was it?'

  'Charles Matthews.'

  'No!' Hank cried, and clapped his hands over his mouth in horror before frowning in consternation. 'That can't be. I've seen Charlie since then.'

  Since then? Morton thought. I haven't said when yet.

  'I'm afraid so. Charles Matthews died in December.'

  Hank flushed angrily. 'You're wrong! You interviewed Charlie two weeks ago.'

  Morton raised an eyebrow, and waited for Hank to carry on speaking. When Hank remained silence, Morton asked: 'How long have you been in charge of Charlie?'

  'Since December sixth, when his long-term foster parents died.'

  'And when did you last see him?'

  'Two weeks ago, with you. Like I said, he isn't dead.'

  'I'm afraid he is. We believe that Charles Matthews was murdered on or around the seventh of December, and that an impostor took his place.' Morton watched Hank carefully.

  He's showing all the right emotions, but they're coming a little too late to be authentic.

  Hank stammered: 'H-How can this be? I would have noticed. I should have noticed.'

  'Are you saying you didn't?'

  'Of course not!' Hank declared. As he spoke, he pushed himself away from the desk, physically separating himself from the detectives.

  'Tell us about the seventh.'

  'What about it? I wasn't there.'

  'You weren't? Can you tell us how Charlie got to the Lovejoys?'

  Hank chewed on his upper lip for a second, then shrugged.

  'Would they have picked him up from the hospital?' Morton asked.

  'Yes, yes. That would make sense.' Hank nodded vigorously.

  'For the record, can you tell us where you were on the seventh?'

  Hank paused again to gather his thoughts, then said: 'I honestly can't remember.'

  'So you haven't got an alibi?'

  'I suppose I haven't.' Hank's eyes narrowed. 'Do I need one? Should I be asking for a lawyer?'

  'No innocent man needs a lawyer, Mr Williams.' Morton's eyes twinkled.

  Hank tugged at his collar, then gulped, but said nothing.

  'When did you first meet Charlie?'

  'Sometime in December. I'd have to check my calendar for the exact date. It would have been a routine trip to see how Charlie was settling in.'

  'But you were emailed a photo before then?'

  Hank's eyes widened in surprise, but he composed himself quickly, and nodded.

  'For the benefit of the tape, Mr Williams is nodding. Hank, what did you do with that photo?'

  'I would have passed it on to be added to Charlie's file, I guess.'

  'You didn't change it yourself?'

  'No, I'm not given that sort of access.'

  'And you didn't see Charlie before mid December?'

  'No.'

  'Then why does the discharge nurse at the hospital remember seeing you?' Morton bluffed.

  Hank's nostrils flared. 'I think I'll have that lawyer now.'

  ***

  Morton and McNamara watched Hank through the one-way mirror. The lawyer hadn't arrived yet, but Hank looked more bored than anxious. He tapped his foot against the floor, with his eyes closed, as if he might drop off at any moment.

  'Smug git,' McNamara declared.

  'Not for long. He clearly picked Charlie up on December sixth, which makes his failure to report the faux-Charlie inexplicable. He's in on it.'

  'Don't look now, boss, but there's a sharp-looking lawyer walking this way.'

  The skeletal frame of Elliot Morgan-Bryant, wearing yet another Saville Row suit, strode down the corridor towards the detectives.

  'Gentlemen.' Elliot Morgan-Bryant nodded. 'Would you mind terribly if I closed the privacy blinds? I need to consult with my client.'

  Morton
flicked a switch, and the red light for the interview suite's speaker went out. The lawyer shut the door behind him with a quiet click, and then pulled curtains across the one-way mirror.

  Morton stared at the spot where the lawyer had just been, sure that there was something important about him.

  'What is it, Chief?' McNamara asked.

  'That lawyer. He represented Craig Linden, the guy Tina busted.'

  'So?'

  'So, we've got two criminals with no legitimate funds hiring the most expensive criminal lawyer in the country.'

  'You think Hank's connected to the Bakowskis?'

  'I do. It's too much of a coincidence otherwise. Tina disappears investigating the Bakowskis, and then the Bakowskis' pet barrister appears to defend a scumbag like Hank Williams. Everything is connected. I need you to find out how, and put Kiaran on notice we might need him.'

  'I'm on it.' McNamara turned and marched towards the lift, leaving Morton to wait for Hank to finish chatting with his lawyer.

  Morton grabbed his mobile, and dialled Ayala.

  'Bertram. How's the search going?'

  'Not too bad. I've been through the house. We found a stack of cash, about ten grand. All of it in unmarked twenties.'

  Morton punched the air. 'Good work. That ought to be enough to hold him. When you're done there, I need you to do me a favour and check out Mary Bushey.'

  'The old lady at Havering Council? Why?'

  'She uploaded the photo, so she could be working with Hank.'

  'Or she could just be an admin. She must deal with a lot of photos.'

  'Just check it out,' Morton ordered.

  CHAPTER 48: AMBUSH

  When Morton returned to the interview suite, Hank's demeanour was subtly different. He seemed to have paled in the short time Morton had been out of the room, and he slumped in his chair. Hank's lawyer was the polar opposite, with perfect posture and an aura of calm confidence about him.

  Morton unpaused the audio recorder, and enunciated: 'Interview resumed at 11:15. Now present are DCI David Morton, Mr Hank Matthews and his lawyer, Elliot Morgan-Bryant.'

  The lawyer placed his elbows on the desk and leant forward. 'Mr Morton. My client agreed to talk to you of his own volition. Make your move.'