Cleaver Square

by Sean Campbell

  'This isn't a game, Elliot. Your client was the last known person to see a child before his body was found in Hackney Marshes. Start talking.'

  'There's nothing to explain. Until you've arranged a line-up, we won't be commenting on your accusations. Otherwise, I think we're done here.'

  Morton flicked his wrist dismissively. 'Hold your horses. We're not done yet. Tell me about the money.'

  The lawyer turned to his client. Hank's eyes were now wide with fear. The lawyer leant in, and whispered something too quietly for Morton to hear. Hank shook his head slightly, and looked at his lawyer with narrowed eyes.

  'Tell me about the money,' Morton repeated firmly.

  'To what money do you refer?' Morgan-Bryant asked.

  'The ten thousand pounds underneath a loose floorboard in your client's living room.'

  Hank leant forward, sneered and said: 'No comment.'

  'Mr Morgan-Bryant, you might wish to remind your client that a court may draw adverse inferences from his refusal to comment.'

  'No comment,' Hank repeated.

  'How did you afford a brand new Mercedes last year?' Morton asked. After Edith had suggested Hank owned a plush car, Morton had looked up the car in the DVLA's database. Hank owned a Mercedes C class executive estate that had been purchased without the aid of any finance.

  Hank sagged in his seat. There was no way to deny he owned the car; the paper trail would eventually lead them to how he got it. He didn't even look at his lawyer as he said: 'It was a gift.'

  Morton laughed derisively, 'A gift? It must be worth nearly thirty grand. I need me some new friends.'

  'It was from my sister,' Hank said.

  'Wow. What does she do for a living to be slinging cars around?' Morton asked.

  'You don't have to answer that,' Elliot Morgan-Bryant said quickly to his client.

  Morton looked at the lawyer through narrowed eyes. He let his client tell me about the car, but shut me down when I asked about the sister. Very strange. 'No, he doesn't. I assume your client will have paid tax on the car? Gifts over three grand aren't tax-free.' As Morton spoke, the interview room door slid open and Ayala stepped in. He wordlessly placed an envelope in front of Morton, and then winked before retreating quickly.

  Hank's eyes shot from the detective to his lawyer. He clearly hadn't thought of that when answering so confidently. Morton was about to smile, then scowled as the lawyer interjected on Hank's behalf: 'Of course not, not yet anyway. He was given the car in August. The tax year doesn't end until April. He has no duty to discuss any future tax payments as they do not pertain to this investigation.'

  The lawyer looked so smug that Morton wanted to punch him. Instead, he picked up Ayala's envelope and held it away from the suspect before skimming it. The printout inside was from a Mercedes dealer in Hammersmith showing the VAT invoice for Hank's car. There was a note at the top in Ayala's spidery handwriting: 'Someone outside to see you.' Morton was about to put it down when he spotted the name highlighted in the 'payee' section: 'Bipa Bakowski'. No wonder the lawyer closed us down when we started to talk about the sister.

  'Hank, what's your sister's name?'

  This time, Hank began to shake visibly.

  'C'mon, Hank, it's not a secret is it?'

  'Faith. My sister's name is Faith.'

  'Not 'Bipa'?'

  Hank hung his head. 'It's over, isn't it? Yes. My sister is Bipa Bakowski. Bipa is the Ukrainian equivalent of Faith. She changed it when she got married.'

  'She's married to Dimitri Bakowski, isn't she?'

  'Yes, she's married to Tiny,' Hank confirmed. His eyes began to water as he wondered what was going to happen to him.

  Morton was about to press him, when someone rapped on the door once more.

  'I'll be right back.'

  ***

  Once he was out of the interview suite, Morton found a small group waiting for him, including his two detectives, as well as Xander Thompson and Kiaran O'Connor.

  'Xander. I don't see you for a decade, then twice in a week. What's going on? Why did you pull me out?' Morton asked.

  Xander refused to meet Morton's gaze. 'David, the Superintendent has authorised me to take over with Hank Williams.' Xander handed over signed authorisation from the Superintendent, which Morton read while the others waited with bated breath.

  'Why the hell would he do that?' Morton cursed.

  Kiaran put a hand on Morton's shoulder, which Morton promptly threw off. 'David, the decision has been made to cut Hank a deal.'

  'A deal? We don't even know the extent of his crimes yet. I've barely started questioning him! The bastard could have killed a child. I'm convinced he's involved with Tina's death too: both he and Linden use the same lawyer.'

  'There are only so many lawyers in London. Even if he did kill Tina, the deal stands: the Superintendent was adamant that we cut this deal. Xander needs Hank's testimony to get the Bakowski brothers. Do you want to catch the minnow or the whale here?'

  'I want both. The Attorney General signed off on this?' Morton glared.

  Kiaran nodded. 'The decision has been made. If Hank can give us Interpol's most wanted criminals, he walks.'

  'You do what you have to do. I'll do what I have to,' Morton said gruffly. He stormed off down the corridor towards the Superintendent's office, with Ayala and McNamara in tow.

  CHAPTER 49: SAID AND DONE

  The interview suite became claustrophobic once Kiaran and Xander sat opposite Hank and his lawyer. Kiaran felt a sense of déjà vu as he slid an immunity notice across the desk for Elliot Morgan-Bryant to peruse.

  Kiaran took the lead, while Xander sat back to watch his newest witness. 'Hank, while your lawyer peruses the document I'll summarise it for you and then your lawyer can ask any questions you want. This document, once signed, grants you full immunity from prosecution for all summary offences committed on behalf of the Bakowski brothers. Further, it immunises you against any and all crimes conducted at the behest of Dimitri Bakowski. You will be required to give us your full co-operation, including testifying at trial. Once the prosecution is concluded, we'll make you disappear. New identity, new life.'

  'And I get to keep my money?' Hank asked hesitantly.

  Kiaran shuddered with repulsion. Two dead bodies, and Hank was most interested in his bank balance. 'Yes. Once you're immune, we can no longer issue any confiscation orders.'

  Hank looked to his lawyer, who had finished reading through the immunity notice. 'The paperwork looks pretty standard,' Morgan-Bryant said, as if he dealt with immunity notices every day. He held out a fountain pen to his client and said: 'Sign at the bottom.' It was a fantastic deal, even by Morgan-Bryant's exacting standards. Hank had been looking at thirty years for his part in the death of Tina Vaughn alone.

  Hank took the pen, and then in a loopy cursive etched his name onto the bottom of the immunity notice. Xander countersigned at the bottom of the page as a witness, and the deal was done.

  Kiaran grimaced, 'You're a free man. Now start talking.'

  'It all started last spring. I suppose you'd call it a crime of opportunity.' Hank was back to the arrogant man they'd first met. Now that he was immune, his nerves and tears were long gone.

  'As you might expect, foster kids get into trouble, a lot. Some are abused, but nearly all of them have some demons in their past. They get into drugs, fall in with the wrong crowd, or they simply run away. I realised long ago that no one seemed to notice. When you've got twenty kids screaming for attention, the quiet ones slip through the cracks. I know first-hand the consequences of that. One of my charges, a girl called Emily, ran away. I spent months looking for her. The foster parents didn't care, and nor did the police. All you lot did was put her on the missing persons list, but when you heard that she was a recreational drug user you soon lost interest.'

  At the use of 'you', Kiaran was affronted. He wanted to defend the system, but there was some truth in Hank's accusation. He nodded encouragingly, desperate to hear the re
st of the story.

  'I found her eventually. She was in this slum that belonged to her dealer, lying on the floor among a bunch of other addicts. She was dead, and they hadn't even noticed. It was a heroin overdose. I was distraught. I panicked, and instead of calling the police, I tried to call my sister on her landline for a shoulder to cry on. Her husband, Dimitri Bakowski, answered. Where I saw tragedy, he saw an opportunity. He told me all about this girl he knew, Alina. He told me Alina was living in a slum back in Kiev. She was the same age as Emily, and the same height. Tiny told me she was half starving, had been beaten by her stepfather, and that she deserved better. Looking back, I'm sure it was all a lie, but I believed it.'

  'So I told Emily's foster carers that we'd found her, and moved her on as she was clearly in need of closer supervision than they could provide. I told Children's Services a similar story. That's when Alina took Emily's place. I coached her in English for a while, helped her to adjust. A few months later, she was adopted. I saw just her before Christmas. She's grown up into an amazing young woman.'

  'But it didn't stop with Alina?' Kiaran asked.

  Hank shook his head sadly, 'No. Kids kept going missing. Not enough to arouse any interest from Children's Services, but it wasn't long before I suspected Tiny might be involved. For a while, I stuck my head in the sand and tried to pretend I was helping. The gifts Tiny bestowed on me helped. My sister adores him, and he was good to me. He bought me my car, albeit in my sister's name. He gave me the money you found.'

  Kiaran leant forward, enthralled. 'What happened when you realised what was going on?'

  'I couldn't look myself in the mirror. I tried to end it all. Pills. Obviously, it didn't work. I consoled myself that I was helping some children have the lives they deserve. Tried to convince myself I was doing good. But in the end, I was as guilty as Tiny. Whenever I had a kid changing foster homes that looked like one of Tiny's kids, he made my charge disappear and brought me a kid fresh from the Ukraine. I simply took them to the next foster family, and looked the other way. I also edited the computer records for my charges, using a password I watched my boss type in. She's too stupid to use a proper password, and I added a disposable email address to the recovery details on her account. Even when she changed it, I simply sent myself a reminder then carried on using her account.'

  'And what about Charlie?'

  'He was like the rest. After a while, Tiny perfected the con. He primed the kids back in Kiev, to make sure they learnt enough English to pass muster. I don't know how he found Kolia.'

  'Kolia?'

  'That's the boy's real name. The one living as Charles Matthews. No one was looking out for the real Charlie. His parents are gone, and so are the Grants. He had nothing and no one. So when I had to drive him to the Lovejoys, I gave him a cola laced with a sedative. One of Tiny's lackeys did the rest. I met them in an empty car park, swapped the kids, and then dropped Kolia off in Charlie's place.'

  'You said one of Tiny's lackeys. Who was that?'

  'It was usually one of his brothers. Nicodemus and Pavel do all the dirty work, or supervise it at least. The time with Charlie, both of them showed up.'

  Hank's voice was becoming hoarse, so he gestured for his cup of water to be refilled. When he'd had a sip, he continued: 'The next thing I know, you're looking at Kolia and questioning him about Charlie's past. I tried to coach him, but I didn't know enough about the real Charlie to give Kolia the right backstory, so I told him to keep his answers short and pretend to forget if he couldn't think of something good. I thought your detective – Vaughn, wasn't it? – I thought she might be onto me when I ended the interview prematurely.

  'So, when we thought the net was closing in, I had one of Tiny's goons distract you. I don't know the name of the hacker we used but from what I gather the guy emailed in one of your anonymous tips, and managed to put a key logger on your network. Detective Chief Inspector Morton didn't even notice when we emptied all of his accounts. What Tiny didn't expect to happen was for Detective Vaughn to investigate some low-level credit card fraud. The woman's a bloodhound. She came in when I was carving up the Linden couple. I hit her, knocked her out cold. I called Tiny, and thought he'd take care of it. He said no, that he didn't kill cops unless he had to, and told me to grow a pair and sort out my own problems.'

  'What did you do then?'

  'I locked her up. Tiny has many houses, and one of them has a soundproofed basement. It was originally a wine cellar. I stashed your detective in there. Eventually, I decided she'd never seen me, and so I dumped her in Brockwell Park Gardens. No harm, no foul,' Hank said dispassionately, as if he were recounting someone else's actions. Kiaran shuddered at his callousness.

  'That's where you're wrong. She's dead,' Kiaran said.

  'She's dead? But she was still breathing just fine when I left her.' Hank turned to his lawyer.'They can't pin this on me. Can they?'

  'Nope, you're covered by the Immunity Notice,' Elliot Morgan-Bryant said.

  'But you were behind the credit fraud perpetrated against Detective Morton?'

  'Yes. I had one of Tiny's goons do it. Tiny didn't even know about it. I wanted to distract Morton from looking too closely at us.'

  Elliot Morgan-Bryant looked like he wanted to slap his client. 'Shut up! Now.'

  'What? It worked, didn't it?' Hank smiled.

  'Oh, it worked all right. But you just shot yourself in the foot,' Morgan-Bryant fumed.

  It was Kiaran's turn to smile. 'Your lawyer is right. Your immunity covers crimes committed at the behest of the Bakowskis. The identity theft was your own initiative.'

  Hank looked like someone had slapped him, his eyes going wide in shock. Kiaran pressed a security buzzer under the desk, summoning an officer. A minute later, Morton came running in.

  'David, Hank here has just confessed to being behind all your identity theft problems. Would you care to arrest him?'

  Morton glared at Hank, and then his eyes began to dance. 'With pleasure.'

  'Wait, wait!' Elliot Morgan-Bryan tried a last ditch attempt to save his client.

  'You've forgotten one thing.'

  'Which is?'

  'If you prosecute my client, then it becomes public knowledge that those kids are here illegally. That means every one of them will have to be deported.'

  Morton paled, but Kiaran replied firmly, 'That's not my problem.'

  'Legally, maybe not, but I hope it doesn't weigh too heavily on your conscience, detective,' Elliot Morgan-Bryant said.

  ***

  'David, I need to know: are you with me on this?' Kiaran O'Connor asked, as he and Morton walked out of the interview suite.

  'I thought it was out of my hands anyway.' Morton tried to avoid the question, facing straight ahead as they walked down the corridor. As if you care. You've already gone over my head on this, Morton thought angrily.

  'I saw your face in that interview. Elliot Morgan-Bryant is an ass. But he's right. Those children are here illegally. The UK Border Agency may well decide to deport them if only to make a political statement about human trafficking. If they let the children stay then they'll look weak.'

  McNamara's eyes flared angrily. He knew first-hand that the law was fallible. But he stayed silent as they walked towards the elevator.

  Kiaran took a deep breath, then said: 'We've got a choice: prosecute the Bakowskis for the trafficking racket and harm the children, or turn a blind eye.'

  They reached the end of the corridor, where Morton hit the up button to call a lift. The nearest lift pinged open immediately and they stepped inside.

  'Kiaran, they're not the victims. The victim is Charles Matthews, and he's on ice down in the morgue. Prosecuting Hank won't bring him back, but it will give him some justice.'

  'I know that, but... he's dead. Like you said, anything we achieve in court isn't going to bring him back. The other kids, they're still alive. If we deport them, we will be sending them back to poverty. It was bad enough that their parents paid to have them br
ought here. The right thing to do here is to protect the living.'

  The lift pinged as the doors opened for Kiaran's door. As he stepped out, Morton said: 'Kiaran, it's your call. I know what I think we should do. Think it over. Charles Matthews deserves justice.'

  ***

  'Move,' McNamara barked. He stood behind Hank Williams as they headed for the holding cells. Hank had yet to be charged, but with every step they took, McNamara felt himself grow angrier. Adrenaline flowed through him as he pushed and prodded Hank onwards.

  Hank had been allocated a cell to himself, a luxury McNamara didn't believe he deserved. Shove him in with the drunks and the rapists, McNamara thought harshly.

  It didn't help that Hank had taken to mimicking McNamara's singsong lilt: 'I'll be free tomorrow. Top of the morning, I'm telling ya. You think you've got me, but you need me too much. Your prosecutor will never charge me.'

  'I'm telling you for the last time, shut the hell up,' McNamara yelled.

  'What you going to do, big man? I killed one of your own, and you can't even touch me,' Hank spat as they made it to his cell.

  With one enormous hand, McNamara grabbed Hank by the throat and slammed him against the cell wall, then kicked the cell door shut with one foot as Hank tried to cry out for help. As McNamara let go, Hank slid down to the floor sobbing loudly. 'Never. Speak. To. Me. Again.'

  With each word, McNamara rained down a flurry of punches on Hank. A security guard came running, but in the time it took to unhook a key and thrust it into the cell door, the damage was done. Hank was a bloody pulp.

  'We need a doctor down here!' The security guard pulled McNamara away from Hank, up and out of the cell before returning to tend to the suspect's wounds.

  The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as medical help arrived, shunting past McNamara to get to Hank. McNamara was in a daydream, barely aware of the nurse who bandaged up his hands.

  It was only when Morton arrived on scene, angrier than he had ever been, that McNamara began to come out of his stupor.