'Detective McNamara, you're on suspension, effective immediately. Give me your badge, now.'
***
Sarah was waiting when David Morton made it home. As usual, he took off his shoes and coat, then marched towards the lounge and plonked himself down in the largest armchair.
'Long day?' Sarah asked, tightening the fabric belt around her dressing gown. Coq au vin and a bottle of champagne on ice waited in the kitchen.
'The longest. Xander Thompson screwed my case.'
Sarah sighed, then reached for the kettle, and poured out two cups of tea. Her romantic evening was over before it had begun. She snatched a custard cream and headed for the sofa before replying. 'The lead detective at the Serious Organised Crime Agency? What did he do?'
'He offered my suspect immunity to flip on his paymasters. It was an ambush: both the Superintendent and the Attorney General had signed off on the deal before they let me know. After that, the suspect confessed to two counts of murder, and I can't do a damn thing about that. Worse still, my new guy Alfie McNamara beat the shit out of him.'
'Why? He should know better.'
'I wish I could have, to be honest. Hank Williams is scum. He's also the scum behind our identity theft problems.' Morton gestured at the growing pile of 'final demands' on the counter dividing the living room from the kitchen.
'You're kidding? The same guy? Does this mean the bank will refund us now?'
'I suppose so. Can you phone Teddy tomorrow and ask him? I'll email a transcript of Hank's confession over for you to pass on.'
Sarah nodded, 'Of course.'
'The thing that's really bugging me is the kid. The Bakowskis have been trafficking children from the Ukraine. Once we start prosecuting, that becomes public. They could be deported.'
'I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do about that. The law is the law. You can't take responsibility for everyone all the time.'
'I know, but...'
'No excuses, David,' Sarah interrupted. 'Do you even know what day it is?'
Morton squinted through at the calendar pinned to the kitchen wall, February fourteenth. 'Oh God. Sarah, I'm sorry.'
'It's OK. At least you already gave me my present.' Sarah smiled.
'Have you opened it?' Morton asked.
'No, I thought we could exchange gifts together.' She bounded out of the room to go fetch the parcel Morton had tried to give her back at Tina's apartment. It was very flat, about a foot long and half as wide.
'What is it? It's really heavy.'
'Just open it, woman.'
Sarah grabbed at the ends of the bow with which the parcel had been tied, and gently pulled them in opposite directions. The ribbon came loose, and Sarah pried off the lid. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a blank granite slate. Confusion spread across her features, and Morton laughed.
'Flip it over.'
She did, and on the other side of the slate she found a poem engraved in grey, shining against black stone.
What is love?
It can strike at a moment's notice.
It can build to a crescendo.
It can make your heart pump faster,
It can set your tummy all aflutter.
A yearning, a connection beyond all others.
True love is not false. It is not based on looks, pretences or things.
True love is being comfortable in your own skin, warts and all.
Love is there through thick and thin, supporting you through the bad and redoubling the joy in the good.
Love is putting the other person's happiness before your own. It is a sort of delirium, but one you want to endure. It is the pain you feel when they aren't there, the sparkle in your eye and the spring in your step.
Love is the song in your heart, the rhythm that shapes and nurtures. Love is based on trust, honesty and a connection.
You click from the start, and it builds from there. Every trial and tribulation you go through together is a building block, a tower towards the heavens.
But you have no need of such a tower, for love is heaven on Earth.
Sarah looked up, locking eyes with her husband. He said, 'It's made of granite. I thought it was poetic. It's fragile, but if you treat it right, it'll last forever.'
'David...' Sarah was speechless.
'So where's my gift?'
'Right here.' Sarah tugged at the fabric belt, and her dressing gown fell to the floor.
CHAPTER 50: RULE OF LAW
It was barely nine o'clock when Morton knocked on the door of Alfie McNamara. The Irishman took almost ten minutes to answer, and when he did so, it quickly became apparent that he had endured a fitful night.
'What the feck do you want?' McNamara squinted at Morton's outline shadowed in the morning sunlight.
'I want to talk to you. Can I come in?' Morton stepped forward as Alfie bowed mockingly to welcome him.
'You here to charge me?'
'No. I don't think it'd be too wise for Hank Williams to make any complaint against you. It was still stupid, but I understand why you did it.'
'He killed a child and a cop, and he laughed about it. That scum deserved it.'
'No comment. I'm afraid you will remain on suspension, unpaid, until a hearing next month.'
'It's still worth it.'
'You've got the right to have a union rep or a lawyer present, and the details will come in the post soon enough, but I wanted to tell you in person.'
'What will happen to Williams?'
'Nothing. The deal stands. He will help bring down the Bakowskis, and then disappear into the moonlight.'
'That's crap, and you know it. He deserves jail. No more, no less.'
'I agree. But it's out of my hands. O'Connor gets that decision. If he prosecutes Hank for identity theft, Hank could tank our case against the Bakowskis. He's got to testify, but even the slightest slip could be reasonable doubt. And if we do prosecute, the kids who are here illegally don't have the right to remain.'
'The kids'll be deported?'
'Yep. And if we don't prosecute, then the Bakowskis will find another Hank, and start up all over again.'
'Then we've got no choice.'
'I agree. We owe more to the future victims than we do to those trafficked. Justice demands that we prosecute. All we have to do is convince Kiaran. You want to come along?'
'What else have I got to do?'
***
Once Kiaran made the decision to prosecute, and to bring Hank up on the charge of identity theft, the paperwork began to fly. In short order, arrest warrants were issued for the Bakowski brothers, and Hank was formally charged. In what seemed like no time at all, Kiaran found himself once more inside a magistrate's courtroom, this time for Hank Williams' bail hearing.
Hank sat in the dock, his hands folded forlornly as if he were the victim. His left eye was black and purple, with lacerations clearly visible on his face and neck. Kiaran winced as he looked over: Alfie McNamara had really done a number on Hank, and in turn had made Kiaran's job much more difficult.
'All rise!' the court's clerk called as the magistrates filed in.
Kiaran stood slowly, being careful not to disturb his wig, which had the awkward habit of leaning lopsidedly at the slightest movement. He had a folder on the desk with all the facts, but no intention of referring to it. Bail hearings were always simple, and this would be no exception. Hank enjoyed the presumption that bail would be given. It would be up to Kiaran to make the case for remand, and Elliot Morgan-Bryant, who was standing to Kiaran's side, to make the case for bail.
The magistrate gestured impatiently, and Kiaran began his argument: 'Hank Williams is charged with the identity theft of a police officer. He has relatives abroad, and represents a flight risk. Further, we believe his personal security is best assured by keeping him on remand.'
Kiaran paused. He was limited by the rules on bad character evidence, which constricted what he was able to say. He glanced at the public gallery where Morton, Ayala and McNamara w
aited, then grimaced almost imperceptibly. It wasn't likely Hank would run, not if doing so meant he got convicted for murder.
The magistrate sat in the centre of the bench waved for Kiaran to sit down. Elliot Morgan-Bryant rose to make Hank's case.
'Hank Williams is a hard-working public servant. For twelve years, he has worked as a social worker in London helping the most disadvantaged. As well as having a stable job, he is a home-owner who has lived at his current address for almost twenty years. Mr Williams has strong family ties in the area, and is an active participant in his local community. He has volunteered at his local church for almost his entire adult life.' Elliot Morgan-Bryant paused to look between the three magistrates to gauge how hostile they were.
'My client is accused of a white-collar crime, and has no prior criminal record. Hank Williams is not a flight risk, and there has been no suggestion that he would go on to commit further crimes whilst on bail. However, as a gesture of goodwill, he would like to offer to surrender his passport to the court.'
The magistrate sniffed derisively. 'We will decide the conditions of bail, Mr Morgan-Bryant. Would you care to address the point the prosecution made about security?'
'My client is, as you can see, over six feet tall. He is a second Dan black belt, and has military training. He is willing to assume any risk to his person.'
'Then bail is granted. Mr Williams is hereby released upon his own recognisance.'
Hank smiled as he was led out. Morton stepped forward to offer protection, but Hank sneered at the offer. Hank Williams was a free man.
***
Sarah bounced on her heels as she skipped down High Holborn towards the fancy restaurant she had texted David to meet her at. When she arrived, he was waiting outside by a doorman dressed in top hat and tails.
'Sarah, what are we doing here? This place is seriously pricey.'
'Having lunch,' she chirped.
'Does this mean...?' Morton gulped nervously.
'Yes. Teddy's done it. The witness statement was enough to get the banks to agree it wasn't our fault. Teddy threatened them with the bad press of being associated with child trafficking, and they caved. We've got all our money back!' Sarah smiled, and Morton felt the tension of the last few weeks melt away.
He threw his arms around his wife. 'That's wonderful!'
'Isn't it? I have another surprise for you too.'
'What is it? You know I hate surprises.'
'I booked it.'
'Booked what?'
'The holiday. I saw your emails cancelling everything, but I want to go on a second honeymoon too. It's a wonderful idea. We leave on the twenty-eighth!'
'Our fake wedding anniversary? We should just tell everyone.'
'Never, it's our little secret. Let's go inside, it's freezing out here.'
CHAPTER 51: UNEXPECTED
Three days after he was granted bail, Hank was found hanging in the stairwell of his apartment. A thick rope was tied in a noose around his neck, tied in the classic hangman's style with thirteen coils.
'They say thirteen is unlucky,' Dr Larry Chiswick said when he saw Morton staring.
'It certainly was for him. Are you going to cut him down, Larry?'
'Give an old man a moment. We've only just photographed him.' Chiswick nonetheless went to the top of the stairs, walked around the banister and began to saw at the nylon rope. Each layer began to fray in turn, and when there were only two or three left, he called down to Morton: 'You got him? I don't want any post-mortem injuries to assess.'
Morton grabbed Hank's corpse around the waist, and Larry cut the last strands of rope.
As he staggered under Hank's weight, Morton cursed the dead social worker: 'Stupid bastard. He should have taken our offer of protection.'
Morton laid the corpse down at the base of the stairs, then backed away to let Chiswick examine the body.
'Protection? You can't protect him from himself,' Chiswick said as he jabbed a metal probe into Hank's corpse. He held it in place for a few moments, then pulled it out and read the temperature from the top.
'It's pretty warm in here, so he's probably been dead about seven hours, putting time of death at nine o'clock this morning. Odd time for a suicide, just when the sun is coming up.'
'You can't seriously think this is a suicide? He's the key witness against the Bakowski brothers. Without him, we haven't a leg to stand on.'
'Looks like it to me. The noose is tied over the correct shoulder for a right-handed man, and it looks like a classic suspension drop to me. You see any signs of a struggle?'
'Nope.' Morton looked around. The flat was spotless, almost too tidy.
'There you are then. Find me something suspicious, and I'll take it into account. The whole inquest will take months at the least. Our department is still dealing with the Christmas backlog.' Chiswick finished photographing the body, and straightened up. His spine clicked, and Chiswick rubbed at his back in anguish.
'You alright, Doc?'
'Getting old, that's all.'
***
'You can't go in there. Mr O'Connor is busy,' a secretary protested. Morton ignored them, stopping for only a second to knock once before he opened the door to Kiaran's office.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Kiaran yelled. He was staring into the full-length mirror on the wall, wearing only his boxers and a shirt while rehearsing a closing speech. At the sight of Morton, he dived behind his desk.
'Wow, the CPS really takes dress-down Friday seriously,' Morton quipped.
'My trousers are being ironed: I spilt a coffee down them and I need them clean for court. Besides, I thought that door was locked.'
'Right,' Morton said, choosing not to ask why the lawyer didn't keep a spare pair in his office. It wasn't as if there was a lack of room.
'So?'
'I assume you've heard.'
'That Hank Williams is dead? Yeah, I know.'
'You don't seem overly concerned.'
'It's no big deal. A dead witness might be good for us. You can't cross-examine a witness statement. I'll just apply for his confession to stand as his evidence.'
'The Bakowskis killed him.'
Kiaran folded his lower lip over his upper lip, and shrugged. 'Like I care. My case is solid, and that guy wasn't the most pleasant chap in the world. We're better off without him.'
'If the Bakowskis are knocking off witnesses, won't that make a conviction impossible?'
'Naw. From Hank's list of names, we've got a cornucopia of circumstantial evidence. Jurors are unsympathetic with child killers. Once you catch the Bakowskis, I'll get the conviction.'
Morton sat down suddenly, the exhaustion of the investigation finally hitting him. He placed his head in his hands, and smiled.
Kiaran continued, 'And I've got even better news. You know I said we had a danger of the kids being deported?'
Morton looked up. 'Yes.'
'The Home Secretary has agreed to a blanket grant of leave to remain. We won't even need emergency legislation, as he's got the power to do it if he thinks they might be re-trafficked. Any kids who have parents to go back to, we'll send them back – if that's what they want. If not, we'll find every one of them a home here. A good one.'
'That's fantastic news. You know I'm no fan of lawyers, Kiaran, but you're one of the good ones. I'm glad you're on our side.'
CHAPTER 52: FLEE
Mere hours after the death of Hank Williams, Nicodemus and Pavel Bakowski emptied their bank accounts. Neither had amassed the fortune of their brother, but it still amounted to over £3,000,000 in cash.
Unfortunately for them, modern banking had proved much too clever for them. In order to withdraw such a large amount, they had to provide Coutts with twenty-four hours' notice that they needed the money. The bank immediately alerted the authorities, as the Bakowskis' accounts had been flagged by the police.
When Nicodemus and Pavel parked outside Coutts in Chandler's Ford, near Southampton's international ferry por
t, Morton and Ayala were waiting on the opposite side of the road.
Morton watched as the brothers walked into the bank.
'Aren't we going to nick them now, Chief?' Ayala reached for the door handle, ready for a confrontation.
'Bertram, what have I said about your lack of subtlety? If we grab them now, all we've got them on is going into a bank. That means an expensive trial for the taxpayer, and lots of time in court for us. We're smarter than that. We'll use this.' Morton held up a GPS tracker, which he'd already paired with an app on his BlackBerry.
Morton stepped out of the car, crossed the busy main road to where the Bakowskis had parked their car and tucked the tracker above the back left tyre where it wouldn't be seen. He checked his phone to make sure the tracker's location appeared properly, then slinked back across the road through a gap in traffic.
'Now what?' Ayala demanded.
'Now we wait, and see where they go. My money says they'll flee the country. They've chosen this branch for a reason. It isn't near home, so either they're heading to Southampton Airport, or they're heading to the docks. If we catch them red-handed fleeing the country, Kiaran's going to have an easy time getting a conviction.'
'Won't their passports get flagged?'
'I doubt they're travelling under their real names. They've not survived this long without going to prison by being that thick. Hang on, they're coming out. Don't look.'
Morton pulled a map out of the glove compartment, and made a fuss as if he was checking it. Once he heard the motor of the Bakowskis' car purr, he dropped the act and watched them drive off into the distance.
'Now we follow them.'
***
Pavel and Nico Bakowski pulled into the car park by the Southampton City ferry terminal. They'd taken their brother's advice, and booked onto a cruise ship rather than a simple ferry. The Queen Boudicca would carry them to Barcelona. From there, it was an easy train ride to meet up with Tiny at the rendezvous point. Nico glanced sadly behind him at his car, which was now parked under a Pay & Display sign declaring that the maximum parking time was thirty minutes. A traffic warden would be along in no time to slap a ticket on it, and eventually have the car towed, but there was no way Nico could take it with him.
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