Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) (31 page)

'No, Daddy,
now
!'

Edwin sighed; she could be a proper princess when she wanted to be. She took after her mother that way.

'Fine, but we're coming back here afterwards.' He reluctantly put down the thriller he was half-way through reading the blurb on, and led his daughter by the hand to the dreaded golden arches.

***

The squad car screeched to a halt in front of Gatwick North, the road tearing up rubber as Dean slammed on the breaks. Morton sprinted, wincing every time he put weight on his injured leg. The huge glass frontage drew closer.

They'd left the car in the valet parking bay outside. The Met would almost certainly get a call from an irate valet company when they realised their bay had been blocked, but Morton didn't care.

'That way!' he huffed to Dean, who was a little ahead of him, but unsure which way to run.

The hallway was huge. Three conjoined halls lay side by side, with businessmen and holidaymakers flitting all over. It was impossible to run. Security was on the north side, and Edwin Murphy was bound to be in departures on the other side.

'Police!' Morton flashed his badge at the woman on the gate.

The female security guard reappeared, and shouted at them: "Hold it!"

'Great, a jobsworth. Just what we need.' Dean's voice was barely audible.

'We're in pursuit of a murder suspect.'

'Who?' she demanded.

'Mr Edwin Murphy.'

'Got an arrest warrant?'

'I don't need one! He's about to abscond with all our evidence!' It was a common misconception. Arrest warrants were normal, but there hadn't been time, and Morton was relying on his right to arrest without warrant where he had reasonable cause to suspect that Murphy was about to commit an offence, in this case perversion of the course of justice by leaving the jurisdiction with the offending laptop.

'I'll escort you.' She wasn't taking no for an answer.

'Fine. Go!'

She picked up a radio. 'Dispatch, I need the whereabouts of an Edwin Murphy. I have a Detective Chief Inspector Morton on site to arrest him.'

The radio crackled.

'One second,' came a flustered voice.

They jumped into the security vehicle as they waited for a reply. It wouldn't go fast, but it would clear the foot traffic out of their way, and ten miles per hour beat walking in a crowd.

The voice came back.

'We've got him somewhere between final security and check-in. His flight leaves in twenty minutes. Gate 22. Over.'

'Roger that, thanks, dispatch. Over and out.'

She clicked off the radio, and swung the cart violently around.

'Where are we going?'

'Gate 22. We'll catch him there. If he tries to go back through security, my boys will pick him up.'

'Gotcha.'

With a honk, she parted the crowds, and raced towards the gate.

'This is far as this baby will go.' She patted her cart appreciatively.

Morton stepped off the cart, glad to have firm ground back under his feet. The woman drove like a devil. Ahead, two moving conveyer belts moved in opposite directions, spanning a huge corridor.

Gate numbers ascended on the left, and descended on the right. The even numbers were on the left-hand side, going up from 14. Seven gates down on the left, the suspect waited.

Bypassing the moving floors, they ran down the centre. Too many pedestrians occupied the conveyer belts, and once they were on them it would be hard to get off. The last thing they wanted was their man spotting them and having time to ditch.

They sped into the lounge. The crowd was huge, over a hundred travellers milling around. More were having their bags searched on the way in.

'Has Edwin Murphy checked in?'

The stewardess on the desk scanned down her list. She had his boarding card tear-off. He was there.

She nodded.

'Him and his daughter.'

'How old is she?'

'Four, sir.'

'Shit. Dean, call Social Services, we're going to need a foster carer for the kid.'

Morton struggled up on tiptoes, straining his calf muscles to get a small height advantage.

'Can you see him?' Dean asked.

'No. Can't see much over the crowd.'

Only Morton had seen him in person. Dean was working off a description, and he wasn't too confident in his ability to spot Murphy.

'Fuck it.' Morton jumped on the table being used to search bags, clambering among the hand luggage at his feet. Now he had a vantage point from which he could see the whole room.

'I can't see him!' Morton frowned.

'Sir?'

'Damn it, what is it, Dean?'

'Don't first class get their own lounge to wait in?'

'Fuck!'

Glancing at the sign, Morton sped towards the rear of the lounge, where a cordoned door was attended by a suited young man.

'Ticket please, sir.' the young man requested as Morton barged past, knocking the velvet cordon to the floor.

'There!' By the window, with his back to the door, was Edwin Murphy. He was lazing in a winged armchair, a broadsheet spread out in front of him, and a little girl playing by his side.

'Edwin Murphy?'

He looked up, expecting to be told it was his turn to board. He saw the Inspector's face, and bolted for the door, upturning his chair into Morton's path as he leapt to his feet.

'Dean! The door!' Morton barked.

Dean leapt into action, sprinting back towards the door, weaving his way through the crowd. Rolling over the table, he leapt at Murphy as he tried to make good on his escape. With a thud the rugby tackle landed, and Murphy was felled. The pair tumbled through the air, rolling violently as they hit the ground.

'Edwin Murphy, you are under arrest for the murder of Eleanor Murphy. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?'

Edwin remained defiantly silent. He wasn't giving up that easily.

CHAPTER 59: LAWYERING UP

They had barely stowed the suspect in the rear of the squad car before he demanded a lawyer. He didn't want just any lawyer either, but one of the slick young hotshots that Morton had only ever seen on television, ranting and raving in front of the Old Bailey. He probably cost more per hour than Morton earned in a week, but then how can you put a price on getting away with murder?

Kirby turned up in short order, demanding a private audience with his client. Far from the conservative cut Morton was expecting, the lawyer was positively flamboyant. A silk-lined jacket matched a pocket square on his left breast, the suit exquisitely tailored around the man's slender frame. As for the shoes, they were so shiny that Morton could have shaved using his reflection in them.

Once the formalities of introductions, and starting the tape recorder, had been finished, Morton began the initial interview.

'Mr. Murphy. Where is your laptop?'

'What laptop?' Edwin had been smart enough to ditch it. It was among the items he had sold online as part of his preparation for the Vancouver move.

'Your personal laptop, Mr Murphy.'

'Don't have one, officer.'

'When did you last have one?' Morton tried another tactic.

'Not long ago.'

'Where is it now?'

'Don't know.' Murphy knew how useful evasive and vague answers could be. His lawyer had prepared him well, advising him to avoid giving any information up.

'Where was it last time you saw it?'

'In a box.'

'Where was that box?'

'In my hands.'

'What did you do with it?'

'Posted it.'

'To whom?'

'The new owner.'

'Who is that?'

'Can't remember. Check my eBay feedback?' Murphy was treating it like a game.

He knew the laptop wouldn't help to incriminate him. Before sale he'd degaussed the hard drive to remove the data. It was the most secure way to wipe out the evidence, as degaussing reversed the magnetic charge that was used to store the data. No charge, no data.

'We will.' Morton set aside the whereabouts of the laptop for the moment. A deputy would have to track it down after the interviews.

'Did you kill your wife?'

'No.'

'Did you cause someone else to do so?'

'I loved my wife.' Murphy smiled inwardly. The past tense didn't give a clue as to when he had last loved her, and he knew it.

'Did you know what a darknet is?' Morton knew he could lead with the inquisition here, as Edwin had publicly written articles on the subject as an undergraduate. It was public knowledge, and a denial would be invaluable in catching him out in the lie.

'Yes, of course.' Edwin wasn't taking the bait.

'Have you used one?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'When I was an undergraduate.' Edwin tried to be evasive again. He didn't claim it was the only time he had used one. It was almost a lie by omission, but his lawyer had approved it.

'Anytime since then?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'I don't recall every time I have connected to a darknet. Could you list every time you logged onto the Internet?'

'I'll ask the questions. Did you contact a Vanhi Deepak on a darknet?'

'I'm afraid I don't know that name, officer.' It was a half-truth. He did know the name, but the police couldn't prove it. It could have been a pseudonym anyway.

'We believe she killed your wife.'

'Then you should arrest her, not me.'

'Did you put her up to it?'

'How could I put someone I've never met up to anything?' Murphy had a sarcastic response for everything. Morton needed something concrete.

'Did you post a message on a London darknet seeking a killer?'

'No.' It was the first lie he had been forced to make. Morton could have tried to push this advantage, but he changed tack, seeking to unnerve Edwin.

'How much was the life insurance policy on your wife worth?'

'£350,000.' It was too easy to verify to bother lying.

'That's a lot of money.'

'I suppose, for some people.'

'You also got the house, didn't you, Mr Murphy?'

'It was always my house.'

'But now it's just yours.'

'Yes.'

'She was divorcing you, wasn't she, Mr Murphy?'

Edwin's jaw dropped. He'd forgotten they had seen her copies of the divorce papers.

'You can't use that! It's legally privileged!'

'Not so, Mr Murphy, ask your lawyer.'

Edwin looked deploringly at his new lawyer, who refused to meet his gaze. They'd just proven motive beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was a classic, the jilted ex angle.

'But you know I didn't kill her! I wasn't even in the country.'

'No, but you did put Vanhi Deepak up to it.'

'I didn't!'

'Our analysis says otherwise. We used the messages sent by the other parties involved, and compared the grammatical structure, syntax and language used with your editorial column at
The Impartial
. It was a perfect match.' Such analysis was not yet admissible in court, but Morton knew his suspect wouldn't know that. Even if he did, the CPS would fight for its admissibility, and Dr Jensen was raring to get on the stand and defend his theory.

'Shit.' Murphy swore before he realised the implications of his reaction.

'Mr Murphy. I advise you to remain silent,' Kirby chirped up for the first time since the interview had started.

'You engaged the services of someone online to carry out a murder swap, didn't you?'

'No comment.'

'You then had another person kill Vanhi Deepak to cover up the first kill, didn't you?'

'No comment.'

'That person was Barry Fitzgerald, wasn't it?'

'No comment.'

'Mr Fitzgerald killed Vanhi Deepak, and then went on the run. Isn't that true?'

'No comment.'

'He was a loose end. You tried to have him killed by Peter Sugden, didn't you?'

'No comment.'

'When he failed you needed someone else, but they wouldn't do it for free, would they?'

'No comment.'

'You had Barry killed on board the
Nordic Giant
.'

'No comment.'

'Who killed Barry?'

'No comment.'

'We know it wasn't anyone we've traced. How were the others involved? Anthony Duvall and Yosef Gershwin?'

'No comment.'

'The courts can infer guilt from your lack of comment, Mr Murphy.'

'I think it's plain you'll be getting no further comment from Mr Murphy.' Kirby spoke up again, a slow and authoritative voice. The interview was over.

***

'Charge him.' Kiaran O'Connor, the Crown Prosecution Service lawyer, smelled blood.

'It's a bit circumstantial, Kiaran,' Morton, ever the voice of reason, pointed out.

'You want this scum to get away with multiple murders?'

'No. Of course not, but he can only be tried once. We don't want to miss our shot.'

'Where are we with the laptop?' Kiaran needed something physical to tie up his theory of the case.

'We've got it, but it's clean. Professionally wiped.'

'That's pretty incriminating.'

'His position is he cleaned it for sale, to protect his personal data.'

'Bullshit.'

'We've got Duvall as a witness.'

'Great, a crook who's also going down for killing someone, out to save his own bacon, is our star witness. Still, he is compelling but he only gives us the darknet contact.'

'We can leverage his reaction to the darknet accusation as our proof.'

'It's shaky.'

'It's all we've got.'

'Do it, but we'll only put a few specimen counts down. Then we can recharge on the other murders he procured later if we lose. We've got multiple bites at the cherry here.'

CHAPTER 60: FIRST BLOOD

'Bail denied.' As the gavel came down Kiaran almost whooped. The presumption in favour of bail was a strong one, but the flight risk argument was indefensible. He had already tried to flee the jurisdiction, and simply surrendering his passport wouldn't necessarily stop him.