Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3) (24 page)

‘She’s got legal textbooks. So what?’ Morton asked.

‘Look at the one that’s open.’

Morton closed it over, keeping his finger on the page, and read the spine:
Llewellyn and Dean on Probate
.

‘Look at the page she was reading,’ Ayala said. It was headed
Intestacy Rules
, and a section had been highlighted.

Where a person has died intestate, his or her estate shall pass as follows:

To the parents, in equal share.

If none exist, to brothers and sister of full blood.

If neither parents nor siblings of full blood survive, then the estate shall pass to half-brothers and half-sisters in equal share.

The phrase “Half-sisters” had been underlined and highlighted. Morton swore.

‘She knows.’

‘How?’

‘Does it matter?’ Morton said. ‘She could have known for years.’

‘But boss, it doesn’t matter. Brianna is a full sister, so she’ll get the whole estate. It doesn’t matter if Gabriella is a half-sister or not.’

‘Read the paragraph towards the bottom of the page,’ Morton said.

Ayala leant in to close to read the tiny text. He read aloud: ‘
Bona Vacantia
. Where no parties entitled to inherit under the Intestacy Rules exist the estate shall be deemed to be
Bona Vacantia
, and shall pass to the Crown.’

‘Not that bit, you idiot. As if the Queen is a bleeding suspect.’ Morton pointed slightly lower down the page.

Survivorship Period: Pursuant to the Administration of Estates Act 1925, a person of a class entitled to inherit under the Intestacy Rules must survive the deceased by a period of 28 days. If they do not do so, then they shall be disregarded and the estate shall be divided amongst other members of that class. Where none exist, it shall be distributed to the next class in the hierarchy.

‘What does that mean, boss?’

‘We need to find her – and fast,’ Morton said.

Ayala scrunched up his forehead, and scratched his temple. Morton watched him. It was as if cogs were whirring ever so slowly.

“Oh my god. Ellis died on the 30th of March. That means Gabriella gets everything if...’

‘If Brianna dies before the 27th of April.’

‘But that’s less than a week from now!’

‘Then we’d best get moving,’ Morton said. ‘You take Mayberry and find Gabriella. I’ll go warn Brianna.’

Chapter 49: Lost

Tuesday April 22nd – 11:30

Speed cameras flashed repeatedly as Morton slammed his foot down driving from Fitzrovia. He’d probably tripped three or four cameras on the A301 alone. It was a minor miracle that the streets weren’t too clogged at the back end of rush hour.

Morton felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and his heart thundered in his chest. He knew it had to be about the money, but he’d never thought that it could be Gabriella behind the death of Ellis DeLange. And who would have guessed that they were half-sisters? They looked a little alike, but Morton had put that down to both being in fashion, and hanging around together. Gabriella was so much younger that she didn’t have the weather-worn look of her half-sister.

He came to a screeching halt outside the Walworth Veterinary Clinic and Pet Hospital. A mere three miles had taken him nearly fifteen minutes despite his speeding.

Morton leapt out of the car, and dashed inside. The same receptionist from his earliest visit was behind the counter, and Morton could see from the reflection in her glasses that she was surfing the net rather than working.

‘Brianna Jackson. Where is she?’ Morton barked.

‘She’s not here. And quieten down. You’ll disturb the animals.’

It was true. Morton’s arrival seemed to have caught the attention of a number of dogs in the waiting room. A Doberman stood to attention, its hackles raised, and stared intently at Morton.

‘Where is she?’ Morton said, more quietly but just as quickly.

‘Home, probably. She’s not working today.’

‘Is that normal?’

‘Nope. Tuesdays she’s usually on. But she called the boss, and I got the message not to expect her.’

‘Did she say why she wasn’t coming in?’

‘Not to me. Nobody tells me nothing. I’m just the daft temp on reception. But if you see her, tell her she owes me one. I’m not supposed to be cleaning out the housing. The agency don’t pay me enough for that.’

‘Right,’ Morton said. He was barely listening as the receptionist spoke. He was halfway out the door before she could finish what she was saying.

***

‘Ayala. Tell me you’ve found her,’ Morton spoke to the empty cabin of his car. He was on hands-free on his mobile as he drove the half mile to Brianna’s bedsit.

‘I’m on my way, boss. I’ll text you the moment I’ve got her.’

‘Good. Brianna wasn’t at work. I’m heading to her apartment now.’

Morton clicked off, and rocked back and forth. Traffic seemed to be getting busier. Halfway to her apartment, Morton got stuck in a queue behind a great column of cars on the A215. There’d been an accident up ahead.

‘Sod it,’ Morton said, and yanked the steering wheel abruptly to the right. He slammed his foot down and shot across the road, cutting off traffic coming the other way. He narrowly missed causing a second accident, and shot onto a garage forecourt. He switched off the motor. Another quarter of a mile to go.

Morton ran. He sprinted past the scene of the accident that had caused the tailback, and turned right onto Amelie Road. Thirty seconds later, he came to a halt outside Brianna’s building.

He glanced at his watch. Just over a minute. Not bad for an old feller, though it was far from his quickest ever run. He took a few short, sharp breaths and then tackled the stairs. After what felt like a marathon running up the stairs, Morton screeched to a halt outside Brianna’s front door. He slammed his fist against the door, causing it to reverberate in its frame.

‘Brianna! It’s Detective Morton! You need to open up, right now!’

No answer. ‘Brianna!’ Morton yelled again. He pressed an ear to the door for any signs of life within. ‘This isn’t an arrest. Open up!’

A door opened, but it wasn’t Brianna’s. A neighbour shuffled out into the hallway.

‘Can you keep it down? My baby is tryin’ ta sleep here, man.’

‘Have you seen Brianna Jackson?’

‘Yeah. She gone. That girl left hours ago. I heard her door bang shut.’

‘Where’d she go?’

‘Do I look like her keeper?’ The neighbour slammed the door, making as much noise as Morton had if not more.

Strike two.
I hope Ayala is having better luck
.

Chapter 50: In the Wind

Tuesday April 22nd – 11:52

Ayala gave a sigh of relief. The boss had sent him off to find Gabriella Curzon, which was much easier than traipsing across London in search of Brianna. He already knew where Gabriella was.

Her university timetable was pinned to the wall above her desk. Ayala scanned down the day’s schedule:

09:00 – 10:00: Criminal Evidence (Seminar Group A), TS305

10:00 – 11:00: Family Law (Seminar Group B), TS206

11:00 – 13:00: Equity and Trusts (Lecture), B35

‘Anyone know where Birkbeck School of Law is?’ Ayala had asked of the search term rifling through Gabriella Curzon’s flat. He’d been pointed in the right general direction easily enough, which led him almost half a mile due east until he hit Gower Street. But once he got that far, there was no sign of any lecture hall.

Gower Street was a major north-south artery running all the way up to Euston Road, and he was about halfway down it. Ayala whipped out his mobile and searched for an address for the Law School, which told him to head up to number four.

But number four was obviously an office. It wasn’t a lecture theatre. He rang the doorbell. No answer.

Ayala spun around on the spot, looking up and down the street. Nothing looked vaguely like a law school. The entire street seemed to consist of townhouse after townhouse as far as he could see.

People milled by as Ayala searched. Ayala spotted a group clutching textbooks in their hands heading down a side road to the east.
Students!

‘Hey!’ he called after them. ‘Where’s the law school?’

They shook their heads, and the nearest one held up a textbook that read ‘
Human Psychology: The Truth in Emotion’
.

Ayala followed them anyway, hoping to find students who did know where to look. He walked along Keppel Street, and a grand building with a sign that read Senate House Library came into view. He was close. When he turned onto Mallet Street the throngs of students seemed to grow larger. Ayala could hear voices yammering away in a dozen languages, none of which he spoke.

The throng were all headed in one direction. Ayala jogged through the crowds until he reached Torrington Square, where a security fence separated the hallowed halls of academia from tourists who had taken a wrong turning while looking for the British Museum.

Ayala almost went too far to the east, but a quick double-check of the map on his phone stopped him from straying onto the adjacent campus belonging to the School of Oriental and African Studies. The big building in the centre of Torrington Square, which seemed to be a hive of student activity, seemed like the logical place to start. He entered, and saw a security guard just inside.

‘Detective Inspector Ayala, Metropolitan Police. Where’s B35?’ Ayala showed the man a photo of the timetable from Gabriella’s apartment. He held out his ID for inspection.

The guard took his time checking that Ayala was who he said he was, and then beckoned. ‘Follow me.’

He followed the guard downstairs, and along a corridor until a door marked B35 came into view. The door opened into the back of the lecture theatre, and creaked loudly as Ayala made his way inside. A middle-aged man at the front of the room looked up quizzically, then to the clock on the wall.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

Ayala smiled, and walked down to the lectern behind which the lecturer stood. A giant projector screen showed a slide entitled ‘Secret Trusts’.

The lecturer paused mid-sentence as Ayala approached, trailing off before finishing his explanation of how secret trusts allowed gifts to be made outside of a formal will.

‘Detective Inspector Ayala, Metropolitan Police. I’m looking for Gabriella Curzon,’ Ayala said. He looked around the lecture theatre, then recoiled as bright light from the projector almost blinded him. He cupped his hands like a visor and tried again. Students looked at him curiously. But there was no sign of Gabriella.

‘Gabriella Curzon! Has anyone seen Gabriella Curzon?’ he yelled.

A muffled voice replied from the back: ‘She’s not here.’

‘Who said that?’ Ayala demanded.

A hand rose in the third row from the back. Ayala moved as if to talk to her where she sat, but then the lecturer coughed politely. ‘Outside,’ the lecturer said. ‘Please.’

‘Ah. Sure. Miss, could you join me outside please?’ Ayala asked of the student who had raised her hand.

She followed him out into the hallway, dragging her backpack and notes along with her.

‘You didn’t need to bring your things with you.’

‘Oh yes, I did. You’ve just saved me from another hour of boredom.’

‘You’re friends with Gabriella?’

‘Friends? No. Not really. We swap notes sometimes. And we cover for each other.’

‘Cover for each other?’

‘On the register. We have to sign in to each class, and they check out attendance percentages to make sure we’ve been showing up. Totally pointless, ’cause we just sign each other’s name. It’s not like they run handwriting analysis on the lists. I mean, they caught a guy red-handed once, but that was just bad luck. Pretty much everyone does it. You saw all the empty seats in there. How many of us would you say there were?’

‘Fifty people,’ Ayala guessed.

‘Two hundred signed in today. It’s obvious what’s going on, but the staff turn a blind eye.’

‘Right. You sign in for Gabby. She signs in for you. Did you sign her in today?’

‘Yes.’

‘But she’s not here,’ Ayala said. ‘So where is she?’

The girl shrugged. ‘No idea, sorry. We sit next to each other, and our row signs off our whole group so we don’t get dinged on the percentages. I imagine she’s hung over or something.’

‘She’s not at home. Do you have any idea where she might go if not to class?’

‘The library maybe, if she’s got a paper to finish. Otherwise, shopping. That girl loves Oxford Street more than anything.’

‘Thanks for your time, Miss...?’

‘Tate. Katrina Tate.’

‘If you see her, call me please.’ Ayala handed over one of his cards.

Chapter 51: Against Time

Tuesday April 22nd – 12:04

Morton answered his phone on the first ring. He barely had time to read the caller’s name on the screen and register that the call was from Ayala before picking up.

‘Morton. Tell me you’ve got her.’ Morton tapped his fingers against his steering wheel impatiently, and gazed out at the main road. The backlog from the accident hadn’t been cleared but those involved had been rushed off in stretchers. The garage owner had demanded Morton move or risk his car being clamped. Morton had fended him off with an explanation that he was a policeman, but Morton could still see the man working twenty feet away, glancing up at him occasionally as if to suggest Morton needed to get a move on.

‘No dice. She’s supposed to be in class today, and didn’t show up. Her classmates have no idea where she is.’

‘You and Mayberry get back to office, and I’ll go check neither of them are at Edgecombe Lodge. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to start stripping anything of value to pawn.’

‘Err, I already sent Mayberry back. He’s a liability.’

‘Ayala, now isn’t the time, but we’re going to have words about this later. I asked you to take Mayberry with you and you disobeyed me. Go get me something, now. I’ve got another call coming in.’ Morton hung up, and took the waiting call.