Dead on Demand (A DCI Morton Crime Novel) (30 page)

'It's a private network using an Internet technology that lets users communicate anonymously, without anyone being able to discern the identity of those using it.'

'Great Scott! You think that Sugden was using this to share insider information?!'

'Yes, and more. He tried to kill a man. I think he's involved in something far darker than artificially manipulating share prices. '

'I don't know. He didn't come off that way when we interviewed him. A polite, courteous fellow. I could see him as a white collar criminal, but nothing more sinister.'

'We've got him on tape.'

'Well, I'll be damned. Thought I had the measure of the man.'

'Looks like you need to re-examine your case. I've requested his laptop, should be here any moment. You want it after we're done with our investigation? Shouldn't take long; he's dead after all, and can't be prosecuted, but it might help to bring down your insider trading ring.'

'Thank you, Chief Inspector. I appreciate the call.'

***

The laptops all went through the same treatment, and it took almost a day to crack them all.

'Every victim except Murphy had been involved in darknet use,' Dean announced to the room. He needn't have bothered; they all knew why they were there. After the laptops had arrived Chief Inspector Morton had called in every able body to help dig through the electronic paper trail.

'So Murphy wasn't involved. Does that mean our web was limited to the others plus Duvall?' Morton asked.

'No, sir, at least one other person was involved, as there were messages sent from all these laptops that weren't received by the others.'

'This person got messages from all of them?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So we've got our ringleader. Can we work out who agreed what?'

'Sort of, sir. We know Deepak was killed by another member of the group, Barry Fitzgerald. We don't know if she carried out a kill but if she did, it was one before her death.'

'Did she agree to one?'

'Yes, sir, she wanted someone who abused her killed, according to the messages. I think it was the Brixton kill. Her name was in his case file. It was redacted for her privacy, but the CPS got the original jackets when you asked for this taskforce.'

'Good to see the lawyers can do something right. Who killed Barry?'

'Well, Sugden tried to. Then someone else succeeded.'

'Who? Gershwin?'

'No. From his messages he didn't carry out the kill. That's why Duvall killed him.'

'So who did Duvall want dead?'

'He won't say, sir, something about the right against self-incrimination.'

'We don't have one. Lean on his lawyer.'

'Yes, sir. We know he killed someone else. He felt stiffed by the deal agreed."

Morton nodded. "So who did he kill?'

'We don't know, sir. We've got a few John Does that could fit. Does it really matter? He's going down for life anyway.'

'Of course it bloody matters! The victim's family deserve closure, and justice,' Morton thundered. Dean paled, and didn't respond.

'Anyone have an idea who our puppet master is?'

No one raised a hand to volunteer their thoughts. It was getting late.

'We'll reconvene at half past eight. Don't be late.'

With that, the Operation Darknet staff were dismissed for the evening.

***

'Morning, ladies and gentleman. I've been reviewing all the cases we dealt with yesterday. It looks like this isn't just limited to London. One of Mr Duvall's requests was for an out-of-London hit. We believe that Yosef Gershwin agreed to kill for him a man in Portsmouth. We don't know if that hit ever took place, but if it did, it wasn't Gershwin that did it, as Duvall exacted revenge for his non-performance.

'Someone also had to kill Barry Fitzgerald, and none of the messages indicate who. We also have our ringleader. That leaves up to three unknown persons, or we have multiple serial killers among our group.'

'I think I can help,' piped up a small voice from the back. It was a newer tech, Cindy Jacobs, who had stayed up all night with Morton as they worked through the evidence.

'We know from her messages Vanhi Deepak planned to carry out a kill. She then got killed, and her killer was killed. That makes me think those later kills were a facade for the earlier ones.'

'Good work, Jacobs.' Morton rarely praised those under his command, but if someone truly deserved it he would go to hell to get them a commendation.

'We also know she killed someone,' Jacobs ventured tentatively.

'No, we don't. We can only speculate.'

'With all due respect, sir, it's well-founded if it's speculation. She was killed to cover up another murder. If she hadn't gone through with it then persons unknown would not have needed to kill her to cover it up. They could simply have ignored her.'

A few nods bobbed in the room, and a few deputies murmured their assent. It was a reasonable assumption. Morton had other ideas.

'I like your thinking, but if she was the first then she knew the original target. That would be enough to get her killed, whether she performed or not.'

'Yes, sir.' Jacobs blushed.

'You got Deepak's messages? Put them up on the projector.'

Jacobs did so, and a collective gasp went round the room. The information on her target was enough to isolate her victim.

It was Eleanor Murphy. She was the first victim, and only one person stood to gain from her death.

'Issue an arrest warrant for the husband. Now.' Morton knew something about him hadn't been quite right.

'And for God's sake get his laptop. It might be the only evidence we've got.'

The team dispersed. A manhunt was on.

***

Edwin had already stored or shipped most of his stuff. He'd auctioned some of the knickknacks too, as his new flat was much smaller than the townhouse he and Chelsea were used to. With the new apartment awaiting their imminent arrival, and the old townhouse tenanted out, the London era was drawing to a close.

He and Chelsea had moved into the Hilton a few days ago, as the new tenants at Belgrave Square wanted immediate possession. It was a bit of a rush job, but Edwin didn't mind. With all the memories of Eleanor, the house had a bad vibe and he was glad to see the back of it.

He was now technically home-schooling Chelsea, having withdrawn her from the private school at the end of the last week. That in reality had meant letting her play tourist in her own city for a few days. They'd visited all of the free museums in Kensington, been up in the Millennium Eye and even posed with a Beefeater. Chelsea had smiled more in those few days than she had in the weeks since her mother's death.

Edwin picked his shirt up off the floor. He only had a couple of items left to pack, and they should all fit into the set of matching luggage he and Chelsea would share for their morning flight out to Vancouver.

CHAPTER 57: RIGHT PLACE, WRONG TIME

'Police! Open up!'

Footsteps came down the stairs to the door of 51 Belgrave Square, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man dressed in silk pyjamas. He was not Edwin Murphy.

'We're looking for Mr Edwin Murphy.' announced a deputy, realising after he said it how obvious it was that no one by that name was there.

'''Fraid I can't help you, officers.' The voice had a lisp to it that matched the pyjamas.

'Who are you?'

'Freddy Maynard.'

'What are you doing here?' Morton frowned.

'We live here, silly. Me and my partner.'

'I'll rephrase that. How long have you lived here?'

'Oo, a week tomorrow,' Freddy replied.

'Did you buy it from Mr Murphy?'

'No, we've jus' leased it. Through Prestige Homes in Chelsea.'

'Damn it. Thank you for your time, Mr Maynard.'

'Any time, officers.'

The door closed behind him, and Morton retreated, dejected. The warrant in his pocket was for the home of Edwin Murphy, and if he didn't live there it couldn't be searched. Where the hell was Edwin Murphy?

***

The town car was late. Edwin had specifically asked for it to arrive at seven-thirty sharp. The flight was at eleven o'clock, and he knew that the airports liked to have people checked in early. Besides, he still had Diamond Club membership, and he intended to abuse it for all the free drinks he could get. He hated flying, even though intellectually he knew it was safe. The alcohol helped to take the edge off.

Chelsea was being an angel. She had a teddy backpack, and had stuffed enough toys inside it to amuse her for a week, let alone a direct flight. They were going first class anyway, so she'd be able to sit back and watch a few movies in comfort, or recline her chair back and get some shut-eye.

A limousine pulled up outside the hotel, the engine gently purring. It was for them.

'Got your passport?' Edwin asked her. He had her real one of course – he couldn't trust a four year old with it – but he'd had a mock one printed for both her and Teddy to make the journey feel more normal. It seemed to have worked.

'Come on then.'

The porter carried out their luggage, and Edwin tipped him generously. He certainly didn't want to lug cases that heavy around early in the morning. As the door clicked shut, Edwin began to relax. He was off to begin a fabulous new life in a vibrant city. He wasn't rich, but he was comfortable, and more importantly he had his little girl.

***

Morton was stupefied. It was as if Edwin Murphy had been wiped off the face of the planet.

His daughter had been withdrawn from school, and his house was in someone else's name.

'Sir, we've just got the bank records through,' Dean announced, entering Morton's office without knocking.

Morton glared at him for a moment, and grudgingly took the photocopies. He hated rudeness, but now was not the time to call young Dean on his lack of manners. He scanned down the latest Visa charges on Edwin Murphy's credit card.

'The Hilton Park Avenue! Let's go.' Seeing a hotel on the charges list, Morton was spurred into action. He was going to nail this bastard. As he jumped in the car, the charges list lay abandoned on his desk. If he had taken a little longer to look, he might have spotted the charge from Canadian Air.

Lights on, they sped across town at faster than the legal speed limit.

'Another red!' Dean exclaimed. The morning's commuter traffic hadn't hit the late morning lull yet, and they seemed to be getting caught at every turn.

'Jump it.'

'But, sir...' Dean began to protest.

'Do it!' Seeing the stern look on his superior officer's face, he pushed the metal pedal down, and lurched forward, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.

Minutes later they burst into the lobby of the Hilton Park Avenue.

'Edwin Murphy. What room?' Morton demanded of the girl on the desk.

For what seemed like an eternity, she went through the computer system looking for Mr Murphy's reservation.

'Sorry, sir, no one by that name is staying here.'

'Then where the hell is he?'
Morton lost his cool, drawing the attention of the manager in the back office.

'Sir, could you stop yelling in...' The manager's voice trailed off as he realised it was the police.

'Can I help you, officers?'

'We're looking for Edwin Murphy. He has a charge from this hotel on his Visa.'

'You've just missed him. He checked out this morning.'

'Fuck.'

'I believe we called transportation for him. I might be able to look up where he was going in our notes.'

'Do it!' Morton's impatience grew. Twice they had missed him.

'It seems we called a limousine firm for him, sir, Sierra Limousines Ltd. I don't have a destination on record.'

'Call them, and find out where they took him. Now.'

'Very well, sir.' His tone was huffy. The manager was not used to being bullied, even if they were the police.

'It's going to voicemail, sir.'

'Give me the number, now.'

He passed over a business card with the company's registered office and contact details on.

'Dean, keep trying to get through, and stick that postcode in the satnav. We're paying them a visit, and I'm driving.' Morton was already halfway out the door.

'Yes, sir!'

***

The limousine company picked up when they were halfway to their head office.

'Sierra Limousines, how may I help you?

'Good afternoon. This is Detective Robert Dean, Metropolitan Police. You picked up a suspect of ours this morning from the Hilton, a Mr Edwin Murphy. We need to know where he was going.'

The operator paused, unsure if this was a hoax.

'I need to speak to my supervisor about that.'

'Do it.'

By the time she came back on the line, they were parking up.

Still talking, Dean walked in and flashed his badge at the receptionist. He gestured for her to put down the phone.

'Where did you take Mr Murphy?'

'Gatwick Airport. North Terminal.'

'Thank you.' His tone was exasperated. He didn't mean it. Those ten minutes might have cost them the chance to catch their man.

They dove back into the car. Morton hoped they weren't too late.

CHAPTER 58: FLIGHT OR FIGHT

They cleared airport security in no time at all. Priority check-in had taken care of their bags, and Edwin decided to browse the airport bookshop for something to read on the plane. Chelsea had other ideas.

'Daddy, I'm hungry,' she pouted.

'We'll be in the lounge in a few minutes, honey. We'll eat then.'

'Don't want 'dult food!' She began to stomp her feet, and passers-by began to stare.

'Well, what do you want?'

'McDonalds!'

Edwin cursed airport food. Several hours confined inside a terminal, and it was child's play to sell burgers to children. With Happy Meal toys it was even easier, and Edwin was beginning to succumb to pester power.

'Let me get a book first.' He turned his back on her, knowing that she wouldn't give up that easily.