Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3) (23 page)

Morton clicked his car’s immobiliser with a press of his key fob, and headed for the reception. Above him, dozens of pairs of eyes appeared in the windows on the second and third floor, watching him as he approached. Morton felt a shiver run down his spine, and was immediately thankful that he was visiting on a sunny Monday afternoon in April rather than a dark wintery night.

At the reception, he was greeted by a burly young man in a corporate polo shirt and khaki slacks.

‘Can I help you?’ the man asked.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Morton. I rang earlier.’

‘I’m Matt. Welcome to Sparks.’

‘One of your would-be patients, Miss Ellis DeLange, was murdered two weeks ago.’

‘We’re aware of that. How can we assist you?’

‘When was Miss DeLange due to come to you?’ Morton asked.

‘I’m afraid that’s privileged information, Detective.’

‘She’s dead. There’s no one left to fight for her privacy. We know she booked in.’

‘Detective, I’d love to help you, but I have rounds to do. Walk with me,’ Matt said.

Morton followed Matt through reception up to a locked door marked ‘Staff Only’ and averted his eyes as Matt punched in a security code.

‘Tell me about Sparks in general then.’

‘Sparks is a complete lockdown facility. All of our guests are self-committed–’

‘They choose to be locked up?’

‘Yes, they do.’ Matt led Morton down a short hallway which ended in another security door. ‘This is our airlock system. It’s the only way in or out of the facility. This door only opens when the door behind us,’ Matt waved a hand over his shoulder, ‘is closed.’

‘What about fires?’

‘We’ve got fire doors installed as required. This is a listed building so they’re interspersed throughout the wings a little haphazardly, but we can clear the building in three minutes if we have to. Patients do occasionally hit the fire alarm to break out for the night, but it’s not common. Our guests choose us because we get results. They’re free to leave at any time, as long as they accept that we do not allow guests to return within six months of a walkout.’

Once they were past the security door, they came into what could have been mistaken for a plush country hotel – if not for the patients milling about in grey shirts and sweatpants.

‘Do they have to wear those?’

‘The uniform? Yes. They’re not fashionable, but they are comfortable – and we provide them, which reduces the need for searches on arrival. We’re going through here next,’ Matt said. He indicated a double door to their left.

They entered a grand hall which had wood panelling along every wall, and a grand piano in the centre. A dozen or so sofas had been laid out in a zigzag bisecting the room.

‘This is our lounge. The bar at the back serves tea, coffee and any medicine that our patients need. This is a totally dry establishment so we have no booze anywhere on-site.’ Matt walked over to a patient, leant in and asked her something quietly. She nodded, and Matt returned to Morton, who looked on with curiosity.

‘What kinds of addiction do you treat?’ Morton asked.

‘Any kind of compulsion you can think of. Drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling. One of our patients is a compulsive texter.’

‘A what?’

‘Can’t stop texting people. She’s always attached to her phone, the poor lass. We’re getting more and more enquiries like that. Just this morning, a lady called to ask if we could take her daughter. She’s addicted to an online video game apparently.’

‘Are you going to take her?’

‘Heavens, no. We don’t take minors here. Imagine locking up an impressionable teenage girl with nymphomaniacs and drug addicts.’

‘Sounds like an experience some teenagers would pay a fortune for. How much do you charge?’

‘Two thousand.’

‘Per treatment?’

‘Good lord, no. Per week. That buys you half a twin room and basic rations. We do occasionally cater to the rich and the famous, so there are upgrade packages available too. At any given time we’ve got roughly eighty of our ninety beds filled, so there’s a bit of a waiting list.’

‘And this is paid for by the taxpayer?’

‘This is a wholly private facility. We do some insurance work. But it’s mostly self-funded.’

‘And was Ellis self-funding?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that. Mr Morton, I’m afraid I have to dash. Would you mind if Melissa took you back to reception? She’s been here even longer than I have, so I’m sure she can answer any further questions you might have.’ Matt pointed to the woman he’d spoken to the moment before.

‘Sure. Thank you for your time, Matt.’

With that, Morton was left with Melissa.

‘Hi,’ she said shyly.

‘Hello.’

‘Are you the policeman? Matt said I have to take you back.’

‘Lead on then,’ Morton said. He followed her out of the dining room, looking up and down the halls as he went. ‘What’s it like in here?’ he asked.

‘It’s OK,’ Melissa said. ‘I don’t really like it.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Does Matt ask you to escort guests often?’

‘Sometimes. We get a lot of visitors, and I do get a little lonely in here.’

Morton looked at her, trying desperately not to ask what she was in for.

‘Anorexia,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘You don’t have to be bashful, Detective. Ask whatever you want to ask.’

‘Did you meet Ellis DeLange when she visited?’

‘I did. She was awful nice to me. We spoke for a few minutes.’

‘Can I ask what about?’ Morton said.

‘What it’s like here, why she wanted to come here, that sort of thing.’

‘Why did she want to get clean?’

‘She said she was having a birthday soon,’ Melissa said. ‘And that she couldn’t keep going as she was. I didn’t think she was going to come here though.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Her friend didn’t seem very interested.’

‘Her friend?’ Morton asked as they approached the first security door. From this side, it had an intercom button only. Melissa pressed it, and they were buzzed through.

‘Yes. She had another woman with her.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘I don’t know. Sort of like her, I guess.’

Brianna
, Morton thought immediately. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Melissa.’

‘Is there anything else you need to know?’

‘Did she mention how she was paying for her stay?’ Morton asked.

‘No. She didn’t,’ Melissa said sadly, as if afraid to disappoint Morton with her answer. ‘But we can check.’

‘How?’ Morton asked. They buzzed the intercom for the second door, and it again swung open, allowing them back into reception.

‘It’ll be on the computer. The one over there. Matt’s password is “mustang”. I help him in the office sometimes.’

Morton looked over at the desk. Matt’s PC was on, and locked on the login screen. He knew he shouldn’t look. It would make admitting the evidence difficult.

Melissa saw him looking. ‘Oh, you’re not allowed, are you?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Morton said.

‘Can I look?’

Morton bit his lip. If he said yes, he was procuring the illegal search. If he said no, he’d miss out.

Melissa saved him the trouble of answering. She unlocked the PC and opened up Sparks’ patient files.

‘How do you spell her name?’

‘D-E-L-A-N-G-E,’ Morton replied. He wondered if that small indiscretion was enough to put him on the wrong side of defence counsel.

‘Here we are. Her deposit was paid for by A. Barchester. Do you know him?’

‘I do. Can you print me that out?’

‘OK.’

Morton’s heart began thumping in his chest as a large industrial laser printer whirred to life. It was loud enough that he was sure Matt would hear and reappear to confront them. But he didn’t.

Sixty seconds later, Morton walked out the door with Ellis’ patient file in hand.

Chapter 47: Connections

Tuesday April 22
^nd
– 08:30

Mayberry made swift progress tracking down the unknown PAYG numbers. He had made contact with all the major networks and asked them to ping the locations of those phones over the weekend.

From that, he had been able to discern who owned each phone. One number pinged most frequently near Birkbeck University where Gabriella was a student. Another had pinged off a tower near the Culloden Estate. Mayberry marked that one down as belonging to Aleksander Barchester.

A third had been in Portland Place during Kal’s filming sessions for
Wake Up Britain!,
and the fourth number which the victim had frequently called belonged to someone who spent most of their time in Southwark. Mayberry wrote down Brianna next to that one. The fifth and final number had not been on for a while, but by process of elimination, Mayberry scribbled down Paddy Malone next to that one albeit with a question mark.

He pinged off a quick text to Morton telling him that the phone numbers had been identified, and then scanned through the call logs. The phone companies had supplied the recent calls made by each of the PAYG phone numbers.

Unsurprisingly, the number that Mayberry thought belonged to Paddy had a history of texting a large number of people. His logs alone ran to thirty thousand lines, most of them to different numbers, one or two texts at a time. They were almost certainly clients of his. Mayberry forwarded the lot on to a colleague in the drugs squad.

The most interesting thing wasn’t the number of calls placed to each other, but the times of those calls. He pinged Morton another text: ‘
Boss, you’re going to want to see this
.’

When Morton arrived, Mayberry had collated all the information he’d found, and was ready to explain the lot. He’d take the time to write out what he wanted to say to minimise stuttering too.

‘B-boss. They all c-called each other. All the t-time. But l-look at wh-when they called,’ Mayberry said. He pointed to the calls from Ellis to Aleksander Barchester and vice versa.

‘Two o’clock in the morning, three o’clock in the morning,’ Morton read. ‘Nice spot. She’s called him on the Wiles switchboard as well, so we can’t rule out business solely on the timing.’

‘In the m-middle of the night? Not l-l-likely.’

‘Not likely, but not impossible. Both of them travel for work so they might not appreciate normal office hours as much as those of us who do nine-to-five jobs. I think the use of a PAYG burner phone for the calls is more interesting. Barchester wanted to keep it quiet.’

‘And E-E-Ellis didn’t?’

‘Ellis lived alone. She didn’t have to hide who she called early in the morning. We know she had an online account for her billing so she wouldn’t have needed to even hide paper bills. Kal would have no reason to go looking through her Virgin Media account. I think they were sleeping together.’

‘Wh-why?’

Morton thought Mayberry had a point. Barchester was much older, and he wasn’t good-looking. ‘Money I expect. Hang on. I’ve had a thought. Barchester was paying for Ellis to go to Sparks Rehabilitation Clinic. We know that costs £2,000 a week. What if the charge on Edgecombe Lodge in favour of Aleksander Barchester was security for that? I can’t see how she was going to pay him back otherwise.’

‘M-makes sense to m-me. How do we convince it?’

‘We don’t need to prove it. He isn’t a suspect. We can just ask. He has no reason to lie. But if he was having an affair then it does give someone else motive, doesn’t it?’

‘Wh-who, boss?’ Mayberry said.

‘Gabriella, of course. We already know she’s pregnant with his child. We know they fought on the night of the murder. What if, instead of fighting about her drinking as Barchester claimed, they fought about Ellis? I can’t see a woman like Gabriella being too happy about a man like Barchester sleeping with her best friend.’

Morton’s phone rang. ‘One minute,’ he said to Mayberry. ‘DCI Morton.’

‘David, it’s Stuart. I need you down here.’

‘Ah, I was going to call you. Is there any male DNA on the sheets in the master bedroom that doesn’t belong to Kallum Fielder?’

‘Forget about the sheets. There’s something much more interesting in the DNA evidence.’

‘Then spit it out, man.’

‘Two of the guests were related to the victim.’

Two?
‘Who?’

‘No idea. We don’t have samples for Brianna Jackson or Gabriella Curzon yet. Both declined to volunteer a sample.’

‘Brianna is her sister. We know that. Let’s take it as read there’s nothing unusual going on there, and that they really are siblings. Is the other match male or female?’

‘Female. It’s a half-sibling match. No shared mitochondrial DNA but thirteen chromosomes in common.’

‘A half-sister then. That’s got to be Gabriella Curzon.’

‘That’s what I thought too.’

‘I’ll go pick her up. Let’s compel DNA evidence and prove it.’

Chapter 48: The Queen Did It

Tuesday April 22
^nd
– 10:45

Morton quickly obtained a search warrant for the home of Gabriella Curzon. It was impossible to compel Gabriella to volunteer a DNA sample, but if they could find a reason to arrest her then her DNA could be taken without consent. They had the testimony of Aleksander Barchester that Gabriella was taking drugs, which was enough to satisfy a magistrate to let them go fishing in Fitzrovia.

Morton stood outside Gabriella’s apartment, bashed three times on the door and yelled ‘Police, open up!’

When no reply was given, he motioned for Ayala to break down the door down.

The junior officers went in first.

‘Clear!’ one shouted. The call was echoed as officers checked the bathroom and kitchen. Then Morton, Ayala and Mayberry began their search.

Morton headed for the bathroom. There was a small glass shelf above the sink upon which sat an electric toothbrush. Morton reached inside his jacket and surreptitiously swabbed the brush while no one was looking. It wouldn’t be usable in court, but he’d be able to confirm the relationship anonymously if push came to shove.

‘Boss! You’ve got to see this,’ Ayala called out from the bedroom. Morton found Ayala stooped over a desk in the corner of the bedroom. A shelf about the desk had a strip light mounted along the bottom and a row of thick heavy textbooks on top of it.