Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3) (15 page)

‘Which means any of our suspects could have done it.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Fuck.’

Chapter 24: The Wedding

Sunday went by in a blur for Morton. He had hoped for a well-earned lie-in, perhaps with breakfast in bed. Unfortunately for him, one of Sarah’s myriad of cousins, Jennifer or Jaina or Jessica, something beginning with the letter J anyway, was getting married.

Morton was therefore up at the crack of dawn like the dutiful husband he was. For reasons Morton could barely comprehend, the invite was for traditional morning dress.

‘What’s wrong with a plain old suit?’ Morton complained. Sarah had laid out his attire for him: a grey morning coat, striped trousers and a double-breasted burgundy waistcoat with matching tie. ‘I’m going to look like an idiot.’

‘Nonsense. You’ll look very dapper.’

‘I’ll concede the morning coat, as long as I can put it on once we get there. But sod wearing that waistcoat.’

‘You’ll wear it, and you’ll smile. You’ll even like the wedding cake. This is my side of the family so it’s my say, capiche?’ For comic effect, Sarah picked up the striped trousers and held them against her.

‘Very funny. Fine,’ Morton said. ‘But why won’t I like the wedding cake?’

‘She’s vegan.’

‘That’s it. I’m not going. There’s an FA Cup match on this afternoon. You go on without me.’

‘You’re not going to win this argument. If you keep arguing, I’m going to double the gift we’re giving Jane and Humphrey.’

‘Jane!’ Morton cried.

‘You forgot, didn’t you? I think that’s just doubled it to £100.’

‘Oh, come off it. That’s not fair! Besides, we barely know them. And asking for cash gifts only? How cheeky is that? We barely got a toaster and we had to be grateful for it. I’m not going.’

‘£200, and don’t push me, David, I will keep going.’

‘No. I’m putting my foot down.’

‘£400.’

Half an hour late, dressed to the nines, they were in the car.

Chapter 25: The Father

Monday April 14
^th
– 09:00

Security stopped Morton on the way into New Scotland Yard that Monday morning. It was barely nine o’clock, late by Morton’s standards but perfectly reasonable considering the long day he’d had with Sarah at her cousin’s wedding. A guest was waiting for him, but had been detained in reception.

Morton turned around, and headed for the waiting area. It was almost like a doctor’s waiting room. There was a pile of magazines, mostly out of date, and a child’s play area with toys neatly stacked in plastic boxes.

Three men, four women and one child were in the waiting area. All looked up when Morton appeared, hopeful, almost expectant. One, an elderly white man in a three-piece suit, immediately rose from his rickety seat and made a beeline towards Morton.

He was an older man, perhaps in his seventies, but looking good for it. He wore a comb over which had gone almost entirely grey but had a few traces of brown still visible. His skin bunched around the eyes, as if he had spent a lifetime smiling. And but for a small skin tag on his left cheek, he was much as Morton imagined Aleksander Barchester would look if aged up twenty years and had he also lost three or four stone.

‘Mr Morton?’ the man said.

‘Lord Culloden, I presume.’

The elderly man looked delighted to be recognised. ‘My boy, how did you guess?’

My boy?
Morton thought. He hadn’t been called anything like that in years.

‘Deduction,’ he quipped.

The real Lord Culloden laughed heartily. ‘Is there somewhere we might talk?’

Morton looked around. None of those in the waiting area were paying the slightest bit of attention to them. He shrugged, and nodded. ‘We have a conference room upstairs. It should be empty this early in the morning.’

He beckoned Lord Culloden to follow him, and then nodded at the security guard to buzz them through. A guest pass was hastily affixed to Lord Culloden’s overcoat, and then they made their way to the lifts.

Culloden looked around in wonder as they made their way to the conference room. ‘I haven’t been here in years.’

‘Perhaps you should commit a few more crimes then,’ Morton said.

Another booming laugh. ‘My boy, you really should be a comedian.’

‘Uh-huh... This is us.’ Morton unlocked the conference room door with a swipe of his police ID, and then held the door open for his guest. Once they were settled, Morton looked on expectantly.

‘I surmise from your knowing who I am that you also know why I’m here.’

‘Aleksander Barchester using your name?’

‘That... But not in the way that you think,’ Lord Culloden said. ‘My wife, Harriet, whom I believe you met, is my second wife. My first died many years ago. The one thing I always regretted was my indiscretion. As a young man I was very much driven by hormones.’

‘You slept with another woman.’

‘Quite. My maid, Aleksander’s mother, was quite something. I regret it to this day, but my fidelity wavered.’

‘And you’re telling me this because...?’

‘I believe Aleksander is my son. If that is true then he hasn’t committed fraud by using my name, has he? I need a favour.’

‘You want a DNA test.’

‘Sharp as a tack, my boy, sharp as a tack. So can you?’ He leaned into the conference table, looking imploringly at Morton.

‘No.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘No chance,’ Morton said. ‘This is a police station.’

‘If it’s about money, my dear boy, then I can certainly solve that issue!’ Culloden beamed, and put his hand into his pocket as if he were about to pull out a chequebook there and then.

‘Lord Culloden, I think you may be misunderstanding me here. I cannot run a DNA test for you. Nor can I accept your money, for obvious reasons. It would be wholly improper. If you want to run a DNA test then find a private laboratory.’

‘Mr Morton, please. I need your help. Are you a father?’

‘I am. Did you want one of mine? I’d be prepared to sell one.’

‘Ha. I’m not sure if you know this, but Aleksander and I are already close. He lives on the Estate in my old Servant’s Cottage. I let him have it for peppercorn rent years back. We speak all the time while in the gardens. He told me something, something in confidence.’

‘And?’

‘He’s expecting a child. I have not met the mother, but if that is my grandchild then I need to know. I have no other children, and Harriet doesn’t wish to bear me any.’

Morton frowned. He knew about the child, but Gabriella told Aleksander about the baby only on the night of the murder, or so they claimed.

‘When?’

‘Nine months, I suppose.’

‘When did he tell you?’

‘A couple of weeks ago.’

Interesting
, Morton thought.
More lies
.

‘And who is the mother?’

‘Aleksander said her name was Gabriella. Pretty name, isn’t it?’

Morton made a snap decision. ‘I suppose so. Lord Culloden, we’ll do it. I’ll need a DNA sample from you, of course.’

‘Outstanding, my boy!’

‘On one condition.’

‘Anything. Just name it.’

‘Stop calling me “my boy”.’

Chapter 26: Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way

Monday April 14
^th
– 11:00

Morton’s Monday morning started out strange, but it wasn’t until eleven o’clock that he got a bolt from the blue. He was just finishing up signing off on the paperwork Forensics had sent over for the DeLange residence. They’d released the property the previous Friday, so it was no longer a crime scene. DNA analysis was underway, but Morton needed to cajole exclusionary samples out of the rest of his suspects. Morton pinged off a quick email to delegate the task to Mayberry.

He was running over the timeline in his head, trying to work out who might have benefitted from an extra hour in their window of opportunity, when he got a call from Dr Larry Chiswick.

‘Larry. What can I do for you?’

‘Morning, David. I’ve got a Kallum Fielder on the other line. He’s demanding a medical death certificate. But I’ve already told him I’ve sent the usual paperwork over to next of kin.’

‘Strange. The only reason he could want that–’

‘Is to get a death certificate from the registrar,’ Chiswick finished for him. Responsibility for registering a death fell on the next of kin, or the executor if there was one, under pain of criminal sanctions. To get the death certificate from the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages, Kallum needed a medical death certificate.

‘Which means he thinks he’s the executor.’

‘Exactly. But you haven’t found a will yet, have you?’

‘Nope. We called her bank, checked her home and talked to the lawyer she uses to manage her intellectual property. Nada.’

‘What do you want me to do with him?’ Chiswick asked.

‘Tell me him he needs to come see you in person, this afternoon if you’re free.’

‘You know I’m not. But if you’re planning what I think you’re planning, that doesn’t really matter.’

‘Cheers, Doc. I won’t see you at one.’

***

At precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, Kal Fielder appeared outside New Scotland Yard. He had an entourage in tow. The media had yet to let up, though social media engagement had begun to wane. Sooner rather than later the death of Ellis DeLange would no longer be big news. It was starting to happen already. Fewer journalists were calling in to ask how the investigation was progressing. Not that that would last should an arrest be made.

Morton watched as Kal entered the building. Security had been instructed to stop the media from following him in, and then take him through to one of the ground floor meeting rooms.

Morton let him stew for ten minutes, then headed down.

‘Mr Fielder,’ Morton greeted him. The former footballer looked even more tired than on their last meeting. His eyes were bloodshot, and his shirt was crumpled as if it had never seen an iron in its life. He had a folder on the desk in front of him which was unlabelled. He saw Morton looking at it and subconsciously pulled it towards him.

‘Detective Morton. I didn’t realise you did deliveries for the coroner.’

Morton pulled out a chair but didn’t sit down, choosing instead to lean against it. ‘You’re here for a medical death certificate. What for?’

‘I need to register Ellis’ death of course.’

‘Yes, but why you? You’re not her next of kin.’

‘Like hell I’m not. The law might say Brianna is her next of kin, but it’s me left picking up the pieces.’

‘But what, specifically, do you intend to do with a death certificate? I’m guessing you want to file probate.’

Kal’s hand went to the folder again. ‘That’s correct, though it’s none of your business.’

‘May I see the will please?’

‘It’s none of your business, Mr Morton. This is Ellis’ personal wishes.’

‘You do realise that wills become public when filed? What have you got to hide?’

‘Nothing, but–’

‘Then you won’t mind showing me.’ Morton pursed his lips and held out his hand.

Kal sighed, and pushed the folder across the desk. Morton leant forward, picked it up and opened it. Inside was a crumpled, coffee-stained rag of a document titled ‘
The Last Will and Testament of Ellis DeLange
.’

‘I found it like that. I guess she must have spilt coffee over it,’ Kal said.

‘Then crumpled it up before putting it in a nice new folder for safe-keeping? That doesn’t sound like a sensible way to deal with such an important document.’

‘The folder’s mine.’

Morton flicked through the will, which ran to six pages. Ellis’ assets were not specifically listed other than provision for everything to be sold off bar a few mementos, but – surprise, surprise – the remainder of the estate had just one beneficiary: Kallum Fielder. Two witnesses had signed it: ‘Lord Culloden’ and ‘Francis Patrick Malone’.

‘Where was this? We didn’t find it at her house nor did her lawyer have it on file.’

‘My safe. Eli always had guests around, so she keeps some stuff at my place. Can’t be too careful.’

Morton glanced back at the will then arched his eyebrows. ‘This is your idea of safe-keeping?’

‘Like I said, it was like that when I got it. When she put it in my safe, I mean.’

‘And which law firm prepared it for her?’

‘She didn’t use a lawyer. I think she used one of those DIY will kits you can buy on CD to print at home.’

‘You seem to know a lot about this. Did you know you were the beneficiary?’

‘Yes. But she’s the beneficiary of my will too,’ Kal said.

‘The difference being that she was worth three million, and you barely have two pennies to rub together.’

Kal’s expression turned stony. ‘You background checked me? How dare you!’

‘What do you think we do during murder investigations? Sit around and wait for the murderer to turn themselves in? You’re damn right I background checked every person who turned up at the party.’

Kal turned away, then stared at his fingernails. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.

‘I’m going to need a copy of this. I’ll be back with the original in ten minutes. OK?’ Morton headed for the door.

‘But what about my death certificate?’ Kal asked.

‘Sorry. Can’t help you with that.’

Chapter 27: The Cavalry

The last will and testament of Ellis DeLange was quickly photocopied and handed to everyone on Morton’s Murder Investigation Team. Morton even paged Kieran O’Connor to join them. The CPS lawyer swung by over lunch while Morton, Ayala and Mayberry were in the Incident Room.

‘Kieran. Thanks for coming.’ Morton said.

‘Make it quick, David. I’m due back in court at three, and I’m starving.’ Kieran eyed up the sandwich platter on the table.

‘Quit staring at my lunch,’ Morton said. He passed Kieran a copy of the will. ‘Is this real?’

‘It looks like it’s been fished out of a bin. Where on earth did you get it?’

‘One of our suspects. He stands to inherit three million and change in property, plus a portfolio of photographs the victim took.’