Free The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4) by Sean Campbell, Daniel Campbell Page B

replace stolen trinkets, but if my clients hear that we’ve been robbed...’ Suresh’s voice trailed off.
    Morton considered his request for a moment. ‘Done. Give me the box.’
    ‘I can’t do that, but I can do this.’ Suresh reached under the counter and produced an empty lock box, then delved into a drawer behind the desk and pulled out a box of metal tiles embossed with the numbers nought to nine.
    The little tiles clattered as Suresh found the right numbers and slid them into the display on the front of the box so that it read 1779. He slid the box across to Morton and then nodded curtly. ‘I trust this will suffice.’
    ‘It is identical?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then we’re done here.’
    ‘Don’t forget to bring it back.’
    Morton turned and dashed out of the shop, and almost ran straight into Rafferty.
    ‘Rafferty! Call Ayala and tell him to meet you at Virginia Water train station. Get in position with a good view of the entrance, but don’t be seen. Got it?’ Morton said breathlessly.
    ‘Got it,’ Rafferty replied. ‘Where are you going?’
    Morton tapped the top of the lockbox with his index finger. ‘To give this to Mayberry.’

Chapter 17: The Handover
    T hursday April 9th 18:00
    Mayberry loitered awkwardly on the concourse, right underneath the big clock, as Morton had instructed. Waterloo Station was rife with commuters heading home during rush hour, and the crowds were clumped around the departures board. Every few seconds the LED boards would flash, the trains that had just departed would disappear from the board, and everything else would shuffle one screen to the left until a platform for each service was announced.
    Mayberry moved with the crowd, trying not to look too conspicuous in case the kidnappers really were watching him. The board flashed again, and a split second later the loudspeaker rang out and a tinny voice announced, ‘Platform fourteen for the eighteen oh four service to Portsmouth Harbour.’
    The crowd around the board shifted as those headed for platform fourteen fought their way through, eager to be the first through the ticket gates so that they might bag that most prized of things: a seat during rush hour.
    It was no good. With so many people around, Mayberry would never see Morton coming. Then again, that might just hide him from any onlookers too. Mayberry tugged at his shirt.
    After fifteen minutes of awkwardly loitering on the platform, simply staring at the information board, Mayberry felt a tap on the shoulder.
    ‘B-boss!’
    ‘Shut up. At your feet is my bag. Don’t lose it. Inside is the lockbox the kidnappers want and a clone of Niall Stapleton’s mobile phone. We’ve got the original, so we’ll see any text messages they send you, but we won’t hear any phone calls. Text them and let them know you’re on the way, then take the bag and head off on the next train. We’ll be right behind you. Got it?’
    ‘I’m n-nervous.’
    ‘You’ll be fine. Just do as they say, and you’ll save the girl. Go knock ‘em dead, kid.’
    Morton loitered nearby for a moment, scanning the crowd for any signs they were under surveillance. Then, when the announcer called for the evening service to Guildford via Woking, Morton strolled off and through the barrier. Mayberry watched him head onto the platform and then disappear through the platform-side entrance to the underground, from which he presumed Morton would loop back around to the exit.
    Before long, Mayberry found himself jostling for standing room in the eighth carriage of a train that was due to serve Virginia Water. He found space near the doors and leant against the bike rack before slipping Morton’s backpack off his shoulder. Whatever was in the lockbox felt heavy.
    And then, as casually as he could, he pulled out the mobile phone and texted the kidnappers:
    On the train from Waterloo to Reading line. I’ll be twenty minutes .
    Mayberry clutched the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. For ten