Beautiful Death (11 page)

‘How can I help, Jack?’ He liked her voice and the fact she didn’t use titles.

‘I need to speak with you in your professional capacity for the Met.’

‘Who gave you my name?’

‘DCI Geoff Benson.’

‘The giant?’

‘I’m as tall.’

She laughed. ‘It’s just that I’m not. Everyone’s a colossus to me.’

‘Then I promise not to wear heels.’

‘Good!’ she said, her warmth apparent even over the phone. He was on automatic charm, he realised it, but it was reassuring to feel vaguely normal, just for a moment. ‘Can you give me a clue about your situation?’ she prompted.

Jack took a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated. I’ve been seeing a woman who has turned up on the mortician’s slab. And it turns out she’s part of a case I’m involved with.’

He had tried to keep it as objective as possible, hoping to convince the doctor he was entirely in control.

She waited. He did too, but when she didn’t say anything after a few awkward moments, he filled the gap and revealed more than he’d intended.

‘And I think I’m pretty knocked around over it.’

‘Who wouldn’t be? I’m really sorry for your loss and I think you’re wise to want to talk it over with someone.’

‘I promised the giant I would.’

‘I’d prefer you saw me because you want to, not because someone else thinks you should,’ she cautioned him. ‘I want you to talk, not sit around feeling sulky because you’ve been coerced to see me . . . that would be a waste of time for both of us.’

It was his turn to pause. He rubbed his face and realised it felt numb. ‘I do need to see you please, Jane. This case is a bad one and . . .’

‘Okay, how does this evening work for you?’

‘Evening? Is that permitted?’

Brooks laughed. ‘I work late hours. And I’m asking you to come to my office, not out for a drink.’

‘DCI Benson called you a supervisor — is that right?’

‘Yes, my role for the police department is to be an assessor, for want of a better term. I consult on the sort of therapy that may be needed and make recommendations. In fact from the little — but very explosive — information you’ve already conveyed, I imagine I’ll be suggesting a counsellor at Empress see you soonest. Unfortunately, Gabriella Smart — who is brilliant and would be my choice — is on leave for a week. Perhaps in the meantime —’

‘I don’t have a week to catch this killer, Jane.’

He waited while she considered the situation. He could hear her flicking through what sounded like a large desk diary, muttering to herself. ‘What I was going to say is that I don’t mind filling in until Gabriella returns. We can’t leave you in limbo. So, why don’t we meet tonight and have a chat and we’ll work out how we go from there. I’m happy to be your listener until Gabriella comes back and then I’ll hand over to her. I won’t need to be involved after that so don’t think you’ll be seeing two shrinks.’ She loaded the final word so that he knew she was using it in a mocking manner.

‘That’s good of you.’

‘Are you coming from Earls Court?’

‘No, I’m based in Westminster.’

‘Oh, okay, that’s easier. My office is at Spitalfields, Fournier Street. Is that —’

‘That’s easy.’

She gave him the address. ‘Does around seven work? Just press the buzzer and I’ll let you in.’

‘And I’m looking out for a pygmy, right?’

She laughed, and he was relieved. ‘“Petite” is my description of choice. Non “pc” traits — that’s going in my report straight away, DCI Hawskworth.’

He didn’t know why he’d said it, but he appreciated her sense of humour. ‘Thanks for seeing me so soon.’

‘My pleasure. Until tonight, then.’

He closed his phone, feeling hollow. His head was telling him that he should ring Sharpe now and get himself removed from Panther. His heart demanded he trust the grapevine to stay quiet for a few more days and allow him to stay on board. And if he was going to do that he needed to steel himself for all the horror that was yet to come. It would begin with finding out from Cam about Lily’s family.

9.

He’d been watching her for a couple of hours now and could tell she was frozen; she was simply not wearing enough layers of clothing, and those she had on were nowhere near thick enough to generate much warmth. These girls needed to show off their assets, and so she stamped her feet against the vicious cold, and hugged thin arms around her slender body. She wouldn’t even wrap her scarf high across her face against the bitter wind because then no one would be able to see what they were buying.

Aniela was her name, he’d learned, and she fitted the profile. He’d know more once he got closer, but from this distance she looked young and clear-skinned enough. She was white, in the right age group, probably Eastern European in this game. Most of the prostitutes in this area of London were from Lithuania, Latvia, Ukraine, a few from the Czech Republic. He couldn’t tell the difference. He smiled to himself. That’s what Europeans usually said about Asians. He’d ducked out of sight of Gluck’s Claudia
who’d been here earlier, making sure she did not glimpse him. Now she was gone, busy with a client, and he wanted to hurry up and get this deal done.

It was the last one for Gluck. He promised himself this as he breathed through his woolly scarf. No more criminal activity. He’d never set out to be a crim and yet he’d been driven to it by rage and bitterness at the loss of Anjali, although the money was good. But the risks he was taking now far outweighed any benefit to his state of mind. Moshe was asking too much. Kidneys, yes. But not murder. Even as he said that to himself he was remembered he was indirectly responsible for four deaths already. Blood was about to hit his hands for the fifth time. It angered him, but he felt trapped on this occasion. Once more and then he would be rid of Moshe Gluck and his demands, and hopefully rid of the darkness that had clouded his life.

He was dragged from his thoughts as the girl moved over to talk with a friend. They shared a wry smile over something as Aniela lit a cigarette from the burning tip of her friend’s. She blew out smoke from the side of her mouth as they talked. She made a sign as though the person they were presumably talking about was crazy, and then she shrugged, taking a long final drag from the cigarette that glowed orange in the dim light. She didn’t drop and stamp on the butt but flicked it carelessly away towards the road before saying goodbye, and heading down into the tube station.

This was his chance. Namzul emerged from the shadows, scurried across the road and shook his head at the friend who immediately tried to mark him. He pointed downstairs and she smiled resignedly, as if this had happened before. He was glad he’d worn a
beanie and nondescript clothing, because she was close enough to be able to describe him if called upon. With luck his scarf, hat and black outfit would make him sound like every other Londoner out during winter.

He hurried down the stairs, scanning for the girl. She was easy to find, as it turned out, leaning against a wall, eating a bar of chocolate she’d obviously just bought from a machine.

‘Looking for me?’ Aniela said, her heavy accent sounding all the more sexy for her deep voice.

‘Yes.’

‘Thirty pounds for anything you want in fifteen minutes down here.’

He took a breath. It was tempting but there was a job to do. ‘I’m shy.’

‘You don’t have to be, sweetie. Not with me.’

‘I don’t want it to be so public.’

She shrugged. ‘Then it’s more.’

‘Okay,’ he said, softly. ‘How about at my place?’

‘I don’t —’

‘It’s close.’ He pulled out a small roll of money.

‘I’ll pay double.’

She regarded him carefully, sizing him up. ‘Where?’

‘East London. Brick Lane.’

‘That’s not so far.’

‘How much?’

She shrugged again. ‘Depends how long.’

‘Fifteen minutes?’ he tried, glancing around at the sound of footsteps.

She shook her head, her lids closing lazily. ‘It’s not worth the hassle,’ she said

‘Okay, half an hour.’

The girl thought about this. ‘Ninety pounds. You pay my transport and include a hamburger and
coffee and ten extra pounds for me and I’ll come to your house and help you come, yah?’ She smiled.

He was right. Despite her lifestyle she was was still clear-skinned. Youth helped. She had a pretty enough face but her smile was hard and it didn’t touch her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. There was no fun in what she did and he imagined every penny she earned was put through the pockets of her pimp, wherever he was.

‘Sounds fair,’ he said, lying. He had no idea what was fair or not.

‘When?’

‘How about one hour?’

She nodded. ‘Give me the address.’

‘No, I’ll meet you at —’

She shook her head. ‘I go nowhere without your address. My friends need to know where I’m going. Protection, yah?’

He nodded, and gave her the address of the restaurant rather than his own. He planned to be gone from there within days anyway.

‘One hour. I’ll need a deposit.’

‘How do I know you’ll come?’

‘I always come,’ she drawled, laughing slyly at him. Then she straightened. ‘I’ll be there,’ she said firmly. ‘I need the money.’

He looked around again. A man was grinding himself against the hips of a girl half his age in a telephone booth. Perhaps he thought his overcoat covered his shame, Namzul thought, even though his trousers were pooled around his ankles. He could almost imagine the man’s family — wife and two children, no doubt — living in a modest home in Croydon, none the wiser about his clandestine activities. He turned back to Aniela and gave her
£
20.

She kissed it and smiled. He imagined she’d spend it immediately on drugs. He didn’t care. She’d be getting plenty more drugs once he got her inside his flat, so if she was already high that would only help his cause. He decided to make things even easier and gave her another ten. Her eyes widened.

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re nice. You remind me of someone I once knew and loved,’ he lied.

Her expression suggested she didn’t believe him but he didn’t care. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, staying in character.

‘Aniela.’

It sounded nice when she said it. ‘Don’t spend it all at once, Aniela.’

She grinned, and again it looked predatory rather than cheerful. ‘And yours?’

‘Taj,’ he said, recalling the name of one of his victims.

‘Bye, Taj. See you in an hour.’

He left her, not even casting a glance towards where the girl, chewing gum, was now righting her clothes and the man was re-buckling his belt. He closed his eyes momentarily. Why had someone with so much promise as himself come to this?

Kate was glumly stirring milk into a coffee she didn’t particularly want, but it gave her a few moments to think. Sarah arrived to disrupt her thoughts.

‘Kettle just boiled?’ she asked, brandishing a sachet of instant soup.

‘Just seconds ago,’ Kate replied absently.

‘You okay?’ Sarah wondered. ‘No, you’re not, are you? You look upset.’ She removed her glasses to polish them on her sweater.

Kate was aware that the last time they’d worked together she’d been horribly prickly towards DS Jones. ‘And you look gorgeous in that coat of yours,’ she said, forcing a smile. She wanted them to be friends. ‘I thought we’d agreed: no anoraks.’

‘You agreed to help me shop, but you never did, so I didn’t bother because the only one complaining about my attire is you. Besides, I’m told grey is in.’

‘Anoraks are not, though — in any colour.’

They both smiled.

‘It’s not happening again,’ Sarah said, impulsively. She replaced her glasses.

Kate shrugged, momentarily thinking how attractive Sarah looked without her owlish glasses. Perhaps some smaller, rimless ones? ‘I tried to tell him that but he’s not listening to me,’ she replied, hurting. ‘The thing is, Sarah, it
is
personal for him. And that’s dangerous.’

‘Well . . .’ Sarah began, taking down a mug from the cupboard and, after peering into it, deciding it would do. ‘We have to trust that DCI Hawksworth is capable — as he assures us he is — of separating his relationship with this latest victim from the case he’s heading up. We just have to get on with our work and let him be. He’s only just discovered this, after all. None of us can expect him to be coping immediately. Would you?’

‘No, but I think that’s my point. I would resign.’

‘Would you?’ Sarah asked, her expression clearly one of disbelief. ‘You’d be ambitious enough to try and rise above personal issues and act objectively in the role you’ve been trained to perform. The chief’s no different. If anything, he’s got more reason to perform. The superintendent chose DCI Hawksworth over and above other contenders for
this task. He obviously thinks he’s ready to resume full operational duties, so I doubt our chief will show any weakness in front of the power-mongers of the Met.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘I know from the outside it seems almost ludicrous that he’d continue, but having some history with him on the Danube case, I think he has to press on for his own sake, his own future.’

Kate pushed away from the sideboard. ‘But Sarah, seriously. His girlfriend has been murdered. How can he operate professionally?’

‘How can he not if he wants to catch the killer? I’m not saying it will be easy or without pain. But no one, not even you, could deny the look in his eyes was chilling. He intends to catch this murderer and he’ll make him pay properly. Frankly, right now I don’t think he would trust anyone else to be as diligent as he’ll be. You mark my words. He won’t eat, sleep, rest. He’ll be like a robot, making sure no stone is left unturned, making sure we all do our jobs absolutely by the book so there is no way this killer can get away or get off. I reckon, in a weird sort of way, he’s the best person for the job.’

Kate gave her a look of friendly exasperation. ‘That’s the most twisted logic I’ve ever heard. What’s it going to do to him in the meantime?’

Sarah squeezed Kate’s arm as she picked up her now thickened, fully stirred chicken and sweet corn soup. ‘That’s not your concern,’ she said softly. ‘He’s spoken to DPS. He’s done everything the way he should. Let it go. Keep an eye on him — I’m sure we all will — but let it go, Kate.’

Kate sighed, conscious suddenly of her recent phone call, but determined to go ahead with her meeting. ‘Right, I’ll let go,’ she said more brightly,
trying to cover any traces of self-consciousness or guilt that perceptive Sarah might pick up. ‘Do you really reckon this case is about organ theft?’ she continued as they headed out of the tea-room.

Sarah shrugged. ‘Kidneys were removed. It seems the most logical path. The best starting point anyway.’

‘But it’s the removal of faces that’s the common link.’ Kate felt repulsed. ‘Why take a face? Presumably to make it hard to identify the body, but why bother if the victim is itinerant or illegal?’

‘That wouldn’t explain taking Ms Wu. Her dental records would ID her immediately.’

‘So what use is someone’s face?’ Kate wondered.

‘It’s what I intend to find out,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll have that info by day’s end for you.’

‘Okay, good luck with it.’ Kate strolled back to her desk, pondering the notion of facial surgery. It made her think of that dreadful television show with Samantha Stone.

‘Kate?’ It was Cam.

‘Yep?’ she said, putting down the coffee gladly.

‘Where’s the chief?’

She shrugged. ‘Why would I know?’

He stared at her. ‘You followed him.’

‘I didn’t linger,’ she said, trying not to snap.

‘Okay,’ he said, blowing out his cheeks, clearly unsure of what to do next. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair before he nudged her. ‘Look out. Here he is.’

She straightened in her chair.

‘Hello, chief.’ They spoke together like naughty children.

He looked to be totally in control, thought Kate, not at all like the stunned man of the ops room just thirty minutes earlier.

‘My office,’ he said to them.

They crammed inside as he closed the door.

‘Cam, you need to brief me about the family in a moment.’

‘Sir.’

‘Kate, I’m going to speak with the fiancé.’

She hesitated, but then replied, ‘Cam or I
could —’

‘No, I want to look into his eyes. I want to judge for myself whether he’s a liar.’

‘You’re accusing him?’

‘No, but he’s a natural suspect. Perhaps he found out about Lily and me.’

‘And killed three others to make it look right?’

Jack ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

Kate continued. ‘I doubt very much that a man would kill innocent people in such a flamboyant manner just to make the murder of his fiancée appear to be part of some organ-theft racket! What’s more, a crime of passion is rarely this clean or slick.’

‘You’re right so far, Kate, except you have no idea who Lily’s fiancé is.’

She stared blankly at him. ‘Who is he?’

‘Professor James Chan.’

Shock hit her like a slap. ‘From the TV show?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that. Perhaps more importantly he’s from the Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery Unit at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel.’

‘He’s a top cranio-facial surgeon?’

‘Is he a suspect now, Kate?’

‘He wouldn’t do that to his own bride, surely?’

Jack looked at her sceptically. ‘As I said, perhaps he discovered her indiscretion. He might have felt inclined to save face . . . no pun intended,’ he added
darkly. ‘His honour was tarnished, after all. His virgin bride was ruined, although I could assure him she was not a virgin when I met her. He is one of this country’s foremost physicians and now you tell me he’s a media personality as well.’

She frowned. ‘I can’t believe I was just thinking about that show with all the makeovers. He’s a bit of a cold fish, actually.’

‘Well, the cuts were professional, clean, made without passion or fire, it seems. That’s the way a professional like him might work, right?’

‘Hypothetically, but let’s not jump at this.’

‘I’m not. But I am going to see him.’

‘May I come with you?’

‘As you wish, Kate. Get on to the hospital. Make an appointment for us to see Professor Chan.’