Beautiful Death (3 page)

‘Luckily, a good friend, Geoff Benson is working there too.’

‘Ah, that’s right. He’s a good man.’ He waited for Jack to say more.

‘Er, the internal investigation into Suffolk Constabulary now means we have two officers suspended pending a court case.’

Sharpe frowned. ‘That sounds serious. When they requested a trusted member of my team I thought it was just to bring some clout to the investigation.’

‘No, it’s pretty bad, Malcolm. There’s a third officer still under investigation. I’m quite surprised too that the drug and prostitution racket has obviously been on the march.’

‘Ipswich? A market town!’

Jack shrugged. ‘Four prostitutes are already dead.’

‘Connected to our officers?’

‘Not sure yet. I don’t think so but we’re digging.’

‘Well, I’ve spoken to Superintendent Chalmers. I need you back.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘There’s mischief afoot in the city, Jack,’ he finally said.

‘And what do we have?’

‘Currently three bodies. One was found ten weeks ago, dumped in one of the dried-up navigation canals on Walthamstow Marshes. A male. We know very little about him but we’re thinking he could be one of the many Eastern European gypsies who seem to be enjoying southern England. The other two were found together, not quite four weeks ago, unearthed just down from the Lea River Rowing Club over at Springfield Park.’

Jack frowned. ‘What are the bodies telling us?’

‘Two of the victims are of Asian origin. Subcontinental, we think at this stage.’

‘Unknowns, I suppose.’

‘Correct. Almost certainly illegals, probably from the squats. No identification on them, but their fingerprints, teeth and so on give us nothing either. One had different coloured eyes, can you believe, but even that description has got us no further. They don’t exist as far as any authorities are concerned.’

‘Have they shown the mug shots around Whitechapel? Broadway Market and the like?’

‘No point.’

Jack raised an eyebrow. Sharpe was carefully building towards something. Jack waited.

Sharpe explained. ‘They had no faces, all the skin removed.’

‘I did hear that right, didn’t I?’

‘Their faces had been removed, Jack. Eyes were left, pathology confirms. Also the first one we found had both kidneys removed so there was no intention for him to survive. We immediately thought he was a victim of organ theft but the other pair were curiously left intact, other than their faces. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing of value was being stolen.’

Jack sipped his coffee thoughtfully. ‘Very grisly. What has pathology given us?’

‘Not that much. The surgery was neat, clean. Professional.’

‘How did they die?’

‘Morphine — not a stupid amount, but enough to slowly suppress the respiratory system, compromise the body’s efficiency.’

‘But enough opiate that it’s deliberate,’ Jack qualified.

‘Oh yes, it’s deliberate, especially when all the other elements are considered.’

‘Clothes?’

‘Very worn but also very clean. We’re guessing they were laundered before being put back onto the corpses. Another tick for the deliberate death box.’

Jack bit into a biscuit, thinking as he was chewing. ‘And the common factor is the removal of the face and the victims’ ethnicity.’

Sharpe shook his head, reached for a biscuit as well. ‘No, the faces are the only common denominator here apart from pathology’s observation that these were all healthy, fit men.’

‘But no one’s come forward?’

‘No. We don’t have names or records for any of them.’

‘And you’re offering me this case?’

‘It’s been two years since Danube. You’re healthy again and I’ve been hearing only good things from DPS about you. I know you’ve only been assisting in Ghost Squad. Time to get you back to the coalface. I think you’re ready for Operation Panther and frankly, Jack, I need my best man on this. It has all the hallmarks of a nasty mess, I’m afraid, so before Britain panics and the media turns this into a circus, please wrap it up for me. You have carte blanche on your team, premises, whatever you need; this is getting a very high priority as you can imagine.’

‘Thank you, Malcolm,’ Jack said, adrenaline beginning to course through his body at the notion of heading a major operation again.

‘I know I can count on you,’ Sharpe said matter-of-factly, clearly trying to hide the paternal instincts he held for Jack.

‘Files?’

‘Already prepped, your name all over them.

You’re off Ghost Squad as of today.’

Jack nodded. ‘Have you heard anything from Deegan?’

‘Ghost Squad has little time for DCI Deegan’s simmering rage. Since your undercover operation that led to the death of PC Conway, Deegan has taken an almost unnatural interest in you and I don’t think he’s completely given up his desire to nail your arse to a post, so you do need to stay very clean. Mind you, Benson will watch your back. Where do you want to be based?’

‘Not at the Empress building, Malcolm.’

‘Now then, Jack, I thought you appreciated stunning, state-of-the-art-structures.’

‘I don’t want to be based at Earls Court for this if I can help it.’

Sharpe gave a grunt. ‘So be it. You can base the operation out of Victoria Street.’

‘Top floor again, Malcolm?’ The senior man gave him a baleful look. ‘My staff will work better with nice views,’ Jack added.

‘You mean you want to look out over Westminster and not Little Oz. I’ll tell your sister that.’

Jack drained his coffee, smiling. ‘I’ll start making some calls.’

‘Anyone you want can be seconded into the operation, although I reckon I can take a pretty good guess at your top layer,’ Sharpe said, picking at his teeth. ‘Got some almond stuck, damn! Now my gum will swell.’

Jack laughed. ‘I think you’re getting grouchier by the year, Malcolm.’

‘I’m allowed to: I’m sixty-one! Where are you going to start?’

Jack didn’t hesitate. ‘With the river, I reckon. Someone must have seen something down there — the bargees themselves, perhaps. Bodies can’t just be left in shallow graves without such a close community knowing something.’

Sharpe agreed. ‘Good.’

‘And then I think we need to canvass the area around Springfield and Whitechapel.’

‘You’ll need translators.’

Jack made a mental note to get immediately on to the National Register of Public Service Interpreters. ‘I’ll call NPRSI this afternoon.’

‘I’ll organise for all files to be delivered to the Yard at Victoria Street and Helen will save you time by arranging phone lines, computers etc. Don’t worry about any of the administrative stuff, just organise your team and get started.’

‘Right. I’ll see you back to the tube, unless you’d like a tour of Greenwich?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Sharpe said, eagerly standing. ‘I’m ready to return to the real world.’ They shared a smile. ‘Whoever’s behind this is clearly clever and driven, Jack. That’s the worst kind of criminal. Our problem is we have no idea of who or where or why this is happening. We need some leads — drum them up.’

Jack nodded. His gut was already telling him that if there were three bodies then others would turn up soon.

The hollow-looking man gazed bleakly at his anxious companion. ‘Calm down,’ he cautioned. ‘You’ll draw attention to us.’

Namzul took a steadying breath, watched his companion wave to the Gluck family — the horde — as the children were given a rare outing in the park. He looked at Mrs Gluck; he suspected she was only in her early thirties but she looked like a woman well into middle age after giving Moshe three daughters and six sons. There would be more, Namzul was sure of it; after all, their marriage was meant to be a vehicle for populating the world with people of their faith.

Namzul hated Moshe Gluck. But he needed him too.

‘Haven’t I always looked after you, Namzul?’ Moshe asked, not looking at him but gazing at his family from the park bench where they sat in Springfield Gardens, near the White Lodge Mansion, now transformed into a trendy café.

‘You have, Moshe. But this is getting way beyond my league. I agreed to spot potential donors, I didn’t —’

‘That’s right. I pay you a lot of money to persuade those donors. I also give you free board in a very nice flat in central London, which I could easily be renting out at a tidy sum if I wanted to. I make your job so easy by paying plenty to those truck drivers for the human traffic and they take their cut from the Banglas. Thieves those drivers are! And Namzul, I even put the illegals up in my own accommodation to make it still easier for you to meet them in Whitechapel. And when you’ve worked your magic of coercement, I clean up the mess after you. I think you have a very cosy arrangement.’

‘Moshe, they were meant to be live donors, returned to their lives.’

‘What lives?’ He laughed and it was a sinister sound. ‘I know they’re your countrymen so forgive my candour, but these are not the kind of citizens any country wants. These are illegal immigrants with no social standing in either their home country or their adopted one. They are the poverty-stricken, the homeless, the ones who keep bringing more children into poverty . . . and so the cycle continues. No one will miss them. No one cares.’

Once again Namzul looked over at the Gluck brood and wondered at Moshe’s heartlessness, not that he felt anything personal for Hiran or Taj. He’d barely known them and had long ago steeled himself against sharing any of his targets’ pain. No one had comforted him through his pain. After delivering them to the rendezvous point he had not intended to see them again. But to learn of their death and to know he played a part in it unnerved him. Namzul was, for the first time since he embarked on this criminal path, genuinely frightened.

He changed tack. ‘Why is this woman needed and why so specific a type?’

Gluck shrugged. ‘Listen, our job is simply to provide. I don’t care what they want her for or why.’

‘But this is someone from a different background. I’m unlikely to find an illegal who fits this description.’

‘You can find anyone you want in and around Whitechapel, Namzul. Just look harder. They’re willing to pay a lot for this one.’

‘How much?’ Namzul asked.

‘You will get ten.’

He was sure his heart stopped for a moment. ‘Ten thousand pounds?’

‘Almost enough to make you go and find her tonight, eh?’ Moshe said quietly, finally shifting his gaze from his family to Namzul. ‘Almost enough to make you realise you don’t have to do this much longer . . . but I suspect there may be more requests like these.’

‘What’s going on? This is not for kidneys any more is it?’

Moshe shook his head. ‘I doubt it ever was; it was likely always a cover. And not at that price for the spotter. But I think you will earn your money this time, my friend. She must be perfect. She must fit the specifications. The client is prepared to pay handsomely as acknowledgement of the difficulty of the task . . . but I think you’re up to it, Namzul.’

‘She will die,’ he said baldly. It was not a question.

‘I imagine so at that price.’

Namzul stared at Gluck, despising the cold, dead-looking eyes and bland expression emanating from the pale complexion. The ringlets he wore proudly down the side of his long, horselike face looked
greasy and Namzul noticed stains on the waistcoat of the traditional dark suit. Namzul had not a fraction of Gluck’s wealth but he was sure he turned himself out much more smartly than this man. One only needed to look at the drab clothes he put his wife in to gauge that Moshe Gluck put no store in outward appearance.

‘But that should not trouble you, not with
£
10,000 coming your way for finding her.’

‘How do I find her? What is my reason? I can assure you she’s not going to agree to sell a kidney.’

He watched Moshe blink in irritation but his bored tone did not change. ‘Get her to your flat. Schlimey will take care of the rest.’

‘To my flat?’ Namzul’s voice squeaked. ‘How am I to do that?’

‘That’s your problem. If you want the money, take the job. If you don’t . . .’ Moshe shrugged, then called to his wife that it was time to go.

‘Cash up front?’ Namzul couldn’t afford to let this pass. It was more money than he’d ever held at once in his lifetime. Moshe was right. He could actually begin to think about a different sort of life . . . perhaps even finally put the past behind him. There were times when he couldn’t believe he was on this dark path, and now it was getting darker.

‘As soon as she’s delivered,’ Moshe answered. He stood. ‘So what’s it to be, Namzul? Do we have a deal?’

‘The deadline’s tight.’

‘It’s then or forget it.’

Namzul nodded, hating himself now as he realised with a shiver that he already knew the perfect girl. She fitted the specifications so neatly, it was terrifying. Could he do it to her? She was so
very beautiful, and not just in looks. He swallowed. So was his daughter, Anjali. And no one had cared about her dying of renal failure before a donor was found. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, a surge of anger stinging at his already deep-seated guilt.

‘I knew you would,’ Moshe said, his sly tone infuriating Namzul, but he still felt powerless. The
£
10,000 would stop that helplessness.

‘Let Schlimey know as soon as you have her. You know what to do.’

Namzul nodded, trying to hide his misery.

‘Meet me at Amhurst Park tomorrow, around eight. I’ll pay you there.’

He had only hours but he knew exactly where he’d find her tomorrow morning.

3.

Lily’s mobile sounded and she struggled to balance the vase of flowers on the reception counter of the maternity ward. It was too late, others had already heard it.

A senior nurse frowned at her over her glasses. ‘No mobiles on the ward. You know that.’

‘Sorry, Sister,’ Lily said. She snatched it from her pocket and despite her irritation she smiled. It was Jack. A text giving her an idea of what he had in mind for her tomorrow evening. She giggled and gave the sister more reason to frown. ‘I’m switching it off,’ she assured the irate woman.

‘What’s your name?’

Lily didn’t want to tell her but she could hardly refuse. ‘Lily Wu. I deliver flowers here regularly.’

‘Well, Ms Wu,’ the sister bristled, ‘by all means deliver your flowers but don’t let me hear your phone ring again on any ward that I’m in charge of.’

Lily felt herself flush with embarrassment. ‘Um,
can I take this to a . . .’ she checked the order, ‘Mrs Holt?’

‘You can leave it here,’ the brusque woman said. ‘One of the nurses will take it through.’

‘Thank you,’ Lily said, flashing the sister a dazzling smile. It didn’t work.

She hurried back outside. She had an enormous number of deliveries this morning. It was lucky she’d found favour with the hospital car park attendants who let her bring the van in for a precise twenty minutes. Fortunately the cranky sister had saved her some delivery time and she rang Jack as she ran back towards the van.

He answered quickly. ‘Can’t bear to be apart from me, can you?’

She laughed. ‘You’re on for tomorrow night, but you’d better make good on that promise.’

‘I’m going out to buy everything we need later today.’

This set her giggling again. Jack needed no props. Lily wasn’t what anyone could possibly consider enormously sexually experienced, but it didn’t take much to know whether you were satisfied. And Lily felt only joy and pleasure in Jack’s arms.

‘So where are you?’ he continued.

‘The hospital. Deliveries. The usual stuff. You?’

‘Huge day. You won’t hear much more from me. I’m just about to go into a meeting. I’m heading up a new operation that I suspect is going to be all-consuming.’

‘Bad timing,’ she said quietly.

She heard him sigh softly. ‘Yes, it is. But I’ll definitely see you tomorrow evening.’

‘Is this our goodbye, Jack?’ she suddenly asked, her throat tightening.

‘No, are you crazy? But yesterday I didn’t know I was going to be handed one of the most urgent police operations in the country.’

‘Okay, sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m just going to be hard to reach and not always reliable. I gotta go, Lily.’ He sounded distracted, as though someone had called him.

‘I’ll come to your place tomorrow at seven.’

‘I’ll be undressed.’

She smiled sadly. ‘Bye.’

Leaving Jack was going to be so hard. Whenever she thought about it she felt miserable. The fault was hers for allowing this doomed relationship any oxygen to breathe and flourish. She had known better than to accept his first tentative invitation to go out some time. Her mother had seen her talking to him outside the florist shop in Chinatown almost twelve weeks ago now. But Lily had been appropriately evasive and Jack had fortunately stepped into the store and bought some carnations as though their conversation had been purely incidental. Far from it, of course; he had deliberately come to talk to her. And the truth was Jack had been irresistible from the moment he had breezed into her parents’ shop two years ago, running desperately late for a date and needing to apologise with flowers. That in itself had endeared him to her. Any man who pauses long enough to know that flowers always help earned points with her. And he had not skimped. She recalled how he’d agreed with her that the Dutch spring tulips, though pricey, were the only way to redeem himself with his date. She loved that he’d come looking for her again having not forgotten her subtle flirtation. Jack made her warm in places that
Jimmy would never reach, even with his money and promises of a lavish lifestyle.

She slammed the van’s sliding door shut.

‘Hello, Lily,’ someone said behind her, and turning around, shifting the bouquets she held to one side, she saw a familiar face.

‘Oh, hello you. Hold these a sec, would you? I’ve just got to lock the van again and switch off my phone or I’ll get into more trouble.’

Namzul obliged. ‘How are you?’ he asked as she flicked the van’s remote, her eyes already moving to her mobile phone. He watched her power it down.

‘I’m great, thank you.’

He smiled shyly. ‘You always look great.’

‘You’re sweet.’

Namzul gave a big theatrical sigh. ‘That’s what all the girls say.’

Lily gave his arm a friendly squeeze. ‘So what are you up to?’

‘Oh this and that. You know I like to help out at the hospital. It’s the only charity I can find time for.’

‘I think it’s wonderful. But how a schoolteacher finds time to do voluntary work is pretty incredible.’

‘I do relief teaching, so it’s not full time. I can spare a few hours now and then to help out, especially as I speak the languages that so many of the patients need.’

‘Now you make me feel guilty. I feel like I should offer to do Meals on Wheels.’

He smiled. ‘Have you got time for a coffee? I was just headed out to —’

Her mouth twisted in apology. ‘No, I’ll get killed if I don’t get these all off to the wards,’ she said, reaching to take the bouquets from him. ‘Mum and I got up at three this morning to get everything ready!’

‘You work too hard, beautiful Lily. Listen, I know you’re in a rush but can I ask for your advice?’

‘Sure,’ she said brightly, beginning to walk into the hospital. ‘Walk and talk, Nam. I could use the protection as I’m going back to that dreadful ward where Nazis lurk.’

He gave her a quizzical look and she batted a hand as though it was not worth the bother explaining. He fell into step beside her, pushing open doors to ease her way. ‘I’m thinking of selling my flat.’

‘Oh, okay. I didn’t realise you owned it. You’re in Brick Lane, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I think I’ll do well from it, even though it’s quite poky as they say.’ He gave a small chortle.

‘Namzul, you’ll make a killing. Not bad at all for a relief schoolteacher.’

He shrugged. ‘I had help from relatives and I bought when no one else wanted to live there. I promise you, Lily, it’s really tiny.’

‘So how can I help?’ she asked, checking the directions over his shoulder so she was definitely headed to the west wing. And as if on cue another of the nursing sisters appeared.

‘Ah, Miss Wu, more flowers. My ward?’

She’d forgotten her name. ‘I’m afraid so, Nurse er . . .’

‘Sister Beckitt,’ she answered crisply. ‘You may call me “Sister”.’

‘These four bouquets are all for your ward, Sister.’

‘Indeed. You might like to suggest to your customers that they pay for vases as well. We don’t have an endless supply.’ The sister pursed her lips and sailed past them.

Bitch
, Lily mouthed to her companion.

‘Jealousy’s a curse. Just look at her varicose veins — and her uniform is a little snug, don’t you think?’ Namzul made Lily laugh.

‘Come on, keep walking with me,’ she said cheerily. ‘Tell me about your flat.’

‘Well, it’s just that the place needs brightening. I don’t have money to buy new furniture or redecorate but the estate agent said most new owners like to do it all themselves anyway. The place is painted in a plain off-white and I thought some vases of flowers would be . . . you know . . . helpful.’

‘Oh, right. Do you want me to make some suggestions or just order something — you’d need to let me know how many bunches, what sort of budget and so on.’ They had paused by the central Victorian staircase.

‘I know it’s a big favour, but Lily I’ve got no idea and my flat is just around the corner.’ Namzul smiled shyly. ‘Do you think you could drop by, just for a minute, and decide what I need? You know best.’

She frowned. She didn’t really have time, but she liked Namzul. She’d known him for the four years she’d been delivering flowers to the hospital, and he always had a quick smile, a ready compliment for her and had helped her quite a few times carrying flowers and potplants to and from the wards. He’d never asked for anything in return, and although they weren’t close friends, they shared a coffee now and then in the gardens and almost always had a good laugh. He was a lonely fellow, she sensed, but he didn’t show it and was always in a happy frame of mind. Plus Namzul didn’t eye her in the same hungry way that other men around the hospital did. She felt safe with Namzul.

‘Er . . .’ Torn, she really didn’t know what to say.

‘Oh go on, Lily, help me out. I’ll buy you lunch if I sell it and you know I’ll pay whatever you ask for the flowers.’

She grinned, shrugged. ‘Okay. Look I’ll be through here in about, ooh let’s see,’ she said, glancing at her watch, ‘about ten minutes. I have to get back to the store for the next round of drops so this is going to have to be lightning fast you understand.’

He grabbed and kissed her hand. ‘Thanks, Lily. Two minutes, I promise. Just run upstairs, have a look around and then you can go back to the shop and organise it all.’

‘Fine. But I’ll be there really soon and you’d better have somewhere I can leave my van. I’m not spending ages looking for parking, you know what it’s like around here.’

He waved his hand as if it was of no consequence. ‘You’re in a van, no problem. There’s deliveries in Brick Lane all day long because of the restaurants. As you enter the street, look for the signage that says Jahan Balti Cuisine. I live above the restaurant, top floor. There’s a side lane and you can stop there for a minute or so. It’s a loading bay.’

‘Don’t keep me waiting,’ she warned, heading down the stairs, cradling the flowers.

When Lily arrived, it was exactly as Namzul had promised, and easy to park. She slammed the door of the van shut, flicked the lock and looked for the entrance to the flats near Jahan Balti Cuisine. She found the doorway and entered the darkened hall and headed upstairs. The fragrance of various curries wafted from the restaurant and reminded her it was almost lunchtime. She wasn’t fond of spicy north
Indian food, but she had eaten breakfast just before three o’clock, and it was nearly noon. Suddenly naan bread and the thick rich gravy of a chicken curry seemed appetising.

She looked up and saw Namzul peering over the banister. ‘You’ve got me for one minute,’ she laughingly warned him.

‘Okay, okay,’ he nodded, ‘that’s all I need.’

Lily arrived at the doorway and he beamed. ‘Welcome, Miss Lily. Come in and tell me how to make my killing.’

She walked ahead of him already imagining the brightness of some spring daffodils. He wouldn’t have to spend a lot in fact. He just needed a bright splash of colour and plenty of it. She was just considering whether some sunny white daisies might add a clean crispness when a new smell assaulted her. Gone was the fragrance of cooking and in its place was the overpowering smell of chemicals and suddenly she was inhaling it directly from an old T-shirt. Lily struggled to turn, her dark almond shape eyes staring, confused, terrified into the face of someone she thought was a friend. She began to scream beneath the shirt but Namzul simply pressed it harder to her nose and mouth and the screaming only accelerated the passage of the dizzying fumes into her body. She began to feel nauseous. Was he going to rape her? Lily thought of Jack. Tears squeezed at the corner of her eyes. She felt herself letting go; her knees no longer supported her. Namzul was helping her down as she sank to the worn-out rug and for some reason concentrated on a spider that was crawling up the pale wall that definitely needed daffodils to cheer them. She worried that the spider might find its way into the
chicken curry and that Jack would never get his Dutch tulips. Her thoughts were colliding, as her mind unravelled.

Fingers of darkness grabbed at Lily and the smell of petrol or turpentine, or was it meths? — she didn’t know — clung to her and finally overwhelmed her.

Lily never heard Namzul’s soft apology, nor did she know she was hurried between two men into the back of her van and that it was driven to a place on the River Lea, not far from the rowing club. And there, as she began to resurface from her stupor, she became aware of being carried onto a boat of some sort. She could smell water, hear it. She could also hear men talking. Then an engine was gunned, sputtered and then gunned again before it caught.

Lily began to suck in big breaths. She felt sick. Hungover. She also felt angry. Reaching for her phone she heard a voice address her. It was not Namzul.

‘Lily, I think you’re looking for this,’ a man said, and it took all her wits to simply focus on what he held up. It was her mobile. ‘But you won’t be needing it any more.’ He threw it out of a window. She didn’t hear the splash. She couldn’t even make out his features, although he seemed to have ringlets. Was she going mad?

‘Who are you?’ That’s what she thought she said, but she couldn’t be sure.

He seemed to understand. ‘My name’s Schlimey. I’m your escort.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

He held a bowl to her and she started to retch, but mercifully it didn’t escalate. Her stomach was empty.

‘Breathe deeply,’ he suggested.

The cabin seemed to swirl a little more slowly. She could make out shape and form. On her breath she tasted almonds — it was the chemical that had made her pass out. ‘Why did Namzul do that?’

‘Because we asked him to,’ Schlimey’s voice answered from somewhere. She couldn’t concentrate on where.

‘We?’

‘Don’t think, Lily. Just breathe. I need you breathing.’

‘Are you going to hurt me?’

‘You won’t feel a thing,’ Schlimey promised.

‘When?’

‘When you die,’ he said.