Beautiful Death (24 page)

‘Did Professor Chan have any idea of who Lily might have been seeing?’ Kate asked, holding her breath.

He looked baffled. ‘Ask him.’

‘Didn’t you?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I learned very early never to pry where Jimmy’s concerned. He tells me only what he wants in his own good time, and besides, it was personal …’ he shrugged, ‘irrelevant in other words. If it’s to do with patients, the unit, the clinic, surgical procedures, new products, breakthroughs, whatever … then it’s relevant. Our personal lives are not.’

She nodded, imagining the phone call she’d be making shortly to her boss and what he was going to say.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Maartens continued. ‘Now Jimmy has a motive. And he’s a face surgeon so just to punish his two-timing fiancée he whips off her face … blah, blah, blah.’

She stared back at the doctor momentarily before deliberately switching topics. ‘Are you aware that Lily Wu came from Hadley Wood?’

He frowned, confused momentarily by her change in tack. ‘No. I think I was under the impression that she lived in the Shoreditch area.’

‘It’s true she did. But her family home is in your neighbourhood.’

‘Six degrees of separation,’ he said, looking unimpressed. ‘I had no idea. Oh, wait, let me guess, the gaudy palace with the huge fountain and a dragon as a centrepiece? And if my memory serves me right there are two enormous Chinese-style vases either side of the oversized front door with its fake stained glass.’

She shrugged, amused that he’d let his guard down and revealed his prejudices, or perhaps his snooty upbringing. ‘I haven’t been to the house,’ she admitted. She drained her latte glass. ‘Tell me, how is
Professor Chan taking the news that his fiancée was butchered by the killer?’

His gaze narrowed. ‘Stoically. I’m sure you noticed that yesterday.’

‘Do you find that curious?’

He shook his head. ‘Not when you know Jimmy as well as I do. He’s a difficult fellow, very complex but very strong too. It doesn’t mean he’s not hurting — he just won’t show it.’

‘Is he capable of violence?’

His light eyes regarded her. ‘Aren’t we all?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ She stabbed her fork into the cake and cut off a tiny piece to be polite. ‘Why isn’t he angry about Ms Wu’s demise?’ She put the gooey morsel into her mouth. It was scrumptious, as she had feared it would be. Now she’d have to have another mouthful.

‘Knowing Jim … James as I do, I can assure you he is. He just doesn’t display it.’

She lingered over another forkful of cake. ‘You’re right, this cake is to die for.’ He nodded, attacking his own slice. ‘I recognise the lake from the TV program,’ she remarked. It was time to lighten the conversation, to get away from Dr Maartens and have a snoop around alone.

‘It’s good publicity.’

‘I’ve never seen you on the show.’

He shook his head. ‘Not my bag.’

Kate suspected he was lying. Somehow appearing on prime-time television struck her as being every inch Dr Charles Maartens’s
bag
. ‘Oh, I would have thought you more suitable … you know, more affable.’

He laughed, swallowing and wiping his lips with the cloth napkin that Sharon had brought with the
cake. ‘Yes, I think I know what you mean, but it was Jimmy’s idea.’

‘The program?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. In fact I think he funded the pilot, worked out the structure of the show; the whole concept was his from the outset.’

‘But surely even he can see he’s not the ideal TV personality.’

Charles laughed loudly. ‘Yes, I think he’s well aware of his shortcomings as a television presenter, but that’s the host’s job anyway and Samantha does a great job. Jimmy’s brilliant at what he does and between all the talented people here we do some fine work on those sad people who agree to go on that mad show.’

‘Surely you would be more suitable … less scary? He never smiles.’

‘No, he doesn’t. But honestly, Kate, no one wants a buffoon in charge of redesigning their face. You want Jimmy. Or me, perhaps,’ he said with a fresh beam. ‘But I don’t want to be on television. I think you’ve got me worked out wrong.’

She didn’t think so, but left it alone. It wasn’t important.

‘Have we finished here?’ he asked, glancing at his watch. ‘I have a procedure in about ninety minutes and there’s some prepping to do.’

‘One final question, Charles.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Face transplants.’ His gaze narrowed. She feigned a smile. ‘Is it fantasy?’

‘Not at all. In fact I imagine we’ll be doing partial facial transplants within the next year or so. The know-how and skill are almost there. Full facial transplants?’ He shrugged. ‘Is that what you think this is about?’

‘You tell me. Four victims, each with their face removed.’

‘Disguising their identity, I would have thought,’ he said, frowning.

‘Three were illegals. They had no traceable identity — I’m sure the killer knew that.’

He looked at her, baffled. ‘I can’t think like a killer for you, Kate. By all means use my expertise as a surgeon but why someone is slicing off faces I have no idea.’

‘So they would be of no use to anyone?’

‘Were they simply hacked off?’

‘According to the pathologist it was a professional job.’

He blew out his cheeks as he considered her question. ‘You know, what you’re alluding to is not a straightforward situation of cut off a face and plonk it onto someone else. Sew it on and bingo. That’s the stuff of Frankenstein or B-grade horror movies.’

‘I realise that,’ she said.

He shook his head in frustration. ‘I don’t think you do. To perform the surgery required simply to remove the flap of skin from the skull, well, we’re talking maybe ten hours. Kate, there’s nothing straightforward about this. The killer would have to preserve blood vessels, nerves, muscle, possibly bone, and remove it all with such care that it leaves him lots of length on those vessels, for instance, for nice reconnections. And then another six, maybe seven, hours of surgery following that.’

It sounded daunting. ‘How much help would he need?’

‘Help? You mean assistants for the operation?’ She nodded. ‘Several. Five, six maybe. At the unit we have a team of up to a dozen working on one
patient. He’d need to be awfully confident, very competent. And then there’s the biggest question of all … why?’ He scoffed. ‘It’s ludicrous to suggest any murderer could work like that.’

Kate decided to wrap things up. ‘Well, Charles, you’ve been incredibly helpful. Thank you for your time, the tour, the coffee — and the delicious cake.’

‘I wish I could do more. Do you want to have some time to wander?’

‘Thank you, I will.’

‘Let me walk you back to reception and you can go from there.’

‘Great.’ Maartens helped Kate back into her coat and as he did so, his hand brushed her cheek as he lifted her hair so her coat slipped on without trapping it inside.

She blushed. ‘Oh, thank you, very gallant.’

He gave a small shrug as though it was the most natural action any man might take. ‘Thanks, Sharon,’ he called lifting a hand in farewell and she waved from the kitchen.

Kate could still feel his touch on her skin. Had it been deliberate? She felt sure it had been. Everything about Dr Maartens felt controlled, orchestrated.

‘I can’t believe how quiet it is,’ he commented, staring far too deeply into her eyes for a formal meeting.

Kate reached for something light-hearted to say, to drag herself away from his gaze. ‘Damn, I was hoping to see Kate Moss or Angelina Jolie with bandages all over their faces.’

He laughed. ‘Not today.’ They stepped outside and a frosty breeze whipped their faces. ‘Wow, it’s colder than this morning and here comes the rain.’

Kate shivered, squinting through the drizzle.
‘What are those buildings over there?’ she asked,
pointing.

‘Outbuildings, with quaint names like “The Stables” and “The Buttery”. I think they’re only used for storage now. Did you want me to organise keys? You could walk over there,’ he offered, ‘although the rain —’

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘They’re used mainly to stow extra beds and furniture, I believe. We store all the drugs inside the main building, of course, and in safes as well.’

She nodded, and they began to hurry as the rain came down harder. They exploded through the doors of the main building.

‘Sorry about that. Dreadful timing.’ Dr Maartens smiled and held out a hand. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure. I hope you’ll allow me to keep my promise some time.’

She didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. ‘Thank you, again.’ They shook hands and both lingered in their grip.

Finally he moved his hands in a wide arc. ‘It’s all yours. Feel free.’ She nodded. ‘Bye, Kate.’ And he left her standing on the exquisite black-and-white floor.

20.

Sarah’s morning had been office-bound but productive. She now had a lot of background research in place should the team need information on anything from illegal immigrants to organ transplants. DCI Hawsksworth had called to say he was following up a lead from the Lea Rowing Club and was on his way to talk with a family at Spring Hill. She’d listened quietly as he briefed her.

‘Sir, that sounds like we need to bring in an FLO.’

Jack had sighed. ‘Family Liaison Officers take time to organise and even longer to set up an appointment. Add another day or so to find a male FLO familiar with Jewish custom! I know the drill, Sarah, but if I don’t strike now this trail will go cold. The boy is already unnerved by telling me as much as he has and once he’s in the family home, with his parents probably glowering at him for speaking out of turn — or at least without their sanction — I imagine he’ll just clam up. I don’t want anyone to have the opportunity to school him on what to say or how to say it.’

‘I understand, sir, but —’

‘Sarah, I know you do things by the rule book. It’s one of the reasons we love you.’ She had bitten her lip at this. ‘But I can’t follow protocol strictly on this occasion and it’s my call, my arse, okay? You are not incriminated.’

‘I don’t care about that.’

‘Yes, you do. I know how you work and I know you care very much about doing things the right way. Tell you what. I’ll give the family the opportunity to have an FLO present. It will be their choice. Or we can have an informal chat at the front door if necessary. This boy is not in any trouble and I doubt the family is involved. All I want is information on this ginger-haired git.’

She considered silently, frowning. ‘Okay, sir. That’s fair,’ she finally agreed.

‘Thank you.’ Jack struggled to keep a faint touch of sarcasm from his voice. ‘I’ll be back in the office as soon as I’ve been to Lingwood Road. I’ll keep the mobile on in case you need me. Has Mal been in touch?’

‘Yes, they’re on their way back now. Cam and Angela were held up. Damage to a substation meant power blackouts in Whitechapel — in fact the whole region’s been knocked out, sir.’

‘Let me guess, Morrisons?’

‘Yes, sir, I think the building teams have cut through some live cables. Cam was hopeful they’d be able to interview Johnston by mid-afternoon.’

‘That means they’ll have to go over to Limehouse.’

‘Why, sir?’

‘Bethnal Green will have lost power, which means they’d move anyone in custody to the next closest station that is fully operational.’

‘Of course.

‘Well, that really slows things up but so long as they speak to Johnston, that’s all that counts. What news from Kate?’

‘Nothing as yet, sir. But she’ll phone in soon, I imagine.’

‘Okay, tell her to drive carefully. She goes too fast when she’s excited.’

Sarah giggled. ‘I know. But she won’t let anyone else drive.’

‘I pull rank. Unfortunately you can’t. But your day’s fast coming, Sarah. How are you getting on?’

‘I’ve had a full morning of research, which may prove useful — we’ll see. And I’ve got details in from forensics that may or may not be relevant.’

‘Go on.’

‘I mentioned that receipt in the van. It was from a café near Amhurst Park. It’s dated two days before Lily was taken. Could be coincidence but I’m following it up. I’m about to ring my mate I told you about over at Vice to see what I can find out about the Amhurst Park prostitutes. I texted the info to Cam too in case he could use it in his interview.’

‘Well, good luck.’

‘Thanks, sir. You too.’

She didn’t dawdle; as soon as the ring tone returned, she punched in a mobile number and waited.

‘Andy Gates.’

‘Hi, Andy. It’s Sarah.’

‘Sarah?’

‘Jones, you fool!’

‘Oh, hello. Sorry, blimey, thought you were this stalker I went out on a blind date with not so long ago. She’s a Sarah too and I’m scared I’ll have to change addresses.’

Sarah grinned. ‘Andy, got anything on pimps and prostitutes up in the Amhurst area?’

‘Plenty, why?’

‘Well, it’s a hunch.’

‘Are you working an op?

‘Panther.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘We haven’t got much. I’m trying a very long shot at the moment that the girls up at Amhurst might have heard something.’

‘That
is
reaching. I mean I get why — being so close to Stamford Hill and all that — but Sarah, that’s the main Jewish community of London. Why on earth would —’

‘I know, I know. But here it is. Call me barmy but I was once taken to a really brilliant Jewish café, I suppose you’d call it, near Stamford Hill station — actually I think it was on Amhurst Parade.’

‘Milo’s,’ he said.

‘Is that it? Yes! Sounds right.’

‘It’s the only kosher café in that area. Open 24 hours and I’ll admit the bagels are tops.’

‘Top food all round.’

‘I’ll trust you. So?’

‘So, they found a receipt in a stolen vehicle that contained the body of one of the victims,’ she began and then stopped suddenly.

‘Sarah?’

‘What? Sorry, I … sorry.’

‘What’s going on?’ Andy asked. She could imagine him frowning at the other end. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, sorry, Andy. Really. Something just fell into place.’

‘Good. Your brain perhaps.’

‘Up yours.’

He laughed. ‘So you don’t want to know about the big swoop going down on the pros at Amhurst tonight?’

‘You bastard. Really?’

‘Really,’ he confirmed. ‘Golf Delta’s been helping the local action group set up a safe neighbourhood team; you know, to keep an eye on crime in the area but also the rapidly growing prostitution. There’s a lot of pimps operating there and they’re running up to a dozen girls each. It’s not good.’

‘They’re doing a raid?’

‘Bit of a clean-up, yeah. Happening tonight.’

‘Can I get in on that?’

‘Never picked you for a voyeur, Sarah.’

‘Oh, go jump would you. Yes or no?’

‘Sure. I’ll pick you up if you want. Be ready around five-thirty. It’s dark enough then.’

‘Perfect.’

‘And Sarah?’

‘Yes?’

‘Wear that beige anorak. You know how sexy I find you in it.’

She shared his laughter as they rang off; she didn’t mind Andy ribbing her. He was a great bloke and they had been friends through Hendon together. He was someone she could trust and vice versa. She hoped one day soon they’d work a case together. He, too, was ambitious and they’d always competed; she wondered which of them would make DC first.

Sarah replaced the receiver and returned to the flash of inspiration that had struck her so blindingly moments earlier. She was glad she had not had to explain it to Andy because it still felt too loose — but the connection was definitely there.

Hawksworth was now on the trail of a Jewish
man who was the closest thing they had to a suspect. He’d been seen at the river where two of the victims had been found, and a witness had seen him bundling a woman — who could have been Ms Wu — onto one of the narrowboats. The timing of him being seen with her fitted the timing of the crime.
Was
that Lily? And was this ginger-haired Jewish man their killer? The receipt found in Lily’s van was for a kosher café, probably Milo’s, which perhaps this fellow had frequented. She felt a spike of surprise as she sensed the dots could be joining up and certainly his description, though admittedly scant, was one she could bandy around the girls tonight. Someone from the Amhurst Park prostitute community would surely remember a ginger-haired Jewish man with ringlets? And if he was strict enough to follow the Hasidic faith — as his hairstyle suggested — then he might well be strict enough to consume only kosher fare. It
was
a long shot, but she felt the stirrings of excitement join her surprise.

5.30 p.m. couldn’t come fast enough for Sarah.

Cam Brodie and Angela Karim had finally arrived at their destination. It was close to 3 p.m., and they were at Limehouse rather than Bethnal Green, due to the power blackout, but they had finally got the nod from Appleton that Denny Johnston was in the interview room and ready for questioning.

‘We realise you probably want to handle this, Stu,’ Brodie began carefully, his boss’s warning ringing in his ears. ‘We can sit in …’

DI Appleton looked weary. ‘No, look, you go ahead. This is in connection with Panther and I’m well aware of the high profile of the operation. We don’t want to get in the way of it through pettiness.’
He looked around. ‘I think you can see we’ve got a big day on our hands anyway what with all the traffic complications and the power being cut. You go ahead. My people will likely listen in. I’ve got to get back over to Bethnal Green.’

‘Thanks, that’s great,’ Brodie said, glancing at Angela, seeing the relief he was feeling reflected in her expression. ‘Whatever report we produce you’ll get a copy, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Appleton gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Don out here can help if you need anything. Johnston’s been appointed a solicitor through Legal Aid. Good luck. I hope Denny delivers.’

‘Us too,’ Angela said, smiling. ‘He’s the first break in the case.’

‘Denny’s a small-time crook. He’s also frightened. Push him, because he won’t want to be going back behind bars, I can assure you. Room four.’

‘Thanks, Stu. Let’s go,’ Brodie said to Angela.

‘I’ll leave it to you, sir,’ she said, referring to the actual interview.

‘Chime in when you want. We have to break this guy down and get a trail to follow or Hawk is off this case.’

She looked at him quizzically as they walked down the corridor. ‘You know, you strike me as ambitious. I thought the DCI having to relinquish this operation might open up all sorts of enticing pathways for you.’

He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t work like that, Angela. It won’t be me who gets the job — they’ll bring in another DCI and it could be someone like Rosemary Elliott. Ever met her? Frightening! And such a stickler for the rules that she’ll break your
balls over the slightest deviation while the creeps of this world get away. I like Hawk’s way of working. He’s not uptight, he just goes with instinct and he bends the rules all the time if it means we get our man. He’s got serious clout behind him through Sharpe, so we can operate in a sort of protected environment … not that we’d admit that in the cafeteria.’ She laughed. ‘Besides, it would just be my luck that Kate gets the job!’

Angela seemed to store that away and Brodie realised he’d made an error. He hadn’t really meant it the way it came out, although deep down he occasionally felt threatened by Kate. She had plenty going for her, despite her sometimes prickly manner, which he was sure was due to her unhappy personal life. But that was none of his business and it was certainly not Angela’s. ‘Anyway,’ he said, as they arrived outside room four, ‘I reckon Hawk’s got every right to nail this guy. I want to catch him just to see if the DCI can control himself.’

She smirked. ‘That’s not nice, Brodie.’

He winked, and opened the door. ‘Mr Johnston? I’m DI Brodie; this is DC Karim. And you must be …?’ He looked towards the woman sitting next to Johnston.

‘I’m Shirley Mapp, Mr Johnston’s solicitor.’

Cam smiled at her, then at Denny. ‘We’ll be conducting your interview today, Mr Johnston.’

‘My name’s Denny. Look, what’s this all about?’ Johnston blustered.

Cam could see the fright in Denny’s eyes behind the brash exterior and knew that’s what he had to prey on. He held his hand up and turned on the recording equipment, reciting the necessary formulas. Then he looked at Johnston. ‘Denny, what
can you tell us about the white florist’s van you delivered to Sainsbury’s car park in Whitechapel on the night of —’

‘What white van?’ Denny shrugged theatrically. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Cam saw the solicitor’s lips thin. She knew they weren’t here for fun. He pressed on. ‘Denny, before you waste more time in denial I need to let you know that we have you on security camera, not only getting out of the van — along with your mate, Alan Barnes — but we have footage that follows you both all the way to Brick Lane and into a bagel shop. The footage shows you and Barnes eating your bagels and I can even tell you when Alan Barnes parted company with you so that you could walk back to your flat that borders Shoreditch. Do you still want to deny your involvement in the murder of Ms Lily Wu?’

Johnston’s head snapped up, his jaw open and Brodie saw only horror in his expression. He kept his own countenance grave, but inwardly he smiled. Denny was about to lose the attitude.

The solicitor’s attitude was changing too. ‘DI Brodie, I must advise my client —’

Cam’s tone hardened. ‘Your client has been arrested on suspicion and may be an accessory to murder, Ms Mapp. Now I suggest you advise your client to co-operate with this investigation as fully and as frankly as he can and maybe … just maybe … the fact that he has volunteered information and assisted police might be taken into consideration.’

‘All right, look,’ Denny began, ignoring his counsel, who tried to butt in again. His attention was fixed on Brodie. ‘I delivered the fucking van. I had nothing to do with any murder, or anyone called
Wu. I had no idea about a body in the back or
anything
in the back. I swear it.’ He put a hand over his heart. ‘I promise you we knew nothing. We were paid to leave the van in the car park, that’s all, and that’s all we did.’

‘Where are the keys?’

‘I threw them in the river.’

‘Why?’

Johnston shrugged.

‘Why?’ Brodie repeated in a reasonable tone.

‘Because of the fucking corpse,’ Johnston spat. ‘Why d’you think?’

‘Denny,’ Shirley Mapp tried to step in again, but Brodie wasn’t about to let her stop her client spilling his guts.

‘But you just said you didn’t know anything about a corpse,’ Brodie pressed.

Johnston shook his head with frustration. ‘Not then, I didn’t. Listen to me,’ he pleaded. ‘When we took the job, as far as we were concerned the van was empty. We didn’t even know why we were delivering it to a supermarket, which seemed stupid. But we did as we were asked and the man paid us one hundred quid. I gave Barnsey twenty quid to keep me company, that’s all. I know nothing about the body of the woman. The back of the van seemed empty.’