Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  Dr Elderidge continued. ‘I’ve read the pathology reports and according to Rob — er, that’s Dr Kent — the faces of the victims were removed with such precision that nerves and blood vessels were protected. I spoke with Rob this morning, actually, and he told me that the latest victim, um …’ She looked at her notes.

  Jack obliged. ‘Ms Wu.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Wu. Well, the removal of her face was the most skilful in terms of how carefully the structures behind the skin itself were maintained.’

  ‘In other words there was a use for the face?’ Kate jumped in quickly and Jack knew she was trying to protect his sensibilities.

  ‘It would seem so,’ the profiler replied. ‘Although I’m no expert.’

  Jack moved her on. ‘Tell us about the killer. You’re sure this is a man?’

  Lynda nodded. ‘He’s right-handed. He’s arrogant. He’s wealthy, I’d suggest.’

  Cam shook his head. ‘How can you make these assumptions?’ He was only slightly chastened by Jack’s steely glance his way. ‘Look, I want to understand. How do we know this isn’t a 35-yearold mother of two, living in Croydon?’

  Elderidge smiled. ‘This is not precise science, Ifreely admit,’ she answered. ‘I have to rely a great deal on instinct so I can only tell you what my gut tells me, aided by years of experience. But it does seem to me that to acquire these victims would have taken money. I suspect our killer employs others to choose the victims and snatch them. Using others costs money — real money. Perhaps the flunkies at the bottom of the food chain — who pick out the victims — have no idea what the killer intends to do with them, but you can be sure the closer you get to our guy, the more his helpers, aides, assistants do know. And only money talks when you need to keep people’s mouths shut. He’s wealthy and I say he’s arrogant because of the audaciousness of his crime. Ms Wu was stolen, it seems, in daylight hours. I’d imagine the killer has the victims taken somewhere he feels safe; after all, Ms Wu, at least, was still alive, still capable of causing him trouble. But he’s not frightened by this. He’s got a haven where he feels secure. It won’t be near his home and I’d go so far as to say it may not even be in central London. It will be more remote. But obviously it is well equipped to perform this sort of surgery — this is no back room or cellar operation.’

  Jack nodded. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘How many people would be involved, do you think?’ Kate asked.

  Dr Elderidge shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But I do wonder why Ms Wu was kept alive after she was snatched. I think the killer wanted her face to be “fresh”, so presumably he would need a clinical team to keep her conscious and machines would be regulating her breathing and so on. Plus, I’m no physician, but I doubt he’d be able to handle all the surgery himself.’ She shook her head slightly. ‘He’d need an anaesthetist, at least. But again I’m stepping into an area I don’t know enough about. What I can tell you is that this man is cool, confident, probably extremely restrained in terms of how much he reveals of his personality and likely to have some perverse sexual interests.’

  ‘What do you mean about his personality?’ Sarah queried.

  ‘Well, the person on show will not necessarily reflect the brilliant but deviant mind that lurks behind the public façade. This killer is a chameleon. He will present himself one way — probably he’ll be a contained, not very talkative, not terribly social individual — but behind that front might well be a very large personality with a huge ego to satisfy.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Married?’

  ‘Quite possibly. He could even live quite cosily within a family, although he would be likely to dominate other family members. He would certainly pursue whatever gave him a façade of normality, so marriage or a de facto relationship would certainly be important. I suspect his wife or partner would be beautiful, a trophy. She would make him look even more successful. She might not be happy, but will have chosen status and security over love, or she may well love him, having absolutely no idea of his criminal pursuits.’

  ‘Would he be a public man? I mean, would he like being in the public eye?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Superficially, yes. He’d privately bask in any fame he could earn, but he would behave extremely modestly, I imagine, because that would suit the persona he’s trying to present. We’re dealing with a sociopath here; this is not someone who’s going to stand out as being weird or act in any way unsociably. In fact, I would suggest the killer is likely to be a charismatic type.’

  Jack nodded. ‘A pillar of the community?’

  ‘Absolutely. That’s his cover.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Dr Elderidge, forgive us, DI Carter and I must dash. A potential suspect.’

  She raised her palms. ‘Go. Catch this sick bastard.’

  Everyone laughed with surprise. Jack liked the profiler and suspected, following that comment, everyone else felt the same. He must remember Lynda Elderidge; so much easier to work with than the quirky, albeit talented, John Tandy.

  ‘Sorry. Must rein in my Aussie outspokenness,’ she grinned. ‘As interesting as I find profiling criminals, I do get quite worked up over their trails of destruction — and this guy is quite a freak. A warning, DCI Hawksworth. He’ll show no sign of that warped character. He really will integrate perfectly, not only in his own world — but yours as well.’

  The translator spoke up. ‘And the chain of command you were speaking about. How many people do you think are below him?’

  Jack nodded at Sarju. ‘That’s a good question.’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Dr Elderidge replied. ‘Really, it’s pick a number. But our killer would distance himself as much as possible from the spade work, so that, I imagine, the snatching of the victims could in no way be traced back to him. Also, the person who acquires the victims would most likely not know why — or to whom — the victims are being delivered.’

  Sarju frowned. ‘So the acquirer, for want of a better word, forgive me, would perhaps think these people are being offered money for their kidneys, while in fact this killer is after something else.’

  It clicked into place for Jack. ‘Of course! That is entirely plausible. Sorry, Sarju … er and Dr Elderidge … you missed DI Carter’s briefing on face transplants. We are inclined to believe that the victims are being sourced first and foremost for their faces. The kidneys are either a ploy or a bonus.’

  Dr Elderidge nodded. ‘As I said, one sick bastard … but a very, very intelligent one. Make no mistake, you are dealing with a superior mind and an elitist attitude here.’

  Joan had already fetched Jack’s coat and was standing in the doorway. It was his cue to leave. Kate was pulling on her outdoor attire too. Still he hesitated, needing to think things through. ‘So presumably the killer is transplanting faces either for criminals, or on the black market — and being paid a cool fortune, no doubt.’

  Dr Elderidge considered his summary, doubt showing in those intelligent eyes. ‘There would be more to it than money,’ she said slowly. ‘This man is already wealthy. He has no need to risk his livelihood for more cash and by engaging in murderous pursuits that could get him put away for life. No, I doubt money is the motivating factor, although it is involved. I believe he is either doing this for kicks — to fuel his perversions — or …’ she bit her lip as she thought, ‘or, he’s after supremacy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jack asked, checking he had his wallet and credentials.

  ‘Well, unless I’m mistaken, face transplants are not yet feasible, are they? I don’t think anyone has achieved one successfully yet. He could be on a private crusade.’

  Jack nodded, excited by her words. ‘Now I think we might be on to something. Over to you, Cam. Dr Elderidge, you’re a star.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I’m sorry I have to dash.’

  ‘You can buy me a coffee another time,’ she said, and took Kate in with her smile as well. ‘Good luck.’

  16.

  In the taxi, Jack dialled Geoff. ‘It’s me.’

&nb
sp; ‘Hawk! Tell me how you are.’

  ‘I’m all right. Just wanted to let you know I saw the psychiatrist.’

  ‘She’s terrific, isn’t she?’

  Jack glanced at Kate who was digging through her bag for something. ‘Yes, I sort of wish you’d mentioned that previously. Have you met her?’

  ‘Once. I felt like Godzilla next to her.’

  Jack laughed. ‘She’s certainly petite.’

  ‘And very hot.’

  ‘I didn’t notice,’ Jack replied with feigned innocence.

  Geoff laughed. ‘What is she suggesting?’

  ‘A supervisory role. Wants to hand me over soonest to someone who’s on holidays. To cover the gap until she’s back, Jane … er, Dr Brooks, is filling in.’

  ‘Good. Now you’ve covered your arse. Diarise all those appointments and email them to me so I have them on file. Do it today if you can because then it’s all neat and tidy and follows protocol.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘And everything else?’ Geoff asked. He never had to beat around the bush with Jack.

  ‘I’m trying to pretend it’s not happening to me.’

  ‘I understand, but remember to tell Brooks everything.’

  ‘She’s tough.’

  ‘They call her the Grid.’

  Jack frowned, watched Kate touch up her lipstick. ‘Why?’

  ‘Something to do with a giantess of myth.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s Gerd,’ he laughed, ‘but can’t expect the plebs over at Empress to know Norse mythology.’ The nickname was amusing but he didn’t want to discuss Jane in any more detail, not with Kate sitting opposite. ‘Anyway, I’m in a taxi with Kate — you remember DI Carter?’

  Kate looked over at him in query. Who? she mouthed.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said into the phone. ‘It’s DCI Geoff Benson from Ghost Squad.’ Unobserved by Jack, she blushed, dropped her lipstick then cursed the blot of colour that stained her trousers. ‘Anyway, mate,’ Jack was saying, ‘how are you getting to Scotland?’

  ‘On the Royal Flying Scotsman. I thought I’d do it in style.’

  ‘Why not. Well, enjoy yourself, Bear.’

  ‘Catch yourself a killer, Jack. Stay in touch — although I can’t guarantee my mobile coverage where I’m off to.’

  ‘It’s snowing up north, you do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Bastard! Later, Hawk.’

  Jack smiled as his friend rang off. ‘What’s up?’ he said to Kate, noticing the unaccustomed colour in her cheeks.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered, angrily dabbing at the lipstick mark.

  ‘Geoff said hello. DCI Benson.’

  ‘Yes, I know who you mean. Did he? Thanks.’

  Jack couldn’t fathom her sudden frostiness, but then Kate wasn’t easy to fathom most of the time. ‘So the face theory is impressive?’

  ‘Creepy too,’ she admitted, instantly more comfortable talking about the case. ‘But as you say, it’s plausible, especially as that surgery now seems possible.’

  ‘Not just possible. Sarah told me earlier that she believes there’s actually a race on, similar to the race to map DNA. There are surgeons worldwide trying to make this sort of transplant viable, if not commonplace.’

  Kate shook her head in wonder. ‘Where does it stop?’

  ‘Science doesn’t. And I guess some scientists don’t think about repercussions. They commit their lives, their research, to making what seems impossible possible, discovering secrets, creating solutions to problems. It’s someone else’s job to worry about morals.’

  ‘How do we approach this interview with Professor Chan?’

  Jack reached into his pocket for his wallet as they turned into busy Whitechapel Road with a sense of déjà vu. Was it only yesterday? It seemed a lifetime had passed since he’d seen Lily’s body on the pathologist’s slab. ‘Exactly as we’d approach any interview of this nature. We don’t accuse; we just ask questions.’ He knew what she was thinking, spared her the trouble of having to spell it out. ‘I’ll be fine, Kate. Just do your job and observe today; I’ll lead, okay?’ She nodded. ‘Your instincts will be invaluable here. I’ve always said you’re perceptive when it comes to people, so put that skill to good use and don’t worry about me. I’ve no intention of throwing Professor Chan to the ground and slamming on handcuffs if that’s what you’re dreading.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I’m dreading,’ she admitted.

  Jack fished out £15 and handed it to the driver.

  They stepped out into the frenzy of Whitechapel. Jack sighed. ‘Is it just me or are there too many people in London?’

  ‘Feels almost Third World here,’ Kate agreed.

  He smiled. ‘But you only live up the road.’

  She nodded. ‘One day I might be lucky enough to live in a place like Greenwich.’ It was a dig, but said with affection, and he took it that way.

  ‘You’ll really have to come over some time. I’ll get Geoff along too,’ he added casually, ‘he hasn’t seen the place either yet.’ He caught her arm as Kate tripped. ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘How did you ever get to DI?’ He held her elbow and guided her across the road.

  ‘Well, let me ask you a question: do you know where New Road is?’ Kate shot back.

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Don’t lie. You don’t know where it is, but I do. That’s how I got to be DI, not because I’m fleet of foot.’

  They found themselves in a row of small shops, mainly cheap clothing outlets abutting a pub called The Good Samaritan. Kate pointed to a small dingy laneway.

  ‘There,’ she said, pleased that it was so much easier to find by day. She led the way to the corner of Stepney Way, privately amused that she and DCI Benson had been parked alongside and still not seen it.

  ‘It’s so depressing,’ Jack commented.

  ‘Aren’t most hospitals?’

  They entered the Oral and Maxillofacial Unit’s L-shaped waiting area where a receptionist was just finishing a call.

  She looked up. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  ‘DCI Jack Hawksworth and DI Kate Carter for Professor Chan.’ They both held out their warrants.

  ‘Ah yes, he’s expecting you. Take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.’

  Jack glanced around the shabby waiting room. A child with a disfigured face played with some Lego on the streaky light brown lino, near a very old and faded rocking horse, which had lost most of its mane. A tired-looking woman sitting nearby flicked through a tattered magazine. Jack looked away from the child to an unappealing poster featuring the signs of mouth cancer, complete with before and after photos. He checked his watch. It was 10 a.m. precisely.

  A door opened opposite and a surprisingly tall man of Chinese origin emerged and moved gracefully toward Jack and Kate.

  ‘DCI Hawksworth?’ he asked, his voice equally surprising in its low tone. He was dressed immaculately in a dark pinstripe three-piece suit. He did not smile.

  ‘Professor Chan,’ Jack replied, extending his hand, ignoring the sudden desire to beat him senseless. It occurred to him that Chan was probably a black belt in various martial arts, among his many other achievements. ‘This is Detective Inspector Kate Carter. Thanks for seeing us this morning.’

  ‘I’m glad to help,’ the professor replied. ‘Give me one moment please.’ He walked to the reception desk. ‘Tell Susan to hold all calls, Sandy,’ he said. ‘Perhaps some tea and coffee?’ She nodded and he returned his attention to his visitors. ‘Please, come through.’ He gestured open-palmed towards the door.

  Jack realised they were in a consulting room, rather than the professor’s office. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleasantly surprised that the man seemingly didn’t need to be surrounded by items attesting to his skill and status, or whether to be insulted that mere police officers were not important enough to be invited into his inner sanctum. He decided to reserve judgement, though it was already obvious that just moments into the meeting he already disliked the m
an for no other reason than he’d had a claim on Lily.

  The windows in the room were near the ceiling level, presumably so no one could look in. There were only two chairs, but Chan was not embarrassed.

  ‘I’ll organise another seat,’ he said. He left through a side door, reappearing with a newer-looking chair he gestured for Kate to use.

  Everyone seated, Chan looked at them expectantly, then took off his rimless glasses to clean them with a crisp white handkerchief. He did not appear uncomfortable in the silence.

  Jack took charge and was glad to hear his tone sounded respectful. ‘Professor Chan, we’d like to extend our deepest sympathies to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the surgeon replied, folding and putting away the handkerchief. ‘It’s the family who needs our sympathy most,’ he added gravely, as he rehooked the glasses behind his ears.

  ‘Oh? I’d have thought you were equally close to Ms Wu.’

  The professor regarded Jack for a second too long for Jack’s comfort. ‘Do you have children, DCI Hawksworth?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t either. I suspect neither of us can fully appreciate the grief of outliving one’s children.’

  Jack blinked. It felt like the rebuke of a wise man to a young apprentice. Yet Chan could only be seven or eight years his senior. He felt the nearness of Kate, and suddenly wished she wasn’t alongside him, witnessing this strange man best him. ‘We’re interviewing as many people as we can who knew Ms Wu’s movements,’ he continued, ‘and who were close to her.’ Chan nodded, as though giving Jack permission to proceed. ‘How long have you known the Wu family?’

  ‘I’ve known Lily’s father since my childhood.’

  Jack’s gaze was locked on Chan’s, but he sensed Kate’s surprise and knew his expression reflected hers. ‘Really?’

  ‘Our families are from Hong Kong,’ the professor explained. ‘I attended boarding school and university in Britain. My parents asked the Wu family to keep an eye on me when I first arrived here. We’ve always been close.’