Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘What about Alan Barnes?’

  Denny shrugged. ‘I’m not his mother. How should I know where he has his cups of tea?’

  ‘It’s a kosher café, Denny.’

  Johnston looked around as though Cam was speaking a foreign language. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

  ‘It’s a strict Jewish way of preparing food, Mr Johnston,’ his solicitor explained.

  Denny looked even more confused. ‘What?’ Then he shook his head as though disgusted. ‘Why would Alan Barnes go into Amhurst Park for Jewish food? He gets the trots eating bagels.’

  ‘All right. One more thing, Denny.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why Sainsbury’s? Isn’t that an odd place to leave a car considering it would almost certainly have security cameras?’

  Denny shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem worried, so we didn’t feel there was anything to worry about either.’

  ‘Was he very specific about this?’

  ‘Yeah he was. Something to do with the hospital or such like.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘His sister worked at the hospital and there was no parking there so he thought this was the next best spot she could pick it up from.’

  ‘All right, Denny.’ Cam leaned over and whispered wearily to Angela. ‘Let’s wrap this up for now.’

  Afterwards, on their way out to hail a taxi, Cam shared his feelings. ‘The connection has to be the hospital. That’s how Lily Wu was found. Someone there is connected with snatching her.’

  ‘But why bring her back to where she would be known?’

  ‘Reverse psychology probably. The killer’s making it look as though she was killed nearby and dumped in the same area. He doesn’t want us to know that the victims are being transported. He probably hoped the van would go unnoticed for a while. Maybe he’s silly enough to think CCTV isn’t watching everything … or perhaps he’s confident that the corpse and any forensics are too far down the food chain from him to trouble him. He obviously wasn’t worried about another corpse turning up with the same wounds.’

  ‘Or he wasn’t at the time of Wu’s death. I imagine he would be now.’

  Cam nodded.

  ‘The surgeon, you reckon?’ Angela asked.

  Cam knew to whom she referred. ‘Why would he dirty his hands? No, snatching someone is far too grubby for someone of that calibre. It has to be someone else doing the grunt work. Some low life, but perhaps a little smarter than young Denny.’

  21.

  Professor Chan answered his mobile in his habitual way. ‘Chan,’ he said softly, setting his green tea down on his desk, in the Royal London Hospital.

  ‘Jimmy, it’s me.’

  ‘Charles.’

  ‘I’ve just been entertaining your police officer. DI Kate Carter.’

  ‘She’s not mine,’ Chan replied, pushing away a pile of letters that he’d just finished signing. ‘Did you show her around?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It seems the police are inordinately interested in the advancement in whole-face transplant surgery.’

  This was greeted at first with silence. ‘And you told the police that kind of surgery is not technically possible?’ Chan eventually asked carefully.

  ‘Well, I all but gave DI Carter a lecture on where the technology is at, but who knows their reasons for asking their questions. They’re definitely suspicious. Your fiancée’s involvement in this case has got them in a spin, it seems.’

  ‘And why is that?’ Chan asked, picking up his tea, his eyes narrowing slightly as steam rose from the cup.

  ‘Do you really need to ask that, Jimmy?’

  ‘It’s perfectly reasonable, Charles. Why does Lily’s death have any more weight attributed to it than the deaths of the other victims we know about?’

  ‘Fuck, you are certainly one cold fish. I’ll tell you why, man, because she wasn’t scum like the others. Those others were just filth.’

  ‘They were people, Charles — at the end of the day they each belonged to someone, someone who is grieving somewhere.’

  ‘No, you’re missing the point. They believe your Lily was hand-picked … or at least that’s what I’m interpreting what DI Carter was getting at. Meanwhile I think the police accept that the earlier victims were chosen because they were illegals, it seems, and couldn’t be traced.’

  ‘Then why would this clever killer suddenly leave himself open to being traced?’ Chan replied, his words and tone measured.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Why would I know?’ Chan asked, his voice still annoyingly calm, his tone unchanged.

  ‘Well, I think they suspect that you of all people might know.’

  ‘The police suspect me of being the killer, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘It’s what they’re not saying, Jimmy.’

  Chan laughed. ‘Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?’

  ‘Yes. They’re not saying it — but they are thinking it.’

  Chan shrugged. ‘Then they’ll have to prove it, won’t they? Are you all right, Charles? You sound a little stressed.’

  ‘I’m worried for you, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’ll be leaving early this evening. I’m going over to see Lily’s family, do the right thing.’

  ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘Nothing I do will bring her back.’

  ‘You know, Jimmy, I think I need to teach you how to behave sometimes … emotionally, I mean.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So others can feel normal around you.’

  Chan smiled humourlessly. ‘Are you in town tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll see you then.’

  Kate was on her way back to Westminster, something nagging at the rim of her mind. She recognised this sensation and experience had taught her not to tease at it too hard, because the more she reached for whatever it was that was edging into her consciousness, the further it drew away from her. Instead, she allowed her mind to wander back over the clinic visit, particularly the conversation with Maartens, and tried to map out what she’d learned.

  Very little it seemed — although he was certainly intriguing and rather dashing. Her mobile rang and she glanced at it. It was Geoff Benson. She surprised herself by pulling over and answering it.

  ‘I fully expected voicemail,’ he said, with no introduction or salutation.

  ‘How’s Scotland?’ she replied

  ‘Never got there.’

  ‘Oh, pity. So what now? Did you say you’d go somewhere else?’

  ‘No. My friend woke to chickenpox.’

  ‘What? Can adults get that?’

  ‘Apparently. It seems she didn’t get it at school when normal people do and her sister’s children are riddled with it and now so is she. Actually it’s not too serious — she’s lucky. But she’s got a high fever and feeling very irritable. She’s the last person I want to be away with.’

  ‘So no romantic holiday for you.’

  ‘No … not that hiking in the highlands was ever going to be especially romantic, but there you are.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry for me. I’m not. Quite happy actually.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, my idea of a holiday is eating, drinking and slothing.’

  ‘Absolutely. Hiking sounds far too energetic.’

  ‘My point exactly. How are you?’

  ‘Frizzy-haired.’

  ‘Should I alert emergency services?’

  She laughed. ‘It’s just this damn rain. I got drenched running to the car — it picked that moment, of course, to turn from drizzle to downpour.’

  ‘Of course it did, that’s Murphy’s Law. Where are you?’

  ‘Hertford.’

  ‘What fun for you.’

  She laughed again and then sensed the pause. All the small talk was done. Now came the purpose to his call. She waited.

  ‘Anyway, I’m on holiday without a destination and you owe me di
nner.’

  He sounded vaguely — even appropriately — awkward and she liked him all the more for that. She made it easy for him. ‘I do, don’t I?’

  ‘Perhaps I should wait until —’

  ‘No, let’s organise it now. How about … um, tonight, Operation Panther permitting?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, is that a bit too soon? It’s just that I know I’m in tonight and I have to get some groceries so I might as well cook up a storm. Actually, it’ll just be simple food; I’m not up for anything glamorous on a working night.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Okay, then, my place.’

  ‘I’d be happy to meet you at a pub. Perhaps —’

  ‘No, I promised you a slap-up meal cooked by my own fair hands — or don’t you trust my food?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare say so even if I didn’t,’ he replied, and she smiled at the humour in his voice. He had a lovely voice, she decided.

  ‘Lucky for you! My address, er, well you know where it is now — let’s say 7 p.m. I’ll expect you to be very entertaining because we’re getting few breaks on this case.’

  ‘Shall I bring my Star Wars DVD collection or my Uno cards? Perhaps my dress-ups box?’

  ‘You’re a funny man, Geoff Benson.’

  ‘See you this evening, Kate. Stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Can’t promise that,’ she said before he rang off.

  She smiled as she slipped the car into gear and peered through the rain, watching for a gap in the traffic. And it was as she eased back into the line of cars that the nagging thought, which had been so infuriatingly eluding her, suddenly snapped into place. Kate frowned. It seemed unimportant, yet instinct told her to focus on it. After farewelling Charles Maartens she had taken a walk around the main building and some of the nearby structures, none of which revealed anything important. The nursing staff she had casually, yet expertly, squeezed for information were surprisingly keen to talk, and all appeared happy. Elysium paid excellent wages and took good care of its staff so no one had a bad thing to say about the clinic or its directors. Quite the reverse — Maartens and, especially, Chan came out glowing and this almost disappointed Kate. She could accept that Dr Maartens had a charm to him that would make it easy for most to like him, but Professor Chan, even if you were being generous, was a remote sort of person. Not even the overhyped television program could do much to warm that distant personality and yet all the nurses liked him … or so it appeared.

  Amongst the universal admiration for his work, there had been comments along the lines of That’s his way, he’s just very professional; He’s actually very kind even though he comes across as being cold; He could use a term at charm school but he’s a great boss; He’s never rude and always generous to us girls.

  Kate’s frown deepened. The comments about Maartens had been predictable. Oh, he’s lovely to work with, always very charming and polite; Not at all arrogant like the other surgeons I’ve had to work with; He’s always ready with an amusing quip; He remembers our names and sends flowers for birthdays; and so on.

  Nevertheless, it was the positive affirmation of Chan that had puzzled her and to which she had devoted most attention; she was really only making cursory conversation with a nurse called Sandra Patton, who offered to walk with her to the car park with an umbrella, when the only odd remark was made. At the time it had not resonated, but now, suddenly, it seemed to stare at her and demand attention.

  She ran the scene through in her mind again. Sandra had begun unfurling the brolly.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Kate had said at reception.

  ‘No, you’ll get drowned,’ Sandra had replied, ‘and I have to get something from my own car anyway. Come on, I’ll walk you.’

  They’d huddled close and hurried down the steps together.

  ‘Have you worked here long?’ Kate had asked for something to say now that they were all but embracing.

  ‘Since the clinic began. About ten years ago.’

  ‘Really, wow, so you’d know everything that opens and shuts here.’ Kate had made a mental note to remember Sandra — she might be handy if she needed to do some follow-up.

  ‘Well, not everything,’ Sandra had laughed as Kate pointed to the squad car and they’d veered towards it. Then her tone turned serious. ‘Dr Maartens said we were to help you with anything you needed, so are you happy, DI Carter; did you see everything you wanted to, talk to everyone you hoped to?’

  They’d arrived at the car and Kate had begun digging in her bag for keys, wishing she’d got them out earlier. ‘Oh, yes, you’ve all been so helpful, thank you. I mean I obviously couldn’t get into some of the areas of the clinic but I could see that’s where the guests were.’

  ‘Look, if the police need to get into those areas, we can arrange that too. So long as we can forewarn guests and the medical teams, you can see anywhere you want. We just don’t want to startle our patients with unexpected police visits or suggestions of wrongdoing.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Kate looked up, catching a suggestion of red brick in the distance. ‘And I didn’t have a chance to look at the outbuildings over there, but Dr Maartens said they were just full of old furniture.’

  Sandra had frowned, looking over at where Kate had been glancing. ‘No, not furniture. They’re medical rooms that apparently take spillover from the main building, but I’ve never had to use them. In fact I can’t remember any of our patients being sent there, but I know they’re equipped for medical procedures because I remember when they were built.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kate had said. She’d shrugged. ‘Dr Maartens thought they were for storage.’

  ‘Expensive storage,’ Sandra had remarked, but then a roll of thunder had diverted their attention and they’d looked up to the skies. ‘Oh no, are you going to be all right driving back to London? You can wait it out here in the warmth if you’d like.’

  Kate had shaken her head. ‘I’ll be fine. Perhaps I should take a look at those rooms.’

  Sandra had shrugged. ‘I can get the keys, but they’re just more of the same of what you’ve already seen.’

  Another clap of thunder from not far away and a flash of lightning had erupted across the sky. ‘I’ll get back, I think.’

  ‘Well don’t hurry. These roads can be quite dangerous in the wet.’

  ‘They were dangerous in the dry this morning!’

  Kate had grinned, clambering into the car. ‘Thanks, Sandra, we’ll call you if we need anything more. I probably will need to take a look over those rooms this week, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ the pretty dark-haired woman had said. ‘See you again.’

  Kate had waved and driven towards the security-controlled exit. Now she was hitting the chaos of the M5 with the scene playing over in her mind. It was not Sandra she was suspicious of, although she would count no one out just yet, but the chance comment had revealed interesting conflicting responses. Surely Maartens would know medical rooms from storage? It had seemed pointless to linger on it at the time, but now Kate wished she had run the gauntlet of the damn rain, got wet but got all the answers.

  She felt cross with herself and was in half a mind to ignore the potential for humiliation and turn around, go back and settle her confusion when the phone rang, disrupting her intentions. It was Sarah. She flicked the mobile on to loudspeaker. ‘Hello.’

  ‘You sound like you’re at the bottom of the ocean,’ Sarah said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, but it is pretty wet out here. I’m just on the way back now.’

  ‘You’ve noticed it’s raining?’ Sarah asked, and Kate caught the touch of sarcasm.

  ‘And?’ she replied, in the same dry tone.

  ‘The chief wants you to drive carefully.’ Sarah laughed. ‘He said you go loony in the rain.’

  ‘He said that?’

  ‘No, actually I said that but he did ring in to check on how you’re going and as I hadn’t heard I thought I’d make sure you’
re okay.’

  ‘All went well, nothing really new to report, although something’s playing on my mind that doesn’t sit right. I was thinking of going back but now I’m past halfway to Westminster.’

  ‘Do whatever you think’s best. I’m chasing up something in Amhurst Park that could lead somewhere. I’ll be gone by five. Can you text me or let Joan know what you plan to do?’

  Kate thought about Geoff. She didn’t want to cancel; she really did want to see him this evening. ‘Look, I’ll follow it up tomorrow first thing. I’ll probably go directly home, okay? You can call me on the mobile if you need me.’

  They hung up and Kate cursed the traffic that was slowing down horribly. Roadworks and rain … the worst combo. All they needed now, she thought, was a substation to go down and bring all the traffic to a complete standstill.

  Jack opened the little iron gate and walked up the few steps of the Victorian terraced house that looked like every other terraced house in this neighbourhood of terraced houses. He noticed the airconditioning unit incongruously balanced on what was once a fine Victorian bay window and groaned inwardly at the aesthetic vandalism. He took in the mezuzah scroll at the doorway, encased in a decorative shell, and smelled the aroma of cooking. He hoped young Yuri was home. It was dark enough. There was no bell; he banged the old door-knocker as gently as he dared, hoping he wasn’t waking any babies — he remembered that Yuri’s coach had said the family was large.

  A man came to the door clad in dark trousers and a white shirt, but he didn’t look as orthodox as Jack had expected. His hair was cut short — no ringlets; his beard was trimmed very close. His eyes, Jack could see, were kind, but right now they were also slightly suspicious. ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Rubin Goldman?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Hello Mr Goldman,’ Jack began, noticing the man hadn’t opened the door very far. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jack Hawksworth.’ Mr Goldman blinked at the mouthful. ‘From Scotland Yard.’

  Goldman looked puzzled. ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘Mr Goldman, may I come in please?’ Jack asked, passing his warrant over, convinced the man would want to hold it and read it carefully himself.