Geoff looked at his watch, still ignoring Maartens’s rantings. It was nearly seven. Jack would be at Heathrow.
Jack hated Heathrow. It was always a nightmare and he defied anyone to pass through its gates — either coming into or going out of the UK — and not feel their anxiety levels rise. But right now he was on his flight, sipping a mineral water and trying not to catch the eye of the attendant who was extremely hospitable. She was lovely, but he wasn’t in the mood to even feign charm.
Not today.
Today as he sat alone, quietly, he was forced to confront his life. Kate was alive and would fully recover. Lily was dead. Both lives had hung in the balance over a matter of hours really.
And now Anne McEvoy had re-entered his life. He had the painful task of returning her to Britain to face the rigours and tribulations of the criminal justice system. Tomorrow morning he would present her at Marylebone Magistrates Court where she would make her plea and the case would be adjourned to the Old Bailey for trial. Finally, he would escort Anne to Holloway Prison, where she would be held until her trial date. And that was just the beginning of his new role for Operation Danube: from now on he would spearhead the pulling together of all the details required by the prosecution for Anne’s case. He dreaded what lay ahead.
He ran a hand through his hair — he still couldn’t believe how close to losing Kate they’d all come. But he had lost someone. A woman he loved had died ghoulishly. His only comfort — if you could call it that — was that Lily had slept through her death. Anaesthesia eased her journey to her final breath. Jack felt his eyes water as visions of Lily laughing in bed with him erupted. He’d kept them backed away in a corner since the day at the morgue but now he had too much time to think. Too much time to remember. He swallowed the water, crunching on the ice to banish the images of the young woman who had brought him so much joy in such a short time.
And on the fringe of his mind was a new woman. Jane Brooks. Their near-surrender to each other had been unexpected. He was glad they had been interrupted before they had gone too far because he didn’t need the complication of Jane right now. Yet he knew he desperately craved affection; someone to hug through the haze of sorrow that had seeped into his body and now seemed to control his mind.
Jane would be able to explain his melancholy rationally and in a language he understood — but he needed escape, not explanation, and holding her for that short time had released him from his sorrows momentarily. It was a drug he might take again if she offered it. In fact —
‘Mr Hawksworth?’ A polite voice snapped his thoughts back to the present.
‘Yes?’
It was the bright and breezy attendant again. She smiled broadly; her white teeth perfectly outlined by freshly applied red lipstick. ‘I need you to put your tray table up, sir. We’re on descent into Athens.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ he said, starting to tidy away his odds and ends.
She was busying herself putting an item in the overhead locker. ‘Holiday or business in Athens?’ she asked, stretching above him.
‘All business, I’m afraid,’ he replied, straightening in his seat and adjusting his tie.
‘Pity. The Greek isles are gorgeous this time of year. Very few tourists.’
He couldn’t return the flirtatious smile. ‘I’m back this evening, actually. No fun for me.’
Her smile faltered slightly. ‘Oh, that’s no good.’
It was time to move her on. ‘How long before we land?’ he asked.
She checked her watch. ‘We’ll be on the ground in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you, that’s great.’ He forced a polite grin and then deliberately turned to look out the window, escaping from her smiling gaze.
At the terminal in Athens he was met by a stocky man with intense dark eyes. ‘DCI Hawksworth?’ He held out his hand, a thick gold watch cuffing his wrist. ‘I’m Chief Inspector George Klimentou from the Serious and Organised Crime Agency in Greece.’
‘Yassou,’ Jack replied, professional good manners in place.
The man smiled. ‘Welcome to Athens. Luggage?’
‘None. Where is she?’
‘I’m taking you straight to her. You’re booked on a flight at 1600 hours, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘There’s plenty of paperwork to fill up any spare time,’ Klimentou noted, his tone sardonic. ‘We have a bit of a walk. I’ll explain as we go.’ Jack fell in step. ‘She was discovered by one of our people — Alexa Christou — who was working on another case, chasing up leads in the islands round Rodos,’ Klimentou explained. ‘Anyway, Alexa got talking to a blonde woman at a tiny gallery on Ixia — the gallery’s owned by some English fellow and the woman was running it for him — and Alexa put two and two together. She’s a smart girl, Alexa.’
‘You’re sure it’s Anne McEvoy?’
‘One hundred per cent, even though she’d dyed her hair since,’ Klimentou said, guiding Jack towards a door that had ‘Police’ emblazoned across it in Greek and English.
As much as Jack knew he shouldn’t, he almost hated the intelligent Alexa for finding Anne. Secretly he’d half hoped she’d stay hidden — as much for his sake as hers.
‘In here,’ George said, opening the door for him.
Jack stepped inside, all but holding his breath with tension.
‘I’ve just got to sign some clearance forms, DCI Hawksworth, but you’re welcome to go through. Your prisoner’s behind the door that you can see is guarded.’
Jack nodded. ‘Okay, thanks.’
He walked down the short corridor,
unconsciously straightening his tie. He nodded at the guard who, at Klimentou’s signal, opened the door.
Jack stepped in to the room.
Its occupant looked up. ‘Hello, Jack.’
He blinked. Sitting handcuffed to a chair was Anne. She was tanned, beautiful and her hair was dyed a glossy black.
She was also heavily pregnant.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’m assured the British Metropolitan Police Force is awash with acronyms. It’s a special language that everyone on the inside communicates with. So, while most regular crime readers are probably familiar with many of these terms, I nevertheless thought it considerate to list the ones I’ve used.
DPS: Directorate of Professional Standards. Police complaints and Ghost Squad.
FSS: Forensic Science Service. Part of the Home Office government department; provides science evidence for police.
HAT: Homicide Assessment Team
HOLMES: Home Office Large Major Enquiries System — a database, in other words.
HT: Hotel Tango — meaning the Tower Hamlets area of London. Each London borough has its own initials and each officer in the area has his or her number and borough initials on their shoulder, e.g. 675HT.
Juliet Charlie: As above. This is the Chingford area.
NRPSI: National Register of Public Service Interpreters.
POLSA: Police Search Association. Specialists in finger-tip searches. Blue uniforms, all in a line on their knees. They often work in conjunction with dog and forensic units.
SOCA: Serious and Organised Crime Agency. Government International policing — formally known as NCIS. Works with Interpol. See them on Spooks.
SOCO: Scenes of Crime Officer. All those people crawling about in overalls.
Acknowledgments
I know readers appreciate learning where ideas come from and as writers I know we must sound rather glib when we admit that they come from ‘everywhere’. The truth is you never know from where the next idea will spring and inspiration does occur at the oddest times and from unexpected sources. I was reading about the woman in France, savaged by a dog, who was undergoing the first partial face transplant. This amazing advancement in the medical world — and skin being the final frontier of organ transplant — felt like a fresh subject to play with when I’d begun to think about the black market trade in human organs.
A stab
in the dark via email surprisingly had me ushered into the Cranio Facial Unit in North Adelaide, South Australia. Here, Professor David David has been at the forefront of cranio-facial surgery. I am most grateful to him and Rebecca Millard, his assistant, for their enthusiasm and early help. My sincere thanks also to Dr Peter Hardee from the Royal London Hospital’s Oral and Maxillofacial Unit, who not only offered me guidance on all the various odd queries I came up with from time to time, but has taken it with good cheer that my fictional villain is associated with the unit.
I cannot embark on these dark journeys without my guide, the generous and brilliant Tony Berry, in London. Tony’s experience in policing and his sharp eye for locations help me enormously — not to mention his cunning notions for where a story may care to go.
Thanks to John Wallace for all those lovely meals and being prepared to drive me on and around the ghastly M25 when I was staying in London for the research, as well as to all the gang who read the drafts — Pip Klimentou, Sonya Caddy, Judy Downs and Phil Reed. And my gratitude to up-and-coming linguist Paige Klimentou who spent much too long helping me to find the throwaway one liner I needed when Jack Hawksworth was trying to talk Mandarin!
Jason Lehmann, a brilliant young website designer, has done a marvellous job in giving me a crime identity that is a long way from my fantasy worlds. Please do visit and thanks to all of you who already have and since emailed me with your generous comments about the first Hawksworth novel.
To all the crew at HarperCollins — thanks for your continuing support with my crime writing; and to the booksellers and libraries (especially wonderful Burnside Library) for your efforts to encourage crime readers to give DCI Jack Hawksworth a go.
I was thrilled to receive a high commendation in the Davitt Awards 2008 for Bye Bye Baby — thank you — and I hope Beautiful Death will bear out the judges’ faith.
As usual, thanks to Ian, Will and Jack at home, who during this project had to put up with conversations about the wizardry of removing a face … usually over dinner.
Fiona McIntosh grew up on Britain’s south coast and worked in PR in London’s west end before she began travelling, and finally settled in Australia. Roaming the world for the travel industry became her career before setting up business with husband, Ian, in travel magazine publishing. After sixteen years she swapped careers to move into full-time writing as a novelist. These days her popular fiction is sold across all English speaking markets and translated into various European languages.
Her debut crime novel, Bye Bye Baby, was set in her hometown of Brighton, England, and was Highly Commended in the 2008 Sisters in Crime Davitt Awards.
Fiona moves between Adelaide and the Huon Valley in Tasmania’s south with Ian and their twin teenage sons. She continues to travel regularly for her research, inspiration and the world’s finest hot chocolate.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Fiona McIntosh
ISBN 978-1-4976-6188-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Beautiful Death Page 40