A Fatal Façade

by Linda M. James

  The moment Jack and Lucy were in the study, Jack logged onto the computer and studied everything he’d written down about the case.

  ‘My God, Luc. It’s incredible. The mind boggles.’

  need to tell the met

  ‘Oh, no. Alan will take the case over and it’s all ours. I’ll ask Jamila to come here and we can talk to her.’

  When Jack had phoned Jamila and told her that he’d discovered a link to Cellini’s death, the missing drugs and Angelica Logan, she was in their house within an hour with some photos from the quarry crime-scene.

  After she’d made polite conversation with Lucy’s parents and praised Tom’s drawings, Jack told them that they had something to discuss with Jamila in the study. Jack saw Tom looking at him curiously; he knew Jamila would never have come to the house during the day unless it was urgent. It’s the first time he’s been interested in what I’m doing since I left the Met, Jack thought.

  ‘You need to get a search warrant and impound the stolen statue, Jamila. I think it’s full of drugs,’ Jack told her once he’d shut the study door.

  Jamila shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t get my head round all this, Jack. You’re telling me that Logan’s wife –the perfect wife –was not only a hooker and a thief, but a woman who tried to kill two men and was mixed up with drugs! It’s like the plot from a bad Dan Brown novel!’

  ‘Wouldn’t know,’ Jack said. ‘Never read any. I don’t know if she was involved with the drugs, but she’s certainly implicated in everything else. Can you show us the photos from the quarry?’

  Jamila took out a number of photos from the small case she always carried with her and gave them to Jack. He sat down next to Lucy and they studied the tire marks around the quarry.

  bet they come from Lexus RX Lucy typed.

  ‘How do you know?’ Jamila asked her in surprise.

  look like them & logan has one

  ‘I wish you could do the analysis for us, Lucy.’ Jamila suddenly looked embarrassed as she realized what she’d asked.

  ‘She could, if you bring a copy of the photos here,’ Jack said.

  Jamila looked at Lucy typing as Jack moved onto the other photos.

  haven’t got right software get dan simmons onto it

  ‘Okay, Lucy.’ Jamila smiled at her.

  Jack was studying the photos of Federico Batas’ unconscious body; half rolled up in a Persian rug and gasped.

  ‘My God – the last time I saw that rug it was lying on the floor of Angelica Logan’s prayer-room,’ he said excitedly. ‘We’ve got two pieces of vital evidence here! Get that search warrant, Jamila.’

  Jamila’s face flushed as she looked at him. ‘I can’t do it without Alan’s authorization, Jack. He is my boss.’

  Jack and Lucy stared at each other; both knowing what the other was thinking.

  ‘And you know what Alan will do, don’t you?’

  Jamila was worried. She was putting her career on the line for Jack; she had always followed the correct procedures at the Met, even when Jack deviated from them, but he’d been her boss then so it had been his responsibility if something went wrong. But he wasn’t now; the responsibility was all hers if she didn’t inform Alan. She didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Please, Jamila.’ Jack was surprised to hear himself almost pleading with her. ‘Once you’ve got a tire match to her car and the statue, we’ll have enough evidence to go to the chief super. If you go to Alan now, you’ll be off the case and all the credit will be his. Is that what you want?’

  Jack and Lucy stared at her.

  CHAPTER 35

  22nd December 2012

  Mark sat in his office reading Hal’s headlines. BLUDGEONED BODY FOUND IN QUARRY. The headline was emotive; in fact, the whole article was emotive; it was designed to make people worry about the violence in the UK and the incompetence of the Metropolitan Police. Two weeks ago, a young Albanian boy was left in a pool of blood to die in the street, he’d written, now another anonymous monster has bludgeoned a Filipino man half to death before throwing him into a quarry. And what have the police discovered? Nothing about the hit-and-run driver who is still free to kill other innocent people and the only pathetic evidence they have discovered about The Man In The Quarry Case are a few tire tracks. This level of incompetence equals the incompetence shown by the Met last year, he continued, when the mother of the hit-and-run victim burned to death in a bungled raid.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, but before Mark could say enter, Hal stood there beaming at him. ‘What do you think of my article? Punchy enough?’

  ‘It’s punchy all right,’ Mark murmured, wondering why he’d settled for being the editor of a tabloid, instead of a broadsheet.

  ‘You’ve got to go with the mood of the public, Mark. People are angry about two crimes being committed just before Christmas, especially as a twelve-year-boy died.’

  Mark thought how ironic Hal was repeating something he’d told him the previous week when people had lost interest in the hit-and-run. Now suddenly, because of another crime, everyone was angry about violence. The fickleness of readers, Mark thought.

  ‘They must have found out more about the quarry incident than just tire tracks,’ Mark said.

  ‘Not when we went to press last night. Want me to dig up some dirt?’

  ‘Facts would be fine, Hal. Try to stick to the facts. Go to the hospital and be charming with the nurses and ask about the Filipino’s condition. One of them might mention something that would give us a lead. But be discreet, you won’t be popular with the police and they’ll be at the hospital.’

  ‘You can rely on me, Mark,’ Hal smiled at him. ‘I’ve got a way with women.’

  Mark looked up at him and suddenly realized that he wasn’t going to send him. Hal could write good stories, but it really wasn’t anything to do with Hal and he certainly didn’t have “a way with women”. ‘I think I’ll go myself. You can work with Peter on the future of eugenics. Scientists are predicting that within five years people will be paying to have access to a prospective long-term partner’s genetic code. Think of the implications, Hal. It’s going to be a big story.’

  Hal looked excited as he plodded out of the room. He hadn’t even noticed that Mark had pulled him off a story he was only just getting his teeth into.

  Mark parked his car in Whitechapel Street and got out, wondering why he hadn’t sent Hal; he wasn’t subtle, but he was a good reporter. The fact was, he couldn’t concentrate at the office and needed to get out. As he turned into East Mount Street he thought about Angelica; there was something wrong with her, but he didn’t know what. Perhaps it was all linked with her not becoming pregnant. They’d have to go to the doctor again soon and find out what the problem was, Mark thought as he walked in the A & E department of the Royal London Hospital.

  A woman at reception told him where the trauma center was. When Mark got there, he saw a policeman standing outside a windowed room; he knew he’d tell him to leave once he found out who he was. Mark strolled down the corridor as if looking for someone and saw a nurse checking Batas’ drip and an exhausted-looking dark-haired woman sitting beside him. Mark strolled on towards a vending machine and decided to wait until the nurse came out. He waited a long time, then saw another nurse approaching the room and walk in. Soon the first nurse came out and walked towards him. Now was his chance. ‘I wonder if you’ve got any change for the machine,’ he said disingenuously, giving her a broad smile.

  She searched in her pockets and looked at him apologetically. ‘Sorry, excuse me.’ She hurried off down the corridor.

  Mark swore silently; he was obviously losing his touch. He wondered if there’d be any point in waiting. Most probably all the nurses would be too busy to talk to him. Then just as he was about to leave the dark-haired woman came out of the room and headed for the vending machine. Mark searched his pockets for money as she approached him.

  ‘You go first,’ he said, smiling at her. She didn’t look at him; there
were dark shadows smudging her eyes. For the first time Mark felt his presence was a terrible intrusion on people’s private grief.

  ‘I’m sorry about your boyfriend.’

  She shot him a look. ‘What?’

  ‘I couldn’t help noticing you coming out of that man’s room; the one who was dumped in the quarry. You must be so angry.’

  Her eyes flashed at him. ‘Angry! I could kill her!’

  Mark felt a shock jolt his body. ‘You don’t think a woman would do such an appalling thing.’

  ‘This woman is capable of anything!’ she shouted, her hands shaking so much that she couldn’t get her coins into the machine.

  ‘Let me,’ Mark said, taking the money off her and putting it into the slot.

  She punched a button for coffee.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I went to a convent school in Italy with her, that’s why!’ she shouted again. ‘She’s a whore who looks like the Virgin Mary! Now leave me alone!’ Her eyes flooded with tears as she ran off down the corridor without her coffee.

  Mark leaned against the vending machine and couldn’t move.

  He was an automaton as he drove home; he couldn’t see the scenery or feel any sensation; he felt as if he had closed down. He hardly remembered getting out of the car and walking into the house. He put his keys down somewhere and wondered if the house was the same as it always was. He didn’t know. He went into Angelica’s prayer-room and was stunned to see that the Black Madonna had gone, along with the beautiful Persian rug she had bought at Sotheby’s.

  ‘Angelica!’ he called, feeling a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. ‘Where are you?’ The house was silent; he felt suddenly afraid and ran from room to room, looking for her. She was sitting on the bed in their bedroom completely still, staring at the wall. Every fear Mark had ever had was confirmed by her expression; she looked as if she wasn’t there.

  ‘Angel. What’s the matter?’ She didn’t respond to his voice or even seem to notice he was there, as if she had suddenly gone deaf and blind. He leaned down in front of her and marveled at her face for the millionth time; it was impossible for her to have done anything wrong. ‘What’s the matter? Speak to me.’ He touched her face gently and she suddenly came to life.

  ‘I’m lost, Marky. Completely lost. There’s no hope for me now she’s gone. I’m going to suffer the torments of everlasting damnation.’

  Mark felt his eyes stinging. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She suddenly looked bewildered by his lack of understanding. ‘She was the only one who could save me and she’s gone.’

  Mark wanted to shake her. She was talking about a meaningless idol. ‘You don’t need a statue, Angel. You’ll be all right with me. You don’t need it.’

  She looked at him as if she had just seen him for the first time. ‘No, I won’t. He smashed my Madonna into pieces along with my soul.’

  Mark tried to control his sob in his voice, ‘Angel, we’ve got to get you to a doctor.’

  ‘Oh, Marky. How can a doctor redeem me after all the things I’ve done. You don’t know me at all.’

  Mark’s leg muscles suddenly gave way and he collapsed onto the carpet. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true.

  ‘He was only a baby, you see. I was a wicked child. My mother told me I was wicked even before he was born.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ He felt as if his world was disintegrating.

  Angelica smiled at him. ‘Didn’t I tell you I had a brother once upon a time? A tiny brother, but the moment I saw him, I knew I would lose my parents’ love so…I had to give him away.’

  ‘What?’ Mark stared at her in horror.

  ‘I was eight years old and the four of us were on holiday.’

  Angelica stared up through the shade of the large olive tree they were resting under. A gigantic knot in the gnarled olive trunk looked like the face of an old man. She watched large red-headed ants worrying around his face. The sun flickered through the leaves; it was too hot to be out. They should be back in the cool of their house, she thought. She liked her room. It was white. Her parents were asleep near her baby brother’s Moses basket; he was never far from them now. Once it had been her who was close to them. She stood up quietly and watched them sleeping; her parents were so beautiful; her father so tanned and dark; her mother so blonde and fair. They were lying on a rug and her mother’s head rested on her father’s lap. Everyone said Angelica would grow up to be as beautiful as her mother, but she didn’t think she would because her mother didn’t think she would. She looked at the small shape in the basket; so precious to her parents and so hateful to her. Why should her life be ruined by such a tiny creature?

  She picked up the basket and walked away from her parents. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. She hurried through the olive grove with her baby brother and felt happy for the first time since he’d been born; soon she would be the most important person in her parents’ lives again.

  It was an exhausting walk to the convent and she was very tired by the time she arrived, but the Madonna was waiting for her. She was standing on an altar above a small hatch in the convent wall and staring down at her with love. Angelica knew that the church helped people with problems. She took off her brother’s clothes gently so as not to wake him and opened a small hatch in the convent wall. There was a room behind it with a baby’s crib waiting for him. Angelica placed her baby brother tenderly in a crib. she had a surprise for him; she wasn’t going to leave him with nothing. She had saved up her pocket money to buy him a new present; a beautiful blue rattle with a silver band around it which she had hidden since she had bought it. It was her parting gift to him. She rang the bell, closed the small hatch quickly and raced back with her brother’s cradle and clothes through the olive grove to her parents. What if they’d woken up – what would she tell them? Her heart pounded as she saw the large gnarled olive tree where they’d all had lunch and rested. But the terror subsided as she saw her parents lying in the same positions, fast asleep. Angelica smiled, knowing the Madonna had helped her. Placing the cradle exactly where it had been, she lay down near her mother, utterly exhausted. At last, she was where she belonged. She fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 36

  23rd December 2012

  It was dark by the time Jamila could get a warrant to search the Logan house. She had taken two PCs with her. They were all taken aback by Mark Logan’s violent response when he saw the warrant. His wife was ill in bed, he screamed at them. How dare they enter his house with some cock-and-bull story about a Black Madonna and a Persian rug! They’d never owned either. He wrote down their names before they searched the house, accompanied by Logan telling each one of them exactly how he was going to run a big campaign in his newspaper on police harassment and cite their names. Is that what they wanted after all the bad press they’d had recently? The publicity certainly wouldn’t help any of their careers, would it? They were intimidated by his threats, but Jamila knew that Jack wouldn’t have put her in this position unless he was sure of a conviction. She had to prove him right and put pressure on Mark Logan. Mark Logan was glaring at Jamila as they all stood in the hallway.

  ‘You want to know how we discovered that you own the items we’re looking for, sir. One of my colleagues saw them in the prayer-room over there a couple of days ago,’ Jamila continued.

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Mark snapped. ‘We don’t know any policemen. Did he break in?’

  ‘No, sir, your wife invited him. One of your wife’s friends was taken ill near your house and they came in to get her a glass of water. The door to the prayer-room was open. My colleague saw both items clearly. And before you repeat that you’ve never owned such items, sir, remember we can check. The purchase of an expensive Persian rug would be easy to trace, especially as your wife’s friend told us that Mrs. Logan often buys expensive items from Sotheby’s. We also know that your wife has been having an a
ffair with Paolo Cellini for a year and the man found in the quarry was blackmailing her, sir.’ Jamila thought Jack would have been proud of her. Mark Logan looked as if she’d struck him across the face with a heavy weapon, but Jamila remained objective; she was only doing her job. ‘We’re collating all the evidence at the moment, sir, so please don’t go anywhere.’

  Suddenly, all the composure on Mark Logan’s face dissipated; he collapsed onto a chair, looking utterly bereft and covered his face with his hands. At that moment, Jamila felt sorry for him; he obviously didn’t know anything about his wife’s real life at all.

  But as they were driving back to the Met, she realized that without the statue they were still no further forward in cracking the drug smuggling. She couldn’t understand how they could get through all the checks they were doing at the docks and airports. She dreaded seeing Alan; he wanted a result.

  CHAPTER 37

  23rd December 2012

  Every day, Bianca felt as if she was in shock; the man she loved was dead and her best friend soon could be; she had been going to the hospital every day since she’d heard Rico had been found in a quarry, half dead. Every day, she wondered why her life was so traumatic. She sat beside Rico for hours waiting for him to open his eyes. The doctors had told her to talk to him, but she knew what he liked most; her singing, so every day the staff at the hospital had had a free jazz concert as Bianca had poured out her heart and soul to make him recover. She’d been doing it for days and he hadn’t responded at all; she was obviously singing to a man who couldn’t hear her. She had just finished singing one of his favourite numbers: Magic Sam’s All Your Love. She’d had an appreciative audience outside the window, but not inside; there was still no response from Rico.

  She leaned her head against his in despair. ‘Hey, Rico, come on, this is your favourite song. Oh your love, pretty baby, I have in store for you, you know I love you baby, I hope you love me too.’ Bianca whispered the lyrics into his ear. Suddenly she felt his arm twitch and she shot up; his eyelids flickered! ‘That’s it, Rico. Come on, come back to me!’ He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her. Bianca sobbed. ‘I thought you were going to leave me alone, Rico.’