Beautiful Death (21 page)

Jack looked impressed. ‘I don’t know very much about them, to be honest, other than they seem to dress in a manner that looks centuries old.’

Sarju smiled. ‘And that’s just the public face of the community.’

‘What do they do for a crust?’ Mal asked.

Sarju considered this. ‘They are business people. They like to own property, especially around here. They want to create a bigger and bigger community that they have complete control over.’

‘A small Israel?’ Mal joshed.

Sarju tapped his nose. ‘You may laugh but that’s exactly how the elders would see it. They have businesses that service their own. Many are into diamond trading.’

‘Diamonds?’ Jack queried.

‘Oh yes, DCI Hawksworth. I hear they sew their wealth into their coat linings,’ Sarju said.

Jack and Mal shared a sceptical glance.

‘It’s true, I tell you. They prefer to carry their wealth than bank it. Diamonds are portable.’

Jack shook his head. ‘I have to tell you I’ve never worked on a case that involved a member of the Hasidic community. They’ve always struck me as gentle folk.’

Sarju smirked. ‘Nevertheless, behind that very polite, very quiet demeanour, you will find power lurking, DCI Hawksworth.’ Sarju lifted an eyebrow. ‘And where power lurks, crime flourishes.’

Jack let the conversation run on because it was fascinating to listen to Sarju, so animated and determined to make his point. But his views seemed to be tinged with some racial animosity. He wondered if Sarju had ever crossed swords with an Hasidic Jew and come off the worse.

The driver butted into their conversation. ‘You’ll have to walk down the hill, okay? This is the best spot to drop you.’

The three men got out of the taxi. It was nearing 1.30 p.m. and, despite the cold, people were out and about, walking dogs, running; some were even playing tennis at the courts near the bottom of the hill. But mainly people were well rugged up and simply strolling along the pathways. Jack noticed plenty of the distinctive black overcoats and black hats of the Hasidic men, mainly walking in pairs, talking quietly between themselves.

‘So tell me, Mal. What do we know?’

‘We know that the man who found the second and third bodies was simply a passer-by. It was actually his dog who found them. He’s been interviewed a couple of times and been very cooperative. His story checks out and basically everything’s above board.’

‘What about the canal people?’

‘Very transient, as you can imagine, sir. Despite that, they are close-knit. They may be strangers to each other but they keep tight simply because of their lifestyle.’

‘I understand,’ Jack said, opening a hand to guide Sarju onto the steps that would lead them down to one of the bridges that straddled the river. ‘So what about the regulars?’

‘Yes, there are several and they’re obviously the ones we’re most interested in, but they’re even more tight-lipped than those passing through.’

Jack paused. They were on the bridge now. ‘This is all land that’s going to be used for the Olympics if we win them, I suppose?’

‘I believe so, sir,’ Mal replied.

Jack turned and could see another bridge — an iron one, painted a creamy yellow — in the near distance. ‘And that way the river leads, where?’

‘To the old town of Hertford. There are a couple of marinas down there, part of the Lea Valley Leisure Park.’

‘Hertford? Where the brewery is?’

‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

‘That’s okay. My geography’s always been plotted by pubs and breweries. I’m sure I visited Hertford years ago. It’s got a castle, narrow medieval streets. They say Jane Austen based the town of Meryton in
Pride and Prejudice
on Hertford.’

Malik grinned. ‘No idea what you’re talking about, sir. Cam seemed to know that it was a sleepy sort of place. It’s about nineteen miles as the crows flies from central London, anyway.’

Jack nodded. ‘Right,’ he said, conscious that people increasingly found his fund of trivia either eccentric or irritating. Sharpe and Kate fell more into the second camp lately. He didn’t care. He often used these sorts of thought associations to remember places; information palaces, he thought the experts on memory called them, with visual cues being the key. ‘And what’s that?’ he asked, pointing. ‘A rowing club?’

‘Yes, sir, that’s the River Lea Rowing Club, as I understand it, and next door is a small café. The locals says it gets very crowded in summer. But right now just a few walkers and riverboat people make use of it. It’s nothing fancy.’

Jack nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Mal. Why don’t you take the right bank and make your rounds. I might get down to the clubhouse and see what can be unearthed, if anything.’

Mal agreed. ‘Last time I couldn’t raise anyone there, sir, so it’s best we find out what we can while it’s open.’

‘Sarju, why don’t you go with Mal? Just listen, see if you can pick up if anyone’s hiding anything.’

‘Right,’ Sarju said brightly.

‘I’ll buy you both a cuppa when you’re done. We’ll meet at the café, okay?’

18.

Jack retraced his steps to the Spring Hill side of the river. He passed several of the moored narrowboats that from afar looked romantic and colourful. Up close, they’d all seen better days, and Jack, thinking of his well-appointed apartment at Croom’s Hill, couldn’t imagine how people lived on board year round. He was sure he would become claustrophobic below deck and self-conscious above it. The boats appeared deserted, but there was plenty of evidence of daily life — washing strung on ropes, a few hardy pot plants struggling against the cold — so presumably the river people were at work, or doing their shopping, or were perhaps weekend residents only. He turned his attention further down the river to where a knot of teenage boys was gathered in front of the rowing clubhouse. They were paying close attention to their coach, who was crouched by a kayak, explaining technique, Jack assumed. The boys were a bright red smudge on the green
landscape of trees and grass that abutted the greyish waters of the Lea. As Jack made his way towards them, a lone, balding man, sitting at one of the café’s plastic green tables called to him.

‘Oi, you one of those policemen, asking questions?’

Jack strolled over. ‘Hello. What makes you think I’m a policeman?’

The middle-aged man gulped his coffee and took a drag on his cigarette. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Jack. ‘It’s freezing, so no one dressed as posh as you has any reason to be tramping round Spring Hill on an afternoon like this.’

‘It still doesn’t make me police,’ Jack replied.

‘No? I’d put money on it, though’ the man said, a cunning smile spreading across his face.

‘You called me over. Did you want to tell me something?’

‘Nope. Just wondering why the police are sniffing around us river folk.’

Jack nodded. ‘You’re right, Mr…?’

‘Jones,’ the man replied, and Jack didn’t believe him for a second, nor did the man expect him to.

‘You know that two bodies were found recently around here?’

‘I heard,’ the fellow said, taking a last drag on the smouldering cigarette. He blew the smoke away from Jack. ‘They were illegals. No one cares about them; it’s tough enough getting people to care about us, and I’m a Brit through and through. My father fought for this country. My uncle died for it.’

Jack nodded.

The man continued. ‘We’re considered gypsies, when all we do is live on our boats. No different to you in your fancy London pad.’

‘I understand, Mr Jones.’

‘I’m not sure you do. You think one of us might be involved. Now tell me why one of us would commit murder? Is that good for our kind? No one likes us anyway, so do you honestly think we’d harbour a killer?’

‘No, but then I don’t believe any of the narrowboat owners are guilty of murder. But I do think some of you might have valuable information to share. Someone may have seen something or knows something about those bodies that were buried here.’

Mr Jones stood up.

Jack took his chance. ‘There’s been another victim. A young woman, this time. She was only twenty-nine. Full of life and lots of life still to live. She came from a good family and she lived in central London, running her own business, working hard. She was honest and decent. She lost her life because someone decided she was dispensable. Do you have any children, Mr Jones?’

‘Three daughters.’

‘Imagine if it were one of them.’

He shrugged. ‘It could be. No one would let me know anyway.’

Jack could tell the man had a serious chip on his shoulder. ‘Well, perhaps even if you can’t help with information, you could spread the word among the narrowboats about why we’re asking questions.’

The man looked over at the rowing club. ‘You were headed there, were you?’

Jack nodded again.

‘I think that’s very wise of you.’ He tapped his nose.

Jack smiled to himself. ‘DCI Jack Hawksworth.
I’d offer to shake hands, but I suspect the narrowboat owners wouldn’t want to be seen to be fraternising with the police.’

Mr Jones grinned again. ‘In that you’re right. Mine’s the green and white boat over on the other bank. You can’t miss her. No one else has her paintwork. My name’s Harry, by the way.’

‘Thanks, Harry Jones,’ Jack said, and they regarded each other with amusement.

Jack watched for a moment as the man started to climb the stairs of the yellow bridge, then turned and headed toward the rowing club where the boys were now jostling near the bank in their kayaks.

He caught the attention of the coach. The man looked up and nodded. ‘Yes?’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Jack began. He opened his wallet and showed the coach his warrant, directing a friendly wave toward the curious boys, all straining to hear what was going on. He turned back to the coach. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Jack Hawksworth.’

This was greeted by a chorus of ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’ from the kayakers.

‘What’s up?’ the coach asked. ‘I’m Paul Knowles, by the way.’

Jack shook his hand. ‘Hi. Sorry, I won’t keep you long; I can see you’re busy.’

‘That’s okay, how can I help? This is about the bodies that were found nearby, right?’

‘Yes, we’re keen to learn if anyone saw anything that could help with our enquiries.’ He looked across at the boys. ‘You all know the case?’

‘Are you from Scotland Yard?’ one of them asked.

He nodded.

‘Evening all,’ another joshed and a ripple of laughter passed through the kayaks.

‘Come on, boys, don’t waste the detective’s time, please.’

Knowles threw Jack a look of apology, but Jack grinned. ‘I wish it were as simple as the cases on the telly, all wrapped up neatly in one hour,’ he admitted. ‘But you may not know there’s been another victim. She wasn’t a vagrant or an illegal immigrant. She came from a respectable London family, so anything you might have seen that seemed suspicious in the last couple of days could help us.’

Knowles spoke first. ‘Let me get the diary.’

Jack nodded. ‘Any of you boys live around here?’

They all looked intently at him, shaking their heads. A couple lived within striking range of the park, but not close enough to regularly observe the water traffic or riverbank activity. The group looked like it had been hand-picked by the UN, Jack thought. He noted three Anglo-Saxon types, two boys of African origin, four of various Asian heritage and a couple of youths of Middle Eastern background.

Knowles returned. ‘So we’re talking roughly Tuesday?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Okay, earlier this week four of the boys had really bad colds, so we cancelled Tuesday training.’

Jack nodded, disappointment splintering through him. ‘Look, it’s just a long shot. We’re asking everyone we can if they saw anything at all that may not necessarily have even looked suspicious. It may simply have struck one of you as something that seemed out of place. That’s all.’ They stared at him blankly, and Jack felt he was barking up the wrong tree. He took out one of his cards and handed it to the coach. ‘If you or one of the boys think of anything, please give me a call. Again, apologies for interrupt —’

‘Excuse me, Mr Knowles, sir?’

‘Yuri?’

The boy blushed as everyone turned around to stare at him. He slowly looked up at Jack. ‘I’m not sure if this is relevant, but even though I don’t live near the park I come down here a lot.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a lot of brothers and sisters so I like the peace and quiet down here by the river.’

Jack felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. ‘Did you see something, Yuri?’

The young kayaker shrugged again. ‘It’s probably nothing. It just seemed odd, that’s all.’

Jack dropped to a crouch at the water’s edge, where Yuri’s kayak bobbed. ‘It may be nothing, but what you thought was odd might turn out to be a terrific clue that helps us break into this case.’ He looked steadily into the boy’s eyes, keen to cut out the distraction of the other boys who seemed determined to win his attention. ‘I wasn’t here, but you were. Perhaps you saw something that might help us — we’ve got so little to go on right now to help a grieving family whose innocent daughter has been brutally murdered.’

The harsh words worked. Yuri’s dark eyes widened and his story tumbled out. ‘We were meant to train on the Tuesday, like Mr Knowles said, and I really look forward to it because, well, I don’t have a lot of freedom.’ He looked down, embarrassed. ‘I got the call from Mr Knowles that it was being cancelled as so many in the club were sick that week.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I couldn’t stand to be stuck indoors missing training so I pretended to my mother that training was still on. My father walked me down as usual and I spent a couple of hours just sitting in the clubhouse.’

Paul Knowles gave a gasp of astonishment and was obviously about to launch into a lecture about how dangerous that was, especially when it got dark so early. But Jack stopped him with a hand raised silently before he could begin.

‘Go on, Yuri,’ he encouraged the boy. ‘So you were down here, alone?’

The boy nodded. ‘It was all deserted. Very quiet, just how I like it.’ Some of his companions sniggered, but Jack continued to hold the boy’s gaze.

‘And then what?’

He shrugged, embarrassed again. ‘I know how to get in through the side window.’

‘Into the clubhouse, you mean?’ Jack asked.

‘Just where all the kayaks are stored. I don’t go upstairs or anything, Coach,’ Yuri said, throwing Knowles an anxious look.

Jack couldn’t give a flying fig. ‘What did you see, Yuri?’ he pressed, dragging the boy’s gaze back to his. ‘Tell me.’

‘Quiet, boys,’ he heard Knowles caution as the others became increasingly restless.

Yuri frowned. ‘Well, if you come down here enough you sort of get familiar with the people who use this park, especially down here by the river.’ Jack nodded. ‘And one thing’s for sure,’ he continued, ‘you are not going to see one of the boaties talking with Hasidim.’ This prompted an explosion of laughter from his mates, and while the coach did his best to settle the boys down again, Jack pressed on with Yuri, ignoring the discomfort of his crouching position.

‘Tell me exactly what you saw,’ he urged.

‘I’m not Hasidic. We’re orthodox progressive,’ he explained.

‘What does that mean, Yuri?’

The boy gave a small sigh. ‘My family is very faithful, but we’re not as strict about some of the customs as the Hasidim. We don’t wear black, have ringlets …’ There were more sniggers from the boys, but Jack had Yuri in his thrall now and he had no intention of letting the boy be distracted again.

He quickly refocused Yuri. ‘Okay, Yuri. So you saw one of the canal people talking to one of the Hasidic men, is that right?’

Yuri nodded. ‘I thought it was odd because first …’ He looked embarrassed. Jack gave him a reassuring nod. ‘Well, the Hasidim only talk to each other in the park. And they don’t come down this way, anyway.’ Yuri pointed. ‘They tend to stay on the high side, closer to Spring Hill and near the entrances to the park from the neighbourhood.’

‘Was the narrowboat owner a regular? Do you know?’

Yuri shook his head. ‘I do know a lot of the boats around here and it wasn’t one I recognised, but it was getting dark so I can’t really describe it in detail, not that I took much notice. I think it was blue and red, but I know it didn’t look as old and beaten up as some of the regular narrowboats.’

‘Good. And what about the Jewish man? Can you describe him?’

One of the other kayakers smirked. ‘They all look the same, don’t they?’

Jack knew that the boy — who seemed to be of Arabic origin — missed the irony of what he was saying. Or else, Jack thought, he was a boy well trained in his prejudices. Either way, it wasn’t said with malice and his peers shut him up swiftly. They were all good mates, Jack could tell. He wondered
why the rest of London, a similar melting pot of cultures, couldn’t get on this easily with one another. He cleared his thoughts, focusing again on Yuri. ‘Can you describe him?’ he repeated.

‘Gussy is right,’ Yuri admitted sheepishly. ‘He did look like all the others. Black long coat, black hat, black suit, white shirt,’ he said, subconsciously touching his neck. ‘Oh! I do remember something,’ he said, frowning. ‘That’s right, he had gingery hair.’

Jack nodded, a tiny frisson of excitement washing through him. It could be a useful detail. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’

Yuri thought hard for a moment. ‘I think I might have seen him once at
Shul
— that’s prayers — but my father would probably know him.’

‘Did you mention this to your parents?’

The boy shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t want them to know anything about me being down here alone.’

‘What about the other one, the boatie?’

Yuri shrugged. ‘Oh, shaved head, a bit fat. Well, not really fat, but, you know, he wasn’t really thin.’ The boys laughed again. Jack nodded; Yuri was doing his best. ‘He was smoking while they talked.’

‘How long did they talk for?’

‘Not long, maybe five minutes. Just while the woman was helped onto the boat. He left soon after she was inside the cabin.’

Jack’s gaze narrowed. ‘Just a moment. What woman?’

Yuri hesitated, suddenly unsure. ‘There was a woman who came with the Hasid. That was strange too, but I wasn’t really paying much attention at the time. I remember thinking it was odd, but then I found a magazine. I was flicking through it, looking at the pictures.’ He stopped, blushing and looked
around. ‘It was a car magazine, not what you lot are thinking,’ he protested amid the catcalls and laughter.

‘Yuri, the woman, please try and remember anything you can. What did she look like?’

‘I didn’t watch them. She didn’t look very well, I don’t think. The ginger-haired man helped her on board. That’s all I know.’

‘Can you describe the woman?’

Yuri shook his head. ‘No, she was all rugged up against the cold. I didn’t really see her face. She had a nice arse, though.’ His peers exploded into laughter again, and even a glare from the coach couldn’t quell it.

‘Did you get a good look at what she was wearing? Could you describe her clothing?’

The boy shook his head. ‘She seemed to be in a parka that was way too big for her. I couldn’t make out anything else. Jeans maybe.’