Beautiful Death (27 page)

‘Do I look stupid, Mr Hawksworth?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then grant me some sensibility.’

Despite his brusque manner, Jack liked Goldman.

‘It’s obvious Yuri loves his kayaking and he’s certainly popular with his peers at the club.’

‘I was once of the Hasidic faith, Mr Hawksworth, but for reasons I don’t intend to go into now, I have chosen to be orthodox, but not segregated. While others in our community believe I am opening my children to corruption, I personally feel Yuri will benefit from this exposure to worldliness and a wider society. But he must not abuse it — and that’s what I’m referring to when I say he has been defiant. I know what he did was probably harmless. I imagine Yuri just wanted to escape the noise of his younger siblings.’ Jack smiled sympathetically. ‘But one day soon he’ll have a family of his own to raise, and he must learn to love the sound of children — their play, their laughter and, yes, their tears and small arguments. It is all part of life. It
is
his life. He must accept it, embrace it and he will enjoy it.’

Now Jack could see kindness in Goldman’s eyes. ‘I understand, Mr Goldman, and I’m very glad to have protected your privacy. Thank you for your time and for your help.’

‘If Schlimey Katz is involved in this terrible affair, Mr Hawksworth, you had better hurry and spare him his own community’s wrath.’

Jack nodded. ‘I plan to talk with him as soon as possible.’

‘Goodbye and good luck,’ Rubin Goldman said, lifting a hand in farewell before closing the door.

Jack smiled grimly as he turned, already reaching for his mobile. He dialled the ops room and Joan answered.

‘It’s me, Mother.’

‘This place is deserted today,’ she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

‘That’s a positive sign. Kate back?’

‘No, but I hear she’s on her way in.’

‘Good. Is Sarah around?’

‘She’s the only one! I’ll put you through. I’m fielding a lot of media enquiries, Jack.’

‘I know. Keep them off my back. Sharpe doesn’t want any publicity right now other than the basics he’s already released. We have nothing more to say immediately, although we may have shortly.’

‘Can I tell them that?’

‘No. Say we’re following up some useful leads.’

He heard Joan sigh. ‘Here’s Sarah.’

The phone was switched through. ‘Hello, sir.’

‘Hi. Listen — something’s broken.’

‘Oh, thank goodness. How can I help?’

Jack quickly summarised what he’d discovered. ‘I need the address of a Mr Schlimey Katz.’ He spelled the name for Sarah. ‘And then tell Malik to meet me over there.’

‘Right. Back shortly.’

‘Thanks, Sarah.’ He clicked off and walked back down the street towards Stamford Park, watching Jewish life swirl about him. Many of the men were walking to synagogue and as it was almost dark mothers and children were hurrying home to begin
preparations for the evening meal. Jack felt impatient, and was thinking about ringing Kate when his phone vibrated.

‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘tell me.’ He listened as she gave him the address. ‘Got it. Malik?’

‘Sarju took the call and said he’d pass the message on and ensure that Malik met you there soonest.’

‘Great, thanks, Sarah. Good luck tonight.’

22.

Malik Khan emerged from the public lavatory as Sarju closed his mobile and pushed it into his pocket. He handed the DC the phone he’d been looking after in case a call came through while the police officer was busy.

‘Thanks, mate.’ Malik pulled a face of relief. ‘I was busting. Any calls?’

‘Yes, there was a text that I have not read, of course, and a phone call from DS Jones.’

‘Damn! What’s happening?’

‘She needs you to get over to this address,’ Sarju said, taking out a pen and scribbling it on a receipt he found in his pocket. ‘Sorry it’s so tattered.’

‘Why am I going there?’

‘You’re to meet DCI Hawksworth there. It’s urgent, I’m told. He’s questioning a man called — um, hang on, I have to get this right — Schlimey Katz, yes, I think that’s it, in connection with the narrowboats.’

‘Oh, okay. That’s a Jewish name.’

Sarju shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘What about you?’

Sarju straightened his coat. ‘I’ll head back, I think … if that’s okay with you, DC Khan?’

‘Yeah, sure. Are you in tomorrow?’

‘Possibly. And certainly if you need me, I’ll be right there. I’m on mobile, so tell everyone they can ring me any time. I’m permanently attached to the case now, but I’ll just do a bit of paperwork back at the office first thing and then I’m available.’

Khan nodded. ‘See you then. I’m going to grab a cab from here,’ he said.

Sarju pointed. ‘I’ll head over to the tube station.’ They parted and Malik immediately rang his chief.

‘I’ve just heard from Sarju about this bloke, Katz.

I’m on my way over now, sir.’

‘Forget it. I’m already here and there’s no one home.’

‘Namzul?’ Schlimey growled into the phone. ‘What happened?’

‘Are you well away from your home?’

‘Yes,’ came the exasperated reply. ‘Did you think I’d lay out a welcome mat? How did they find out?’

‘Whoever you used to dump the white van has probably given you up.’

‘That person didn’t know my name,’ Schlimey sneered.

‘You’re distinctive. You were likely described. Besides, I think you were seen down by the river by someone else.’

Schlimey said nothing immediately. ‘Who?’

‘How should I know? Why you’d leave a body to be so easily found is beyond understanding.’

‘That’s because you’re dumb, Namzul. It was made to look like someone local had attacked her. He doesn’t want the bodies anywhere near the clinic and we want the police to think the killer is working only Whitechapel.’

‘Well, it’s not working too well. Someone has given the police enough to find out your name and address. You’re their major lead now.’

‘Don’t be too smug, Bangla. If they know about me, they’ll know about you … or will soon.’ He laughed unkindly.

Namzul gritted his teeth. He simply had to hold his nerve and collect his money and then he could disappear. He knew he could do it. He was already a shadow and now he must shadow this police operation and learn how close they were to him. Two days was all he needed.

The surgeon stared into space as he absently swirled a shot of expensive malt whisky around a heavy crystal glass. Its vapours reached him but he hardly noticed the velvety, heady aroma as his mind dislocated from his life as one of the country’s — indeed the world’s — pre-eminent plastic surgeons and began to lose itself in the murky underworld of the sociopath.

He was no longer just close. He was there. He had proved that he could reconnect an entire face, keeping all the structures intact and allowing the recipient of the donated face to wear it as if it were their own. His crude early attempts had been encouraging, but the last four — and especially the most recent pair — had catapulted him into the realms of genius. The woman now wearing Lily Wu’s face — and already gone from British shores — showed his breathtaking work well enough, but his
triumph was the young European’s face. He didn’t know the victim’s name, didn’t need to. A prostitute, he’d heard. He didn’t care. The face no longer looked as it had when she’d worn it.

He smiled. The ill-informed didn’t seem to realise that face transplants were essentially skin transplants; it’s bone structure that gives the skin its form and features, which was why Lily’s face and the prostitute’s no longer looked as they had on their original owners. That said, there were moments when he had looked at his extraordinarily wealthy Hong Kong Chinese patient and caught a suggestion of the beautiful young florist. He smiled at the fanciful thought, for Stephanie Chen’s bone structure was vastly different to the elfin Lily’s. The recipient of the prostitute’s face was already recovering from the trauma of surgery, and showing signs of wearing her new face in quite a different way to the donor. He needed that patient gone this evening, he reflected, certainly well away from the clinic as planned, if not southern England. Easy enough — all the arrangements were in motion now.

His mind roamed to the Scotland Yard team. DI Kate Carter was smart as a whip and by all accounts was not a woman to cross. He wondered how she had used her opportunity to roam without a watchdog. He was sure she would have found out nothing, but still it was important he stayed a step ahead of the police. Perhaps he should call the nursing staff — just in case she’d snooped further than he’d anticipated.

He reached for the phone. Best to talk with Sandra Patton.

* * *

It was just past 6.30pm, dark and had turned snap cold. Amhurst Park was positively seedy, Sarah decided. She shivered, glad of her anorak as she stood alongside Andy.

‘What now?’ she asked, watching the mist of her breath dissipate. She slapped her wool-mittened hands together to keep them warm. They made a dull thudding sound.

‘Load them into the van and take them down to Bethnal Green.’ He shook his head, round as a billiard ball in its beanie. ‘Most of them are from Eastern Europe. We’ll deport them and a dozen others will take their place and even these will likely find their way back.’

‘What a life,’ Sarah said, watching one long-legged, really rather beautiful girl clamber into the bus. The cropped jeans, towering heels and red leather bomber jacket teamed with a seriously low-cut, virtually not there sparkly top were staple garb for a girl in her line of work, yet she managed to make the raunchy clothes seem elegant. She must be freezing, Sarah thought. She seemed a bit older than most of the other girls, which might explain why, unlike the others, she wasn’t complaining. If anything she wore an expression of boredom. In a different life she might have been one of the world’s beautiful people, photographed for magazines and courted by wealthy men. Instead, she was plying her near frozen flesh for £50 a roll with any man who had the cash.

It saddened Sarah deeply. ‘Can I ride with them?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Are you mad?’

‘Probably. They’re not violent, are they?’

Andy shook his head. ‘Most of these girls are sixteen or seventeen. They’re scared. They act tough
and streetwise, but fuck! They should still be in school uniform.’

‘So it’s okay?’

‘I don’t see why not. They’ve all been searched and handcuffed.’

Sarah joined the women in the van once Andy had cleared it with his team. They were all shivering and she felt almost guilty having the warmth of her anorak. She also felt totally out of her depth. Nine pairs of heavily made-up eyes regarded her suspiciously.

‘I’m Sarah,’ she began.

‘Are you police?’ one of the girls enquired.

Sarah nodded.

‘Then we don’t talk to you.’ Others murmured assent and turned away to ignore her, hugging their arms around themselves for warmth.

The slightly older woman she’d noticed was still watching her. ‘Hi,’ Sarah tried. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Why? Do you want to buy some time?’ She spoke in a dismissive tone. Her voice was accented but her English was good. ‘Nice coat by the way.’ The girls nearby sniggered.

Sarah wasn’t deterred. ‘It keeps the cold out,’ she replied, knowing they’d all give just about anything right now to pull it over their shoulders. ‘Where are you from?’

‘What does it matter?’ the woman replied, bored.

‘Perhaps I can help.’

‘I don’t think so. Leave me alone, will you, I have nothing to say to you.’ She turned away to face the window.

It was not a long enough journey for Sarah to make any headway. Once the grumbling gaggle of scantily clad girls was herded inside the station, Andy approached her. ‘Anything?’

She gave a doubtful look. ‘Nothing, really, but I’d like to speak to that one in an interview room if you can swing it.’

Andy glanced over to where Sarah was looking. ‘The one in the red leather?’

‘Yeah, her.’

‘Okay. I’ll get it organised. Give me a minute.’

‘Thanks.’

She killed the time reading the posters on the station’s noticeboard. Soon enough Andy was back at her side.

‘Room two.’

‘Thanks, I really appreciate this.’

He shrugged. ‘Hope you get what you need. I’ll sit in, if that’s okay?’

‘Great.’ She followed him to room two and inside the woman sat quietly, straight-backed, staring ahead with the same uninterested expression.

‘You again,’ she said as Sarah hauled off her anorak and mittens and took a seat.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. This is DC Andy Gates.’

The woman didn’t even glance Andy’s way. ‘What do you want?’

Sarah ran though the formalities and turned on the recording equipment then asked the woman for her name.

The woman waited a beat; Sarah’s stare did not waiver.

‘Claudia Maric,’ the woman reluctantly replied.

‘Thank you, Claudia. Now you were picked up this evening courtesy of a Safe Neighbourhood swoop to clear up the Amhurst Park area of —’

‘The Slavic rats that inhabit it, or perhaps the scum who make use of that vermin for its needs?’

Sarah heard the pain in Claudia’s words. She
really was a striking woman and intelligence gleamed in those suspicious eyes. ‘I was going to say: “of the working girls and their masters”. Frankly, Claudia, I have no gripe with you. I’m not part of the Safe Neighbourhood support group and I’m not even a member of the Vice Unit.’

Claudia’s face darkened. ‘Well, what do you want with me, then?’

‘I want information.’

The woman sneered. ‘I know nothing about anyone.’

‘Don’t be too hasty. Are you aware that four people have recently been killed in London, murdered for their body parts, particularly their faces?’

She looked unimpressed. ‘I live in London, don’t I?’

‘I’ll take that as a yes. The fourth victim, grabbed just a couple of days ago while she was working, we believe, was a young woman. She was a florist, going about her business delivering flowers around hospitals. We have no idea what happened but she turned up dead in the back of her own van, abandoned in a supermarket car park not far from here. She had no kidneys. She also had no face. She was the nearly 30-year-old daughter of hardworking parents. She was getting married, we believe. She was also pregnant.’

Claudia shrugged but Sarah suspected it was to cover the unpleasantness of what she’d just heard. ‘What is this to do with me?’

‘Nothing, in truth, except that it could have been you or any one of your friends from Amhurst Park. We’re convinced the background of his victims is not important.’

She watched Claudia bite her lip. She looked suddenly wary. ‘I know how to look after myself. No other girls have turned up, right?’

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. She’d hit onto something that troubled Claudia, perhaps. ‘Do you know all the girls?’

‘The ones you’ve rounded up?’

‘Yes. Anyone we’ve missed?’

Claudia smirked. ‘As if I’d tell you.’

‘I mean, are all the girls you know safe?’

The prostitute hesitated. ‘How can I know? I’m not their mother.’

Sarah detected anger — but also anxiety — in Claudia’s tone. She decided to go in hard. ‘A killer prepared to snatch a woman off the street in broad daylight — a woman who could very easily be traced, I might add — won’t hesitate to take one from your community.’

‘No one would care if he did,’ Claudia replied, looking away.

‘Claudia, I can tell you’re not that heartless — and neither am I. Or Andy here. This murderer is working your neighbourhood. He’s probably seen all of you. He might even have used your services.’

‘All right!’ Claudia’s gaze snapped back. ‘Aniela’s gone missing.’

Sarah’s idea to join Andy’s people had been based in solid reasoning but nevertheless it was unrelated by anything but the slimmest of links that the receipt from the back of the van came from a café nearby. She knew the Chief appreciated her ability for lateral thinking; it had certainly helped on the major case they’d worked on previously, and no doubt was why he had thrilled her with the invitation to work alongside him again on another equally major op.
This notion to talk to the girls who worked the Amhurst Park region felt like a long shot, but while everyone else was busy on tasks, she’d felt chained to the indexing database and it was yielding nothing. She’d felt she needed to be out and at least feeling as though she was contributing physically to the case.

Sarah hadn’t expected this kind of breakthrough and didn’t know if it had any bearing on the case but she leaned forward, suddenly on full alert. It appeared Andy felt the same way. ‘Aniela? Tell us about her.’

‘She’s young, stupid, over-confident.’ Claudia gave an angry shrug. ‘Broke the rules and got in a taxi to meet a john …’

‘And you haven’t heard a word since?’

Claudia shook her head, gave a sound of exasperation. ‘Nothing! It’s been two days. It’s probably a coincidence.’

‘It could be, yes. It may not be. That’s why I need your help.’

‘I don’t know anything. I’m a hooker, that’s it.’

‘Let me tell you more. We have no proof as yet but everything we do know is leading us to believe that the killer is not just some freak who cuts off people’s faces to hide their identity or for his own sick pleasure. We believe this to be someone skilled in surgery and who may be involved in illegally transplanting faces.’