Beautiful Death (28 page)

Claudia looked at her as though she was perfectly mad. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Trust me, I’m not talking science fiction. There are medical teams involved in a worldwide race to be the first to successfully transplant an entire face from a donor onto a recipient and give that recipient the ability to move that face around with reasonable control.’

Claudia stared at her. ‘Why?’

‘Forget the whys. It’s medicine! Research! Progress! It means wealth, power, prestige. There are plenty of deserving people who need help in this way — maybe due to accident or illness or deformation. There are also people who are prepared to buy new faces on the black market for all manner of reasons.’

Claudia had the grace to look shocked. ‘That’s evil.’

Sarah shrugged. ‘No different to selling other body parts, except in this case the donors have no say — they’re simply snatched, we believe, and kept alive long enough so their skin is as fresh as possible. Then they’re euthanased. A polite way to say they’re murdered.’

Claudia looked sickened. ‘She was going to an address in Brick Lane.’ She told Sarah all that she knew about Aniela’s last movements at Amhurst Park.

‘Whitechapel,’ Sarah murmured and turned, shocked, to Andy. She returned her gaze to Claudia. ‘A dark man, you think?’

Claudia nodded. ‘It’s what the other girl said. Small, darkish skin, ordinary clothes.’ Claudia’s hands fidgeted. ‘This surgeon you mentioned,’ she began, sounding less world-weary now, ‘do you know anything about him?’

‘No, absolutely nothing. We don’t even know if he is a doctor — but the removal of the victims’ faces has been very professional, must have been carried out in a proper surgical facility. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason,’ the woman replied quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Her eyes narrowed. ‘So why am I here again?’

‘Claudia, you have to tell us everything you can,’ Sarah pressed.

‘I told you I don’t know anything.’ She looked nervous. ‘If you’re not here to book me for soliciting, I don’t know why I’m here.’

‘You will be booked, and for a lot worse if you don’t co-operate,’ Andy warned her, sensing, with Sarah, that Claudia was hiding something.

‘And if I do co-operate?’

Andy nodded at Sarah. ‘Perhaps we can work something out for you. I can’t make promises, but maybe you won’t have to be deported.’

Claudia gave a soft snort. ‘Is that all?’ But they saw how worried she suddenly appeared.

‘Do you know something?’ Sarah asked, her voice low and hard. ‘Because people are dying out there, Claudia. Aniela might already be the latest victim.’

‘Shut up, why don’t you!’ Claudia hurled at Sarah. It was the first genuine slip in her composure.

Sarah was glad to see it, and went in harder. ‘You could save her life, but as long as you stay quiet she’s out there with a madman and a scalpel.’

‘You don’t know that!’ Claudia whispered.

‘No, I don’t. But you do! You know something and if you don’t tell me then I swear to you others will die. He’s not finished yet. He’s perfecting his craft. And you and your friends are easy pickings.’

They stared at each other, both unrelenting and Andy wisely stayed silent, allowing Sarah to keep control.

Sarah deliberately sighed, realising she needed to be patient. She continued in a monotone, moving away from talk of Claudia’s colleagues and the dangers they faced at the hands of a brutal surgeon.‘Somehow there’s a Jewish man connected with this
case … we think. We don’t know for sure who he is yet but I found out our suspect’s name just an hour or so ago. We’re trying to find him now. That’s what I came here tonight to ask you about. About the Jewish suspect. But I’m beginning to think you may know something about the surgeon. Would I be right?’

Claudia’s face had now drained of colour. All her poise had gone. She looked terrified. ‘Jew? What is his name?’

Sarah reached across and covered the woman’s hand with her own. As she’d anticipated, she didn’t try to move away.

Jack and Malik were at Hackney Central, which had control over all the police stations in Golf Delta, the Hackney borough. Jack was awaiting an Inspector Wallace, in charge of the serious crime directorate of Hackney. He glanced at his watch.

‘Bugger!’ Malik looked over at him. ‘I’ve just got to make a quick call,’ Jack explained. He disappeared to a quiet corner and dialled Jane Brooks.

She answered as though expecting his call. ‘Is this to tell me you’re going to cancel?’ she asked.

‘I’m on my knees pleading for understanding,’ he replied.

To his relief she laughed. ‘It’s okay, Jack, but to keep Ghost Squad happy we need to get together soon.’

‘I know, I know. I’m not cancelling, Dr Brooks, I’m right in the middle of something here, something that could break open this case for us.’

‘Good for you,’ she said, and he could hear that she meant it. ‘So will I see you later?’

‘Does that stuff your evening up completely?’

‘Not at all. Why don’t you ring me when you’re finished there and we’ll see if there’s still time to talk. I think it’s important we do, for your job’s sake.’

‘I do too. Thanks for being so flexible.’

‘Bendy Brooks, that’s what they call me,’ she quipped.

Jack smiled. ‘I’ll call as soon as I can.’

‘Good luck, Jack. Hope it turns into something for you.’

As he rang off he saw Malik rising to shake hands with a tall, tired-looking man. Jack moved across to them.

‘Inspector Wallace?’

The man nodded. ‘Sorry I’ve kept you. Today’s been like a loony bin in here. I guess you know a sub-station went down and cut out most of the city?’ ‘We did,’ Jack admitted. ‘I’m Hawksworth, thanks for helping us.’

‘Oh, no trouble, really. I’m pretty keen for you to catch this bastard who’s killing people in my borough.’

A tight grin of agreement ghosted briefly across Jack’s face.

Wallace gestured down the corridor. ‘Come into one of the rooms and we’ll talk through what has to be done and how we can help Panther.’ ‘We need to track down someone inside the Hasidic community,’ Jack explained as the three men settled themselves in an interview room.

Wallace grimaced. ‘There’s little intelligence on that group of people simply because they don’t fit the criteria for serious crime. Any murders around Golf Delta are mainly domestic related, as you’d know, but I have to tell you I’ve never had to deal with a single member of the Jewish community. They all keep pretty much to themselves; there are no
troublemakers in that lot! In fact apart from Purim — their major festival — theirs is one of the quietest neighbourhoods you could imagine. Polite, law-abiding people, who create no disturbances. You’re sure the person you want to interview is Hasidic?’ Jack nodded. Wallace frowned. ‘In that case the person you should speak to is Bob Harrison. He’s the duty sergeant in charge of the Stamford Hill Safer Neighbourhood Team. He’s around, I think. He’s very knowledgeable about the Jewish community and their lifestyle. I’ll get him.’

Wallace disappeared for several moments, reappearing with a ruddy-faced, slightly overweight man in uniform he introduced as Bob Harrison.

‘I gather you’re looking for someone in Volvo City,’ Harrison said.

It sounded like a joke, but Jack didn’t get it. He looked back at Bob, confused.

The duty sergeant explained. ‘The locals and some of our boys refer to the Jewish area as Volvo City because almost every car there is a Volvo estate. They buy in bulk, can you believe?’ Jack stared back, even more bemused. Bob barely paused. ‘Yeah, sometimes twenty or thirty vehicles at once. You can imagine how happy the local dealer is. I think the BBC even ran a documentary about it and called it
Volvo City
.’

Jack glanced at Malik, who was keeping a poker face, and cleared his throat. He wondered if Bob drove a similar model. ‘Thanks for that, Bob. Um, we’re looking for a particular member of the Stamford Hill community. He’s distinctive because he has ginger hair.’

‘Ginger, eh? That’s rare but I’ve seen a few in my time.’

‘I’ve got a local witness who believes he saw this man talking to one of the narrowboat owners down near the Lea Rowing Club and helping a woman onto that boat. The witness noticed him mainly because it seemed unusual for an Hasidic man to be associating with a boatie, and even to be down on the riverbank.’

Bob had been listening carefully. ‘And all you’ve got to go on from this witness is that he has red hair?’

Jack grinned sheepishly. ‘No, I know his name, I even know where he lives. Does the name Schlimey Katz mean anything to you?’

Harrison shook his head. ‘No.’

Jack felt disappointment wash over him. ‘He’s big — you know, wide-shouldered, with scary eyebrows apparently.’ The childish description was incongruous coming from Jack.

But Bob looked suddenly interested. ‘Scary eyebrows? Okay, hang on, I may know who you’re talking about now. I’ve never known his name but he lives in Oldhill Street, right? Off the common and a few minutes’ walk from Lingwood Road.’

Jack’s demeanour changed instantly. ‘That’s it. That’s where I’ve just come from. He’s not home.’

Bob continued. ‘If I’m not mistaken I reckon he works for a charity known as the Lubavitch Foundation at Stamford Hill. It’s just up from the salt beef bar.’

‘Who runs it?’ Jack asked.

‘The local rabbi,’ Wallace chimed in, ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Bob?’

The duty sergeant nodded. ‘That’s my understanding. The charity provides crèche facilities, helps with vocational training, financial advice, that sort of thing. It’s all just for the Hasidic community.’

Jack looked between them. ‘And what does Katz do for this charity?’

Bob scratched his head. ‘I’m not sure, but there’s pressure from the rabbis in all the Hasidic schools for the younger men to do some work for charities that affect their community. You know how our kids go on gap years and head off to Africa or Camp America or whatever?’ Jack nodded. ‘Well the Jewish kids stay home and look after their own. I imagine this Katz fellow is doing his bit … still continuing with some voluntary work for the charity. Anyway, I’ll take you and DC Khan down there if you like. He’s a bit of an odd character in a community of slightly odd people, but if you know them as I do they’re just …’ he searched for the right words ‘… let’s say slightly removed from the rest of us. But they’re very polite, decent folk.’

‘Let’s go,’ Jack said.

Moshe Gluck stared at Schlimey. He had attended Shul and they were now sitting hunched into their coats and fur hats on a bench in Stamford Park. Their breath came out in billows of steam.

‘They’re onto you, then,’ Gluck said.

Katz nodded glumly. ‘Namzul rang and said to get out and right enough I knew the police had come around to my place. Next door confirmed it. I just don’t know how.’

‘I do,’ Gluck said. ‘It was Rubin Goldman’s boy who saw you.’

‘What?’

‘Down at the riverbank, apparently, when you were loading the Chinese woman onto the boat.’

‘It was dark by then, no one around. There were no rowers. The clubhouse was all locked up. So was
the café. There were no dog walkers or joggers. I tell you, Moshe, I saw no one or I wouldn’t have moved her then.’

‘
You
may not have seen anyone, Schlimey, but the area was not deserted,’ Gluck continued. ‘The Goldman boy was inside the clubhouse. He shouldn’t have been there in the dark, of course, but it seems he was and has described you to the police.’ Gluck shrugged. ‘Rubin was always a stickler for the rules. He’s a good citizen, Schlimey, we can’t blame him. At least he has taken the precaution to warn me of the police interest. He knows you do some things for me and has put two and two together.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘A misunderstanding. Goldman knows I’m a businessman. But that’s irrelevant now. We have bigger problems than Goldman to worry about.’

‘What do I do now?’

‘Leave London for a while. Go to New York. Leave immediately.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper. ‘Here,’ he said, giving it to Katz. ‘Details of your flight. It doesn’t leave until nearly midnight. You have plenty of time.’

‘For what?’

‘One more job — and then I think we can all wash our hands of this dirty business.’

Schlimey nodded. ‘Namzul?’

‘No,’ Gluck smirked. ‘He’s nothing. I’ll tell him to disappear as well. He is small fry but he could bring us down. I agree we want him gone and silent. I can count on him for that. But I suspect he’s more trouble to us dead.’

‘Who, then?’

‘Here.’ This time Gluck held out an envelope. ‘That’s the name and the address. Has to happen this
evening. There’s a car waiting for you. The address where I’ve had it left is on there as well. Keys are inside with plenty of money to see you through for a while. Make the delivery, get on that plane and disappear. You grabbed your passport, of course?’

‘Of course.’

‘Use it only to get to Tel Aviv. Once there, you know what to do to get new papers issued. It might be a while before I see you again. You’ve been reliable, Schlimey. Telephone me once you’ve reached safety … and Schlimey, lay low. Dye your hair.’

The ginger-haired man nodded, took the envelope.

‘Now, go. Waste no time. The delivery must happen and once done all traces to us should be gone.’

The men stood, embraced and then parted, walking in separate directions.

Sarah stared at Claudia. ‘Moshe Gluck? What does he do?’

Claudia shrugged, clearly unhappy to have revealed a client’s name. ‘I don’t know. I think he has an office above Milo’s. All of us girls use the café and that’s often where I meet him.’

‘Milo’s?’ Sarah sounded startled. ‘That’s the café that the receipt found in the van belongs to, I reckon.’

Andy looked understandably puzzled and Claudia appeared nonplussed.

Claudia’s expression turned dark. ‘Moshe is no killer.’

‘I’m not suggesting he is, although he could be involved. Have you ever seen a red-headed Jewish man with him?’

Claudia nodded. ‘Once or twice. He’s noticeable
only because of his hair. He has bushy eyebrows and a manner I don’t care for.’