Jack in the Box (28 page)

‘And he was wearing your dress?’

‘Not just the dress. He had on stockings and shoes. And he was putting on my lipstick. I asked him if he was taking part in a play. He just laughed and said, yes Ma, I’m in the Christmas panto, playing the part of a woman.’

She kept her eyes on Janet Moudry’s. ‘Did you see him in the panto?’

‘He was Widow Twanky.’ She smiled. ‘He was good, too. When he did “There’s a Hole in my Bucket”, he brought the house down.’ Her smile died. ‘But the clothes he wore as Widow Twanky weren’t like my clothes. I had nice clothes then, elegant clothes.’

‘And did you see him in your clothes again?’

‘He was sixteen. It was his last term at school. I thought he was out of the house – it was a Saturday – so I went into his bedroom to check whether he had anything needing washed. He wasn’t good about bringing his stuff down.’ She was unravelling the knitting now. ‘But he hadn’t gone out. He was lying on the bed, wearing my underwear.’ She flushed, pressing the points of the needles into her fingers. ‘He was wearing my bra and pants. He had his hand inside.’

‘Did he realise you were there?’ Von said, taking the needles from her gently.

‘His eyes were closed. He hadn’t heard me come in. I tiptoed out.’

‘Did you talk to him about it?’

‘Never.’ She stared at Von, her eyes burning. ‘And I never told his father. He wouldn’t have understood. Men don’t, do they?’

‘What happened after Jo left home?’

‘He went to college. He came back for Christmas and his birthday. And for my birthday.’ She smiled proudly. ‘He always came home for that. But then he moved to London and I hardly saw him.’ She gazed wistfully at Von. ‘I can tell you have children, Miss Valenti, so you’ll know what it’s like when they leave home and discover life. You have to let them go. You have to let them find their own path.’

‘And what path did Jo find?’ Von said, her heart aching for the woman.

‘I saw him less and less. He changed, withdrew into himself.
But he must have been doing well at the acting because he was making good money. Used to send some home, to help me out. Walter had left me by then, you see.’ Her lips trembled. ‘Then, one day, he up and told me he was going to South America. To have it done.’ She clawed at her skirt. ‘The operation.’

‘And have you seen him since he returned?’

‘A few times.’ She lifted her gaze to Von’s. ‘You know where he is now, don’t you, Miss Valenti?’

‘I think I do.’ She got to her feet. ‘Thank you, Mrs Moudry.’

She paused at the door. ‘What colour hair did Jo have? I mean, as a teenager. The early photos show him with brown hair.’

‘It was the same shade as his Aunt Stella’s, but a bit darker.’

‘And after the operation?’

‘He went blonde. Told me he goes to the top hairdresser in London now.’

‘And has his hair dyed?’

‘Not just dyed. He has extensions put in.’ Janet Moudry continued to scratch at her skirt. ‘I looked glamorous once, with all that big hair.’ She raised her eyes defiantly. ‘I looked like that once.’

Von and Steve were in the Toyota, heading east. The Saturday traffic was clogging the roads, and they were moving at little more than a crawl. The early evening sun was setting behind the buildings.

‘Okay, boss, all I got from that is that Chrissie Horowitz is Jonathan Moudry’s cousin. And he’s changed his appearance.’

‘It’s not that Chrissie Horowitz is
related
to Jonathan Moudry. Chrissie Horowitz
is
Jonathan Moudry.’

He turned to stare at her.

‘He began as a transvestite,’ she said, ‘but the operation his mother was referring to was a sex change. He became a woman,
and took his mother’s maiden name, Horowitz.’

‘You’re saying that Chrissie Horowitz was once a man?’ he breathed.

‘It’s what her mother’s saying.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said faintly.

‘Why? Because she’s so sexy? Think about it, Steve. That husky voice is unusual in a woman. Her sex-change operation was post-puberty, remember. And those slim hips.’ She smiled. ‘Whatever she paid the surgeons, she got her money’s worth.’

‘And to think I found her attractive.’

‘Well, why not? You’re not the first man to fancy a transsexual.’

He seemed anxious to move off the topic. ‘Janet Moudry told us Jonathan was making good money, enough to send home.’

‘Won’t have been from bit-part acting, that’s for sure. But we’ve been wrong about one thing, Steve.’

‘Oh? Only one?’

‘It might not have been Hensbury who deposited that blond hair in Max’s room.’

‘How do you make that out? We took a sample of Chrissie’s, and Forensics confirmed the hairs weren’t hers.’

‘But Chrissie wore hair extensions. They can fall out or be pulled out.’ She gave her head a small shake. ‘We’ve been so hung up on wigs and toupees, we’ve lost sight of the fact that good quality hair extensions can also be made from Asian hair. Chrissie is now back in the frame for having visited Max in his room on the day he died.’

‘I still don’t get it,’ he said in exasperation. ‘The sample she gave us didn’t match what was in the room.’

‘That’s because she didn’t give us a sample from the hair extensions. The hair she gave us was her own. She plucked it from her fringe.’

Chapter 33

The theatre was crowded.

Steve pushed through the foyer. ‘Standing room only, boss. We’ve come at a bad time, the play’s about to start.’

Dexter was selling dolls at the table. Von tried to catch his eye but he was preoccupied with the credit-card machine, his head bent in concentration.

‘There’s the bell,’ she said. ‘It’s only five minutes to curtain up.’

There was a sudden flurry of people buying dolls, then the foyer was empty. Dexter flopped into a chair, and rotated his shoulders.

‘Hello, Dexter,’ she said.

He sprang to his feet. ‘Chief Inspector.’ He stared at her bruises. ‘Good grief, what happened to your neck?’

‘You should see the other guy. Look, Dexter, can you do something for me? We need to find Chrissie.’

‘She’ll be in the wings. But the play’s starting.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘If it’s something that can wait till the interval, I’d be delighted to offer you a glass of champagne.’

‘Tempting, but can you take us to her, please? Now?’

He hesitated for only a second. ‘Follow me.’

He led them through the archway and down the stairs. They heard the opening bars of ‘Sex Bomb’. As they passed the dressing rooms, Tom Jones grew louder.

Chrissie, in a kingfisher-blue suit, was standing at the side
of the stage, her back to them. Jools fidgeted beside her in her pink dressing gown. In the wings opposite, the actress playing the postwoman waited for her entrance.

‘Shall I stay, Chief Inspector?’ said Dexter.

‘We’ll need you to show us the way back.’

Jools whispered something to Chrissie, then slipped onto the stage, pink chiffon streaming behind her.

Von stepped forward. ‘Hello, Chrissie,’ she said, keeping her voice low.

Chrissie jumped, and put her hand over her chest in an exaggerated manner. ‘I’m afraid my nerves are bad these days.’ She simpered at Steve, her expression turning to one of confusion as he looked away.

‘You need to come with us to the station,’ said Von.

‘That’s out of the question. I can’t possibly leave, the play’s begun.’

‘I’ll have to insist, Chrissie.’ She took a step closer. ‘Or should I say, Jonathan.’

The colour drained from Chrissie’s face and, for a second, Von thought she might collapse. She nodded to Steve, who gripped her by the arm and led her into the corridor. Dexter was watching the scene, his mouth slack.

‘Can you take us back, Dexter?’ Von said.

He seemed to remember himself. ‘It’s this way,’ he said, his eyes on Chrissie.

At the front door, they watched Steve bundle Chrissie into the Toyota.

‘What has she done, Chief Inspector?’

‘I can’t answer that.’

He ran his tongue over his lips. ‘Who’s going to stand in for her? What about the prompting?’

‘Sorry to land you with a problem, but I’m sure the cast know the play back to front.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘This is
your big moment, Dexter. Think of the show, and step up to the mark.’ She smiled. ‘You’re having greatness thrust upon you.’

Chrissie was sitting in the interview room, glaring at Von and Steve.

‘I don’t know what this is about, but you’d better have a good reason for dragging me away in the middle of a show.’ She tossed her hair back. ‘So you found out I was once Jonathan Moudry. What of it? Changing sex isn’t a crime.’

‘Drug dealing is, though. As is wasting police time.’ Von’s voice hardened. ‘When Inspector English interviewed you earlier this month, you presented him with nothing but lies.’

‘Such as?’ Chrissie said defiantly.

‘You said you’d known Max Quincey for less than three weeks, you never visited him in his digs, you weren’t in London in 1985.’ She paused. ‘Shall I go on?’

Chrissie played with her nails, not looking up.

‘We have a witness who knew you when you were Jonathan Moudry. He’s told us you were working with him and Max Quincey in a drug ring operating out of the Iron Duke.’

Her head shot up. ‘A witness?’ Her voice faltered. ‘Who?’

‘Kenny Downley. He’s made a full confession, naming you as accomplice. And he’ll testify to that in a court of law.’
Provided we can find him
.

Chrissie looked away, her shoulders sagging.

‘We’re going to charge you with drug trafficking. You’re doing yourself no favours by not co-operating.’ After a pause, she added, ‘Do you want to call your solicitor?’

‘What for?’ Chrissie said harshly. ‘A solicitor isn’t going to help me, is he?’

‘Do you want to tell us about it?’

‘You seem to know everything already.’

‘We’ll talk in a bit about 1985, Miss Horowitz. I want to
know first what happened on September 12th, the day Max Quincey died.’

‘There’s nothing I can tell you.’

‘Why did you visit Max?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Don’t waste my time. The sample we’ve just taken from your hair extensions places you there.’

Chrissie drew herself up. ‘I give you my word that I’m no longer dealing. I swear I’ve not been back to the Duke.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’ She motioned to Chrissie’s suit. ‘There’s no way you can buy clothes like that on a theatre manager’s salary.’ When there was no reply, she added, ‘The jury will be shown the phone records. You were in constant communication with Max since the day he arrived. For God’s sake, you phoned him a couple of hours before he was killed.’ She was struggling to keep the lid on her anger. ‘So what happened on the twelfth?’

‘Were you and Max meeting someone in his room?’ Steve said suddenly.

A sly expression appeared on Chrissie’s face. ‘You haven’t got him, have you?’ she murmured. ‘The main man.’

‘You know who he is?’ Von said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice.

She nodded, smiling.

‘Could you identify him?’

‘What’s in it for me?’

‘A more lenient sentence, possibly. The court will be made aware of your desire to co-operate.’ She watched the play of emotions on Chrissie’s face: fear, calculation, cunning. It was self-interest that won the day.

Chrissie ran her hands over her skirt. ‘He was known as the Cutter. He brought us the stuff, ready mixed.’

Von tried not to look at Steve. ‘You and Max?’ she said.

‘And Kenny.’

‘What was your role? Did you help repackage the stuff into smaller amounts?’

‘Only Max and Kenny did that.’

‘Where?’

‘They never told me.’

Jesus, just her luck. If they didn’t find the rented office, the stash would stay there till the lease ran out. It might be months, even years. With no material evidence against Hensbury, they’d have to pray Chrissie could identify him.

‘Tell me about the Cutter,’ Von said. ‘When did you first see him?’

‘In Max’s room. When the play was running, when I was Jonathan Moudry.’

‘You got a good look at him?’ she said, feeling the blood pound in her ears.

‘He walked in while Max and I were in bed. Seems Max had forgotten the Cutter was arriving that afternoon.’

‘Describe his appearance.’

‘Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. And very sexy. I was attracted to him. I thought that, as he knew Max, he was gay himself, so I tried it on.’ She paused. ‘That was a mistake.’

‘Was he violent?’

‘He told me what he’d do to me if I ever pulled a stunt like that again.’ She shuddered. ‘It was the look in his eyes. I was careful not to get on his wrong side after that.’ She hesitated. ‘So, do you want me to work with an artist, or something?’

‘Better than that,’ Von said softly. ‘We want you to pick him out of an identity parade.’

‘All you need to do is put a hand on his shoulder,’ Von was saying. ‘Take your time. If you want to hear anyone’s voice, then ask him to speak.’

Chrissie seemed nervous. ‘He won’t try anything, will he?’

‘The sergeant will be with you,’ she said, jerking her head at Larry.

Chrissie stared at his ponytail, seemingly unconvinced. After a quick look through the observation window, she pulled herself up and stepped into the room.

They’d managed to muster eight men who had the same height, build, and hair colour as Hensbury. Chrissie walked slowly down the line, scrutinising their faces.

Steve was leaning against the wall, his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘You thinking she and Max met Hensbury together on the twelfth, boss? And Hensbury waited for her to leave before killing Max?’

‘Or they left together and he returned later. We need her to tie that down.’

‘She seems determined to deny she’s involved in drugs now.’

‘And you know why that is,’ she said, her eyes on Chrissie. ‘Drug running all those years ago is one thing, but admitting to still being involved puts her back as a suspect in Max’s murder.’

Chrissie had stopped in front of Hensbury. They couldn’t see her expression because she had her back to them, but they could see his. His look of puzzlement changed to one of interest. His eyes slid down her body.

‘He hasn’t the foggiest who she is,’ said Steve.

‘Then he’s seen her only as Jonathan.’

Hensbury was speaking to Chrissie. She leant forward, apparently listening. Suddenly, she stepped back and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Yes!’ said Von, punching the air. ‘Got you, you fucker.’

Hensbury stared at Chrissie with a look of stupefaction. Larry took her arm, and they returned to the corridor.

‘He hasn’t changed,’ Chrissie said, ‘apart from the grey in his hair. His voice is the same.’ She peered through the window. ‘So
who is he?’

‘A policeman. One who’s well connected.’

Her eyes flew to Von’s. ‘Will I be safe?’

‘We’ll put you in the cell furthest from him.’

‘There’s something else.’ She was watching the men leaving through a side door. ‘He used to wear a ring. On his pinkie.’

‘Can you remember which hand?’

‘I’m afraid not. But it was unusual, gold, with a raised motif. A pair of compasses and something else. And a letter G in the centre.’

‘He’s a Freemason.’

‘But even without the ring, it’s definitely him.’

‘You’ll testify to that in court?’ Von said, holding her breath.

‘Yes. There’s no question about it – he’s the Cutter.’

‘Thank you, Miss Horowitz.’ She nodded to the duty policeman, who led her away.

‘We’ve got him, Steve,’ she said, elated. ‘We’ll have his solicitor in first thing tomorrow and charge him.’

‘What did Hensbury say to Chrissie?’ Steve said, turning to Larry. ‘Did you hear?’

Larry grinned. ‘You won’t believe this, sir, but he told her he’d like to take her to dinner when he gets out tomorrow.’

The following morning, they were back in the interview room with Hensbury and his solicitor. Von was finishing her account of Jonathan Moudry’s transformation into Chrissie Horowitz.

‘And she’ll testify that you provided the distributors with cut heroin, for repackaging and passing on to their sellers. I am charging you with drug trafficking, as well as the murders of Max Quincey and Tubby Wainwright.’ Her voice was calm. ‘Have you anything to say regarding these charges?’

After a long silence, Hensbury lifted his head. ‘I’d like some time alone with my solicitor.’

She spoke into the machine. ‘Interview suspended at 9.25am.’ She got to her feet. ‘You have fifteen minutes.’

She and Steve left the room.

‘Let’s get a coffee, boss.’

‘I need to call The Vulture. If we can get the evidence that Tubby’s DNA is on Simon’s ring, he may crack.’

‘I think he’ll crack anyway. You saw his face.’

‘He’ll admit to drug-running – he knows a positive ID from Chrissie is evidence we can present in court – but he’ll deny murder, because the evidence is circumstantial. I want to hit him hard.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Again?’

‘Oh, get thee behind me. I’d give my right arm to slug him.’ She pulled out her mobile.

Sir Bernard answered after only two rings. ‘Truscott-Hervey,’ came the clipped tones.

‘It’s DCI Valenti,’ she said, in surprise. ‘I had expected Miranda.’

‘I can’t ask her to work at the weekend, Chief Inspector, so I’ve had the phone put through to the lab.’

‘We have the owner of the ring here in custody, Sir Bernard.’ She steeled herself for bad news. ‘Are the results through yet?’

‘Preliminary tests are good. The bottom line is that it’s highly likely that Tubby Wainwright’s blood and tissue are on that ring.’

She closed her eyes. ‘How highly likely?’

‘The results are entirely consistent with his profile. Enough to persuade a jury.’ After a silence he said, ‘Chief Inspector? Are you there?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed.

‘We also found traces of heroin on Tubby’s coat. It was contaminated with quinine, mixed in the exact proportions we found in the samples taken from Max Quincey’s doll.’

‘That’s less significant. I sent him to the Iron Duke which is where the stuff was traded. He may have picked up traces there.’

‘That’s true. Well, good luck, Chief Inspector.’

‘Thank you, Sir Bernard.’

Steve looked at her enquiringly. ‘I take it we’ve got him?’

‘We’ve got him.’ She leant back, resting her head against the wall. ‘The stumbling block is still Max. Simon can’t deny killing Tubby, but he’ll deny killing Max.’

‘Then we need to speak to Chrissie again.’

‘After I’ve dealt with Simon. And, when we do see Chrissie, I’d like Danni here.’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘She’s at the family home, shooting grouse, or something bigger.’

‘Ring the Hall and see if she’s prepared to come down.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going back, Simon’s time’s up.’

Larry caught her as she passed through the incident room. ‘Zoë phoned, ma’am. She’s left people everywhere, but there’s still no sighting of Downley.’

‘Get her back, then. She may as well be here for the kill.’

The detectives leapt to their feet. ‘May we watch, ma’am?’ one of them said eagerly.

‘Provided you bring the ice-cream.’