Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  Now, glumly, he leaned against the cupboards in the tiny kitchenette of his flat bordering Shoreditch and Bethnal Green. He stared blankly at the kettle as it heated the water, his eyes looking bruised from a late night of drinking and porn movies with his mate. His fears had subsided in the blur of vodka and flesh, but in the clarity that daylight brought his anxiety was back — and twice as nerve-racking.

  The van that he and Barnsey had dropped off at Sainsbury’s had not been the simple job that the Jew had promised. He had told them his sister owned the florist shop and he’d needed to borrow her van but couldn’t return it to Whitechapel on time. He’d offered them money to do the drop instead.

  Denny remembered the man’s insistence. ‘There’s nothing in here,’ he’d said, flinging back the doors. Just buckets and stuff my sister keeps for her business,’ he’d assured them. ‘But she’ll have my hide if I don’t return it.’

  Neither of them had thought to ask why it needed to be returned to a supermarket car park, nor had they taken much notice of the roll of sacking stashed beneath the shelving. It had just looked like a pile of fabric. Now Denny knew it had contained a body; the body of some Chinese woman — the latest victim of a serial killer loose in London.

  Denny felt the bile rise again in his throat. He’d already been sick over this last night when he caught the BBC News and realised the horrifying truth. No amount of toothpaste or alcohol could banish the sour taste of vomit that had risen when he’d seen himself on that footage. Most people wouldn’t know it was him, of course, because of the beanie and scarf, plus he was practised enough to know that the CCTV cameras, though efficient, would have lost him once he’d left Brick Lane and disappeared into the sprawl of Bethnal Green. Nevertheless he and Barnsey had gathered up the clothes they’d worn that evening and thrown them straight into the poor bins on the other side of the city. The van’s keys were tossed into the Thames. Denny wanted to believe he was safe, and once the vodka hit the spot and the orgy on the telly was in full swing, he had felt okay for a while. But not now. He watched the steam billowing and waited for the kettle to click off. He jumped as his doorbell rang.

  ‘Fuck!’ he muttered, angry with himself for being so jittery but also for being so distracted he hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching.

  He glanced out of the window and froze. Standing around the entrance to the flat were several armed police.

  ‘Come on, Denny, we can see you in there,’ said a man’s voice. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Stu Appleton from Bethnal Green police. We need to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’ Denny yelled through the door, looking around wildly. As if he didn’t know! He was trapped. There was nothing he could do except stall for time and try to stave off the inevitable.

  ‘We need to talk to you in connection with a stolen van.’

  Fuck! Denny groaned inwardly. He leaned against the door, tears stinging his eyes. He was for it now. They’d blame him for the Chinese girl. He wasn’t a murderer. He was just a stupid arsehole.

  ‘Denny. Come on,’ Appleton urged. ‘You have to come down to the station with us.’

  ‘Am I being arrested?’ he whined through the door.

  ‘You are, but —’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that girl!’

  ‘Listen, just come quietly. I know you’re not a murderer but you’re involved with one, we believe. Just tell us everything you know.’

  ‘But I didn’t do anything wrong. I just dropped off the van as I was asked to.’

  ‘Denny, a woman was murdered and you were driving her stolen van and, inadvertently, her corpse. Now I know you didn’t kill her and perhaps you knew nothing about her being in the back, but you have to aid our enquiries or it all looks rather suspicious, okay?’ Denny didn’t reply but Appleton was making sense. ‘You have to help us and then we can help you in return. If you tell us everything you know, we can catch the person who set you up, all right? Now open the door and come quietly. Don’t make us come in and get you.’

  Denny unhooked the safety chain and opened the door. ‘Fuck me, it’s freezing out here, can I get dressed properly?’ he asked, a sulk in his voice.

  Appleton looked amused. ‘You may, once we’ve read you your rights.’ After doing so he nodded at his companions. ‘You two go with him,’ he directed two of his colleagues. ‘You’re being arrested on suspicion only, Denny. Don’t try anything silly. These guys can maul you with a stare.’

  ‘I won’t!’ he threw back at Appleton. ‘I’m innocent.’

  Appleton sighed. ‘All right, sunshine, hurry up and get dressed. You can tell us everything you know down the nick.’

  Cam caught his eye from the doorway and Jack nodded that he wouldn’t be more than a moment or two.

  He refocused on the telephone conversation. ‘Yes, sir,’ he answered. ‘Well, enjoy the trip.’ He waited a moment. ‘I know it’s not convenient, sir, but we’re gaining some momentum now, so I’ll keep you posted via email if your phone’s out of range.’ He paused again, giving Cam a look of apology. ‘All right, then, sir, will do. Bye.’

  Jack put the phone down and let out a triumphant ‘Yes!’

  ‘Something go your way, sir?’ Cam asked.

  ‘The super’s been called out of town on some urgent gathering of the chieftains. He’s furious, of course, but it buys me a fraction of breathing space.’

  Cam nodded. ‘Before you have to tell him, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jack sighed. ‘I reckon something has to break on this today or I’m done for.’

  ‘We’ve got the two blokes from the security film. They’re both already squealing they knew nothing, but they’re shit scared so presumably they’re ready to share everything they do know.’

  Jack looked relieved. ‘Sounds like the Trojan unit worked.’

  Cam grinned. ‘Apparently Johnston went very quietly.’

  ‘Get down there, Cam. Go lightly with the boys at Bethnal Green but get in and interview thost two — they’re our only link.’

  ‘What about the canal boats?’

  ‘I’ll take over with that. I wouldn’t mind getting a look at where the other bodies were found.’

  ‘If you take Mal he can bring you up to speed. Preliminary investigations have thrown up a couple of names.’

  ‘Okay, good. Who are you taking with you down to Bethnal Green?’

  ‘I’ll take Angela.’

  ‘Okay. Can you tell Kate I need to see her?’

  ‘Will do.’ Cam disappeared.

  Kate arrived moments later.

  ‘Kate, I want you to get over to this private clinic of Chan’s.’

  ‘Elysium.’

  Jack nodded. ‘We need to build up a picture of Chan and his business. Go alone; you won’t look threatening to the staff so they may say more.’

  She nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll get going now.’

  ‘Good luck. Remember, everything you can about Chan’s dealings. We know he’s not there today, and that might mean tongues are loosened a little.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Jack was already reaching for the phone. He punched in a number. ‘Mal? You’re coming with me down to the canal. Everyone’s going in different directions today.’

  ‘Ready when you are,’ Malik replied.

  ‘Two minutes, it is.’ Jack ran a hand through his hair. Everything felt slightly out of control. He felt sorry for the youngsters on the team who just had to keep up. He’d got lucky with Sharpe this morning, but his luck couldn’t hold and the superintendent would crucify him if Jack withheld information from him much longer. But he couldn’t be pulled off the operation yet. He wasn’t sure where they were but he sensed that cracks were forming. Years of experience told him something was about to reveal itself. It might be via the two mules picked up this morning, but he had to keep pushing and hoping that over this next day those cracks would widen and let him in.

  He had one more call to make before leaving. ‘Dr Brooks, please,’ he said to t
he receptionist who answered her phone.

  ‘She’s with a patient, I’m sorry. Can I help?’

  ‘Could you just let her know that DCI Hawksworth called and she can call me when she’s free, or I’ll maybe try again later. There’s no rush, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you, DCI Hawksworth. I’ll let her know.’

  He dragged on his coat and scarf. Malik was waiting as he emerged from his office.

  ‘Just let Joan know where we’re off to, could you Mal?’ Jack waved his mobile. ‘She can call us any time.’ He walked over to Sarah’s desk. ‘Can you hold the fort?’

  She grinned. ‘Of course, sir. In fact, I want to move on a hunch I’ve had, if I may?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Sarah winced. ‘It’s a long shot, sir, but —’

  ‘Your gut’s telling you something?’ he finished for her.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘All right, let’s hear it.’

  ‘Some of the early forensics are back on the van, sir. We’re waiting on the file. But by phone I’ve just heard essentially the van held all the usual stuff you’d expect of a florist. The only thing out of the ordinary was a receipt from up round Amhurst Park way. I’ll find out exactly what for soon enough. But it’s got me thinking about prostitutes, sir … er, up at Amhurst Park. The situation’s out of control in the region and the pimp activity is beginning to get violent. I noticed in the daily messages that Golf Delta’s recently helped set up a Safe Neighbourhood Team in the area. I know someone over there and it occurs to me it might just be worth asking around a bit.’

  ‘And how does this connect with Panther?’ Jack asked, intrigued, leaning over Sarah’s desk.

  ‘I’m not sure it does, sir. But it’s all part of that same region: Spring Hill, Whitechapel. A lot of girls working there have come in from Eastern Europe. They’re part of the illegal scene, they may know something.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re all pretty close and someone might just know something or have heard a rumour. As I say, a long shot.’

  He nodded. It was certainly reaching, but he liked the way Sarah’s mind worked. Always had. ‘Follow your hunch. See where it leads.’ He looked up. ‘Make it a good day, everyone,’ he called round the ops room.

  An assortment of ‘Good luck sirs’ came back at him, and he joined Mal as the DC punched the lift button. Jack lifted a hand in farewell to Joan and was surprised to see Sarju rushing towards the lifts, dressed for the outdoors.

  ‘You’re in a hurry!’ Mal said.

  Sarju gave a small bow. ‘DCI Hawksworth, everyone’s got something to do except me. I wondered if perhaps I could help you?’

  Jack looked doubtful. ‘Well …’

  The little man continued. ‘It’s just that everyone’s busy and feeling like they’re doing something constructive towards the case. I heard you were going down to the River Lea.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I could be another set of eyes? Or I could run errands. You might as well make use of me, sir.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Absolutely. If you’re sure you’ve —’

  ‘I’m sure. Let me help, please.’

  The lift doors opened. ‘After you then,’ Jack said, getting a mild waft of mothballs from the man’s suit as he moved past Jack to enter the lift. Jack noticed the suit was shiny on the shoulders too. It looked very tired, but he was glad of the interpreter’s enthusiasm. Hopefully it would rub off on all of them.

  They hailed a cab with surprising ease in Victoria Street and were soon wending their way through the traffic towards Spring Hill, flanked by the River Lea at one end and Clapton Common at the other.

  ‘Are you Muslim?’ he asked into the comfortable silence of the car.

  Both Mal and Sarju nodded.

  ‘Sorry, that must have sounded rude. Of course I knew about you, Mal. It’s just that you know, Sarju, we’re heading into the main Jewish quarter?’

  Sarju looked surprised to have the a query thrown his way. ‘I have no problem with that, DCI Hawksworth.’

  Jack felt mildly embarrassed, but in these days of political correctness it had suddenly occurred to him to check. ‘Good.’

  ‘The people who live round there are quite powerful, you know,’ Sarju continued. ‘I’ve lived in the Whitechapel area since I came to London a long time ago, so this region is where I play, you could say,’ he explained. ‘I like to take walks along the Lea and my friends and I sometimes have picnics by the river.’

  Jack thought Sarju made it sound rather quaint, and yet somehow he couldn’t picture the polite Bangladeshi frolicking around Stamford Park.

  ‘Do you have any Jewish friends?’ Jack asked him, out of curiosity.

  ‘No, not really. Some acquaintances and plenty of Jewish colleagues, and I have worked with some of the Hasidic people in particular. They’re not as shy and retiring as you might think.’

  Jack looked back at him quizzically. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, they seem very quiet but that’s because they’re insular. The truth is, they possess strength in those numbers. They are peaceful, law-abiding citizens, don’t get me wrong, but they cling to their own ways. While they appear shy to you, within the community those same quiet men may be considered very powerful, with strong influence over their peers and the younger members. Malik, your people are from Pakistan, right?’ Malik nodded. ‘I’m from Bangladesh. I have friends from all over Asia; I have European friends, British friends, even an Australian.’ He shrugged. ‘My point is that we are Muslim but we are integrated into the broad fabric of society. You will find that a lot of the Hasidic Jews who live around here are not. They keep very much to themselves. They inter-marry and they preserve their ways, their lifestyle, very closely without diluting it through television, newspapers, radio, the internet.’

  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.’