Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  The boy gave a sad smile. ‘Nothing you say will make a difference. They’ll know I disobeyed them.’

  Jack decided he’d have to lie, but he kept that decision to himself for now. He glanced towards the coach, who picked up on the cue.

  ‘Boys, you can get going, you know what to do. I’ll catch up. Royce, you’re in charge.’

  ‘Righto, Coach,’ a boy, presumably Royce, said.

  ‘I’ll see you at your place later, perhaps, Yuri,’ Jack said.

  The Jewish boy shrugged, pushed off from the bank and paddled after the others.

  ‘Come with me,’ Knowles said to Jack. ‘Wow, he never mentioned any of that.’

  ‘He probably didn’t want you to know about him getting into the clubhouse when you’re not around.’

  Knowles nodded sadly. ‘He’s a great kid. They’re all great kids, you’ll have to forgive their comments.’ The coach looked thoughtful. ‘Yuri struggles sometimes, as does the other Jewish boy, Aaron. Their peers have so much more freedom than they do but I know the kayaking helps, particularly for Yuri, whose family is very large. They’re great people, his parents. From what I can gather the father was raised in the Hasidic faith but broke away for some reason. Now Yuri’s family, as he explained, is orthodox progressive.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure what that means, but they seem to stay pretty close to their faith while allowing some interaction with other faiths and cultures.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jack said as he watched the coach riffle through some paperwork on a desk strewn with files, magazines, books and various diaries. ‘I might not tell his parents everything he told us.’

  The coach nodded, clearly agreeing. ‘Actually, I knew someone had been getting in to the clubhouse and I guessed it was one of my boys because of the jumper that was left behind on one occasion. I figured it would come out in time. Now I know.’ As he was talking, he flicked through an address book. ‘Ah, here we are. Yuri’s last name is Goldman. His parents are Rubin and Miriam. Just go gently. Mr Goldman is a real gentleman and they’re a lovely family but they are obviously used to the usual bigotries of others.’ He read out the address in Lingwood Road.

  Jack wrote it down in his notebook. ‘Thanks. Don’t mention this around here. If the people behind these murders hang around these parts I don’t want any of the boys endangered. I don’t think it’s an issue really, but you should warn the boys to keep this quiet for now, especially what Yuri saw.’

  ‘I will,’ the coach said, scratching his head. ‘Hadn’t thought of that aspect.’

  ‘Well, it’s just a precaution. By the way, do you know a fellow who might call himself Harry Jones who lives on one of the boats around here?’

  Coach Knowles laughed. ‘Any number of them. Harry Smith, Stan Jones, Bill nothing. Very rarely will you get a real name. Now that’s another group suspicious of people outside their community.’

  Jack nodded, suspecting as much. ‘A green and white narrowboat?’ he suggested.

  ‘Ah, that would be Jim. I don’t know his other name and I don’t even know if that’s his first name either, but it’s what he might answer to around here. He’s usually moored about three-quarters of a mile down on the other bank. We pass him most days if he’s in town.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Knowles. You and the boys have been really helpful.’

  ‘I hope it leads to something,’ the man said, serious now. ‘I feel badly for that girl.’

  ‘Me too,’ Jack said, turning away quickly. ‘I’ll let you know. Thanks again.’ He didn’t look back. Didn’t dare. He fought the mixture of rage and sorrow that seemed to be always hovering now, ready to consume him. He strode out into the cold again, wrapping his scarf around his neck and reaching for his phone.

  ‘Mal, it’s me,’ he said when Khan answered. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Nothing much here, sir. We’ve probably spoken to about eight or nine boat owners each. No one knows anything, apparently.’

  ‘How’s Sarju handling detective work?’

  ‘Pretty good, sir. He has an easy manner about him. He’s charming the ever-suspicious boaties.’

  Jack smiled as he listened, glad to move away from his darker thoughts. ‘I might have stumbled onto something. You carry on; I’m going to have to buy you that coffee another time. I’m going up to the Spring Hill neighbourhood to talk to a Jewish family whose son might have seen Ms Wu being bundled onto a narrowboat.’

  ‘Do you need anyone to come with you, sir?’

  ‘No, they probably won’t enjoy my visit much, I suspect, let alone a whole posse of us on the doorstep, so best we keep it low-key. I’ll see you back at Panther. Listen, there’s a guy who may answer to Jim in the green and white barge over on your side. Have a chat if you haven’t already — listen to what he says. It may not go anywhere but he may know someone to talk to.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  They rang off and Jack strolled back along the path to visit the café, stopping for a takeaway coffee and roll. He entered the park proper and walked up the hill, passing the White Lodge Mansion, a striking Georgian gentleman’s residence, now used as a summer café. Jack had once visited the council offices on the top floor. He remembered the oak-panelled walls rather sadly painted in bland council colours, the bricked-up fireplaces. To stop the kids escaping through them! one council worker had quipped.

  It was half-term, Jack realised, which would account for the number of children out and about, playing tennis, riding bikes, while mothers pushed prams or power-walked with friends. He noticed one or two men with youngsters in tow, and numerous members of the Hasidic community — mainly older men in twos and threes — taking the air, walking slowly, chatting amiably between themselves. He took his time. For the moment, he was in no rush. He thought about Lily and saying goodbye that last morning he’d seen her; he felt an immediate wave of guilt pass through him as Jane Brooks simultaneously came to mind. He found a park bench and dialled her as he finished munching on his roll.

  She answered the phone this time. ‘Jane Brooks.’

  ‘I figured you must at least take some time off to eat,’ he said. ‘It’s Hawksworth, here.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied, pleasing him. ‘Where are you? Are those birds I hear?’

  ‘Guess. Get it right and I’ll buy you dinner.’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Green Park.’

  He laughed. ‘Right landscape, wrong area. I’m at Stamford Park, heading up towards Spring Hill.’

  ‘What on earth for? Actually, I’m sure it’s police business so you’re not obliged to answer that.’

  ‘I am on the case but this is my time. A swift five-minute lunch break.’

  ‘You sound like a ham, cheese and lettuce man to me.’

  He laughed. ‘A much better guess this time.’

  ‘Then you owe me dinner,’ she replied.

  Jack cleared his throat. He didn’t know why but it suddenly felt as though they were overstepping an invisible boundary. He liked it, but it still felt awkward.

  She must have sensed as much in his hesitation. ‘I’m only joking, DCI Hawksworth. How can I help? I see you’ve left a message for me.’

  Brooks had got down to business slickly and Jack admired the way the pleasantness of her tone remained even as she adroitly steered the conversation away from where it could have gone. No, would have gone. It wasn’t lost on him, either, that she had used his title. He wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t anything too important. I just wanted to let you know that I slept better last night. That said, I promise I won’t be giving you a daily report on my nocturnal activities,’ he added, feeling suddenly conscious of how pathetic he must sound. ‘I think your very direct approach, though brutal, was helpful … and … look, I just wanted to thank you for it.’

  ‘I’m surprised that you slept well, but I’m glad of it.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep well, just a bit better than the night before. And anything’s preferable to lying awake all night
feeling helpless and filled with fury and wanting to beat someone’s head to a pulp.’

  ‘You don’t strike me as a violent man, Jack.’

  He was relieved she was using his first name again. ‘I’m not … I can’t remember the last time I used my fists against anyone, but I wouldn’t mind being left in a locked room with whoever did this to Lily. For that I make no apology.’

  ‘I understand. And let me reassure you, this sort of reaction is thoroughly normal, even for the most placid of people.’

  ‘Your directness put some things into place, that’s all. I can’t bring her back. I can’t fix it. I know there’s more pain for me ahead. But I can catch this bastard.’

  ‘Exactly. Go with the pain, Jack. Use it if you can — I just needed to get through to you that it won’t step aside for you while you go about your policing. I got the impression that you felt you could keep it at bay so long as you kept busy. The anger and the pain and sorrow will keep you company for a long, long time. But if you recognise that and understand it, then you’ll cope better.’

  Jack tossed his rubbish into the litter bin nearby. ‘Pain and anger aren’t new to me, Jane. It’s just more of the same, to tell the truth.’

  ‘No self-pity, Jack,’ she warned him.

  ‘Absolutely not. It’s just … oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.’

  ‘Perhaps that you’re on familiar territory?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been here before.’

  ‘Not quite, because you’ve never before had to chase the villain who killed someone you loved before.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about the McEvoy case; I was thinking of my parents, actually.’

  He thought that might throw her, but she didn’t miss a beat. ‘So, it is different, but the pain isn’t, I’ll grant you. One of your best defences is exactly what you’re doing, and why, in a way, I support your decision to press on and lead this operation. Of course few in the Met hierarchy would agree with me, so we’re a bit out on a limb here, you and I. I suspect Superintendent Sharpe will have your guts for garters soon enough.’

  ‘He has to catch me first.’

  She laughed. ‘Are you always reckless?’

  ‘Jane, just as you prefer the word “petite” to describe yourself, I prefer to think of myself as “instinctive”.’

  ‘Touché.’ He sensed she was smiling. ‘Are we still on for this evening’s session?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare miss it.’

  ‘Well, finish your lunch. We can’t have our top detective working on an empty stomach. I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight.’

  He heard the phone go dead and sighed. Something was surfacing between them. It felt dangerous, but it also felt exciting. His mind warned him that Dr Brooks should be kept at arm’s length — but every other part of him was responding to her in the opposite manner. Now he couldn’t wait to see her; he needed to see her as much as he wanted to. He hadn’t lied; as confronting as her approach had been and as wounded as he’d felt after her deep stab, it was because of her that he now felt capable of seeing this case through. Last night had cemented in his mind that no one else should be handling this operation — no one else, save the families of the dead, had as much invested in catching the ‘Face Thief ‘ as Jack Hawksworth.

  A plastic ball bounced against his leg and rolled to a halt nearby. He snapped back into the present, out of his complicated thoughts. A dad and a couple of small boys were approaching him.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ the man said. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt you.’

  ‘No problem,’ Jack replied and gently nudged the ball towards one of the youngsters. They made him think of his sister, reminding him that it was high time he rang her. She’d been the one who’d encouraged him to contact Lily on his return from Australia. He didn’t think he could now ever admit to her that he had taken her advice.

  He watched as the boys left with their father. Two sons. Nice. He wondered with a stab of melancholy whether his child — he was sure it was his child — had been a son, and whether Lily would have ever told him. Had she even known she was pregnant? He chastised himself inwardly. There was no point in going around and around like this. Lily was dead. But her killer was alive. Jack checked the time. He imagined Yuri might be home by now.

  Jack badly wanted to find out who the ginger-haired Hasidic man was; instinctively he knew — just knew — that Yuri’s yearning for quiet and some freedom from the constraints of his strict lifestyle had given Panther a breakthrough. But would these people yield up one of their own?

  19.

  Kate had rung ahead to Elysium and was delighted to find that Dr Charles Maartens was not only happy to hear from her but would be extremely pleased to show her around the clinic. He’d given her a route to follow and left her name at the impressive iron gates that guarded the property from curious passers-by and the paparazzi, keen, of course, to snap photos of celebrities recuperating from cosmetic surgery.

  She felt instantly self-conscious as the gates closed behind her and the security officer waved her forward. She wondered whether Maartens and his colleagues would scrutinise her face and body for flaws. They’d better not, she thought, I work hard enough on them!

  Kate instantly forgot her shallow thoughts as the clinic’s main buildings hove into view. The manicured gardens they sat amidst were beautifully tended and she could see swathes of daffodils, narcissus and all manner of bulbs she didn’t think she knew the names of but were nonetheless gorgeous to look at. She felt as though she’d entered hallowed parkland hedged off from the general public. She tried to imagine how it would feel to be privileged or wealthy enough to be able to book into somewhere like this for a spa treatment. Movie superstars, for instance, with obscene salaries, for whom money simply wasn’t an issue, would drop in for a facial or massage, or a bit of a nip and tuck, she supposed. She parked beneath a grand old tree surrounded by a small meadow of snowdrops.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she murmured to herself as she got out of the car and stretched, admiring the lake — busy with waterbirds — surrounded by structured formal gardens. She counted a dozen people or so strolling around the lake’s perimeter — all no doubt disgustingly rich, she thought, with newly lifted faces or remodelled bodies. In the far distance were rolling hills, dotted here and there with tiny hamlets, although in the near distance she could see a waterway. She was trying to work out which river it could be when footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her and she turned to see a tall, good-looking man striding towards her.

  ‘Hello, Kate, I thought that must be you arriving. I can call you Kate, can’t I?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, pleased that she’d already established a non-threatening presence with one of the surgeons. Her boss would be impressed. ‘You must be Dr Maartens.’

  ‘Ah, fair’s fair,’ he replied, reaching a hand out in greeting. ‘Call me Charles.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kate said, taking his hand and shaking it. ‘Wow, this is some place. I’d have a facelift just to spend a few days here.’

  He grinned. ‘You’re a long way off that, let me assure you. But by all means come and stay with us, if only for some nice spa treatments.’ He gestured for her to join him. ‘Shall we?’

  Kate fell in step alongside the surgeon. ‘Am I right in guessing that you have a Southern African accent?’

  ‘Not guilty,’ he said, raising a hand of long, well kept fingers. ‘But I am from Zimbabwe. When I was born it was called Rhodesia, and a more beautiful place I defy you to find. Not any longer, I’m afraid. We left when I was about eighteen.’

  ‘Why Britain?’

  ‘We had family here,’ he said. ‘At the time I think I would have preferred somewhere like Australia or Canada, but life’s treated me exceptionally well here. I have no complaints.’

  ‘Not even about the cold?’

  He smiled gently. ‘No, not even that. In fact, I rather like the English winter.’

  ‘You sound like my chief inspector,’ she
remarked as they approached the main steps.

  ‘Do you know when his birthday is?’

  She frowned. ‘Mmmm February, I think.’

  ‘That’s why. He was born in the winter. So was I.’

  ‘Now why isn’t everything so easily explained? Gosh, this place is even more amazing up close,’ she said, stopping to admire the beautifully symmetric red-brick building that looked like a grand doll’s house.

  ‘It was built in the 1600s for a wealthy merchant who used the River Lea to transport his goods to London.’

  ‘I was wondering what that waterway is.’ She said nothing more, but now she knew the Lea connected Chan’s clinic with the park where the second and third victims were found.

  ‘Have you ever taken a narrowboat holiday?’ Maarten’s question broke into her thoughts.

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘Try it. Tell your husband to book you a boat for your next holiday — you’ll love it.’

  ‘I’m not married,’ she said automatically, and suddenly felt that winning this admission was precisely why Maartens had made the remark. She smiled at him as he opened the grand doors.

  ‘I can’t believe it. No boyfriend?’

  The man was definitely flirting. ‘I didn’t say that. Just no ring as yet.’

  ‘Ah, well, he’d better hurry or he’ll lose you. Welcome to Elysium, originally Carrington Hall, built by Thomas Carrington.’

  ‘The merchant,’ she remarked and he nodded.

  ‘Well done. I’m impressed that you were paying attention.’

  ‘Charles, I work for a mad keen history buff. I always pay attention — if you like I’ll even take a test later to prove it!’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, but please tell me if I’m boring you with too many facts. I find everything about this place fascinating, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I know your sort well,’ she said dryly, thinking good looking, educated, ambitious, loaded. She looked up towards the sweeping staircase. ‘This is magnificent,’ she commented taking in the lobby’s black-and-white marble floor and the superb stained-glass window over the first landing of the imposing cedar staircase.