Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘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 wh
ere 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.’

  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.