Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  She was busting to get to the loo and ran upstairs immediately. Afterwards, she changed into a pair of cargo pants and a sweater, dragged all the gear into the small kitchen, turned on some music, poured herself a lime and soda — in a wine glass to treat herself — and set to preparing the fat lamb chops for marinating.

  She’d just finished basting the meat with the delicious smelling paste she’d smashed up — its garlicky chilli fragrance tantalising her tastebuds — when she heard an odd sound. She frowned, took a sip of her soda and turned down the music to listen again. Was Geoff here? Couldn’t be. She couldn’t hear anything now. By habit she checked her mobile for messages, found none, and on a whim tapped a text message to Geoff — barely looking at the keys, knowing her way around them instinctively. She checked the tenderness of the potatoes as she compiled the message. Come earlier if you want. Wine chilled, lamb chops ready to roll and I’m famished! She smiled, imagining what he might read into the final couple of words. The innuendo was not intentional but she decided to send it anyway because she was feeling uncharacteristically carefree this evening.

  As she hit the button to send it, she heard a soft creak. This time all her instincts went onto full alert. She had no pets and there was absolutely no reason for her steps to creak unless someone was on them. She could even guess which step it was. The third from the bottom.

  She slipped the mobile into her pocket and strode out into the hall to look up the darkened stairway. She was stunned to see a figure looming above her.

  ‘Kate, is it?’

  ‘Who the hell —’

  Before Kate could say another word or react in the way her training had taught her, he was upon her, large and strong, clamping something over her face that smelled of hideous chemical fumes.

  ‘Go ahead, struggle, it only makes it work faster,’ he said near her ear.

  Kate felt herself blanking out; the world was turning dark and stupidly all she could think of was that her potatoes would boil dry and that the ginger-haired intruder wouldn’t bother to turn them off.

  In the end they’d decided to ring the Lubavitch Foundation and Jack listened as Bob Harrison spoke to whoever had answered the phone.

  ‘And when was the last time you saw Mr Katz?’ he was asking as Jack stood nearby, sharing a look of disappointment with Malik. ‘I see. When is he next due in?’ He paused. ‘Tomorrow? That’s good. Around 1 p.m. you say. Thank you, Mr Ruben, you’ve been extremely helpful. No, no, it’s just a routine enquiry that Mr Katz might be able to help us with. Thank you again. Yes, thank you, we have it.’

  Harrison put the phone down. ‘Not been sighted for two days. He sent a text to say he wouldn’t be in. no explanation given. He’s due in tomorrow. He apparently drives some of the schoolchildren from the Stamford Hill neighbourhood to various activities.’

  ‘Do you think he’s gone to ground, sir?’ Malik asked.

  Jack scratched his ear. ‘Hard to tell. If so, someone’s tipped him off … but who? I’ve only had his description for a couple of hours. No one but us knew about that.’

  ‘The Goldmans?’ Malik suggested.

  Jack looked doubtful. ‘Possibly … but not directly. I imagine. Goldman would have contacted Gluck if he was going to tell anyone. He told me that if Katz was involved in murder, he hoped we’d find him before his own people did. However, most of them wouldn’t know a lot of what’s happening outside the community.’

  Harrison’s expression told Jack he agreed. ‘The Hasidic community doesn’t like any interference from outside — that means newspapers, phones, TV, internet, anything that presents the outside world.’

  Malik looked taken aback. ‘No TV? Blimey, what about mobiles?’

  Harrison shook his head. ‘I know some of the younger men carry them, but even so, it’s still quite furtive. Business is conducted mainly face to face. There will be phones at offices and places of business, of course, but it’s rare to find one in a private home.’

  Jack frowned. ‘I went straight to Katz’s house from the Goldmans’ place. That took probably eight minutes. There’s no way Goldman could have found Katz on foot and tipped him off. He could have used a phone … he’s not Hasidic — but would Katz have one? I don’t doubt Goldman would want to speak with his associates as soon as possible to warn them that the police are nosing about their community. It’s only natural, I don’t blame him.’

  Harrison shrugged. ‘No one else knew you were looking for Katz?’

  ‘My team,’ Jack admitted. ‘And Paul Knowles, the coach at the rowing club knew, although I’m not sure exactly what he heard — he certainly hadn’t heard Katz’s name as I didn’t know it till Goldman told me. I can’t rule Knowles out but my gut tells me he’s not involved. The boys at the club, of course, heard Yuri’s story, but again, how would they know who to speak with and to move so fast? I watched them all push off down the river for a kayaking session — they were nowhere near home and only two live in the neighbourhood — one of them was young Yuri who gave me the information in the first place.’ Jack bit his lip. ‘No, it doesn’t add up. If Katz has gone to ground, it’s someone I’m not seeing in this whole scenario who has given him the tip-off.’

  ‘So what would you like us to do from here?’

  Harrison asked.

  ‘Can your team keep an eye on the Katz house, and perhaps all the usual haunts — the synagogue, the Lubavitch building, local kosher places? And anywhere else you think he could turn up?’

  Harrison nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I can organise more manpower if you need.’

  ‘So can I, don’t worry. Everyone wants this killer caught. People will even volunteer their nights off.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ Jack glanced at his watch. ‘Er, I don’t know what else we can achieve tonight. We have to be patient and give it until at least tomorrow and if he hasn’t turned up by then we can probably assume it’s suspicious enough to alert police nationally.’

  ‘Right,’ Harrison said, ‘although we might put something out through the boroughs tonight.’

  ‘Great,’ Jack agreed. ‘One final item, do you know of a Moshe Gluck?’

  Harrison nodded. ‘I do. Big businessman in the Hasidic community. Well liked and respected. Large family — I think something in the order of nine or ten children. Lives up on Lingwood Road and runs an office above Milo’s on Amhurst Parade, although I suspect that’s not his only office.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘All sorts from my understanding. I think he’s into property, which is standard stuff for the Jewish community. Beyond that, probably everything from importing Jewish hats to dealing in diamonds.’

  ‘Diamonds?’ Jack couldn’t hide his astonishment.

  ‘Yes, these people like to carry their money. Diamonds are small, easy to carry, easy to move around, even easier to liquidate and use as cash. Easier to hide than money.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ Jack admitted. ‘Where do the stones come from? I mean, I know they’re likely to be mined in southern Africa, but how do they find their way into Moshe Gluck’s hands?’

  ‘South African, you’re right,’ Harrison said. ‘And they’re usually moved through Hatton Garden. Britain’s central district for jewellery as you know, onward through Europe.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just the Jewish community’s preferred currency. We like paper, they like sparkles.’

  ‘And there’s nothing illegal going on?’ Disbelief laced Jack’s tone.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t say that, DCI Hawksworth,’ Harrison said, tapping his nose. ‘We just don’t see it. Whatever’s illegal is pretty invisible. Diamonds exchange hands for goods or services.’ He shrugged. ‘As I said, very easy to work with.’

  It gave Jack pause for thought. This case was certainly taking an unexpected spiral; the more he discovered, the more twisted it became and the further from reach the answers seemed. And yet all he wanted was to look at the face of the man who took Lily’s life, and to know he was going to deny hi
m his freedom. He wanted to put him behind bars for life. And Jack didn’t care whether it was Moshe Gluck, Schlimey Katz, Jimmy Chan or even Mr Goldman. He simply wanted someone to pay for killing a mother and her unborn baby. He secretly didn’t care why they had done what they’d done, or what the intricacies of their lives were. It didn’t matter, didn’t fascinate him as other cases did, didn’t register as even vaguely important. He wanted revenge. Geoff and Jane Brooks were right.

  Without his permission his mouth seemingly decided to voice what was perhaps subsconsciously going on in his mind. ‘If I find out that this is about fucking precious stones, I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands,’ he growled.

  ‘It won’t be,’ Harrison assured him, ‘but if Katz or Gluck or both are involved, then I’ll bet my big nose that diamonds are involved somewhere down the line.’

  Jack had to stifle another growl. ‘Thanks, Bob, and to all the team here. Call me if anything breaks.’ He turned to his constable. ‘Let’s go, Mal. We’ve a big day tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.’

  ‘Will do,’ Mal said, giving Jack a sympathetic smile. ‘Take your own advice, boss, and call it a day.’

  When Kate emerged from the haze into consciousness she found herself bound and lying in the back of an estate car, as far as she could tell. She had been dribbling; her thirst was fierce.

  ‘I need water,’ she croaked towards the driver, although she couldn’t see him from her prone position.

  ‘Not long now,’ said the eerily familiar voice from the front. ‘We’re almost there in fact.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked, her voice breaking on the last word. Being kidnapped felt utterly ridiculous on a Tuesday evening in Stoke Newington when chops were marinating and Coldplay was telling her everything was yellow.

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m a senior police officer and I asked you what you want from me,’ she demanded, feeling fresh flutterings of fear.

  ‘Silence would do for now.’

  ‘What? Who are you?’ She remembered now, the red ringlets, the pale, long face, the dark clothes, and most of all, the caricature-style eyebrows.

  ‘It’s irrelevant who I am. I’m just doing a job. I deliver you, that’s all.’

  ‘Deliver me? What are you talking about? Who to?’

  His pause was nerve-racking. ‘To the surgeon,’ he said.

  Moshe Gluck made the call. ‘The delivery is on its way.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said the voice on the other end.

  ‘Give my driver the diamonds.’

  ‘Do you trust him, Moshe? It’s rather a large amount this time.’

  ‘I trust him. This is the last one, you know that. The police are too close now. As it is I’m having to send Katz away and our friend who does all the spotting for us must also go. Your work has disrupted our lives significantly.’

  ‘And you’re all a lot richer for it,’ the voice said calmly. ‘Especially you, Moshe.’

  ‘True. But now it must end.’

  ‘Yes, I do agree. You will not hear from me again. Nice doing business with you, Gluck.’

  ‘Likewise. Which of us must stop seeing Claudia?’

  ‘You, I think. You’re married. Sadly, I’m not and my fiancée … well, let’s just say I need Claudia and her tricks.’

  Moshe sighed. ‘I’ll miss her, but she connects us and I cannot have that. May I suggest we both stop using her?’

  ‘I think, Moshe, that Claudia should be sent away.’

  Moshe blinked. ‘Are you talking about killing her?’

  ‘She’s a liability, my friend. I think you have to be realistic. Don’t worry, I won’t make you responsible. Prostitutes surely die all the time — from an overdose, a bashing, bad habits, bad luck.’

  Moshe felt his throat close with horror. ‘You are one cold, ruthless bastard, you know that?’

  ‘So they tell me,’ the man said, sounding bored. ‘Goodbye, Moshe. Enjoy your riches and look after that big family of yours.’

  He heard the threat, sucked back his fear as the line went dead. Within seconds he was dialling another number.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Change of plan.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘When you’ve delivered the policewoman, I want you to go find Claudia. Tonight, Schlimey, waste no time!’

  ‘What about the flight?’

  ‘I’ll get you out on the morning flight, don’t worry. Do this for me.’

  ‘Do I just wait around for her at Amhurst Park?’

  ‘No, I’ll text her address. She rarely works past 9 p.m. Get her away from there.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Anywhere — check into a motel near the airport. I’ll call you later. I need to think. And Schlimey …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tell him nothing. If he asks if you’ve heard from me, you haven’t, all right?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Get away as soon as he gives you the payment.’

  Jack stood outside Dr Brooks’s office and rang the buzzer. He felt suddenly low and beaten. He wasn’t sure talking was the answer right now; what he needed was a drink and a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Hello?’ came the now familiar voice through the speaker.

  ‘It’s Hawksworth.’

  ‘You made it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he began wearily.

  ‘Don’t be. You sound tired, come on up.’ The buzzer sounded again and the door opened.

  He trudged through and made sure it closed behind him before he pressed the lift button. He stepped out into the landing, relieved to discover that the architects had not only faithfully preserved the building’s exterior walls but had retained its integrity inside, where he’d anticipated a hard-edged ‘metal and cyberman’ makeover. Instead, the original pinkish stone interior walls were still in evidence. At this bleak moment, he drew comfort from their survival.

  ‘Jack,’ he heard Dr Brooks calling, ‘down here.’

  He strode along the passage to her suite.

  ‘Like the building?’ she asked.

  ‘Modern with dignity. Full marks,’ he replied.

  ‘I’d heard you were something of an architecture buff,’ she said, standing aside and gesturing for him to enter. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Not really a buff. I just like certain types of buildings and apart from Canary Wharf — which has me captivated — I’m drawn to older places. What can I say? I like history. I especially like the idea that these walls,’ he said, slapping his palm against the warm stone of the doorway, ‘have heard so many voices, seen so many things, hold so many stories.’

  She smiled gently at him. ‘You old romantic. Oh, it’s just down the hall and to the right.’

  Jack hesitated. He’d been inclined to turn left into what appeared to be her consulting room. ‘Sorry, did you say right?’

  Jane Brooks drew alongside him. ‘I did, but if you’d feel more comfy in there, I’ll just go and fetch my gin and tonic and —’

  He put up his hands in mock defeat. ‘Oh, definitely not. I just … well, I —’

  She smiled. ‘Are you off duty now? You look like you could use a drink.’

  He sighed. ‘Downstairs I was thinking exactly the same thing. Is that all right … I mean, are we allowed to …?’

  ‘Allowed?’ She smiled again. ‘Yes, we’re over eighteen and allowed to have a single drink. It’s nearly seven and definitely dark out there.’ She led the way into an open-plan living area. ‘Besides, I’m not your therapist, I’m simply getting you through this week so you can tick all the right boxes and stay out of trouble with your chief. I’ll be handing you over to Gabby in two days and she’ll set up a proper course of therapy.’ She turned. ‘But Jack, if this makes you uncomfortable, we can —’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, moving into the centre of the room. ‘Wow, this is magnificent.’ Huge windows looked down into the squa
re below and onto a series of tower blocks. Through a gap in the buildings he saw lights twinkling across London’s Docklands and with delight he noticed he could just make out the continuous beacon at the top of Canary Wharf. ‘What a view.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  ‘No wonder you prefer to stay in town,’ he said.

  She sighed. ‘It’s just easier, as I said. Working late, like tonight, I hate the thought of having to catch a tube or drive home.’

  ‘How’s your husband?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. Overseas at the moment.’

  ‘Right,’ Jack said, hating his polite tone.

  ‘So, G&T, wine, vodka?’

  Against his inclinations the professional in him won through … but only just. ‘You know, Jane, I think I’d better keep it soft tonight. I could get a call and you want me to talk … I think all it would take is one glass of wine to make me feel just too loose.’

  ‘That’s very responsible. No problem, Jack,’ she said, although she looked vaguely disappointed, he thought. ‘Lemonade, Coke? Er, I only have Diet. Or a soda with fresh lemon?’

  ‘That sounds good.’

  She smiled. ‘Please, take a seat. Just throw yourself down wherever looks comfortable.’

  As she filled a glass with ice and twisted the cap off a fresh bottle of soda, Jack peeled off his layers, removing his overcoat and scarf and finally loosening his tie, and opening the top button of his shirt. He caught her watching him as she cut up some lemon.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I think we unearthed a good lead tonight.’

  ‘Good,’ she said — too fast, as though she knew she’d been caught staring.

  ‘Well, good and bad. It hasn’t actually led us much further yet.’

  She nodded. ‘It will.’

  ‘It has to,’ he said, sitting and then rubbing his face with frustration. ‘Time is running out for me. I’ve avoided my chief inspector for a couple of days but I reckon by tomorrow night he’ll be roasting me over a spit.’