Beautiful Death

by Fiona McIntosh

  He yelled back at his young detective. ‘Sarah, get everyone on Panther moving. I’ll phone you from the car. You’re our hub now. Work from here.’

  He found the most senior SOCO man. ‘I need a car.’

  ‘Your mate’s already grabbed one.’

  Angela was standing nearby. ‘I’ll drive you, sir,’ she said, ‘I’m the only one of our team without a task.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Let’s go.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I’m taking that one,’ he said over his shoulder to the SOCO guy as he pointed to the squad car.

  ‘Keys are in it. A PC just dropped off a fingerprinter.’ He waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain to him and his boss if necessary. Just go.’

  ‘Hope you can drive like the wind, Angela?’

  ‘I can outrace the wind, sir. Er, not that I ever speed off duty, sir!’

  ‘Call it in, then. I have to find out exactly where we’re headed but track north for now.’

  She nodded. ‘Lights or siren?’

  ‘Lights will do.’ Jack strapped himself in and rang Geoff. ‘Where is she? Tell me you know.’

  ‘Are you on the move?’

  ‘Yes. Where am I going?’

  ‘She was at Hertford but Central Control’s just let me know she’s now headed south. Pray it’s not a false trail.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On the A10, just passing Cheshunt. I was going toward Hoddeston to get to Hertford but she’s going in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Geoff, someone has to get to the clinic. Maartens never does the dirty work himself. I’ll bet my last penny that he’s preparing to flee. He won’t be with Kate, I know it in my gut.’

  ‘Okay, what do you want me to do — even though technically I’m in charge right now?’

  Jack winced. He knew his friend didn’t mean that to sound as it did. Geoff was trying to let him know Sharpe’s decision and time didn’t permit him to do it kindly. ‘Get the tracing call put through to this car.’ He gave the details. ‘I need my mobile open for Kate. I’ve already had the local Hertford police mobilised over to the Elysium Clinic and if you handle that part of it I’ll go after Kate. Moshe Gluck should be arrested, along with Schlimey Katz and the police translator Sarju. Sarah’s a terrier; she’ll organise whatever you need to be done. Just give her instructions. I’ll text you Cam Brodie’s mobile number — he can set the arrests in motion immediately.’

  ‘Jack, be careful.’

  ‘Once I know where she’s going, I’ll organise some back-up.’

  ‘Good luck. I’m sorry about Athens and what it means.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m glad Sharpe gave Panther to you. Kate’s all I can worry about right now.’

  Kate tried hard to concentrate on where she was headed and for a while almost believed she was holding an image in her mind of the roads her Fiat was travelling. Ultimately, though, she lost focus and more pressing thoughts — of her family, her friends — took control and she gave herself over to her grief.

  She wept silently in the Punto’s boot for the way her life had gone. She’d had a chance at happiness, but blew it — or so friends and fans of Dan had assured her. Kate had never seen it that way. She’d certainly loved Dan, but over their time together she’d realised it was a love based in friendship, as opposed to a sexually charged or even can’t-live–without–you passion. The only real romantic love she’d ever felt was for Jack Hawksworth and that was dangerous, ill-fated and unrequited.

  Kate knew that although she could control those feelings for Jack now, she couldn’t necessarily banish them. Jack remained the man she would choose if a genie exploded from one of the many wine bottles she finished alone to grant her three wishes; she’d need only one of them. But she was still rational enough to understand that Jack would not choose her. A bond definitely existed between them — she felt it and knew he did, but also knew he railed against it. His mind was stronger than his heart. He had once sighed and murmured, ‘In another life’ to her, suggesting that in different circumstances they might have stood a chance.

  Now she realised she’d wasted the last two years licking the wounds from the last time she’d worked with him. Jack clearly remained determined not to involve himself romantically with her. But the other half of the Beauty and the Beast pair — Geoff Benson — had surprised her. She’d seen something in him this past week that had made her believe there were other men she could get close to. It wasn’t ideal that Geoff was Jack’s closest friend, or that he was in the force, but life was rarely neat. Plus, she’d made a pact with herself to give other men a chance; she was trying hard to live up to that.

  A dip in the road bumped Kate’s head painfully against the door and dragged her out of her thoughts. She felt no guilt over her moments of indulgence; escape into her mind was surely all she had now. She had no idea where they were and guessed they’d been driving for about an hour now. She prayed her phone was still open and connected to Jack and that he was desperately tracing her, hurtling fast in her direction.

  Find me, Jack, and I promise to let you go.

  Tony’s disconnected voice from Central Command briefed them. ‘Hendon Control Command to Gold Delta vehicle DCI Hawksworth. The suspect vehicle has changed direction and the signal is now coming from the M11 motorway heading B direction. Repeat, M11 heading B direction.’

  ‘Yes, M11 motorway, heading south,’ Jack confirmed.

  Tony continued. ‘The vehicle should emerge to the east of the London area, provided it doesn’t turn left towards Essex. The next major mast area for the signal is Harlow, but if they remain on the motorway toward Epping and Theydon Bois we can track them on motorway CCTV.’

  ‘Thanks, Hendon. Call us with any change,’ Jack said, and turned to his driver. ‘Angela, you’ve got to get off here and take the A414 toward Harlow and the M11.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was just wondering, sir,’ she tentatively continued, ‘will we make it in time?’

  Jack felt ill. Angela had voiced the dread Jack had felt since first realising that Kate had opened up the line. It meant she was truly in trouble. He’d kept hoping all the while they’d been making arrangements from her garden that by some miracle this was a terrible mistake and that she’d come rampaging back into her house to tear a few strips off him, or at worst that she was being held against her will somewhere, but not in a life-threatening situation. Everyone had sensed that Kate’s situation had turned far darker.

  ‘Turn here,’ Jack said, grim voiced, unable to answer the DC’s question.

  A triple zero emergency call came into Central Command just as Angela Karim made the turn onto the Seven Sisters one-way system, and alerted police to a fatal stabbing in Tottenham. Scene-of-crime officers and an ambulance crew were duly despatched and local police soon contacted Cam Brodie, as both DCI Jack Hawksworth’s and DI Kate Carter’s mobiles were constantly engaged. Brodie was advised that the man called Schlimey Katz, whom Operation Panther was seeking, had been found dead following a single vicious stab wound to the abdomen. He had been found slumped in the front seat of a Volvo registered in his name. It would have taken several painful minutes for him to die.

  ‘Good, thanks,’ was all Cam could reply, making it sound as though he was grateful for the information, but privately he meant it a completely different way. He hated that this suspect had likely been involved in too many deaths. Schlimey Katz’s body, Cam was informed, was already on its way to the Whitechapel morgue, where he imagined it would lie not that far from the drawer that held Lily Wu. Cam’s response also reflected his lack of surprise because Moshe Gluck, whom he’d gone to arrest, had also been found dead in his office above Milo’s. Cam had not come across the body himself. He’d been at the Gluck home when the call came through. Apparently it was suicide, although Cam immediately discounted that. Both Gluck and Katz were men of committed faith and neither would have taken their own lives. Cam had spent enough time in the company of members of this community to know that life was c
onsidered sacred and was to be preserved at all costs. He believed that neither of these men had been directly involved in the deaths of any of the victims — although he strongly suspected they were part of the chain of crime that had appropriated those victims. It made them just as guilty in his eyes — no matter how good a businessman Moshe Gluck had been, or that Katz was likely simply a minion and probably on transport duty. They knew, Cam thought savagely, that they’d been sending innocents to a grisly fate. They’d applied some twisted logic to square it with their religion, but fate had caught up with them just the same.

  As Cam Brodie was learning of Moshe Gluck’s fate, Malik Khan ordered the door of Sarju Patel’s tiny flat, above the Balti House in Brick Lane, to be bashed down.

  He was the second man in and immediately saw the lifeless body of Sarju lying on the carpet in a pool of vomit. The little man’s eyes stared at the ceiling in disbelief, his mouth slack and open; a dried yellowish dribble marking his dark skin. Not far from his hand lay a three-quarter empty bottle of vodka. Malik shook his head. He could barely believe he’d been walking around, sharing a joke or two, with this polite, engaging translator just hours earlier. And yet here amidst the waft of spicy food from below was the man who, it seemed, had lived a double life and was probably responsible for finding the victims Dr Charles Maartens had used in his criminal experiments. Malik had already established through the Royal Hospital’s nursing team that Sarju — better known as Namzul around the corridors — was a regular in hospital life. No one had anything bad to say about him, and were shocked that the police might be looking for him in connection with ‘that lovely Lily Wu’.

  It was Sister Nan who had confirmed the relationship.

  She’d barely glanced at the photo of Sarju, but recognised him instantly. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him with the florist, Lily Wu, on several occasions. Drinking coffee together and laughing.’ She had shrugged. ‘They were friends, I thought. He was here regularly, helping patients with translation; he was paid for services to the hospital, but I think he did lots of voluntary work too. And she was here almost daily. I’m sure she told me once that the bulk of her business was in hospital deliveries.’

  And so the connection had likely been made, Malik thought, feeling bitterly sad for his boss. A chance meeting of Sarju and Lily — perhaps in the coffee queue, or bumping into each other in the hospital corridors, or Sarju offering to help Lily carry some flowers into the wards — kicked off an acquaintance, and ultimately a friendship was struck. But Lily Wu, it turned out, was convenient. It seemed so sinister and yet so simple. Malik supposed that the two illegal Bangladeshis had probably been looking for Sarju for help with a translation, or perhaps had needed help finding work. Experience told him it would all come out in the wash, although, because they were illegal, the police would perhaps never know what had brought those three together.

  He couldn’t feel sorry for the pathetic body that lay at his feet, but he knew one thing for sure: Sarju had been murdered, even though this was meant to appear as suicide. The little translator was a teetotaller, so vodka chasers to an overdose of sleeping tablets — conveniently strewn nearby — would not have been his choice. Between them, forensics and pathology would ultimately show signs of a struggle that was not obvious now in Sarju’s neat little flat that smelled of chicken tikka masala, thought Malik. Even so, he realised his killer might never be found.

  The killer, a fifty-ish Glaswegian with a history of aggravated violence, who had twice done time at Wormwood Scrubs, was already on his way to Cardiff, his backpack bulging with cash and plenty more already wired to an account in Europe. William (Billy) Campbell had no idea who had ordered the three hits. He didn’t care. He was in the big money now and his killing days were officially over. The little Bangladeshi and the two Hasidic men were the last jobs he would do. They were a curious trio and he had to assume they were all in something dodgy together, but apart from the big redhead, they’d seemed a harmless bunch who wouldn’t have troubled a trio of youths in Tottenham on a Saturday night. He couldn’t imagine what they might have had in common that could so piss off the big wig who’d called for their deaths. Embezzlement perhaps? Or maybe they were minions who simply knew too much. Either way, he had taken the anonymous call from the accented man who said he’d heard about Billy’s ability to carry out a brief expediently without leaving a trace. Billy had warned he was not cheap. That hadn’t seemed to trouble the caller and the money was organised with good faith and efficiency, Billy thought, well prior to the hit date. He was impressed, and ensured he gave his client slick return for his money. He’d studied each of his targets for several weeks and knew exactly where, when and how to strike. Billy was well prepared and the jobs were fast — over in moments in each instance — plus he was able to get away without being caught on a single security camera.

  Now Billy planned to disappear for good — Spain perhaps. Nice and warm. He smiled on the train and looked forward to the good life.

  27.

  Geoff had organised the local police from Hertford to meet him at Elysium and was pleased to see they had followed instructions to arrive silently but in numbers. He counted at least seven men and women and two officers, one of whom was walking towards him now as he closed the door of the car he’d taken from outside Kate’s house.

  ‘DCI Benson?’

  ‘Hello, are you DC Hackett?’ She noddded. ‘Thank you for this,’ he said, inclining his head in the direction of the knot of police.

  She pulled off a glove and held out her hand. ‘Ellie.’ Pushing back strands of light blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail, she continued. ‘I don’t know what we’re here for but I’m aware how important Operation Panther is.’ Her brow crinkled in a frown. ‘I thought DCI Hawksworth was spearheading it. I was rather hoping he’d be with you,’ she added, smiling. ‘He’s the golden boy of the Met, I’ve been told, um, no disrespect, sir.’

  Geoff shrugged. This was nothing new for him. ‘He is heading up Panther,’ he half-lied. ‘He gets to save the girl, but I get to punch the villain in the nose.’

  She looked at him quizzically. Geoff urged her onwards. ‘Come on, I’ll explain. There’s no time to lose. Hawksworth’s chasing after DI Carter who’s been kidnapped — we think — tonight. She’s managed to get a line open to us and we’re following her phone signal.’ They’d arrived where the main group of police was standing. ‘Thanks to all of you. I was just starting to tell DC Hackett that we believe the man who’s at the heart of Operation Panther’s case is somewhere in the grounds of the Elysium Clinic. His name is Dr Charles Maartens and our description is of a tall, fair-haired, fit-looking man in his mid-forties. He has a Zimbabwean accent — a lot like the South African one, it seems. He’s a surgeon, but don’t let that fool you. He’s probably dangerous. I needed numbers because this is a big place. I’m going to head up to the main building. Perhaps if you, and you,’ he said, pointing to two young police officers, ‘come with me we’ll look nice and official. Ellie, can you take the rest of your people and spread out across the grounds as best you can. I’m told there are some outbuildings, which might be a likely place for Dr Maartens to be at present, so please proceed with utmost care. I’ve deliberately not informed anyone at the clinic of our presence, surprise being our weapon —’

  Ellie interrupted him as the other officer approached them. ‘This is DC Paul Baker, sir.’

  Paul shook Geoff‘s hand. ‘Sorry, I was just checking out the area. They’ve got a security guard on duty.’

  Geoff nodded. ‘Thanks, Paul — perhaps you can handle that. Keep him occupied, please, long enough to give us time to get up to the clinic and for Ellie to get her people into place.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting he’s part of this but just in case Maartens has got people under the thumb, I don’t want him being tipped off if I can help it.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘Great, thanks. And then, back up DC Hackett. I want he
r crew making for the outbuildings. Unfortunately, I can’t even tell you where they are. You’ll discover for yourselves once we get into the grounds.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘Okay, everyone? Let’s go.’ He led the troop of police to the boom gate where a sleepy security guard was sipping from a flask and reading a grimy-looking magazine.

  ‘Er, wait a minute,’ he said, startled by the arrival of so many people, and realising too late that they were streaming past him. ‘This is —’

  Geoff glimpsed the sudden recognition on his face that he was dealing with uniformed police.

  He heard Paul Baker start talking to him and then switched his mind back to the job at hand, signalling to his colleagues as he began to trot towards the main clinic. He held up a thumb to the very nice-looking DC Hackett as her party split away, shadows moving silently on the grass verge, avoiding the crunch of gravel on the driveway.

  Jack snatched at the radio again. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The signal has been steady, sir. They’re in the Epping Forest. We’ve pinpointed that it’s an area known as High Beech.’

  ‘High Beech?’ Jack exclaimed. ‘What’s there?’

  ‘I actually know that area, sir, and there’s nothing much there. No buildings, cafés, kiosks. It’s favoured by bikies during summer weekends. It’s surrounded by bridle trails but no one else much uses it because there’s just a lot of mud and horseshit. And the clearing is where the bikies lurk. It’s not the ideal family picnic spot despite the ancient beech trees. This time of year I would imagine the whole area is deserted.’

  ‘Right,’ Jack said. ‘Tony, I need you to organise a police search team and dog unit, as well as an ambulance, just in case.’

  ‘You’ll need something for the dog to sniff, sir,’ Tony warned.