Crucified

Chapter 13

Jack spent Saturday morning painting the bookcases in the loft extension and finishing off some areas that needed another coat of emulsion.

Gladys, with the extraordinary hair extensions, came by for coffee, to get to know Jack and Hannah. Penny showed her round the house and gave her a run-down of what was expected when she started work on Monday, then showed her how to use all of the appliances.

In the afternoon, Marius and Jack went back to the market to check whether the right-sized mattress had come in and were soon hefting it back to the van. Marius said he would like to check on a stall selling some second-hand electrical tools, particularly a paint stripper, and Jack agreed to meet him back at the van in twenty minutes. Once alone, Jack hurriedly returned to the framer’s. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear an angry exchange from inside. Jack eased himself behind the woman selling vintage dolls, to be less conspicuous as he listened.

‘You’re supposed to be taking the crates to Southampton. You got paid upfront, so don’t give me your bullshit excuses. If we miss the delivery, that’ll be another week lost... All right, let me close up and I’ll get on the road. There’s no need for you to come here threatening me. Lugging that fucking cross here nearly broke me back, so you tell him that whatever he’s going to be using it for, it’s not going to be me that moves it again.’

Jack pressed himself against the wall as the door banged open. A handsome black man wearing an elegant fur-collared leather coat, his hair swept back from his face, walked out. Jack could smell his cologne from where he was standing. Jack waited until he was out of sight before stepping into the shop, just as the thuggish man was about to close the door.

‘I’ve got the measurements for the frame I was looking for,’ Jack said.

‘Sorry mate, we’re closing.’

‘It’ll only take a minute,’ Jack said with his best winning smile.

‘Come on then, I’ll give you sixty seconds. Then I’m closing up.’

Jack stepped around the cross to a stack of frames heaped on a cabinet. The man went into the back room, and Jack picked up a small gilt frame — then noticed a stack of envelopes on the side of the cabinet. Without thinking, he slipped one into his jacket just as the man returned. He snatched up the envelopes and stuffed them into a leather shoulder bag.

‘Stupid bastard forgot them,’ he muttered.

Jack held up the frame.

‘Ten quid, lowest I can do.’

Jack shrugged, shaking his head. ‘Not worth more than a fiver.’

The man had no time for bartering. ‘Time’s up, mate.’ He grabbed the frame, tossing it back onto the pile, then walked towards Jack, forcing him backwards and out of the door. Jack heard the bolts being drawn across from inside. Then the sign flipped from ‘open’ to ‘closed’.

Back in his office, Jack took out the blank envelope he’d picked up in the framer’s shop. Inside was a gilt-edged invitation from Detmar Steinburg to a private viewing at a gallery on Bond Street in two weeks’ time. Jack was hopeful that Detmar Steinburg was the collector Adam had been railing against. He tapped the invitation against the desk, trying to recall another name Adam had said. Was it Jim or Joe... Orton? Maybe that was the elegant black guy he had overheard arguing at the shop.

Jack Googled Detmar Steinburg and found he definitely matched Border’s description, with galleries in Berlin, Los Angeles, Florida and Dubai. There were numerous photos of him taken at high society functions in Tatler and Vogue, at film and theatre premieres. Jack peered closely at the elegant, neatly coiffured man, always dressed in fashionable designer suits. He had shoulder-length, glossy dark hair receding slightly from his high forehead. No age was mentioned in any of the articles, but he looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, reminding Jack of a younger Karl Lagerfeld.

Maggie called out to tell him that an Amazon delivery had arrived, so he slipped the invitation into a drawer and went downstairs. The box was on the kitchen table, and when he opened it, he couldn’t help grinning.

‘What is it?’ Maggie asked, looking into the box. ‘More books about art forgery?’ She picked them up and read out the titles. ‘Confessions of a Master Forger... The Art Forger’s Handbook... Art Crime and Its Prevention. My, you are getting very serious about this, aren’t you?’ she said.

‘I know it interests you, too,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘We’ve never had a sort of hobby together, have we? I suppose if we do, then I ought to meet Adam Border myself, don’t you think?’

Jack laughed. ‘Fair enough, Mags. The next time I see him, I’ll invite him round for dinner.’

Jack arrived at the station early on Monday morning and was welcomed back by DCI Clarke, who took him into his office for a private chat about whether or not he needed any help or counselling. He was impressed with how Jack explained his semi-breakdown, assuring Clarke that after the trial of Rodney Middleton, he had felt emotionally broken but was now eager to get back to work.

Returning to the incident room as everyone arrived, Laura welcomed him back, updating him about any staff changes and associated gossip. He was pleased to be told that Anik had moved on to another station, and she primed him about his replacement. DI Brianna Armani had only been at the station a few weeks, but Laura hinted that she had already ruffled a few feathers.

‘She’s very keen on ethnic diversity.’ Laura leaned in close and whispered. ‘There’s a feeling she’s selected a few black probationary officers who are not up to scratch.’

Jack found the CID office running very smoothly, but DCI Clarke’s list of ‘rules’ pinned on the noticeboard, along with his obsession that every officer give details of their whereabouts throughout the day, was a tad irritating. Also listed were the specific times the detectives and civilian staff could take refreshment breaks to ensure the offices were continuously manned. Clarke had also instigated an office briefing in the boardroom every Monday at eight o’clock.

Jack spent the morning sifting through all the cases currently being investigated and those already assigned for court appearances. He did not meet Anik’s replacement until late afternoon, as she had been at the Old Bailey. She was tall, wearing a smart tailored suit, a stiff collared shirt and high heels. Her dark brown hair was swept back and tied in a short ponytail. She acknowledged Jack’s presence with a polite nod and placed a very expensive briefcase on her desk before going directly into DCI Clarke’s office.

It was after five and Jack was about to call it a day when Armani came out from Clarke’s office and walked briskly towards him. He promptly stood up. She was slightly taller than him, and her handshake was strong. She was attractive, with dark eyes, arched eyebrows and a wide, thin-lipped mouth.

‘Jack, I’ve heard very good things about you and look forward to working alongside you. We have nothing too demanding right now, but you know it’s always that way... the calm before the storm.’ She cocked her head to one side, giving him a tight-lipped smile. ‘No doubt that will be a relief as I believe you have had some emotional issues.’

‘Everything is fine, back to so-called normal,’ he said lightly, trying hard to conceal his irritation.

‘Good to hear it, and you know I am always open to an informal chat if you feel concerned about anything or how we’ve been running the station since you’ve been on sick leave.’

Jack managed to keep his cool despite her heavy-handed reference to his sick leave. He already knew she would be the last person he would ever want to have any informal bloody chats with.

The CID room had slowly become busier, with a number of young officers of varying ethnicities entering the briefing room. Jack never normally noticed the ethnicity of his colleagues, but the ratio was clearly tipped in the direction of minorities which suggested an operation that required this specific approach. Jack felt the adrenalin build as he waited to find out more. He definitely felt ready to get stuck into work again. And, as Armani approached his desk, he hoped she was about to get him up to speed ahead of the new recruits.

‘Ready to get back on the horse, Jack?’

He smiled and nodded, but, again, wasn’t very happy with her choice of words.

‘We have a female victim,’ she continued, ‘subjected to a vicious attack from her husband, called 999, and he was arrested, but she later refused to make a statement. She said it was an accident, and her husband was released from custody.’

‘A domestic?’ Jack glanced towards the briefing room, still filling with officers clearly about to be briefed on a big operation of some kind.

Armani couldn’t help noting his lack of enthusiasm. ‘If you read the report you will see that she suffered substantial injuries which required an ambulance to attend. I believe she lied about it being an accident through fear of further abuse by her husband. I’m sorry you feel she might be a waste of your time, DS Warr. I was hoping you might be able to allay her fears and change her mind. Or maybe your people skills have been exaggerated.’ She ended with a glare.

He raised his hands in a submissive gesture. ‘I have read the report and I’m sure you’re right about being afraid of her husband. I’ll be there first thing in the morning and see if I can persuade her to change her mind.’

Jack couldn’t help noting that the victim’s address was near Ladbroke Grove, a stone’s throw from Portobello Road.

Maggie had had a very long, hard day at the hospital and arrived home after Jack, who was in the kitchen with Penny as she made a stew. Hannah was in her room watching TV, and Charlie was already in his cot. Maggie slumped down in a dining chair, and Jack put a glass of chilled white wine in her outstretched hand.

‘There’s a bottle of formula ready for his next feed. You enjoy your wine.’

Maggie sighed. ‘Oh boy, do I need this. I’ve had a nightmare day. We’re so short-staffed, we have patients lined up in corridors with no beds because they are all filled with old people who are chomping at the bit to go home. But getting their transport and social services organised is impossible. What about you?’

Jack described his interactions with DI Armani.

‘I bet she’s well dressed, at least,’ Maggie quipped.

‘She is, actually,’ Jack said. ‘Apparently, she’s got a psychology degree. She’s the kind of person who likes you to know that she knows everything. According to Laura, she was fast-tracked to get a promotion, and she has DCI Clarke in the palm of her hand.’

‘Well, don’t you antagonise her. Keep your head down.’

‘I will. But I think she’s already picking on me. She’s got me on a bloody domestic.’ Jack handed Maggie a DVD. ‘Fancy a movie night? It’s that film I was telling you about, The Third Man. Watch it in bed?’

Maggie smiled. ‘You watch. I’ll sleep.’ Then she went upstairs with her wine to have a shower.

By the time they’d finished dinner, it was almost ten. Penny went to her bedroom as Jack cleared the kitchen and Maggie was pouring the remains of the wine into two glasses.

‘You sure you’re too tired to watch the movie?’ Jack asked, closing the dishwasher.

Maggie picked up the DVD and read the back. ‘It’s black and white. What’s so special about it?’

‘I don’t know. The theme tune is Adam Border’s ringtone, remember, so we just got talking about the film.’

Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t wait to meet the man who has such an effect on you, Jack. Come on, let’s get into bed and watch it.’

They were both propped up with pillows as the film started. Neither said a word as they watched for half an hour. Maggie turned to see that Jack was fast asleep. She sighed because, as tired as she was, she had decided to watch it all. When the credits rolled, she turned the movie off and lay back. Something about the movie disturbed her, and even after closing her eyes and settling down, she could not get to sleep.

Jack woke early and went down to the kitchen to make Maggie a cup of tea so she could drink it in bed. When he returned, she was frowning.

‘I watched the entire bloody film and then, when I was trying to sleep, that bloody theme tune kept on playing in my head.’ Jack smiled and kissed her as he handed over the tea. They could hear Penny and Hannah laughing, but thankfully Charlie was still asleep for now.

‘Do you need the car today, Jack?’

He hesitated before answering, ‘I wouldn’t mind. I have to interview the domestic assault victim. But if you need it then I’ll go by tube.’

‘You take it. I might be home late again tonight. We have a new surgeon, and he’ll certainly have his work cut out for him, to coin a phrase. I’ve got a late start, so I’ll get an Uber.’ Maggie cupped the mug of tea in her hands as Jack sorted out what he would wear. ‘You know the film was quite good. It’s about lies and betrayal and people hiding from the truth, and from themselves, I guess. But mostly it’s about friendship, or what this one guy thought was a friendship...’ Maggie sipped her tea. ‘It’s about... who can you trust?’

He nodded absently. ‘I’ll watch it tonight then,’ he said before kissing her and hurrying out.

Maggie sighed. He didn’t seem to have heard a word she said.

Jack started to hit traffic as he neared Ladbroke Grove. He had Waze on his phone for directions, but he’d decided to rely on his own local knowledge. He used the backstreets to avoid the heavy traffic at Shepherds Bush and eventually found himself entering a large council estate. Parking his car, he placed a Met police card on the dashboard and headed towards a fifteen-storey tower block, looking for 151 Willow Court.

The first thing he saw was an out of order notice on the lift, so he reluctantly started up the stairs. He was out of breath as he reached the eleventh floor and rested for a minute before heading down the dank corridor. He could find 149 but not 151. He rang the nearest bell. He waited a few seconds and rang it again before he heard the latch chain being pulled back. A thin girl in a night-dress opened the door.

‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for number 151. Do I need to go up another floor?’

‘This is the top floor, and we got no 151.’

‘Is this Willow Court?’ He showed her his notebook with the address.

She looked at it and laughed. ‘That says Willow Courtyard. It’s right at the end of the estate. It happens all the time with deliveries. With the lift out of order, it’s a big schlepp up here.’

Jack squinted at his note, furious that he had misread the address.

‘Should have gone to Specsavers,’ she said, closing the door on him.

Jack trudged back down the stairs. Returning to his car, he noticed a big gob of spittle running down the windscreen. He got in and slammed the door, now annoyed with himself for putting the police card on the dashboard and misreading the address. He turned the window washer spray and wipers on, but that just spread the spittle across the windscreen. He kept the wipers going as he drove down the estate to the far end. There were the usual low walls surrounding the big blocks, patches of brown grass, then there was a narrow archway which he turned into. The low mews houses had attached garages but no gardens and appeared well-maintained with flowering tubs on their doorsteps.

He parked in front of 151, reluctantly leaving his Met card on the dashboard as he was on a single yellow. It was ten past ten as he rang the doorbell. Stepping back, he looked at the drawn curtains on the ground floor window. He rang again, and a woman’s voice from behind the door asked what he wanted.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Warr from the Met Police. I want to speak to a Mrs Barras, Maria Barras.’

She took her time before replying. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need to see you.’

‘Mrs Barras... I’m not here to cause you further distress. I’d just like a quick chat, then I’ll go. Please. This won’t take more than a few moments.’

The chain was removed, the door unlocked and the woman slowly opened it wider. Jack smiled through the small gap she’d created.

‘Can I come in, please?’ Jack showed her his warrant card, and she stepped back, allowing him to enter, before gesturing for him to go into the room to his right. He entered a comfortably furnished sitting room and she followed. Jack could see she had a swollen lip and a deep bruise around one eye that was already turning dark purple as well as surgical tape around two fingers of one hand. She was obviously nervous, shaking as she gestured for him to sit down.

Jack opened his briefcase to remove a copy of the incident report. Attached were details of two previous domestic incidents and police reports. Jack felt a bit guilty as he had not done more than glance through the file. ‘I’m just here to ask a few more questions about the 999 call you made and the subsequent investigation,’ he said. ‘You suffered quite nasty injuries, Mrs Barras. Two broken fingers, facial bruising...’ He also knew some of her hair had been torn out and he realised that she was now wearing a wig. ‘I see you reported incidents of domestic abuse on two previous occasions. But, like this last time, you refused to make a formal statement or press charges. I understand, of course, you are frightened, but making a statement will...’

She interrupted. ‘Thank you, but I really do not want to waste your time. I made that clear to the detective who first interviewed me... she was very kind, and I appreciate your concern.’

‘I can’t force you to make a statement, but there are domestic abuse agencies, social services and other support groups that can help you.’

‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’ Mrs Barras half rose from her chair as if the interview was over.

‘I would like to talk to your husband as well. Is he home?’

‘He’s at work. I did explain that he is on a lot of medication because he suffers from depression and insomnia.’

‘I understand how debilitating that can be,’ Jack said, noticing how she was constantly glancing over to the doorway.

‘What line of work is your husband in?’

‘He was a security guard, but he had to retire.’

‘Before that?’

‘What?’

‘Well, has he always been a security guard?’ She looked even more nervous, so he continued thumbing through the report. ‘What security company did he work for?’

The front door slammed shut and they both looked up. After a moment, a dark-haired, muscular-looking man walked in.

‘What’s that car outside? You a police officer?’

‘Detective Sergeant Jack Warr.’ Jack stood up, showing his ID.

‘What do you want?’

‘Are you George Barras?’

‘You got a warrant to be inside my house?’

‘Your wife kindly invited me in.’ Jack made no effort to hide why he was here. ‘I am following up on an allegation of assault made against you.’

‘I wasn’t charged with anything,’ Barras said with a half-smile. ‘No harm done, Officer. You can go.’

Jack glanced at Maria, who was clenching her uninjured hand to stop it from shaking. ‘I would say considerable harm was done, Mr Barras. I’m concerned for your wife’s safety, so it’s my duty to come and make sure she’s OK.’

Barras had dark, expressionless eyes matching his black, greasy hair and he stood beside his wife with his muscular arms folded and his legs apart, not quite goading Jack but certainly showing no respect.

‘Be assured that I will continue to monitor your wife’s wellbeing,’ Jack said calmly. ‘I have several support agency contacts for you, Mrs Barras, should you need to call for assistance or seek advice.’ Jack handed her a typed list of the agencies, on which he had also written in biro the clinic he had used for his insomnia condition. She took it from him with her good hand.

‘I also suggest, Mr Barras, that you contact the number I have written down for a clinic that can help with your insomnia and depression.’

George scowled, clearly angry that Jack knew about his problems. ‘This isn’t the usual follow-up visit. I know the procedure, so you can’t bullshit me.’

Jack ignored the comment. ‘Barras is a Spanish surname, isn’t it?’

‘What’s it to you? I was born here, she was brought up here. Is there anything else you want to poke your nose into?’

Jack put the file back into his briefcase, snapping it closed. ‘I suggest, Mr Barras, you seek help and consider yourself fortunate that your wife did not press charges.’ He left before Barras could respond. Jack had been longer with the Barrases than he had intended, and it was now too late for him to pop over to Adam Border’s school.

As he headed back to the station, Jack wondered again why DI Armani had insisted that he visit Mrs Barras, and whether she had another agenda.

He went straight to her office to report back on the interview, explaining that George Barras had also been present.

‘What did you think of him?’ she asked.

‘Cocky. Arrogant. Thinks he’s got away with it again,’ Jack said. ‘I made sure he knew we were onto him, and his wife is now on the radar of social services and the domestic abuse agency.’

‘Well, thank you for that,’ Armani said, apparently pleased with the way things had gone. ‘Now, I’d like you to check over the suspects we have earmarked in this gang war operation. It’s likely all down to turf boundaries, but the last knife attack was outside a primary school. You have the details on your desk; draw up a priority list of those who have criminal records for violence, then others who are known to us.’

Jack nodded and went back to his desk. There was a stack of files beside his computer, but before he tackled them he decided to write up his report from the Barras house.

He took the file from his briefcase and began to put the pages back in order. He knew he had been lax by not reading everything before speaking to Mrs Barras, but he still didn’t know why he’d been sent to interview her at all. Once he got the file sorted, he read through the details of the previous assaults. The first one was comparatively minor: Mrs Barras had a bruised arm and red cheeks from being slapped by her husband. He admitted he lost his temper and received a caution for common assault but wasn’t charged. The second incident had been called in by a neighbour who heard Mrs Barras screaming and rang 999. When police arrived, they noticed Mrs Barras was clutching her stomach and had bruising on her legs and arms. They suspected George had kicked and punched her, so arrested him and took him to the station to be interviewed.

With her husband out of the way, the officers spoke with Mrs Barras again but she was still adamant she had fallen halfway down the stairs and landed badly in the hallway, which was why she screamed so loudly. George told the same story at the station and was released without charge.

Jack then looked at the most recent incident where Maria Barras was taken to hospital and George Barras was again arrested. He read the attending doctor’s statement, which had an envelope attached to it with a paper clip. Jack opened it, and inside were photographs of Maria’s broken fingers, split lip and extensive bruising to the right eye, with the doctor expressing concerns about damage to the cornea. Lastly were two photographs of the scalp with a large area of hair torn out by the roots. Jack leaned back in his chair. This was clearly a vicious assault and no accident.

Jack turned on his desk computer and entered George Barras’s name and date of birth on the criminal records database. As expected, he found the caution for common assault and two other incidents where George hadn’t been charged. He was about to close it when he noticed a ‘next page’ marker at the bottom of the screen. He pressed it and discovered George also had an assault charge against him from five years earlier. The case officer was DS B. Armani.

‘Well, well,’ he said to himself. He still didn’t know what Armani’s agenda was, but now he was determined to find out.