Crucified

Chapter 18

It was after eleven when Jack arrived home. Maggie had left his dinner covered with cling film on the top of the oven. He wolfed down the congealed roast beef with soggy roast potatoes and veg before opening a bottle of wine. He filled two glasses and headed up to the bedroom. He elbowed the door open, relieved to see Maggie sitting up in bed reading Eric Hebborn’s The Art Forger’s Handbook. She lowered it as he slunk into the room.

‘This had better be good Jack, and I don’t want some lengthy excuse. Just get straight to the nitty-gritty.’

He handed her the glass of wine and took a long slug of his own before coming to sit beside her. ‘This is going to be hard to believe. Sorry, but I have to begin back when Marius and I went to Portobello Road and saw the frame shop was a crime scene. Because of my association with the place, and obviously with Adam, I kept my distance, right?’

‘Jack, you told me this earlier.’ Maggie closed her eyes and leaned back on the pillow as Jack continued. He finally got to the crime itself. ‘Crucified! Are you serious?’

‘Yes, but he is, or was, still alive. So next I discovered from the registration of Adam’s Jeep, and a bit of searching on Google Earth, that it was associated with a rented property in Haslemere. That’s where I’ve been; a sumptuous bloody property leased by Adam and his girlfriend. She was pretty sumptuous as well.’

‘You mean he wasn’t living at that school hall place?’ Jack nodded. He then told her all about his conversation with Helga. Then he went into the bathroom, cleaned his teeth, got into his PJs and joined her in bed to finish his wine.

‘There is one thing I need to Google in the morning. Something Helga said about a radiocarbon technique that tells the ages of paintings... whatever it is, it made Adam freak out. She said she didn’t understand, and I don’t either, but I’ll research it tomorrow.’

Maggie turned off her bedside light and Jack did the same. ‘So this gorgeous woman just accepts being picked up and droppedwhenever he feels like it? I don’t believe it.’

‘Well, look how he drew me in. There’s something about him, Mags.’

‘I’ve listened to you going on about him,’ Maggie said, ‘and I must admit you had me convinced, too, but to me there was always something untrustworthy there. I mean, I know I never met him, but I can tell there’s something evil about him. I can almost feel it, even if you can’t. And you only have her word for it that he was not in London. You need to be very careful. I mean, how many times have you been in and out of that framer’s shop? And the school. God forbid anyone finds a connection between you and him. Do you know which hospital the victim was taken to?’

Jack was fast asleep. She looked at him and sighed. She sometimes felt so protective of him, more than she probably should. At least he was sleeping these days; it had been a while since he’d had a nightmare or fallen out of the bed. As she drifted off to sleep, she tried to pinpoint what Jack found so fascinating about Adam. She decided that it was his knowledge, his passion, his cunning. All attributes Jack showed in his policework when his mind was in the right place. Suddenly the Harry Lime theme tune started up in her head. That bloody film! As the plot ran through her weary mind, she wondered if it was a sign... a message even. Was Adam playing some sort of twisted game with Jack?

The next morning Maggie was up and getting ready in the bathroom while Jack was still sound asleep. She could hear Hannah and Penny moving around, so she pulled on a dressing gown and slippers before going downstairs to sort out breakfast. After preparing bottles for Charlie, she went up to the nursery. Hannah was having a bath and creating her usual mayhem with too many bubbles and too much splashing.

When Hannah was dressed she went to wake Daddy as he had promised her a trip to the park and the slides. He awoke with a start as she jumped on the bed and then sleepily put his hands up in a defeated gesture, begging for five minutes to come round properly.

Sunday morning was up and rolling in earnest by nine, with bacon and eggs for Maggie and Jack, pancakes for Hannah and Penny and Charlie was playing, wedged into a highchair with cushions as he was becoming more boisterous by the day.

Maggie was still in her dressing gown as Penny struggled to get Hannah into her puffa jacket, tie her shoes and give her a bag of stale bread for the ducks. Penny also stuffed Hannah’s beloved skipping rope into her coat pocket.

‘Are you taking Charlie as well, Jack?’

‘No, Mum. It takes all my effort to not let Hannah swim with the ducks.’

An hour or so later Maggie had the TV on in the bedroom, listening to the BBC news, but there had been no bulletin regarding the incident at the framer’s shop nor any police request for information. She dressed in a pale blue tracksuit, deciding not to do any further painting in the loft but to have a nice, relaxed Sunday instead. Jack had still not returned from his outing with Hannah, so she went to join Penny.

‘Anything I can do, Penny?’

‘No, dear, all under control. I was thinking I’ll do lunch for about one thirty.’

‘Fine by me, I’ll set the table later. Just going into Jack’s office.’

Jack bought several Sunday papers on the way to the park and was eager to look through them for any mention of the murder. First, though, Hannah wanted to feed the ducks.

Hannah delved into the bread bag and did exactly what Jack had told her not to do, hurling whole slices into the water with gleeful giggles. There was a flap of wings as a swan moved quickly to snatch a slice. Hannah screamed as the huge white wings flapped close to her head and, as she turned to run away, she slid in the mud and her feet went into the water. Jack quickly dropped his papers and grabbed her, hauling her back onto the path. The bread bag floated away while his newspapers lay soaked in the mud.

Jack shook his head at Hannah. ‘You see what happens when you don’t listen? Look at that feeding frenzy now.’

‘My feet are all wet, Daddy!’ Hannah wailed. ‘And there’s mud on my school shoes!’ Jack sighed. So much for a restful Sunday.

Back at home, Hannah explained that it was Daddy’s fault she’d fallen into the pond. ‘You’re a naughty fibber, Hannah,’ Jack told her, wagging a finger. ‘Those shoes were expensive,’ Maggie said sadly.

Once lunch was served, everything quietened down. Afterwards, Jack retreated to his office to see if there was anything on the database about the murder. Maggie came in to say that Charlie had conked out after half a bottle, which must be down to all the bouncing he’d done after breakfast.

‘I think we need to take Hannah in hand,’ Jack said. ‘She’s becoming a spoilt brat. She doesn’t think she has to listen to a word anyone says and Mum spoils her rotten. You should have a word. It was totally her fault she ended up in the pond.’

Maggie pretended she hadn’t heard him. ‘Did you read the thing I printed out for you? I’ve been reading that you can determine a painting’s age by the ratio of carbon-14 isotopes it contains. There was an article about a painting supposedly painted in 1866. But by examining miniscule strands of the canvas, they discovered it had actually been painted in 1980 because the binder in the paint had higher than normal levels of carbon-14 isotopes.’ Jack glanced at the printout, reading as Maggie continued to explain. ‘It’s something about the Hiroshima bomb being a definite point in history when the levels of isotopes in the air changed forever. So, it accurately dates certain things. Before August 1945, a certain level of carbon-14 isotopes were naturally occurring. After 1945, it was higher. That’s how they spot fakes. Cool, right?’

‘Yeah, very interesting.’ Jack thought for a moment. ‘From what Helga said, it sounded like Adam had found a way around it.’

Jack’s mobile rang — Laura — bringing the conversation to an end. Maggie left Jack to it.

‘You read the papers?’ she asked him.

‘Not yet. I took Hannah to the park.’

‘Well, it’s very much still under wraps. There’s a couple of articles saying an incident occurred in Portobello Market and that the police were requesting that anyone with any information contact Fulham station urgently. And a man’s in hospital. They don’t even say if he’s alive or dead.’

‘That it?’

‘Yep. It’s not on any news channels either. The woman who found him is in a safe house but I think it’s mainly to keep her from gossiping about it. With the victim alive and still unidentified, they need to find out who he is before revealing any information. The only update I have is that he is in a critical state and still in an induced coma.’

‘Which hospital is he in?’

‘St Mary’s is probably the closest to Fulham, isn’t it? Anyway, thanks to you, I’m having a drink with Morrison tonight, so I should get more details. I’ll let you know. Bye.’

Joining Maggie in the kitchen, he repeated what Laura had just told him. ‘What about fingerprints? Surely they could identify him that way?’ she said.

‘Only if he has a criminal record. But Laura might have more details after her drink with the detective in charge.’

Maggie raised an eyebrow. ‘You should be careful. I hope you’ve told her to keep all this under wraps. The last thing you want is people knowing you’re asking about Adam Border.’

‘It can’t be him,’ Jack snapped.

‘You don’t know for sure, Jack. And don’t get tetchy with me. I’m only trying to look out for you.’

‘Sorry, Mags. I just hope to God it isn’t him. I mean, it could be the thug running the shop... he was a nasty piece of work. I asked him about the cross last time I was there.’

Maggie banged down the cutlery box. ‘Shit, Jack, how many times have you been in that shop?’

‘Not that many,’ Jack said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘First when I recognised him, then again when I met up with him. Oh, and a third time, I went in with an excuse of looking for Adam. And the fourth time, when I went to buy the rug with Marius, I stopped there to buy a frame.’

Maggie couldn’t believe it. ‘Is there CCTV in the shop?’

‘I don’t know. But, if there’s cameras, the investigating team will have the footage by now.’

‘Well, Jack, you’d better stay well away from there from now on. I mean it. The most important thing is to find out from Laura who the victim is; it will at least tell us how worried we should be.’

Jack was about to reply when Penny walked into the kitchen, putting a stop to their conversation, and soon everyone was sitting down to eat. Charlie was bouncing away in his chair as usual, but Hannah was very subdued as she looked at her mud-stained shoes drying on the radiator. After lunch, Jack and Maggie cleared the dishes and made a pot of coffee as Penny took Hannah to her room to watch TV.

‘I could make a few enquiries for you,’ Maggie said, trying to mollify Jack. ‘I know the top guys at St Thomas’s and could check if your victim is there. If not, I could try St Mary’s; I think I used to work with a surgeon there.’

‘Could you do that?’

‘If it makes you less anxious, of course. You take Charlie up to Penny for a sleep and I’ll go into your office.’

Jack picked up Charlie with a smile, then made a face when he smelt the awful stench coming from his nappy. After guiltily handing his smelly son to his mum, Jack hurried to his office. Maggie was on the phone, so he sat and listened. ‘That’s really useful, Ken. I appreciate it. It’s just that I like to be ahead of the game... Oh, totally overloaded. My concerns are that if we have an emergency, we’ll be understaffed... Yeah, I know. We even ran out of oxygen in Resus last week with all the COVID cases.’

She continued to listen, then thanked whoever Ken was before hanging up. ‘He’s not been moved to St Thomas’s, so he must still be at St Mary’s. Let me see if Gareth Thomas is still the top dog there.’

‘Are you sure this is all right, Mags? I don’t want to get you in trouble.’

‘I won’t. I am doing my due diligence and basic risk assessments for work.’ Maggie smiled as she picked her mobile again. She was enjoying playing detective. A moment later, she had the information they needed. ‘He’s there. In intensive care, in an induced coma. He has serious facial injuries that will require a massive amount of plastic surgery, but he’s way off that yet. At the moment he’s in a sort of face-cage that holds his bones together. From what Gareth said, it’s doubtful he is going to survive as he also has internal injuries. He’s in a side room with an officer outside his door round the clock. Gareth’s leading his case... he’s a loveable rogue sort of a guy, but a brilliant surgeon.’

From the sound of the injuries Maggie had just described, it felt like whoever attacked him didn’t intend for him to survive.

‘Nailed to a fucking cross... What sort of person does that?’ Jack’s question was rhetorical as there was no valid answer. He just hoped to God Adam was neither the victim nor the attacker.

‘Someone full of hate, that’s for sure,’ Maggie said. ‘Gareth described his face as being obliterated. Cheeks, nose, eye sockets, jaw... all smashed. Oh, he said something else too: he said that the victim’s palms and fingers had been burnt.’

Jack shook his head. ‘No wonder they’re keeping the details out of the press! Burnt fingers means no prints I guess.’ Out of nowhere, Jack leaned forwards and gave Maggie a kiss. ‘I love you, Mags. You’re amazing. Who else has a wife happy to chit-chat about art forgery and obliterated skulls.’