Crucified

Chapter 27

Ester Langton sobbed hysterically during most of her interview with Collingwood. She admitted that she had been shredding private correspondence when he found her, desperate to avoid any further scandal, but claimed to know nothing about Steinburg’s death.

‘He had no family. We had worked together for ten years... I was the person closest to him,’ she said, visibly upset.

Collingwood hesitated before asking his next question, knowing the horrific state of Steinburg’s injuries. ‘Would you be willing to identify him?’

‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation, then added. ‘I want to do it now.’

‘Interview suspended,’ Collingwood said, turning the recorder off.

‘Kurt killed him, didn’t he?’ Ester said, tight-lipped.

‘We have reason to believe so,’ Collingwood admitted. ‘But he hasn’t been interviewed yet. Thank you for agreeing to make the identification. There are some things I need to do first. Please bear with me.’

Collingwood left the interview room and rang the mortuary at St Thomas’s Hospital. The night staff were not very cooperative, but at his insistence, they agreed to move the body to their viewing area despite the lateness of the hour. Ester’s lawyer followed them in her car and Collingwood sat beside Ester in the patrol car, explaining it was likely to be a very disturbing experience. He hoped Ester would be able to make the identification without having to see his ruined face.

Ester held her lawyer’s hand as they arrived at the mortuary and remained silent as they signed the necessary paperwork before being allowed through to the viewing room. There was one mortuary attendant, a young man with round glasses, who took a long time to find the switch for the lights. The body was lying on a gurney entirely covered by a white linen sheet. They stood to one side as the attendant removed the covering from Detmar’s head before Collingwood could stop him.

They had done their best to disguise the injuries. His eyelids were sewn closed, as was his mouth, so his smashed and broken teeth could not be seen. His broken, flattened nose had been filled with wadding, but nothing could disguise the bruising and disfigurement.

‘Is this Detmar Steinburg?’ Collingwood asked quietly.

Ester cocked her head from side to side, leaning forwards and showing no emotion, taking a long time staring from one side to the other of the dead man.

‘Can I see his left hand?’

The cloth was lifted. This time the assistant was careful not to show the wound where the iron nail had impaled his wrist, and Ester, for the first time, showed a reaction.

‘He wore a large gold signet ring on his little finger.’

‘That was not with his body,’ Collingwood confirmed before asking her again if it was Detmar Steinburg. Ester looked at the battered face again. Her ‘yes’ was hardly audible as she turned and hurried out with her lawyer.

Collingwood had to walk briskly after them to the car park and only just managed to thank Ester for her cooperation before they drove out. Although he had done a few identification viewings, he had never experienced one where there was such a lack of visible emotion.

Jack had stopped drinking, but remained sitting in the darkness replaying the moment Kurt had drawn the gun. He guessed that Kurt had not intended to shoot him or any of the guests, and the entire scenario he had set up, with the damning evidence of the crucifixion depicting his guilt, was to climax with him committing suicide. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he felt. He knew there were CCTV cameras both outside and inside the gallery, and when the footage was checked, he would be on it. He also recalled seeing some of the guests using their mobile phones to take pictures and videos. He got up and started pacing round the kitchen. He realised he’d been foolish to think Collingwood would be able to keep him out of it even if he wanted to. It was just a matter of time before Morrison learnt of Jack’s presence at the gallery and he needed to get ready for the inevitable questioning.

But what halfway plausible story could he come up with?

At that moment Morrison was giving Collingwood a fierce grilling, demanding to know why he hadn’t been informed of the situation at the gallery. Collingwood explained that he’d tried to locate his DCI, but the urgency of the situation left him with no choice but to take charge himself.

‘You did all this on the basis of an anonymous tip-off?’

‘I did, Sir. I’ve tried to trace the caller, but they used a burner phone. The Fulham control room forwarded the caller to me. I felt I had no option but to take it seriously and thank God I did. I could only drum up six uniform officers with it being Saturday night, and I really felt the need to get to the gallery asap, Sir.’

Morrison looked sceptical. ‘So how did you get the connection to O’Reilly?’

‘He was seen leaving the gallery, Sir. I sent a team to arrest him, but he was not at his residence and we’ve still not tracked him down. We have a warrant to search his flat.’

‘That still doesn’t answer my question. How do you know that O’Reilly is involved in the murder, or was this anonymous caller also a psychic? We’ve had him in our sights from day one, but he has an alibi we haven’t been able to break.’ He was about to continue when Collingwood’s mobile rang. Morrison paused, grinding his teeth, forced to listen to the one-sided call.

Collingwood spoke briefly to the caller and congratulated them before ending the call. ‘That was DC Harrow, he’s at O’Reilly’s flat. He wasn’t there, but they found a carrier bag stuffed full of bloodstained clothing in a dog kennel. Ester Langton identified the body, Sir. I also have an all-ports alert out for O’Reilly, so hopefully, we’ll nab him soon.’

Morrison knew he had to step up fast and take over. He was about to suggest their priority was to issue a press release Collingwood continued.

‘Another thing, Sir. We may need to involve the fraud squad.’

‘What are you bloody talking about now?’

‘Well, it’s on the cards that Detmar Steinburg was involved in the sale of fake paintings.’

Morrison cracked his knuckles then leaned forward so Collingwood was forced to back away. ‘As from this moment, I am taking over, and it will be my decision to bring in the fraud squad if necessary. Right now, we have to clear up last night’s debacle before it gets splattered over the front pages. I want the gallery’s CCTV footage, and I will put out a press release when requesting anyone present who has information or mobile footage to contact us immediately.’ He shook his head. ‘The media are going to be on this like a pack of dogs. If we don’t tie things up quickly, we’re going to be bloody crucified.’

Jack was on the sofa, having drunk too much brandy the night before. He was still in his evening suit and had a terrible hangover. Maggie brought him a mug of coffee. She had her hair in rollers and was wearing her dressing gown. He struggled to sit up.

‘So how did James Bond do last night?’

‘He did good, Mags, but your tip-off was brilliant... if you hadn’t brought it up... Christ I’ve got one hell of a headache, didn’t want to wake you when I got back.’

‘So, were you right?’

‘Yeah, the victim was Detmar Steinburg and... I really need something for my headache.’

‘Tell me all about it later. Come up to the bedroom and I’ll get you some painkillers, because you need to get ready for church.’

‘Church? What are you talking about?

‘We have to go to the morning service. It’s to do with Charlie’s christening.’

Jack was aghast. ‘You mean we all have to go?’ He carefully stood up and followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

She explained as they went. ‘You and I, and Penny, Hannah and Charlie are all going. The vicar has agreed to meet us after the service so we can discuss the christening. I mean, he was very pleasant, but we are obviously not regular churchgoers, so we are going to have to put in a few appearances before the christening.’

Maggie went into the bathroom and came out with a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol. Jack was now sitting on the bed, his bow tie hanging loose and his shirt unbuttoned. He decided not to elaborate on what had taken place at the gallery. Instead, he watched Maggie looking through her wardrobe.

She turned to him with a straw hat perched on her head. ‘What about a hat? I want to make a good impression.’

‘That looks like you’re going to the beach. Haven’t you got anything a bit more churchy? He went into the bathroom to get more water. ‘What do you think I should wear?’

‘Not jeans or that old leather jacket,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘I’d suggest the tweed jacket, your grey trousers and a white shirt, but you will have to get a move on. We need to leave at ten forty-five.’

It was fortunate that she had walked out of the bedroom then, so didn’t hear him throwing up in the sink.

Half an hour later he had managed to straighten himself out. He had taken some Andrews Liver Salts, another three paracetamols, showered, shaved and put on one of his best suits. Although his head was still throbbing, he no longer felt nauseous; in fact, seeing the whole family gathered in the hall, he almost started to feel good.

Maggie was looking as stunning as ever, Penny was in her favourite felt hat with a turned-up brim. Hannah was in a smart new coat and her best patent leather shoes. Even Charlie was looking spiffy dressed in a new padded coat with a hood. Jack insisted on taking a snap of them grouped in the hallway on his mobile. ‘My family,’ he said with pride before Maggie had to check that he hadn’t cropped their heads off. Jack then stood by Maggie’s side and they all bunched up for a selfie.

At the church, they waited in the vestry after the morning service. The vicar was young and fresh-faced with thinning blond hair. He took them into a private room to discuss possible dates and what would happen at the christening. Maggie was not keen to have a group christening with other families. She wanted Charlie’s day to be very special, with just their chosen godparents present and a few family friends. Through it all, Charlie behaved like a little angel, quietly sleeping; Hannah was not quite so well behaved, however, and was asked to sit still and be quiet a few times when she said she wanted to hold Charlie. Jack whispered to her that they would all go to McDonalds’ afterwards if she behaved, which did the trick.

Forty-five minutes later, as they sat munching their burgers and fries, Maggie proposed that since they would all be going to Church more often before the christening, they could make this a routine. Hannah clapped her hands. ‘Mother of God, that would be so good!’

Maggie warned Jack not to laugh. ‘You can say grace next time we come,’ he said, managing to keep a straight face.

‘Who’s Grace?’ Hannah asked. ‘Does she live in the church with that vicar man?’

Charlie had been well behaved, sucking on a chip, but now he became very restless and started crying, so Jack scooped him up in his arms and they all got ready to leave. As Jack carried his son back to the car, it began to feel like the calm before the storm.