The Art of Murder

Chapter 47

Brick Lane, Stepney, Thursday 29 January, 9.45 a.m. Pendragon had managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep. At 3.30 a.m he had left the station and called Vickers whom he knew would be on his way back to Brick Lane from Hickle's flat on Wilmore Terrace. Vickers had told him he had seen nothing of interest and that Thatcher was now on duty. Less than six hours later, the DCI was back in his office, checking on two other sergeants who had done their stint observing the building in which Hickle lived. There had been no sign of the man. Jack wanted to check on Thatcher's progress with the warehouses Sammy had mentioned, but knew the sergeant would not be in for a few hours. Instead, he flicked on the coffee machine and waited for it to warm up.

Turner knocked on the door and came in. He looked as though he had not slept for a week.

'I think you need some of my extra strong Italian roast,' Pendragon said as the sergeant lowered himself into a chair the other side of the desk.

'That would be fantastic, sir.'

There was another tap on the door. A new recruit, Sergeant Manners came in.

Pendragon turned away from the coffee machine. 'Sergeant?'

'Sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you ought to know. Just finished on the duty desk, received a message about ten minutes ago, from the London Hospital.'

Pendragon raised an eyebrow. 'From whom?'

'A consultant in A and E. A woman was admitted early this morning after a mugging. She asked specifically for you. Name's Locke.'

'Gemma Locke?'

'Yeah.'

Pendragon came round the desk, holding the coffee scoop in his left hand. He watched Manners leave and ordered: 'Turner, you stay here. Chase up any of the warehouses Thatcher hasn't got to yet.'

'Where are you going?'

'To the London Hospital.'

'But, guv, the coffee…'

Pendragon ignored him and was out of the door before Turner's 'Oh, fuck' had left his lips. The London Hospital never slept. At 10 a.m. it was abuzz with people. Ambulances rolled up or left the main bay at the front of the building, using the narrow slipway on to Mile End Road. The reception area was a throwback to Victorian times. Very little natural light reached it. Chipped marble columns and scuffed walls covered with noticeboards added to the sense of claustrophobia. A rather sorry excuse for a gift shop stood in the corner furthest from the main doors.

Pendragon made his request and flashed his badge to the young girl at the desk who started to tap on the keyboard of her computer. 'Yes, Ms Locke,' she said, between chews on her gum, never meeting Pendragon's eyes. 'Down there.' She pointed to her left. 'After the second double doors, turn right.'

Pendragon strode down the corridor, ignoring the posters imploring everyone to stop smoking, cover up with sunscreen and get a flu jab. From all around came sounds of human activity. He heard a baby cry. A doctor in a white lab coat sporting a collection of pens in his top left pocket rushed past him. From further off Pendragon could hear drills and builders swearing. He pushed through the second set of doors and turned right, as instructed, to find another, smaller reception desk. He showed his badge again and the young male nurse pointed to a curtained area, the second bed on the left.

'Jack Pendragon!' Gemma Locke said, smiling as the DCI gingerly pulled back the curtain a little. 'You promised to call.' She was sitting on the edge of the bed reading a magazine. She had a bandage around her head and a row of steristrips on her upper cheek. Even without make-up, she still looked strikingly attractive. The bottom of her fringe protruded from the lower edge of the bandage around her forehead. Beneath it her dark eyes were as alive as ever.

'Apologies,' Pendragon said, suddenly remembering he had some flowers in his hand. He held out the small bouquet.

'Oh, Jack! That's very thoughtful of you.'

'Well, you look like you've been in the thick of it,' he replied.

Gemma touched the bandage and nodded towards a chair beside the bed. Jack lowered himself into it. 'I don't think it's as bad as it looks,' she said. 'They gave me the all-clear after a check-up about eight o'clock this morning. Came back about half an hour later to give me a painkilling jab.' She pointed to her arm. 'The doctor told me it was a slow-release drug and that I should rest here for a couple of hours. He forbade me to operate any machinery, and said I should just read a book or something. I was about to call a taxi. But it's great to see you. You got my message, obviously.'

'Yes.'

'I thought I ought to report the incident, so I called my favourite copper. Actually, you're the only policeman I know!' Her face broke into a broad smile and then suddenly a pained expression. 'Ow!' she said. 'Make a mental note, Jack. Remind me not to smile.'

'What happened to you?'

'I was walking along Stanton Street about one this morning. Should have caught a cab, of course. That's what everyone will tell me.'

'One a.m.?'

'Yes, Jack,' she responded wearily and rolled her eyes. 'I'm an artist. I don't keep office hours.'

'Duly noted,' Pendragon replied lightly. 'I'm a copper, I don't do nine to five either. Go on.'

'I didn't hear anyone approach. Just felt this pain in my head and felt… I don't know how to explain it… puzzled isn't the right word. But, well, yeah, it'll do. Puzzled. What could be hurting me… you know? That's it. I woke up on a bed a bit like this one.'

'I take it you were robbed too?'

'Oh yes. Phone, cards, a bit of cash.'

'Well, sorry to be predictable but I'll have to be the first to say you should have caught a cab.'

'Oh, you're way too slow. The doctor has already said it.'

'So you're free to go now?'

'I am.'

'Well, the least I can do is to put you in a cab.'

'All right,' she responded. 'But only on condition you let me make you a coffee at my place.'

Pendragon looked at his watch. 'Ah…'

'No deal then.' Gemma Locke's fourteenth-floor apartment was in an exclusive new block in Wapping. It was very modern, but softened by a female eye for comfort as well as practicality. Where many a successful thirty-something single man would have furnished the place with black leather and chrome, Gemma had gone for a more subtle, feminine palette of burnt umber, ivory and unpainted plaster. It worked well with the urban view through a massive window opening on to Docklands. Canary Wharf was just visible, and beyond that the long twisting coils of the grey Thames. Great black clouds hung low over the scene, threatening more snow.

'I'm guessing you don't work here,' Pendragon said, surveying the beautiful space.

'Er… no!' Gemma replied. 'I have a studio in Bermondsey. I like to keep home and work completely separate. Or else I'd always be working.'

Pendragon insisted he made the coffee while she lay on one of the large sofas in the main space. He found everything where he expected it and brought over a tray, placing it on a mother-of-pearl inlaid Indian coffee table. Gemma pulled herself up, bringing one hand to her bandaged head.

'Hurting?'

'Not as such,' she replied. 'They gave me something the doctor said would make a mugged elephant feel better. I'm not sure I appreciated the allusion.'

Pendragon laughed.

'Do all coppers have such a good sense of humour?' she asked with a faint upturning of the lips.

'Some of them believe they do. My sergeant thinks he's very funny.'

She nodded and took a sip of coffee. 'Mmm… good.'

'So, now that you have my full attention,' Pendragon said. 'Perhaps you'll let me know some more about yourself. I Googled you.'

'Oh, God!'

'And you have an impressive website.'

'Pretty much de rigueur these days.'

'I imagine so. But they only scratch the surface.'

'What do you want to know? Am I being questioned?'

Pendragon shook his head and smiled. 'Strictly personal research,' he said, and drank some coffee.

'Well, that's a relief,' Gemma teased, eyeing him over her cup. 'Oh, the interesting stuff is all on the website actually. My life only really started when I got to London as a twenty-one-year-old, fresh out of art college.'

'You studied at the Berlin University of the Arts, I saw.'

'Yes. Dad was a colonel in the British Army. We moved around a lot – Cyprus, Gibraltar, even a less than glamorous spell in Belfast. I was about fifteen when we moved to Germany. Dad's regiment was stationed at Eberswalde, about thirty miles from Berlin. When I was seventeen, my father was offered a desk job and the family moved to Brussels. I stayed on in Berlin because I had just been given a place at BUA.' Gemma looked serious. 'Dad died a year ago, almost to the day.'

'I'm sorry…'

'No need to be. We were close when I was young, but we drifted apart. I'd hardly seen him during the two or three years before… maybe that makes it worse. Anyway…' She drained her coffee cup and placed it on the tray.

'So, your big break? That was…'

'Freeways and Blood.'

'I have to confess, I didn't really… well, get it. But it was undoubtedly clever,' Pendragon replied. In truth, he had not understood the piece at all. It was a rectangular box about two metres tall and a metre wide, divided laterally in two. On one side a video loop showed an aerial night-time view of a ten-lane freeway somewhere in America, the headlights of hundreds of cars running in ordered streams. Down the length of the right half of the box ran another continuous video loop of a magnified image of blood, showing the individual corpuscles bobbing against each other in a seemingly random flow.

'Oh, dear! Damned by faint praise.'

Pendragon held his hands up. 'No, not at all. I'm afraid any shortcoming is mine. My tastes are a bit old-fashioned, I suppose.'

'Oh, please! Don't say the word "Monet".'

Pendragon frowned. 'Give me some credit!'

Gemma produced a small laugh, and winced.

'Look, I'm sorry,' he said, standing up. 'What am I doing, grilling you on art just after you get out of A and E?'

'It's okay…' Gemma began, and then yawned. 'Oops!' She started to get up, reached halfway and swayed. Pendragon caught her and helped her back to the sofa.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, and let her eyes close. 'Guess the doc was right about the elephant…'

'I'll see myself out,' he said.