Jack in the Box (30 page)

Doubt crept into her gut. There was sense in what he said. But she dismissed her suspicions: Hensbury was a proven killer. She could think of any number of reasons for him to murder Max. He could have arrived in time to see Max’s rent boy leave the house, then stolen upstairs and—

‘There’s nothing more I can give you, Von. Just the names.’ He picked up the pen. ‘You’ll be wanting the identity of the main man.’

Her head shot up. ‘Mr Big?’

‘He’s the one who brings the stuff in from Pakistan. I thought I made that clear.’ His eyes moved over her face. ‘Ah, you thought I ran the whole operation. I’m flattered, but there’s someone above me. I’m loath to give him up, but my willingness to co-operate will help my case when it comes to trial.’

She held her breath, reading upside down as he wrote the
name.

‘Surprised?’

‘Where is he now?’ she said, unable to tear her eyes from the page.

‘Holed up in my villa. When I told him how close you were, he took off.’

‘When did you see him last?’

‘Early on Wednesday.’

The day she’d gone to the storeroom to look through Max Quincey’s effects.

‘I saw you take the stairs to the basement, so I followed you.’ He shrugged. ‘Idle curiosity. I wanted to see what you were up to.’

The man in the pinstripe
. ‘And was your curiosity satisfied?’ she said.

‘I slipped past Terry, but I couldn’t find you. I left by the back door. I still have my keys.’

‘I didn’t see your name in the register.’

‘I don’t sign the visitors’ book. I used to run Clerkenwell.’

After a pause, she said, ‘Where’s your villa, Simon?’

‘I’ll give you the address, along with everything else.’ He continued to write, filling page after page. Finally, he put down the pen. ‘I may have missed the odd name, but you’ll find them all in my mobile.’

She spoke into the machine. ‘Interview terminated at 11.22am.’ She gazed at Simon. ‘And to think I once looked up to you.’ She pushed her chair back.

His words stopped her at the door. ‘You’ll never get beyond DCI, Von. The Met won’t forgive you for this.’

His expression was hard to read, but she recognised hatred intermingled, possibly, with pity. He smiled, then, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘With the greatest respect, sir,’ she said, ‘no, actually, without
any respect at all, I really don’t give a fuck.’

Chapter 35

The detectives pressed around her. ‘Who is it, ma’am?’ said Larry breathlessly. ‘Who’s Mr Big?’

Before Von could speak, the door to the interview room opened, and the constable appeared with Hensbury and his solicitor.

Hensbury paused. ‘The one thing I didn’t tell you, Von, is that neither Richard nor Max knew of each other’s involvement in the drug ring.’

‘I simply can’t believe that.’

‘Do you really think Richard would have assigned his best detective to his brother’s murder case, if he’d known Max was embroiled in the very drugs ring he set up himself?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Richard controlled the import from Pakistan and nothing else. I was the one who liaised with the distributors. I never told Richard who they were.’

‘For security?’

‘Partly. But there was another reason. You may find this difficult to believe, but each of them admired the other. Max was always talking respectfully of Richard’s career in the Met. And Richard was proud that his brother ran a successful touring company. He helped him set up the Players and kept an eye on it to ensure it was doing well. It was to be Max’s pension.’

She thought back to the conversations she’d had about Max with the Chief Super.
In an odd way, I was proud of him. He was, after all, leading exactly the sort of life he’d always wanted, doing
what he loved
.

Hensbury’s mouth twisted into a faint smile. ‘I’d hoped their mutual respect might continue. Unfortunately, Richard’s bubble is about to burst.’

And in more ways than one
. She nodded to the constable, who led Hensbury away. The solicitor inclined his head respectfully and left.

‘The Chief Super?’ said Larry, shock on his face. ‘Mr Big?’

‘Not only that,’ she said gravely, ‘but half the drugs squad are implicated.’ She raised her voice. ‘We need to move quickly, everyone. Get the arrest warrants prepared, then find the magistrate. Someone send Forensics over to Hensbury’s lockup garage. And alert the authorities in Spain.’

Zoë looked up as they hurried into the incident room. ‘Ma’am, Dr Mittelberg rang to say she’ll be here by noon, traffic allowing.’

Larry grinned. ‘You’ve missed the show, Zo.’

‘I take it we’ve made our collar, then?’ she said eagerly.

‘We’ve made our collar,’ said Von. ‘The others’ll bring you up to speed. But first, you all need to get typing.’ She caught Zoë’s eye.

‘Nothing, ma’am. If he’s sighted, I’ll be the first to know.’

She knew they were too late. Kenny had done a bunk. She’d have to alert Interpol. He’d be travelling under an alias, with Georgie. Mr and Mrs. From her office she called his mobile one last time, but was put through to voicemail. She tried her landline, in case he was lying low at her flat, but the number rang out and her answer machine clicked in. She’d have to leave it for now. There were more pressing things that required her attention.

She sat in her office, head in her hands, thinking not of what she’d just done, broken a thirty-year-old drugs ring involving senior officers of the Met, but of Max Quincey. She’d told
Simon she’d be charging him with Max’s murder. His words gnawed at her.
You also know, deep down, that I didn’t kill him
. Yet, Simon was the only piece left on the board.

Danni would be here soon. She’d take her to lunch, and then they’d interview Chrissie again, they still needed her to confirm she’d been in Max’s room. Von rotated her shoulders, feeling the stiffness in her neck. Jesus, but she was tired. Although she’d got Max’s killer, she’d failed to find the killer of the rent boys. She’d promised Manny she’d bring his attacker to justice, and she’d failed. She knew the case would continue to eat away at her. And worse was still to come. She’d have to face the press, the Chief Super’s superior officer, and God knows who else.
The Met won’t forgive you for this
. She’d acted with bravado in front of Simon, as though having right on her side was enough. But that wasn’t true. In the space of a few days, her life had turned upside down. She’d lost Kenny and, most likely, would soon lose her job. The simple fact of her having produced the greatest triumph of her career had still to sink in.

The brown package was lying on the desk. She peeled away the tape. It was Max Quincey’s doll, sent back by Sir Bernard. It would have to be deposited in stores until Simon’s trial. Protocol required a second officer to check it.

In the incident room, she found Zoë staring over Larry’s shoulder at the computer. ‘Officers from the Met, ma’am,’ the girl said, wide-eyed. ‘Many of them retired.’

‘Pity they weren’t brought to justice before they drew their pensions.’ She handed her the package. ‘Can you double-check everything’s here before I sign off?’

Zoë slipped on her gloves. As she placed the Jack in the Box on the desk, it fell over and the doll sprang out with its cry of: ‘Jack-jack! Jack-jack!’

Von flinched. ‘If I never hear that sound again, it’ll be too soon.’

‘Twenty packets,’ Zoë said, removing the sachets of heroin from the yellow wrapping. ‘All present and correct.’ She handed Von the sheet to sign. She spread the yellow paper out on the desk. ‘This is one of the Garrimont’s programmes.’

Von glanced up from writing. ‘Jack in the Box?’

‘It’s the programme from 1985.’

‘We were looking for that at one time,’ Steve said, tapping at the keyboard. ‘Can’t remember why, I’ve reused that area of memory.’

‘It was to do with the timings.’ Von studied the incident wall. The times of the play’s exits and entrances were still there, interleaved with those of the boys’ attacks. ‘We made the assumption that in 1985 the start and end times were the same as now.’

Zoë laid the old programme and a copy of the current programme side by side. ‘The times are identical. An 8.00pm start, one interval between 9.00pm and 9.20pm, and the play finished at 11.00pm.’

Von peered over her shoulder. ‘So what did Michael Gillanders look like fifteen years ago?’

‘Alas, no photographs, ma’am.’ She looked from one programme to the other. ‘That’s odd. The 1985 programme has a man delivering the doll to the wife. He’s down as a postman. But the current play lists a postwoman.’ She was frowning. ‘Must be a misprint, because it was a girl in 1985, too. Probably Joanne or Joanna.’

‘What do you mean, probably?’ Von said slowly.

‘She’s down as Jo. Maybe short for Josephine?’ She looked up. ‘Okay, why are you all staring at me like that?’

‘Jo can also be a boy’s name, short for Jon, or Jonathan,’ Von said. ‘It’s both a boy’s name and a girl’s. Like Jools.’ Her heart was beating wildly. ‘What’s the surname?’

‘Moudry. Jo Moudry.’

He had some small bit part in Jack in the Box
. Simon’s words.

Her mind was reeling. Jesus, what a fool she was. She’d been too busy wringing a confession from him to appreciate the implication of his statement. She spun round and scrutinised the cast’s timings, including those for the postwoman. But in 1985, the postwoman had been a postman.

‘What does it mean, ma’am?’

‘It means that, in 1985, there was another male character who had the opportunity to kill the rent boys. We concluded it could only have been the detective’s assistant, because of the timings.’ She pushed her hands through her hair. ‘Jo Moudry was on at 8.01pm and off at 8.07pm. The next time he was on stage was for curtain call.’

‘But, ma’am, how can you be sure this Jo Moudry is a man? Surely it’s a misprint that the billing is for a postman.’

‘A lot’s been happening while you’ve been away, Zoë. The boys will take great delight in bringing you up to speed.’

She sank into the nearest chair and pressed her hands into her eyes. Jo Moudry had been having sex with Max Quincey in 1985. As a woman in a man’s body, he’d wanted sex with a man. He knew Max’s boys, passed heroin to them. Had he also had sex with them? And with Manny Newman? Could he have killed Gilly, Charlo, and Liam?

The door opened and Danni swept in. She was dressed in butter-soft leather boots and a tweed suit which would have cost Von three months’ salary.

‘You look terrible, Chief Inspector,’ she said, staring at Von. ‘And what the hell happened to your neck?’

‘Let’s skip the pleasantries, Danni. I’m about to interview Chrissie Horowitz.’

‘Again?’ She sighed in mock irritation. ‘Is this why you dragged me down here?’

‘Come on, you know you prefer being amongst the low-lifes
than at your dad’s place with those nobs.’

‘Point taken. So, what’s been happening?’

‘Are you ready for this?’

Danni said nothing as Von gave her an abridged version of the events of the last few days.

‘So, you see,’ Von said, ‘we’ve come full circle. We’re back with Chrissie Horowitz.’

Danni was silent for a while. ‘Can I sit in this time?’

Chapter 36

Chrissie Horowitz was sitting in the interview room with her brief. She seemed distracted by Danni’s presence, fidgeting and throwing her murderous glances. Finally, she turned her body so she didn’t have to look at her.

Von switched on the recording machine. ‘Interview commencing at 12.36pm on Sunday, 1st October, 2000. Present are Detective Chief Inspector Yvonne Valenti, and Dr Danielle Mittelberg.’

Chrissie sat tight-lipped, playing with her nails.

‘I’d like you to clarify some things for us, Miss Horowitz,’ Von said. ‘When in 1985 did you meet Max Quincey?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Okay, let’s try walking through a different door.’ She slid a copy of the 1985 programme across the table. ‘Did you know Max before you acted in Jack in the Box?’

Chrissie glanced at the programme, and her expression changed. ‘You finally found it.’

‘You’d have saved us a lot of time if you’d come clean.’

She glanced at her brief, a serious woman in her late thirties. The woman nodded. ‘I auditioned for the part of the postman,’ Chrissie said, ‘and it was Maxie who interviewed me. That was the first time I met him.’

‘Date?’

‘Earlier that year, 1985. That’s all I can remember.’

‘Did you become good friends?’

‘I became involved in the drug ring, working out of the Iron Duke. It was through Maxie that I found out about it. You already know this. So, yes, we became good friends.’

‘How did you get involved in the drug ring?’

She ran a hand over her brow. ‘I told Maxie I was short of money, and asked him for an advance on my salary. He was sympathetic. When I did the same again a month later, he suggested I might want to join him in a venture.’

‘Is that what he called it?’ Von said, mockingly.

Her eyes sparkled. ‘You didn’t know Maxie. He never called a spade a spade if he could avoid it. Anyway, he told me the money would be good, and it would be regular, and I said yes.’

‘So when did you meet Gilly McIlvanny?’

‘Gilly McIlvanny?’ She lifted her chin confidently. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘He was one of Max’s boys, sometimes known as Gilly McIlly. You passed drugs to him to sell to his clients.’ She studied the woman’s face. ‘But perhaps you knew him under another name.’ She opened a folder. ‘The suspect is being shown a photograph. I admit it’s not a good likeness of Gilly. It was taken after he’d been blinded. And he was strangled. That’s string round his neck.’

Chrissie was devouring the photo with her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen—’

‘Never seen what? A boy who’s been blinded?’ She pushed the other photographs across. ‘Then take a look at Charlo Heggarty and Liam Mahoney.’

A sob burst from Chrissie’s throat. She drew the photos towards her and traced a finger across Liam’s face, tears shimmering in her eyes.

‘Did you know the boys well?’ Von said, after a pause.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘There’s also Manny Newman.’ Von passed his photo over.
‘But he survived. Did you know that?’

Chrissie lifted her head slowly and looked at Von. ‘Yes, I knew.’

‘He was the lucky one. Lucky to be alive, that is, although some people might not think so. He lives alone, with help from social services, in a not very nice part of London. He’s changed his name because he’s terrified that whoever attacked him might come back to finish the job.’ She brought her face close to Chrissie’s. ‘His attack was so brutal that his eyes had to be removed. I don’t think you’d recognise him now.’

Chrissie’s breathing grew more laboured until it was the only sound in the room. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she said, her voice so choked that Von almost misheard her. ‘It was Jonathan Moudry.’

‘Jonathan Moudry killed those boys?’ Von said sharply.

She nodded, remorse in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘Tell me how it happened.’

When Chrissie eventually spoke, it was as though a stranger had entered the room. The voice was a man’s, the accent northern. She leant forward, her head lowered like a bull’s, and planted her elbows on the table.

‘The Duke was the best place for picking up boys,’ she said, in her deep man’s voice. ‘At least, the type of boys I needed.’

The solicitor stared at her client with a look of horror. Von, startled, glanced at Danni, but Danni’s steady eyes were on Chrissie.

‘What type of boy did you need?’ Danni said, breaking the stunned silence.

Chrissie motioned to the photos. ‘Ones like Gilly.’ She smiled. ‘Gilly was very popular with everyone at the Duke. Always singing his Irish songs. When they had karaoke night, you couldn’t move for people, you had to get all your drinks in at once as you’d never make it back to the bar. He had more clients than any of the other boys, he was so popular.’

‘How did you come to have sex with him, Jonathan?’ said Danni.

‘He could sense what I was. He gave me the come-on, he could tell I was gagging for it. I tried hard not to give in but it became too much. So I made a date with him.’

‘And what happened then, Jonathan?’ Von said, taking her cue from Danni.

‘I left the theatre as soon as my part was finished, and took the tube to Tottenham Court Road. I met him at the Duke and we went to the place he took his clients. We had to be careful, there was broken glass everywhere.’ Her breathing became shallow. ‘At first, I didn’t want to do it. I was uncomfortable. But he was so sweet.’

‘Why was there a mirror?’ Danni said suddenly.

‘I had to watch. I couldn’t come otherwise.’

‘Did you watch yourself? Or did you look at Gilly?’

‘I looked at Gilly. And he looked at me.’

Von glanced at Danni, wondering where this line of questioning was going.

‘He’d seen me,’ Chrissie whispered. ‘He’d seen me shame myself. I was disgusted by what we’d done.’

‘And because he’d seen you, you had to blind him,’ Danni said quietly.

She was weeping openly now. She nodded slowly, her hand over her mouth.

‘For the tape, the suspect nodded. Why did you strangle him first?’ said Von.

‘I couldn’t bear the thought of blinding him while he was still alive,’ she said in a choked voice.

‘Yet you knew you’d be strangling him even before you met him at the Duke. That’s why you brought the string.’

‘Yes, I wore gloves, and used a condom. I’d even shaved myself so as not to leave any hair behind.’

‘Why did you bring the doll?’ Danni said.

‘I didn’t. It was Gilly who had the doll.’

Of course. It would contain either smack or notes, so Gilly would want to keep it with him
.

‘He knocked it over by accident,’ Chrissie said, sniffing. ‘While we were doing it.’

‘And it watched you, too,’ said Danni.

The voice became more of a growl. ‘I couldn’t stand that grinning face, and those eyes, knowing they’d seen everything. So I scratched them out.’

Danni sat back, a look of satisfaction on her face.

‘And then you went back to the theatre, and took a bow along with the other actors,’ said Von.

Chrissie gazed at her, saying nothing.

‘And Charlo, a few days later?’

‘It was much the same. I left the Garrimont as soon as I was off the stage, and went to the place by the river, under the old Hungerford footbridge. Charlo had agreed to meet me there, it wasn’t far from his flat. I pulled his belt out as he slid his pants down. I strangled him with it afterwards. Then I took a knife from the kitchen and blinded him.’

‘Did you bring a doll?’ said Danni softly.

‘There was one there. Charlo was one of Max’s boys.’

‘And did the doll watch?’ said Von.

‘Even inside the box, it would have been watching,’ Chrissie said viciously.

‘I popped it and scratched its eyes.’

‘And Liam?’ Von said, after a pause.

‘I waited till the play had ended. I met Liam outside Tottenham Court Road tube. He knew of these gents nearby that were quiet in the early hours.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I left the door open so I could see myself in the mirror. I strangled him and used his penknife to blind him. Then I scratched his doll.’

Von stared in stupefaction. Nothing in her twenty years at the Met had prepared her for this.

Chrissie picked at the edge of the folder. ‘After Liam, I began sleeping with Max.’

‘Why Max?’ said Danni. ‘He was much older than the boys.’

‘I thought that, if I could have a proper relationship with a man, I could stop the killing. I tried it the other way round, roles reversed, the way a woman would. But I didn’t like it, I didn’t like being penetrated. So I ended it with Max.’

‘And went back to finding boys.’

She looked up slowly. ‘Just one.’

‘Manny wasn’t a dealer,’ said Von, ‘so why was there a doll at his place?’

‘The doll was mine. I’d just swapped it.’

‘And Manny was the last?’

‘The play ended and I left London. But, yes, he was the last.’

‘Weren’t you afraid Manny would identify you? You must have read he was still alive.’

‘He didn’t know my name. And he’d never be able to pick me out of a line-up, not blind.’ A vacant look came into her eyes. ‘I did think of going after him and finishing the job, but the hospital was too well guarded.’

‘So where did you go when you left London?’

‘Straight to Rio, to have my sex-change operation. Several operations, actually. Paid for by the money I’d made with the drugs.’

‘And you stopped killing boys,’ Danni said, ‘because you no longer needed them.’ It was a statement.

She nodded. ‘I came back to England, attended a theatre management course, and became manager of the Garrimont.’

The voice changed suddenly back to a woman’s. The accent was gone, the register higher and lighter. She leant back, smoothing the corners of her lips. ‘I’d always loved the
Garrimont. When a job came up, I jumped at the chance.’

‘And did you see Max Quincey again?’ Danni said, seemingly unfazed by the reverse transformation.

‘Not till a month ago. I had a call from him, asking if he could bring the play back to the theatre.’

‘He didn’t know who you were?’ said Von.

She inclined her head, smiling prettily. ‘It’s taken you, a trained detective, this long to discover that I was once Jo Moudry. Do you really think Maxie guessed?’ She crossed her legs. ‘The play had made the theatre so much money fifteen years ago, that I thought we could repeat the success. God knows the Garrimont needed a boost. Anyway, the day he arrived he rang again and suggested we go for a drink and run through the timetable.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘We hit it off from the word go. He was fun personified. I’ve never met anyone, before or since, with such a deliciously crude sense of humour.’

‘Where did you meet?’ said Danni.

‘He took me to a really posh restaurant.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘We went back to my place.’

‘Was he the perfect gentleman?’

‘He was. But I wasn’t the perfect lady.’ She fiddled with the buttons of her jacket. ‘It wasn’t difficult to seduce him.’

Seduce him? Where the hell had this come from?
‘But Max was gay,’ said Von.

‘He wasn’t gay. He was bisexual.’ She spluttered with laughter, as though she couldn’t keep the joke to herself. ‘If you could only see your faces. Surely you must have guessed. He was married at one time.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, grimacing as she saw the mascara.

I’m not convinced of my brother’s homosexuality, Yvonne. He liked women
. The Chief Super’s words. He might have been in denial about Max and the rent boys but, on the subject of Max
and women, he was spot on.

‘So did you spend the night together?’ Danni was saying.

‘Absolutely not. It’s one of my rules.’ She smiled thinly. ‘There’s nothing worse than the cold light of day after a night of sex. You see all your partner’s imperfections.’

‘And he sees yours,’ Danni said, her voice level.

‘Did you meet regularly after that?’ said Von.

‘As often as we could. That’s what all the phone calls were about.’

Von let out a long breath. The pieces were falling into place. ‘Where did you meet?’

‘Always at mine. We never used hotels.’

‘Why not at Max’s?’

‘Have you seen the black hole he lived in?’ She turned her head away, as though trying to escape an unpleasant smell. ‘I remembered it from before.’

She’s lying. They did meet there. And more than once
. ‘And that guff about the ledger entries?’ she said.

‘Maxie really was hopeless with figures. I did help him with the Quincey Players’ books. That part was true.’

Von rubbed her cheeks hard. ‘You said Jo Moudry paid for his operation using the proceeds from drug peddling. Was it all spent?’

‘There was quite a bit left. I put the drug money through my mother’s account.’

‘And she didn’t know?’

‘She never uses her account. Gets her pension in cash, and probably stuffs what she doesn’t spend into her mattress. I’ve been using her account for years, and forging her signature on cheques.’ She seemed to think about what she’d just said. ‘Not something I’m proud of, but there you are.’

Von felt like laughing. All those hours spent scrutinising Chrissie’s financial affairs, and yet the solution was so simple.
‘Let’s talk now about Tuesday, September 12th, Miss Horowitz. You called Max from your office, just after six in the evening. You told me it was because you’d found another discrepancy in the figures. But that’s a load of old fanny, isn’t it? You were ringing him to set up another date.’

‘You can’t blame me for lying. I mean, you had me in your cross-hairs.’ She regarded Von from under her lashes. ‘No, you’re right. Maxie didn’t come to my office.’

‘Where did you meet? It wasn’t your place this time, was it?’

She stared at her hands.

‘Did you go to Max’s room at Mrs Deacon’s? I’d advise you to think carefully before you deny it. We have the forensic evidence now.’

‘We went to Maxie’s digs,’ she said, not looking up.

‘At what time?’

‘Must have been about seven.’

‘When did you leave?’

‘About eight. Maybe later.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I didn’t check my watch, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she said acidly.