STRANGE BODIES (a gripping crime thriller) (17 page)

Chapter 26

The smell hit them first, the putrid, sour stench of death, the foul body odours given off when a living person becomes a dead one.

They stood in the hallway and tried not to breathe.

‘Leave the door open … just pull the security screen to, please. Is there an air conditioner? It should have been left on to preserve the paintings.’

Nicholas turned to Oscar. ‘Hasn’t anybody been back here, Professor? They should have sent a clean-up team ... they have special extractors to reduce the smells. That’s usually done in these cases.’

Oscar said, ‘I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know his lawyers and he, Solly, had never mentioned relatives. In fact the only other person I ever saw going in there was his Wednesday night lady. Oh, I saw him on that television show a few weeks ago … oh, no, that’s it, isn’t it.’

He turned to Verity, horror struck. ‘It’s something to do with that show, isn’t it? That couple who were murdered, the ones found at the fig tree. They were on RAZZ! too. No, no that’s not right.’ He thought for a second or two. ‘It was
announced
that they were to be on the show. Levinsky
was
on the show.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Smart of you to pick that up, Professor,’ said Adams. ‘He was only on for about five or six minutes, enough time to plug his book and talk a little about it.’

‘Yes, I remember Adelaide mentioning a dull fellow who had produced an exciting art book. Said it was like wading through treacle to get a few words from him. He was a last minute fill-in for someone who got sick and she was desperate,’ said Verity. ‘She didn’t even have time for me to …’ She left the rest of that unsaid.

As they stood there they saw a police car pull up. The door flew open and a huge, red faced policeman barrelled his way up the path and pounded on the security screen.

‘Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my crime scene?’ he roared, clenched fist thumping. ‘Open this bloody door or I’ll fuckin’ break it down.’

Adams turned and said quietly, ‘Professor, take Ms Burne into the kitchen, please. And stay there till I say otherwise.’

Mostyn was stabbing ineffectually at the police lock with his e-key. ‘D’you hear me. Open this bloody door. You’re mucking up my scene.’

Adams opened the door then took a step or two back as the large policeman pushed his way in.

‘I’m Commander Adams. And you are …?’

‘You know bloody well who I am. Mostyn, that’s who, and this is my bloody crime scene. I know who you are and I don’t give a shit, you stuck-up pommy bastard, so take yourself and that stupid old fart and that nosey tart outa here.’ He took a step towards the Commander who merely raised one eyebrow at the aggressive move. They were of a height but Mostyn was grossly overweight. His fat face had turned an alarming shade of puce.

Other cars had arrived and the occupants were at the door, trying to get in, Adams’ team and an older uniformed officer, but Mostyn’s bulk blocked the entrance.

‘Well, Sergeant Mostyn, you closed the case and reported it as an accidental death so by your own logic, it can’t be a crime scene.’

‘Listen, you smart arse, this is my patch …’

‘Sergeant Mostyn, stand down.’ The loud voice of a man who had just entered, pushing past the obstructive man, stopped the sergeant in his tracks.

‘Commander Adams, I’m Chief Superintendent George Greene, North Sydney. A pleasure to meet you.’ The two men shook hands while the sergeant seethed.

He turned to Mostyn. ‘Outside, Mostyn. Now. Wait by your vehicle.’ His voice had authority in it, the voice of a man used to being obeyed. Without a word Mostyn spun on his heel and lumbered off, his face purple with rage and his body almost emanating red waves of anger.

‘I apologise for this officer, Commander. Mostyn is one of the crosses I have to bear. He’s got almost thirty years in and you’d think he’d have learned better by now. Some never learn,’ he sighed. ‘You are welcome to rip into him but I doubt it’ll do much good.’

‘Thank you, Chief Superintendent, but I’ll give it a miss; you seem to have his measure.’

Greene stepped outside and spoke to the sergeant who had been stamping up and down the footpath, sparks almost flying with every step. A few neighbours, drawn by the spectacle of police cars pulling up in front of their reclusive neighbour’s house, drank in every fascinating act of this real-life drama. The sergeant seemed to want to argue, Adams observed, but a few more words from the Chief Superintendent sent him to his car. He took off as Greene came back into the house.

The Commander had taken the opportunity to send Norris upstairs to the death scene and his men into the other rooms to begin the search for further evidence to confirm that this was a murder.

‘Thank you for that, Chief Superintendent. We’re checking the house now. Did you bring the photos and the recordings?’

‘Yes, I brought hard copies as well as the recordings.’ He hoisted a folder. ‘A bit sketchy, I’m afraid. I suspect Mostyn has the originals tucked away or he may have destroyed them. More likely he’s on his way back to do so. It won’t do him any good. I’ve given instructions,’ he said grimly. ‘He won’t even get into the station.

‘He treated it as an accident so they didn’t collect the sort of evidence they would for a murder. As soon as he heard you were looking into it he raised a hell of a stink. He’s got a few mates—terrified minions more like—who pass info on to him. I’ll be looking into all of that, too. I think his inspector has let him off the hook once too often.’

‘We’ll take what we can get and add our own stuff to it. Come into the kitchen … down here, I believe.’

Verity and the Professor were sitting talking quietly at the kitchen table. Adams introduced them to Greene who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

‘Professor Morgenstein found Levinsky’s body and reported it ... he lives next door. Mostyn ignored the professor’s suggestion that it could be murder. Furthermore, in his statement to me the professor said that a small item of considerable value was missing after Mostyn left the house. He states that the item was there when he first entered the house.’

‘And Ms Burne … how did she get on to this?’ Green asked.

‘It was Ms Burne who alerted me after the professor told her of his concerns. Quite simply, she believed him and while I don't think there is any danger to her or the professor I wanted them here so I could keep an eye on them.’

Oscar and Verity looked at each other, exchanged a wry glance but said nothing.

‘I am inclined to agree. You could create an excellent exposé with this, but I'd rather you didn’t,’ said Greene looking at Verity with a faint smile. ‘Right, Ms Burne? Oh, yes, I know what you do. I make it my business to know. And thanks for the tip off last June. We were after that nasty piece of work for months and your bit of evidence was all we needed to make it stick.’

Verity was surprised but decided not to ask how he knew.

She frowned as she thought about something. ‘There was another case, a con man, Brian Blacker aka Brent Brownlow, et al, remember him? We sent the information through but somehow it was delayed for some hours. He got away.’

‘Ah, yes, old Birdie Black. We caught up with him eventually. Turns out he was at school with our sergeant. Now that should have been followed up at the time.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, Commander. Your case with my blessing. If you need anything more from us don’t hesitate to ask. Not all my men are like Mostyn and we’ve finally got him cold this time. Good to meet you … and you, Ms Burne. Professor, I’d like a word if you could spare me a minute. Outside, perhaps.’

As they left Adams said, ‘I think he may want to confirm that statement from the professor about the missing scrimshaw. It’s a serious allegation, more than enough to prosecute Mostyn.’

Verity looked a question at him.

‘I imagine Greene has already organised a search warrant for Mostyn’s desk, locker and house. If the scrimshaw turns up there he’s in big trouble. They’ll be looking at his bank accounts too.’

‘You mean it’ll be enough to get him out?’

‘More than enough.’ He looked very grim and said, ‘If it were up to me I’d arrest him immediately and then let him take his chances in an open prison. His sort tarnishes the reputations of the majority of honest police.’

DeLuca stuck his head around the door. ‘Commander, we’ve found a safe in the study. It’s got an electronic lock. Should we call in CECI?’

‘No need, DeLuca, we’ve got our very own c-tech right here. Ms Burne, would you care to demonstrate? I assume your magic wand works on safes too?’ A thought struck him. ‘Will mine, the one you gave me?’

She followed the young detective into the study as she said, ‘In theory, yes, but it really depends on the type of lock. If it’s an off-the-shelf item, yes. Let’s see. Oh, and isn’t this an absolute cliché. Safe behind picture on wall.’

‘Good work, DeLuca. Oh, this is Ms Burne. Ms Burne, Mario DeLuca, one of my team and I might add, late of North Sydney.’ He added blandly, ‘Ms Burne is helping out with some electronics.’

She smiled at the young man who looked a little bewildered and said, ‘A pleasure to meet you. Now let’s see.’

She looked at the safe then gestured to Adams. ‘Try it, Commander.’

He touched his e-key to the lock but nothing happened. ‘Try twisting the top clockwise first,’ she said.

He did that and touched the lock again … they heard a click. Grasping the handle he opened it easily. The safe was full of papers and a number of small packets.

‘Gloves, who’s got gloves? DeLuca, where are the crime kits?’

‘Out in the hallway, sir. I’ll get some gloves for you.’

‘Thanks, get a few pairs, please,’ Adams called as he left. He turned to Verity who had stepped back a few paces and was eyeing off the computer on a side table. ‘I think he’ll have this password protected. Shall I …’

‘No, don’t touch anything. Please. You really shouldn’t be here.’

‘But, Nicholas,’ she said, giving him an innocent look, ‘You seconded me, remember.’

He almost ground his teeth, then saw the funny side and laughed. Verity joined in as a rather surprised looking detective walked with a handful of thin gloves.

Adams handed a pair to Verity and they worked the tight skin-like gloves on to their hands.

‘These are great … they feel almost as though I’m not wearing them. I haven’t seen these before.’

‘Don’t tell me—something you didn’t invent,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Let’s get this lot out and see what’s here. Shift those books and papers off the desk. We’ll put everything there.’

The first thing out was a hand-written loose-leaf folder containing an inventory. It seemed to cover the artworks and the other objects Levinsky had collected, including the scrimshaw collection. Adams handed it to DeLuca and said, ‘Find Sergeant Fraser and you and he can start checking everything against this list. Don’t mark it … copy it first, please.’

They emptied everything else out of the safe and started opening the various packets. ‘Let’s see what else we’ve got here. Passports, plural. Solomon Samuel Levinsky, art historian and restorer, Israeli, entry stamps for the UK, France and Spain. According to the professor, Levinsky wasn’t Jewish or Israeli. And another in the name of Harvey Walton Bloomingdale, banker, another in the name of Werner Steiner, company director and a last one for Father Xavier Francis O’Donnelly. My, my, what a versatile chappy our friend Mr Levinsky is. Let’s see … Israeli, American, British, that’s odd, British passport with a German name, and an Irish priest, begorrah. I wonder if any are actually his own. In spite of all the microchips and print registers a lot of countries still use them.’

‘Yes, it’s amazing that the passport has survived. I would have thought it impossible to fake. This plasticised paper is so special you wouldn’t think anyone could copy it.’

Nicholas looked at her and asked, very bluntly, ‘Could you?’

She looked taken aback by his question, or perhaps by the implication behind it. ‘I don’t think so. Not my field.’

She started to say something else but DeLuca came back then and reported that the sergeant was copying the pages and would call him when it was done. ‘Sir, this one, the British passport, has a lot more use than the others,’ he said, examining each as the Commander had put them aside. ‘The picture doesn’t really look much like him though,’ he said. ‘And the other photos don’t look much like him either, even the Levinsky one. Do you think they are all his, maybe some surgery?’

‘How do you know what he looks like, DeLuca?’

‘Well sir, I saw him on that TV show a few weeks ago. I sort of noticed him because he was, um, sort of negative, not what I was expecting. I mean, I watched that show because he was on. That Adelaide Browne, she always has these really interesting people on, y’know, and she gets them to talk about their stuff. I’m interested in Australian art.’ He blushed slightly. ‘I don’t usually tell people that. I bought his book, you see, so when I heard he was going to be on I watched, and she had to drag every word out of him. And, sir, he doesn’t look much like any of these passport photos. See, he’s got some sort of beard in all of them, and his nose is different.’