Desecration (12 page)

After a moment, she felt a flutter in Polly’s fingertips and a gentle pressure. Jamie sat up and Polly’s eyes were open. The brown that had been so vibrant this morning was now dark and forbidding, a depth of mahogany that Jamie knew she couldn’t penetrate.
 

“Hey Pol,” she said softly. “How you feeling?” Polly blinked slowly and then mouthed, ‘Bad’. Jamie noticed a tension around her mouth and her forehead was creased.
 

“Do you want me to up the pain relief?” she asked, reaching for the pump.
 

Polly barely shook her head, but it was still a negative and Jamie was grateful. The drugs brought unconsciousness and selfishly, she wanted this moment of lucidity together.
 

‘You?’ Polly mouthed.
 

Jamie tried to smile. “Oh you know, just another day in the big smoke. Chasing bad guys. Bringing justice to the city.” She paused. “Actually Pol, you’d have found it interesting, lots of medical research and strange, exotic specimens. I know you love all those gory details.” Her voice trailed off as Polly’s eyes drifted closed. “Do you need to sleep, my darling?” she whispered. “It’s OK, you know I love you. Sleep now.”
 

Polly opened her eyes again, and Jamie was transfixed by the naked truth in their depths. Her daughter was pulling away and Jamie felt a stab of panic in her chest at the realization that time was running out. ‘Dance for me tonight, Mum,’ Polly mouthed. ‘Tell me tomorrow.’ Jamie took a deep breath and nodded. The last thing she wanted tonight was to dance but if she couldn’t talk with Polly, then perhaps it would be the escape she needed.
 

***

Jamie stepped into the Zero Hour milonga, one of the best on the London tango scene. Her silver dress was faded in the daylight but in this darkened space it sparkled, a contrast to the long, black hair lying loose about her shoulders. She sat down briefly and changed into her four inch heels, completing the shift from day to night. Jamie transformed for tango, even using a different name if people asked, calling herself Christina. This was a part of herself that she wanted to keep separate, for the milonga was a shifting web of complication, not fitting her police persona. In her job, she was focused and driven but when she stepped onto the dance floor, Jamie embodied the spirit of Argentine tango. Some called it the vertical expression of a horizontal desire, vicarious pleasure, an obsession that allowed the dancer to leave behind the day’s trouble and dwell in the moment.
 

Close embrace did not presume any further intimacy and Jamie preferred it that way. She could be held, swept through the music and then be released back into the world. It was physical experience without real engagement, and there was an etiquette to tango that centered around respect. It allowed Jamie to feel safe dancing with a string of men each time. Respect for the partner, for the dance and the culture permeated the room, albeit with an undercurrent of sexual tension that only served to heighten the pleasures of restraint.
 

The music began to wash the stress of the day away and, as Jamie watched the couples, she caught a glimpse of Sebastian through the crowd, handsome with his olive skin and dark eyes. He favored close embrace, his body square to his dancing partner as he swept her around the room. Jamie watched his sure steps, knowing that the dominance of the male partner was part of why she could lose herself in tango. Her roles as parent and police officer meant she had to assume authority, make decisions that affected lives and take responsibility. The beauty of tango was that she could give that up, relinquish control and just follow.
 

Jamie waited out the tanda, a set of songs, declining several partners because she wanted Sebastian tonight. It was selfish to wait for the best dancer in the room, but her body thrilled to be next to his and she craved his peppery scent. It was a chemical attraction but they had never even had a proper conversation or met outside the milonga. The asking, and then a thank you at the end of the dance was their only exchange of words, and that was all Jamie wanted. She felt that she would break right now if anyone asked any more of her than to move with the music and she needed to sublimate her pain.
 

There was an emotional darkness to tango, a broken spirit inside each of the dancers. She could see it in the older couples clutching onto one other, loss bleeding from their every step. Jamie looked away, not wanting to recognize her own future in their gait. Younger dancers had different problems, but the heaviness of the world seemed to anchor their feet, giving them gravitas, a center around which to spin. The words of the Argentinian poet Borges echoed in her mind, that tango converted outrage into music. She was outraged at how her daughter was being taken from her, angry at yet another murder and crazy mad at her own impotence to stop injustice. In tango, she could rise above those turbulent emotions and just feel. But to be swept away, she needed to dance with the best.
 

She kept her eyes on Sebastian and as he said his thanks to his last partner, Jamie stood and walked to the side of the dance floor near him. It was brazen to look at him in this way but she felt on the edge of mania and needed the steel cage of his embrace to root her to the earth again. He caught her eye, his look a question she had already answered. He walked to her, ignoring the others who wanted him, and in the cortina, the break between the tandas, he held out his arms.
 

As he drew her close, Jamie felt suddenly able to exhale, as if his physical strength gave her the support she so desperately needed. The music began and they moved, bodies becoming one, pressed close against each other as she followed his lead. As they swirled, Jamie let anger and grief move through her body, willing it through her feet and into the floor, letting it charge the air between them. She breathed in the space between steps as Sebastian spun her and then held her close, swaying as intensity deepened, the music a lament for dying dreams.

Chapter 10

The incident room at New Scotland Yard was still in darkness when Jamie arrived the next day. Logging on, her fingers bashed at the keyboard, hammering out her frustration by typing up the notes from the case so far. Polly had barely opened her eyes this morning when she visited the Hospice in the dark early hours. Jamie had climbed onto the bed next to her and held her daughter, listening to her heartbeat, but there hadn’t even been a spark of alertness. Polly had seemed blank and unsure, even of where she was.
 

Jamie had whispered to her of the tango night anyway, her voice spinning expansive tales of a world her daughter would never know. She had avoided speaking to Rachel again, unable to bear the quiet question in her eyes, coupled with an acceptance of inevitability that made Jamie crazy. The injustice of it and the anticipation of grief made her mad, and even tango last night had barely taken the edge off her anxiety. Escape into the complexities of solving this crime was her best way of distraction.
 

Spinning on her chair, Jamie paced the length of the large open plan office, the movement allowing her space to breathe. Finally, she stood with her forehead pressed against the reinforced glass, looking out over London. Lights from the early morning traffic flowed around the city and she could see the spires of Westminster Abbey only a few blocks away. For a moment, Jamie felt the scale of her insignificance in the world, a moment of clarity. If she disappeared, all of this would continue without her. London had thrived for over two thousand years, a hub of commerce and culture, its people surviving plagues, fire and flood. Jamie felt a pulse of passion, for she believed that it would continue to be the greatest city on Earth for many more years, whether or not she was here to see it. She acknowledged her inability to change what must inevitably come, but right now she could make a difference for the dead, and Jenna’s case was still unsolved.
 

Walking back to her computer, Jamie began searching on one of the protected databases for any less public background on Neville Pharmaceuticals. Blake’s visions couldn’t be used as any kind of evidence, but if she could find something specific about the company it might give her leverage in questioning the Nevilles further. Today she was determined to speak to Esther about her relationship with Jenna and exactly why her daughter had protested against the lab.
 

The case room gradually filled up, the usual morning small talk ignored around her. Jamie knew that her solitary ways meant that she was considered cold and unapproachable but she still preferred it that way, avoiding difficult questions about her personal life.
 

“Morning.” Missinghall placed his large coffee down on the desk in front of Jamie’s, demanding her attention. “Anything I should know about?” He indicated her computer.
 

Jamie rubbed her eyes, lack of sleep beginning to catch up with her.
 

“Time of death has come back as between 10-11pm which puts most of the gala attendees in the building. But I’m just not happy with Day-Conti as a decent suspect, so I’m following up on the figurine and trying to find any leads as to why it was at the scene.”
 

Missinghall raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his coffee. “It’s early days, though. We’ve still got to interview some of the others who were there that night and I need to plow through all the information from the taxi companies. That should help us alibi some of them out.” He looked at her more closely. “You look awful. Is there something else going on?”
 

Jamie thought of Polly lying in the dark of the hospice and she hesitated for a moment, part of her wanting to share what was really on her mind. She knew that Missinghall was genuine in his concern.
 

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just a late one last night. Who else have we got to interview? I’m keen to get on it this morning.”

“This guy stood out from the pack.” Missinghall passed a file over the desk. “Edward Mascuria. He was on the same table as the Nevilles and he works part time at the company while he completes his PhD. Get this, it’s in teratology, the study of developmental abnormalities.”

Like Mengele, Jamie thought, remembering what Blake had said about the Nazi doctor’s obsessions.
 

“I’m not sure that I can cope with more medical specimens today … but I need the distraction, so I’ll go talk to him.”
 

She picked up the file and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.
 

“Do you want me to come with?” Missinghall said, taking another bite of his morning muffin.
 

Jamie shook her head. “You couldn’t keep up,” she said, smiling and walking away.
 

***

It was raining hard outside, but Jamie relished the wet cold as she rode through rush hour, weaving between deadlocked cars and honking taxis. The weather enlivened her senses, reminding her that she still breathed despite the anxiety that pursued her. She relished the freedom of the bike and pulled up to the address in Clerkenwell in good time, hopefully before Edward Mascuria had left for the day.
 

Jamie rapped on the door and rang the bell. After a minute, the door opened a crack with the security chain on and a partially obscured face peeped out.
 

“Edward Mascuria?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” the man said, suspicion in his tone.
 

Jamie held her warrant card out for him to see. “I’m here to talk about Jenna Neville. Can I come in?”
 

The door closed again, then opened fully.
 

“Of course. Come in, Detective. Anything I can do to help the investigation. I work with the Nevilles, so of course I’m devastated.”
 

Jamie noticed that his emphatic words didn’t match the coolness of his dark grey eyes, which were more like a sharks, the irises bleeding into the pupils to give him a strangely unfocused look. His eyes were too close together and his face wasn’t quite symmetrical. His skin was pale, even for an Englishman in winter, and Jamie felt her skin prickle, her senses alert with suspicion just to be in his presence. She found that this happened sometimes. A person of interest could become a suspect worth investigating when the physical meeting generated a gut feeling that everyone in the police understood. There was definitely something about this man that made Jamie uneasy.
 

She stepped into the hallway, decorated with light green William Morris print wallpaper. There was a scent of fresh pine in the air and a cashmere coat hung by the door. It seemed luxurious for someone who was apparently a student and worked part time.

“Please, come through.” Mascuria turned and as he walked down the hallway, Jamie noticed he limped and his shoulders slumped to one side. His spine looked as if it was beginning to twist and hunch, but his shoulders were powerfully muscled and his arms pumped. He certainly wasn’t weak, despite his physical disability, and he further compensated with his clothes. He wore a purple striped Marc Jacobs shirt over what looked like Armani jeans. Jamie didn’t know much about fashion, but even she knew this was not a cheap outfit.
 

She followed him further into the flat, emerging from the corridor into a large living space with an indoor garden, enclosed in glass, with a light well open to the roof. It was sparsely furnished but as she glanced around, Jamie could see that this was more from choice than budget. In one corner was an ergonomically shaped desk with an oversized Mac. There was a huge flat-screen TV on one wall and opposite it, a large painting of a minotaur. The beast-man stood looking out to sea, his muscled back and heavy bull’s head seen from behind, taut with longing for escape from his island prison. One strong hand pinned a white bird to the parapet, crushing the life out of this last symbol of hope. Mascuria noticed her gaze.