He skirted the question. ‘Abigail’s home – that’s all that matters.’
‘Oh, and that’s the end of it, is it?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? The deaths of Diego Martinez, your brother, Francis Asturias. You think that’s done with?’
‘I know who killed them.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Who?’
‘Jimmy Shaw.’ The name meant something to her, he could tell. ‘D’you know him?’
‘Shaw’s a criminal, a fixer. But he’s not a killer—’
‘He is now. He killed all three of them.’
‘He told you this?’
‘I was told, yes.’
‘Don’t bugger me about, Golding!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been messed around long enough on this case. I need to know what happened.’
Ben hesitated, listening for some movement from above, something to tell him that Abigail had finally woken.
‘Well?’ Roma snapped. ‘Get on with it!’
‘Jimmy Shaw was hired to find the Goya skull. In the process, he killed Diego Martinez, my brother and Francis Asturias—’
‘Why?’
‘They were in his way.’
‘So Shaw’s got the skull?’ She frowned. ‘How can he have it if it’s in New York?’
Ben hesitated. ‘There are two skulls.’
‘Two?’
‘One’s the genuine skull of Goya, the other’s a fake.’ He paused, then carried on, the lie prepared. ‘The skull I exchanged Abi for is now with the person who hired Jimmy Shaw.’
‘And who’s that?’
‘I can’t say.’
Infuriated, she studied him. ‘This case involves three murders. You do realise that I could charge you with withholding evidence?’
‘I’m not withholding evidence. I don’t know anything.’
She paused, unwilling to confide in him, then relented. ‘What if I were to tell you that Jimmy Shaw’s body was found this morning. He’d drowned – and he had Francis Asturias’s blood on his clothes.’
‘So that proves it.’
‘It only proves he was involved with Francis Asturias’s death. What else do you know?’
Ben shrugged, lying deftly. ‘I can’t tell you anything else. The exchange was prearranged. I delivered the skull and Abigail was given back to me.’
He was punchy from lack of sleep, willing Abigail to wake, and knowing that to keep them both safe he had to stay silent about Emile Dwappa. The police could never know about him or Mama Gala. Because if they did, Ben would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. If he led the police to Gardenia Street he would never sleep safely again. Every day he would be watched. Every night he would wait for the break-in. And constantly he would wonder how, or when, Abigail would be taken from him – this time permanently.
‘I saw no one,’ Ben insisted.
‘Not even Jimmy Shaw?’
‘No, no one.’
Roma let out a long, regretful sigh. ‘Did you kill him?’
‘No.’
‘So who did?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You can’t tell me half a story and I’ll back off! People died—’
‘My brother included,’ Ben interrupted. ‘You think I’ll ever forget that? I’m telling you, it was Jimmy Shaw who killed them. He did it to get the skull. You’ve got his body – it’s over.’
‘But if you had the skull all along …’ she asked, her tone deadly, ‘why didn’t you give it to him at the beginning?’
‘You want more deaths?’ Ben countered. ‘Because if you press me, that’s what you’ll get. My death and Abigail’s death. Two more murders to explain. And you won’t be able to stop it. Even if you put a policeman outside that door, the day will come when he’s caught off guard. Are you going to watch us day and night? Put someone on duty to trail us? How about at the hospital, Ms Jaffe? Francis was murdered there, Abigail was taken from there. You feel confident you can protect us there?’ He shook his head. ‘There will always be the one moment, the one street corner, the one night when there’s a slip – and then it happens. And you think I’ll risk that? You think I’ll take that chance when I have the means to keep her safe? Jimmy Shaw committed all three murders, and now Jimmy Shaw is dead. It’s over.’
Thoughtful, Roma walked over to the window, staring at Duncan in the car outside. She was trying to weigh up the advantage of arresting Golding, knowing that he would never give her any further information. He would deny knowing anything more than he had told her because she knew he was afraid. Something or someone had thrown a scare into him which would ensure his silence … But if she left it like this, then what? She fixed her gaze on Duncan intently, relieved that he had not been with her to hear what Ben Golding had said. Relieved that she could – if she chose – come up with a version of events which no one would question. Jimmy Shaw was dead. He wasn’t going to give his account.
It was her decision to make. If she chose, the case was solved. Jimmy Shaw had killed the three victims and thrown himself in the Thames. It was neat. Tidy. And it would look good on her record.
Expressionless, she stared at Ben. ‘Where’s the skull now?’
‘The real one?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, the real one.’
‘Missing—’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Ben continued. ‘The one in New York’s a fake. The real one’s disappeared. I don’t know where it is. I did have it, but I don’t have it now.’
‘What’s to stop someone else looking for it?’
‘Why would they?’ Ben asked, his tone reasonable. ‘Bobbie Feldenchrist is hardly going to announce that she has a fake. As far as everyone knows, Goya’s skull is in New York. No one looks for something that’s already been found.’
‘D’you really think it’s that easy? D’you really expect me to go along with your story, and lie for you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, exhausted and desperate. ‘I’m hoping Jimmy Shaw’s death will be the end of it. You have a solution, an ending. To all intents and purposes, you’ve solved the case. You’ve got Shaw’s body and the evidence that ties him to Francis Asturias’s death. Let it rest. I’m begging you to let it rest. Because if you pursue it, if you question me further or charge me, no one will believe I didn’t talk and Abigail will be the next victim.’ He held her gaze. ‘I know what I’m asking, believe me. But I’ve lost enough. Please don’t take anything else.’
72
‘We heard that your partner’s been found …’ Megan Griffiths said, dropping into step with Ben as he arrived the following morning. He was back at the Whitechapel, taking on his patients and his operations again. Trying to resume normality, although Abigail was still unconscious, a nurse looking after her at the house. ‘We’re … I’m so relieved.’
He reached his room and turned to look at her. And then, without a word, he slammed the door in her face.
Having heard nothing further from Roma Jaffe, Ben was hoping that she wasn’t going to pursue the case. Not where he was concerned anyway – but there were still unanswered questions. Where was Goya’s skull? And what was the resolution of Leon’s theory? The real meaning of the Black Paintings? Ben had promised himself that he would finish his brother’s notes that night. But before he did that, he had something else to do, which was why he had returned to the Whitechapel Hospital.
Thoughtful, Ben recalled every conversation he had ever had with Francis Asturias about the skull. He remembered him describing the reconstruction, how he had hidden it in the box marked CAUTION – ANIMAL REMAINS. He recalled seeing the skull and examining it with Francis and could hear again, in all its blistering clarity, their last phone call.
I swapped skulls. I have the Goya.
I have the Goya … But where the hell did you put it, Francis? Ben wondered. Where the hell did you hide it? Not at home, not in your workshop, and not in the laboratory. He paused, concentrating. No, that would have been too obvious for a man like you. You would have thought up something clever but whimsical … Sighing, Ben thought of his old friend and then considered Elizabeth Asturias.