‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jack Warr. I’m one of the officers tasked to your daughter’s case. We have a short wait before we can go and see her, so...’
‘No questions.’ Henrick spoke quickly and then swallowed a short, sharp gulp of air. Jack thought he might be about to be sick. ‘We’re here to see our daughter. That’s it.’
Jack had seen this so many times before with bereaved family members. He knew that, as soon as they did see their daughter, the realisation that they’d been keeping at arm’s length for days would suddenly hit them and, from that moment on, they’d be gibbering wrecks and of little use to him at all. He had to question them before they saw their daughter.
‘I’m afraid we have a short wait regardless, Mr Chi. I won’t ask you anything if you don’t want me to. You can ask me any questions you like. Or not. You’re in charge of what we do today.’ Jack smiled in heartfelt solidarity. He took his mobile from his pocket and placed it face up on the seat next to him. Then he sat back and laced his fingers. ‘They’ll text me when it’s time.’
Jack knew that it would take Laura at least ten minutes to even get to Foxy. If he knew about the viewing, then Jack had about twenty minutes with the Chis; and if Foxy didn’t know, then Jack had anything up to an hour. Either way, he was banking on the silence eventually becoming too awkward for the Chis to bear.
Matilda appeared very calm although it could have simply been the shock of thinking she was so close to her dead daughter. She clung to Henrick as though her life depended on it and never took her eyes off the coffee. Jack thought she was unlikely to be the one to break the silence. Henrick, on the other hand, looked angry. ‘Are you treating her as a criminal?’ he asked.
‘Definitely not, sir.’ Jack spoke simply, using as few words as possible. ‘Your daughter is a victim. This case is about catching her killer. So that she has justice, and you have answers.’ In a few short sentences, Jack had aligned himself with the Chis and set himself up as the person who was going to give them the answers they yearned for. Jack now felt he could ask his own question. ‘Could you describe Adam Border to me please, Mr Chi?’
‘Do you think Adam was involved?’ Henrick said with a surprised expression.
‘My job is to trace the movements of each and every person who came into contact with Jessica in the last few months. This is how I rule people out as well as in. For now, I’m asking about Adam purely because we haven’t yet discovered his whereabouts.’
Henrick nodded. ‘Six feet tall. Slender. Shoulder-length blond hair, usually swept back into a ponytail. Striking blue eyes; they almost look like they’re painted. Adam’s polite and charming. He wears fashionable clothing and he always carries a small briefcase, which would look odd on someone less... cool. He’s a quiet man, at least he seemed quiet at the side of Jessica.’ Henrick couldn’t stop the small smile from creeping across his face. ‘She’s so vibrant. Enthusiastic.’
Jack ignored the fact that Henrick was talking about his dead daughter in the present tense. He knew that probably wouldn’t change until they actually saw her body.
‘I don’t know how old Adam is. Thirties? He’s comfortably off. I know this because of his old Amsterdam apartment and because of his choice of wine in restaurants. I like him.’ Jack asked what Henrick knew of Adam’s life before he and Jessica met. ‘Nothing much. He had no parents. He speaks Dutch, German and English like a native. And he has a love for and great knowledge of art.’ Henrick glanced up at Jack, instinctively knowing what the next question was going to be.
‘The Rossetti was a shock to me. I knew it was authentic because of the frame.’ As he continued, Henrick got out his mobile and began searching for something he wanted to share. ‘It was very old and the canvas was tacked onto the back of the wood frame. On the back of the picture, there were two unique stamps. A little worn, but legible. One related to an art exhibition and the other to a gallery. They served to help age the piece, just as the wooden frame did. I couldn’t price the Rossetti that Jessica showed me, but another — Pandora — went for over £10 million.’ Henrick handed his mobile to Jack. ‘Scroll left. They’re all authentic Rossettis. The one called Lady Lilith. I’ve held that. I know what authentic feels like.’
Jack returned Henrick’s mobile to him. He certainly sounded convincingly well informed about the art world. So much so, that Jack almost felt bad for hanging up on Anik earlier.
Mr Chi continued: ‘Rossetti was an exceptional creative artist. His poetry was as beautiful as his painting. He even buried a book of poetry with his deceased wife.’
Henrick touched his wife’s hand to let her know that he was still there and that everything was going to be OK. She remained motionless, apart from a small tremor in her hands. Jack asked Henrick if he believed his daughter thought the painting to be a copy, or did she know it was authentic.
‘Jessica wouldn’t have known. But Adam would. He and I spoke about art many times. Detective Warr, do you think Adam was not the man he purported to be?’
‘When I find him, Mr Chi, I’ll ask him.’
Henrick nodded. ‘Please, call us by our first names. You must understand, Jessica is a good girl. I told her to take the painting back and she said she would. I wish... I wish I was a rich man so that I could have helped her. We live modestly, being dependent on income from exhibitions. Many artists are in the same precarious position, of course, now more than ever because of the global pandemic.’ Henrick lowered his head and took a moment to control the tears that Jack could see building inside him. ‘Jessica even helped us with the rent in recent months.’ His voice faded to a whisper. ‘I should have realised something was wrong.’
‘Henrick, I need to ask, to your knowledge, did Jessica ever use drugs?’
Henrick was open about the fact that Jessica used to smoke cannabis and also that, many years ago, she had a heroin habit. But he knew that she had gone through rehab four years ago and had been clean since.
The screen on Jack’s mobile phone lit up and stopped the conversation dead in its tracks.
Jack led the way down into the car park at the back of the station, where a patrol car was waiting to take them to the chapel. It was perfectly walkable, being only two minutes along the same road, but bereaved families were always taken by car. Matilda hung onto Henrick’s arm and walked with tiny, careful steps — as though she was on a tightrope and might fall if she lost focus for a split second. Henrick kept pace with her, giving her all the time in the world. Jack thought they looked like a strong, loving couple who were about to be shattered into a thousand unmendable pieces. He wasn’t relishing getting to their destination.
The chapel was a white room with no windows, clinical in appearance, with one bed right in the centre. On the bed, Jessica lay beneath a crisp white sheet. Laura held the door open and waited for Matilda and Henrick to enter and take up position at their daughter’s side. She then left Jack to do the identification.
Jack asked if they were ready, and they nodded. All three of them took a deep breath — Jack had not seen Jessica since the greenhouse, so the image in his mind was of a badly charred corpse. He slowly pulled the sheet down from Jessica’s face and rested it on her shoulders. Foxy had perfectly wrapped her scalp in a manner reminiscent of a nun’s wimple, so that only her pretty young face was on show, concealing her burnt hair and skull. Jessica’s face was also expertly made up. Foxy’s team had worked a miracle, Jack thought gratefully. Jessica even looked warm, as though blood still flowed beneath her skin adding a glow to her cheeks and a depth to her features. Jack knew it was all an illusion, but as far as the Chis were concerned, their daughter looked like a sleeping angel.