Mark Pearson - Death Row

Kate sighed. ‘Many of the children were sent to lunatic asylums, where they were tortured or raped. They were officially called rats. Even today, as elderly adults, some still get spat at on the streets. Witnesses say that the Norwegian military experimented on them, making them take LSD and mescaline among other drugs.’

‘Are you saying the Hensons are tied up in this somehow?’

‘They’re too young. Maybe Henson senior’s father might have been one of the children sent overseas. The Norwegian government tried to send eight thousand to Australia.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah — last year a group of Lebensborn brought an action in the European Court of Human Rights, seeking compensation from the Norwegian government of up to two hundred thousand pounds apiece.’

‘And did they get it?’

Kate snorted derisively. ‘No. They were offered a two-thousand-pound token settlement. And do you know another thing …?’

‘Go on.’

‘Priests in the country recommended that the Norwegian Lebensborn should be sterilised so that they couldn’t father any future Nazi children.’

Bennett shook his head. ‘Sounds like they were as bad as the Nazis themselves.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I still don’t see what this has to do with Matt Henson, though. The family are neo-Nazi skinheads themselves.’

‘Exactly! That’s what the B-negative tattoo is all about. The Nazis thought that that was the purest blood group. SS officers had their blood group tattooed onto them. The B-negative tattoo was highly prized. Encouraged in the breeding programme with blonde-haired blue-eyed German and Norwegian women particularly.’

‘I didn’t know about the blood-group thing. I know they wanted to create a master race.’

‘The thing is, they got it wrong again, apparently. Most Nordic people are type A. I remember coming across a book in the Bodleian that was banned by the Nazis. It was a study into Aryanism written by a German and it concluded that the British and Nordic peoples were more Aryan than the Germans, who had too many Slavic genes.’

‘So the upshot is that Matt Henson is a neo-Nazi, maybe a descendant of the offspring of a German SS officer and a Norwegian woman.’

‘Possibly.’

‘And Jamil Azeez is an Iranian British national studying law.’

‘With a father who is an international human-rights lawyer.’

‘Correct. Who will be here any day demanding answers.’

‘Exactly.’

Bennett collected the papers. ‘Thanks for these. Not sure if any of it is relevant …’

‘We never can be, can we, until we fit all the pieces together.’

Bennett looked at Kate thoughtfully. ‘Jack Delaney must have you well trained.’

‘I hope that’s not some kind of prurient joke, Detective Inspector Bennett.’

‘Not at all. In fact …’ He grinned a little sheepishly and sat on the corner of her desk. ‘Jack Delaney is the reason I joined the police force.’

‘Really?’ said Kate, a sceptical smile playing on her lips.

‘Really!’ Bennett held her gaze, his dark eyes suddenly very serious. ‘I remember seeing that photo of him holding the child rescued from the boot of a car, the whole nation cheering him on as a modern-day hero, and thinking … yeah, that’s what I want to do with my life.’

‘You surprise me.’

‘See, my heroes when I was growing up were Sir Lancelot and Galahad, rescuing damsels in distress, King Arthur, Robin Hood. Not much call for them nowadays.’

‘I’m not at all sure of that.’

‘Which is why I went for a squad car rather than a white charger. And your boyfriend was my inspiration. Seems that way to me, anyway.’

Kate looked into Bennett’s eyes and couldn’t read them — there certainly didn’t seem to be any humour in them now. ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said. And then he blinked and shook his head. ‘So are you up for a bit more detecting?’

‘What you got in mind?’

‘Another of your observations …’

‘Go on.’

‘Jamil’s coat. Why don’t we go and find it?’

*

Doctor Derek Bowman slowly turned the wheel on the device he had inserted between the dead woman’s teeth. Rigor mortis had set in and hadn’t subsided yet. As he turned the wheel the uppermost plate rose, forcing the jaw open. A few more turns and he had a one-inch gap between the teeth. He picked up his tweezers, inserted them carefully into the aperture, and a few moments later removed them. There was an object clamped between them. He put it on the desk and studied it, confused.

‘Coffee to go, I am afraid, doctor,’ said Lorraine as she came into the office, her hat and coat still on.

‘What?’

‘There’s been some developments.’

‘Hang on a moment,’ said the pathologist, picking up his digital camera and firing off some shots.

‘What is it?’

Bowman put down his camera and looked over at her. ‘It’s a watch, Lorraine. A Mickey Mouse watch.’

*

Kate Walker walked out of The Australian, a pub on Camden High Street, fastening her scarf around her neck and buttoning up her coat. There was a definite chill in the air and it was getting colder by the minute. Across the road and further up ahead she saw DI Bennett going into The Star and Garter. She walked, heading in the same direction, towards The Pitcher and Piano, a few yards further on. Camden was turning into the new Islington, she thought, the number of bars and pubs in it. Maybe it always had been, she realised — she didn’t really know the area, it had never been her stomping ground. Maybe Islington was the new Camden.

She opened the door of the pub and threaded her way through the crowds of people fortifying themselves with a warming glass or two before heading home for Sunday lunch. The accents in the air were as polished as the new pine floor and the bar glittered with chrome and glass. The young staff in black trousers and crisp white shirts served the customers with smiles that dazzled. Jack Delaney would bloody hate it, she thought.

Five minutes later a twenty-eight-year-old would-be Lothario called Jeremy, his black hair in a ponytail, informed her that he’d been the duty manager on Friday night and could confirm that no one had left a jacket. He was also fairly sure that the man in the photo had not come into the pub that night. He did offer her his phone number but Kate declined. She didn’t smile.

*

Outside, Kate was standing for a moment to do up her belt when a young, slightly built woman charged past her, nearly knocking her over. She instinctively put a hand to her stomach and was catching her breath when an older woman with dark hair, Middle Eastern features and a furious look in her brown eyes raced past her as well and caught up with the first woman, slamming her against a wall. She was shouting something at the girl in a language that Kate didn’t recognise and had her hand around her throat.

Kate ran up to them, grabbed the older woman’s arms and pulled her away. The woman hissed through her teeth at Kate and threw a roundhouse punch at her. Kate let the punch come, lifting her head back as the fist passed. Swinging the woman around, Kate planted her shoe in her backside and kicked, sending her sprawling and shrieking to the pavement.

‘Hey!’ Bennett shouted from across the street and tried to cross. But the traffic at that moment was too busy. The dark-haired woman picked herself up and ran up the street away from them. Kate turned to the younger woman but she had flipped her hoodie over her head and was running fast in the opposite direction.

‘Oi!’ Kate called after her but she was already disappearing, weaving amongst the tourists and locals who turned Camden busy whatever the weather was like.