‘See what the lab results tell us, then try and match the part of the code that hasn’t been destroyed with the manufacturer. They will know the surgery it went to, and we can take it from there.’
Jones looked exhausted. ‘What about the Mills case?’
‘I’m on that too, sir. Did you know that Raymond Giles has a cable show?’
He nodded. Jessie was put out.
‘We concentrate on Frank,’ said Jones sternly. ‘Not Raymond. He’s done his time. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The door to the evidence room opened. It was the PC from the river. ‘Morning, ma’am, sir. I thought you might want these before I resume my post on the river.’ PC Ahmet passed her the Personal Description Forms. ‘I think this will turn out to be more helpful, however –’ He held out a Tupperware container. ‘I put it in my sandwich box.’
‘What?’ asked Jessie.
‘The jellyfish I saw. Those SOCOs didn’t pick it up, so I thought I would. Call me particular, but since when did you find jellyfish in the Thames? They are saltwater creatures – medusoid coelenterate, to be precise.’
Jessie smiled at Jones, took the box from Niaz, emptied the deformed implant on to another glass plate and brought the magnifying glass over it. Finally she looked up, smiling.
‘You are brilliant, Niaz.’
‘So it isn’t a jellyfish?’
‘No. It’s one of a pair of silicone implants. With the two, I think we now have the full barcode.’ She took a pen from her back pocket and wrote out the number from the first and then added the one from the second. The middle three numbers overlapped. She stood back. ‘We’ll soon know who she is.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘How behind is LA?’
Jessie’s mobile rang. It was Sally Grimes, the pathologist. ‘Sulphuric acid. The bones were drenched in it.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Will that wipe the smile off your DI’s face?’
‘Yes.’
‘Congratulations, Detective Inspector.’
‘Thank you. One more thing, Sally – would sulphuric acid dissolve silicone?’
‘Depends how long it was exposed to the acid.’
‘Same length of time as the body.’
‘Partially probably. Maybe totally, depending on the make. No doubt you’ll be wanting a proper Home Office pathologist to do the tests at the postmortem.’
‘Will you assist?’
‘If you insist.’
‘I insist.’
‘Leave it to me then.’
Jessie looked at Jones. ‘Acid.’
‘I gathered. But does that necessarily mean the bones and the implants belong to the same person?’
‘One of them fell out of the chest cavity.’
He weighed it up in his mind. Jessie needed this one to cut her teeth on. And silence those doubting Toms. ‘Well, they belong to someone, let’s find out who.’ Jessie was watching him, her large hazel eyes full of concentration and excitement. Jones continued: ‘I’ve a friend in the LAPD, you can start there.’
Jessie smiled. ‘Thanks, boss.’
‘You’d better start taking notes, Detective Inspector. Looks like you have a murder investigation on your hands.’
‘PC Ahmet, would you do it? I’ll get you a temporary transfer.’
‘It would be an honour.’ He smiled broadly.
‘Right then, follow me.’
For the second time that morning Jessie burst into Jones’ office without knocking. ‘You are not going to believe this.’ Again, she didn’t notice Jones straighten himself up. ‘The implants belong to Verity Shore.’
‘Who?’
‘Verity Shore.’
‘I said who, not what.’
‘Sorry. She’s an actress. Well, actually, not really – you know, she’s married to that pop star, um … Oh God, I’m crap with names. He’s had three huge hits, used to play with that band Spunk, went solo and is now enormous … P. J. Dean. You know?’
‘No.’
‘She stripped for a tyre ad and got into trouble doing pregnant nude poses for Playboy.’
‘Hardly narrows the field.’
‘She wore a see-through piece of gauze to a film premiere. You couldn’t have missed that!’
He shrugged.
‘You’re hopeless. Where’s Trudi?’
‘On an errand.’
Jessie raided Jones’ long-suffering assistant’s desk drawer and retrieved a dog-eared copy of Hello! ‘She’s in here all the time. I don’t think she can help herself.’ She quickly flicked through it. ‘Here we go, “At Home with Verity”, following her stay in a health farm.’ She looked up at Jones. ‘She’d been suffering from exhaustion,’ she said, handing Jones the article.
‘A lot of that going about,’ he noted drily.
‘You’ve got to feel sorry for the woman: all those parties, all those photo ops, it’s bound to exhaust the girl.’
Jones studied the photo. A leggy blonde languished on a white sofa. A bedraggled man stood in the background, blurred. ‘Not any more.’
‘The thing is, sir, she hasn’t been reported missing. I don’t really want to turn up and scare everyone, only to find out she’s asleep upstairs and LA haven’t quite got their filing system in order. She’s got kids. Two, I think. Not by him – two other guys.’
‘Nice.’
‘She has a habit of leaving one when a more famous other comes along.’
‘And the kids?’
Jessie shrugged. ‘She got custody in both cases, though I don’t know if the respective fathers fought that hard, if you know what I mean.’
‘You think he’d kill his wife?’
